by Angela Kay
“Do you know where we can find him?” Shaun wondered.
Mrs. Van Camp opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead wavered her head to say that she didn’t.
“What about your sons? We’d like to speak to them as well.”
“I’m sorry, but I will not allow you to come into my home and defame my family in any way. We’re just now coming back from the pain of losing Bryce. I don’t want you to cause us any more pain. I must ask you to leave.”
“Mrs. Van Camp,” Aidan said as he rose. “I understand your reluctance, but these are innocent people being gunned down. If you know something, you need to tell us. You could be considered an accomplice, otherwise.”
“I know nothing about these murders, Agent O’Reilly. Neither does my family. Forgive me for not being much help. I’m afraid I have no more time to talk about the past. It’s too…painful.”
The room fell silent until Shaun stood.
“Thank you for your time, ma’am.”
Aidan walked to the door and before stepping outside, he pulled out his wallet and removed a business card. “You can reach us directly here if there’s anything further to add.”
With hesitation and an agitated sigh, Mrs. Van Camp took the card.
Aidan and Shaun walked to the car and climbed in. Before Shaun pulled away from the house, they watched it for signs of movement.
“She shut us down, fast,” Shaun said.
“She knows something,” Aidan told him.
Shaun grunted in agreement.
“Let’s wait for a bit. Maybe she’ll lead us to her husband,” Aidan suggested.
With a nod, Shaun pulled out of the driveway and drove a couple of houses down, until he reached a house with no cars. He pulled into the driveway and they waited a few minutes until, sure enough, Mrs. Van Camp drove past in her green Hyundai.
“Looks like a good day to tail somebody,” Shaun said.
43
Following Norma Van Camp three car lengths behind, Aidan and Shaun arrived at a dirt road, leading to a house about a mile away. Shaun parked the car a some distance away and they watched as Mrs. Van Camp stopped her vehicle, leaning out her window. She pressed her finger against a metal intercom, said something. A second later, the gate slowly opened, and she pulled the vehicle onto the dirt road.
Slowly, Shaun pulled up so they could watch as the Hyundai made its way to the small, gray house at the end of the road. On the post was a sign, reading in big, red letters, no trespassing.
Shaun reached behind his seat, feeling for something with a soft grunt.
“What are you looking for?” Aidan asked. “Please don’t say an old muffin.”
“Don’t I wish?” Shaun muttered. “I’m starved.”
“What else is new?”
Finally, Shaun’s arm returned to the front, clutching a pair of binoculars and lifted them to his eyes.
Aidan, barely making out Mrs. Van Camp’s appearance, watched as the door opened.
“Who’s that?”
“Some man,” Shaun said. “Looks to be in his mid to late sixties.”
Silence filled the car.
“She’s going inside,” Aidan observed.
“Yeah,” Shaun said. He lowered his binoculars, setting them on the dashboard. “Could be Mrs. Van Camp’s ex-husband.”
“She said she hadn’t seen or spoken to him in a while,” Aidan reminded him. “If she lied about that…”
“She could be lying about other things.” Shaun finished.
“Yeah.”
They watched a few seconds longer for signs of activity. So far, nothing seemed to happen.
“I’ll call Monroe,” Shaun said, finally. “We’ll see if she wants us to go in or stand down.”
Aidan nodded as he waited patiently for his partner to make the call.
“…Will do,” Shaun said before ending the call. He looked at Aidan. “She wants us to wait a bit. We make a move, they can claim unlawful entry because of that sign.”
“Makes sense.”
They sat and waited for what seemed like hours when Aidan’s cell phone pinged with a text. Glancing at the screen, he saw Cheyenne wondering whether he would be heading home soon. He glanced at the clock on his dashboard, then double-checked the time on his watch with a curse underneath his breath. Both warned him it was almost four in the afternoon.
He replied that he wasn’t certain at the moment.
Aidan waited until the three dots finished announcing her coming response.
Okay. I just wondered if u could bring some soup home. I’m not feeling 2 well.
What’s wrong? Aidan typed in response.
Stomachache. Had it earlier today too.
Sorry, love, Aidan replied. Give me a bit & I’ll take something 2 u.
Thanks, honey.
“We need to stop at the store,” Aidan told Shaun. “Cheyenne’s not feeling well.”
“What’s wrong?” Shaun asked, narrowing his eyes with concern.
“Stomachache,” Aidan said. “She wants soup.”
“Get her some oyster crackers too,” Shaun suggested. “And some roses. She’ll feel better.”
Aidan chuckled. “How have you not been snatched up yet?”
“The job, of course,” Shaun said. “You know how it is. The ladies see what I do for a living and they take off running for the hills.”
Aidan allowed the conversation to lull as he returned his attention to the house, void of any action. His skin burned with the desire to go to the door, but he knew Monroe was right. If either or both Van Camps were involved in the serial killings, then the case would cease to exist because of the no trespassing sign. They’d need a warrant to cross private properties unless something threatening happened, and there was not enough evidence at the time.
“What’s Laura’s favorite restaurant?” Shaun asked suddenly.
“Olive Garden,” Aidan answered.
“Think she’ll go with me tomorrow night?”
Aidan shrugged. “I don’t know. Ask her.”
“Does she have a favorite flower?”
Aidan considered the question, trying to remember what Laura had told him earlier. “It’s either lilies or tulips, I think. I can’t remember which.”
“Find out for me?” Shaun urged.
“Sure, I’ll ask Cheyenne.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
“Just gotta make a good impression. Flowers would do that, right? Or is it too obvious?”
“Flowers are good. Girls like that.”
Again, they fell into silence.
“The door opened,” Aidan announced.
Shaun snatched his binoculars from the dashboard and set the eyepieces in place.
“She looks upset,” Shaun muttered.
They watched as the former couple hugged for a brief moment. Mrs. Van Camp opened the door of her car and slid behind the wheel.
Her ex-husband leaned in for a moment before walking back to his door.
Shaun tossed the binoculars carelessly into Aidan’s lap as he started the ignition of his car to pull away.
They watched out the rear window as Mrs. Van Camp left in the opposite direction.
Shaun U-turned to follow, slowly moving past the driveway.
Mr. Van Camp stood outside for a few moments before kicking at a tree stump. He walked inside and shut the door.
44
It wasn’t until five-thirty before Aidan finally was able to clock out and go home. He clutched a grocery bag and bouquet of roses in his hand as he searched the house for Cheyenne.
He found her curled up in bed with the television playing, the volume on low.
Aidan sat on the edge of the bed, laying the back of his hand on her forehead.
“You feeling okay, love?”
Cheyenne groaned, then nodded. “I thought I was going to throw up. I didn’t, though. But, man, my head started killing me.”
She pressed her palm against her head, e
yes closed.
“I got you some chicken noodle soup,” Aidan told her. “I’ll bring it up to you.”
“Thanks, honey.”
Aidan returned downstairs, opened the can of soup, and poured it in a bowl. After he added the required amount of water, he set it in the microwave.
While he waited for the food to heat up, he poured a few oyster crackers onto a plate, put the roses in a vase, and set everything on a tray. The microwave beeped. He made to pick it up from the microwave.
The heat scorched his bare palms, almost causing him to drop the bowl to the ground. Aidan cursed underneath his breath.
He couldn’t find the oven mitt, so he used a kitchen towel to carry the hot bowl to the tray.
Aidan slowly walked out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and to his bedroom where Cheyenne still lay in bed, but a smile began to spread across her lips.
“You bought me flowers.”
“Yes, I did,” Aidan said. “Can you sit up?”
“I think so,” Cheyenne muttered, pushing herself upright.
He set the tray in her lap.
“Careful, the soup’s hot,” Aidan warned. “I’ve got burn marks to show for it.”
“How was your day?” Cheyenne asked.
“We’re following up on a couple of leads,” Aidan told her as he pulled his shirt over his head. “We may be closing in on our killer.”
“Good,” Cheyenne said. She blew into her soup, her eyes darkening. “Should I start worrying?”
Aidan watched her before responding, recognizing the stark fear of what a killer could do to a person. He shook his head. “No, the killer’s targets are more personal than random people.”
“Aren’t they all in some way?”
“I suppose, but this offender has a mission.”
“I guess you’re keeping what the mission is under wraps?”
“Trying to,” Aidan said. He unbuckled his pants and pulled them down with a sigh.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Aidan,” Cheyenne said. “Talk to me. What are you muttering about?”
“Was I muttering?”
“It never fails when you’re in deep thought.”
Aidan walked around the bed and climbed under the covers, careful not to cause too much of a disturbance to her soup. He stole two oyster crackers from her plate.
“We found out Jordan Blake’s been paying one of our guys for inside information.”
Cheyenne gasped. Eyes wide with shock. “You’re kidding.”
He shook his head as he laid against his pillow. “Wish I was. It was Agent Douglas.”
“No,” Cheyenne said. “Wasn’t he the one who sent me the big teddy bear while I was at the hospital? And had everyone sign the cards?”
“Yeah,” Aidan sighed.
“Why would he do something like that?”
“Apparently his wife has cancer. They don’t have the money for her treatments, so he sold us out to get the money.”
“How awful. What’s going to happen to him?”
Aidan shook his head slowly. “His desk was cleaned out by the time Shaun and I got back to the office.”
“I feel so bad for him,” Cheyenne said. “But he had to know he wouldn’t get away with it.”
She moaned quietly, again placing her hand to her forehead as if it would stop the pain.
“I’m torn between hating him for selling us out to Jordan Blake of all people and wanting to help him and his wife.”
“You’re a good man, Aidan O’Reilly,” Cheyenne said, “You don’t have it in you to hate. But despite what he did and how you think you may feel for him, maybe we should do something to help them. At least let the Douglas’ know we care.”
“Works for me,” Aidan said. “Maybe you can arrange for something when you’re feeling better. I’ll do what I can to help you, but my focus right now has got to be the Scavenger Hunter.”
“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”
As Cheyenne ate, they watched The Andy Griffith Show, and when she finished, he took the tray to the kitchen, placed everything in the dishwasher, and returned to bed.
With heavy eyes, he snuggled close to Cheyenne, watching the old television show until sleep fell over him.
45
Kristen smiled as she stared into the empty space where her picture used to be. Luke allowed her to be the one to remove it, and with the action, a feeling of empowerment overtook her. It had taken some doing to convince Luke to let her live. She knew he was fighting his own desires. He wanted to be with her, as much as he wanted to take her life. After all, his sole plan was to hurt her uncle by taking her away from him forever. But her uncle didn’t love her. You don’t hurt little girls the way he did if you loved them. She hadn’t even spoken to her uncle in quite a while. As far as she knew, he wouldn’t care one way or another if she lived or died.
So Kristen managed to convince Luke that he needed her. She convinced him to let her help him find the revenge he so desired.
Revenge never tasted so sweet.
Neither did the feeling of finally being in charge of her own destiny.
Good girl Kristen would prove the world wrong.
She wasn’t a good girl. She wasn’t an angel waiting for someone to walk all over her.
No.
She was Kristen McCoy, once a victim, now a survivor.
A survivor with a message.
Just like Luke, she disliked the justice system. It was a failure in so many ways. If it wasn’t, they wouldn’t have sent her to live with her uncle after her parents died. They would have listened to her when she told them what he did.
But they didn’t.
And it was time to act.
Luke had his own ways of fighting the justice system.
And she had hers.
She’d spent twenty years searching for something she thought was never there. After being with that no-good, too-good-for-her piece of crap, Richard, Kristen finally found where she belonged.
And she liked it.
She liked being a part of things.
She liked having the control.
Her phone rang again for the seventh time. From his seat at the computer, Luke glanced her way, then back at the screen.
He didn’t care about who was calling her. He didn’t need to ask.
He knew.
It was Richard.
He was back in town, wanting her to go out with him. Before he left, he had said he wanted to talk about marriage, about making a family. But what Richard didn’t realize was she didn’t want a family. She wanted to be her own person, do her own thing.
But Kristen realized Richard would never let her go. The fool loved her too much. He’d do anything for her.
She looked down at Luke.
A thought crossed her mind as a surge of excitement sparked through her.
She wondered exactly what Luke would do for her?
He allowed her to live when his sole desire was to hurt her uncle for what happened to Bryce Van Camp.
Maybe there were other things Luke would do for her.
46
“What are you going to do now?” Thomas Blake said when Jordan opened his front door. Without Jordan’s approval, Thomas stepped into his house, surveying the open living room.
It was a messy place—Jordan rarely stayed home, except to sleep. He was usually searching for news or women. Sometimes if he were to find either, he didn’t show up at all, so why bother straightening up? A brown blanket had fallen on the floor, and the coffee table littered with Playboy magazines. Beer cans were scattered about. Even Jordan was surprised he hadn’t come across rats or roaches, but that didn’t necessarily mean they weren’t there, hiding someplace.
A sliding glass door led to a medium-sized backyard with overgrown grass, except by the doghouse where Jordan had buried his golden retriever, Duke, nearly six months ago. The headstone was simple—only a wooden slab with Duke’s name scratche
d on.
An enlarged photo of Duke rested between the two chairs facing a seventy-inch television. Even now, Jordan’s heart hurt at the sight of his dog, whose cruel death came as a shocking turn of events. But Jordan couldn’t bear erasing any trace of Duke. The dog was once his father’s, the only person in Jordan’s life who made him feel loved. Thinking about Duke and his father did nothing but rip yet another piece of his heart.
While he loved his dog and father, Jordan worked hard at not letting their deaths cut him to the core…at least in front of others.
His uncle noticed the fancy black negligee strewn across the couch. He looked at his nephew with disapproval.
“Ah, yes,” Jordan said, snapping his fingers as if he’d forgotten about his latest flame. He tightened the string on his robe. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep quiet. I’ve got company.”
Thomas pushed out a heavy breath, which whistled as he breathed. Jordan knew he’d given up years ago lecturing his nephew about bringing home a different woman every night. It had only proven to be a fruitless effort. In the past, the more Thomas tried to straighten out his nephew, the more Jordan went about his own things, if only to irritate the other man.
Instead, Thomas found a seat in one of the recliners, hands folded on his stomach. His thick eyebrows scrunched together as he sized up the younger man, waiting for an answer.
But he didn’t get it right away.
“Well?”
“Do you mean in life?” Jordan asked, blinking as if he realized what Thomas had asked. He sat on the sofa’s arm. “I’m content with just reporting the news. I don’t think I’d need to go soul searching at the moment.”
Thomas shook his head, the frown on his lips deepening. “Word has it the FBI found a leak in their office. One of the agents had been giving confidential information to a reporter. You’re going to tell me you know nothing of this?”
It struck Jordan as funny that while the federal bureau of investigations strived to keep details of their investigations on the down-low, but they had no problems ratting out their own men.
“I could lie and say I don’t,” Jordan admitted with a shrug. He crossed his arms over his chest. “But, you know, I’m not the first reporter to ever get inside information. And I can guarantee I won’t be the last.”
