by Dee Davis
“But that still doesn’t mean he’s the cyber killer,” Tracy said. “There’s no posing after the fact. And the way he’s positioned the hands over her chest actually suggests remorse. That isn’t something we’d expect to find in a psychopath.”
“But there are exceptions to every rule. Right? Even psychopaths can be wired differently. Like you always say, profiling isn’t an exact science.”
“True, but what you’ve got here still isn’t enough to be positive that Draper’s the cyber killer.”
“Agreed.” Hannah nodded. “But if someone like the cyber killer did find love, or at least what he equated with the emotion, then that could explain why he stopped attacking other women.”
“It’s definitely possible,” Tracy admitted. “But like I said it isn’t conclusive.”
“Right, but there’s more,” Hannah said. “When I talked with the local authorities and explained our situation, they agreed to send me their files, and additionally, they convinced the army to release theirs.”
“What did you find?” Harrison asked, his gut telling him she was on to something.
“A time line,” Hannah said. “Draper’s unit was stationed in Fort Hood at the time of the original murders. That’s about forty-five miles from Austin and dead center in the middle of the kill zone.”
“But what about Eileen?”
“She wasn’t in the picture then. Draper was single.”
“So what else do we know about him?” Drake asked.
“According to army records, he was born in George-town, a small town near Austin. He comes from a broken home. Dad was a no-show from the get-go. And Mom didn’t last much longer. I checked local records and apparently little Jeremy had some issues. And when he killed the family dog, Mom dumped him into the system and moved on.”
“So we’ve got one part of McDonald’s triad,” Tracy said, frowning as she tried to process Hannah’s information.
“Bedwetting, fire-starting, and torturing small animals,” Simon offered.
“Exactly.”
“Anyway,” Hannah continued, “Draper lived in various foster homes until he graduated high school and landed in the army.”
“And by then he was probably carrying around a whole lot of anger,” Harrison suggested, gut still churning. “Most of it, no doubt, directed at his mother.”
“I don’t suppose you have a picture of her,” Tracy asked.
“As a matter of fact,” Hannah said, bringing up a new photograph, her expression grim, “I do.”
The woman, dressed in a business suit, was smiling, long brown hair falling over her shoulder.
“She was a realtor,” Hannah added. “Young, middle-class, brunette, and single.”
“A perfect match for his victimology,” Drake said to no one in particular. “But why would he have waited to act out? I mean, his mother left a long time before he was stationed at Fort Hood—so what was the stressor?”
“Well, I’m no expert. But according to the army’s records, Draper was written up for attacking a woman in Dallas.”
“His mother,” Tracy said.
“Yes. Apparently, he’d run her to ground and was trying to reestablish contact.”
“Only she rejected him.” Tracy shook her head. “It’s textbook. And I’m guessing there was a knife involved.”
“Got it in one,” Hannah said. “But the wounds were only superficial, and she refused to press charges. The army disciplined him, though.”
“Which would have only made him more angry. He would have felt doubly wronged.” Tracy leaned forward, her eyes on Hannah. “You said there was a time line.”
“Right,” Hannah said, consulting her monitor. “According to army records, Draper’s attack on his mother happened about six months before the first of the cyber killer’s attacks. But there was nothing at the time to link them. Anyway, Draper was stationed at Fort Hood the entire time the cyber killer was active. Then—and this is the important part—his unit was shipped out to Iraq three months after the last murder.”
“Giving us a reason why he stopped.” Harrison blew out a breath, everything falling together. “He was out of the country.”
“And most likely releasing his rage in another way entirely,” Tracy agreed.
“So how long was he gone?” Avery asked.
“Almost seven years—off and on. He did four tours of duty before being discharged at the end of last year.” Hannah scrolled through the document on her computer screen. “He married Eileen about three years ago. Which I’m guessing worked mainly because he didn’t see her very often.”
“But her death was probably inevitable,” Tracy said, “considering how much she looked like Draper’s mother.”
“The local police answered a couple of domestic violence calls, but Eileen never pressed charges. And there was never enough to merit an arrest.”
“But the urges were building again,” Tracy said, “and with his discharge he’d lost the only way he had to legitimately release his rage.”
“And then when news about the fake cyber killer hit the airwaves,” Simon continued, “he broke.”
“It could conceivably have been the stressor that pushed him over the edge,” Tracy agreed. “And he killed his wife. A woman who most likely represented his memory of a mother who loved him.”
“And so he lost her all over again.” Drake shook his head. “This guy is one sick dude.”
“No shit,” Harrison said. “And when faced with this kind of loss, he looked for someone to blame.”
“The man impersonating him,” Avery agreed.
“And the man who was part of the original investigation,” Harrison sighed. “Which brings us full circle.”
“Except that now we know who he is,” Hannah said, switching the photograph back to the picture of Draper. “Which means we have a better shot at finding him. We can send this picture to the press and the police. Get everyone out there looking for him.”
“Agreed,” Avery said. “We’ll just have to be careful how we release the information. We can use the FBI front to make sure no one knows we’re the ones who put this all together. Hannah, I’m assuming you didn’t identify yourself as CIA when you made the call to the locals in Texas?”
“Of course not,” she assured him. “They think I’m an analyst with the FBI. And if anyone calls to verify, thanks to Langley pulling some strings, Quantico will back me up.”
“Good.” Avery nodded. “Then we’ll continue to use the FBI to disseminate information about the killer. Bottom line here, we need to do whatever it takes to find this guy before he hurts someone new.” This time everyone’s eyes moved to Hannah.
“Look, guys,” she said, her exasperation showing, “there’s no reason to believe that Draper is going to come after me. I’ll admit I fit the victimology, but so do a lot of other women in this town. Besides, for all we know, this was a one-off, and he’s gone back to Texas.”
“I don’t think he’s gone anywhere,” Harrison countered. “He left me Bree’s necklace for a reason, and he’s not about to walk away now. I can feel it in my gut. This isn’t over—not by a long shot.”
“So what, I’m just supposed to hide in a closet until it’s finished?”
“If I had my choice.” Harrison nodded. “But I know you won’t agree to that. So instead you’re just going to have to deal with me watching your every move.”
“I can live with that,” Hannah agreed, her tone flip, but her eyes sending a different message.
“Live being the operative word,” Harrison said, sucking in a breath, realizing that push come to shove, he’d die for her—hell, more realistically, he’d kill for her.
CHAPTER 26
Harrison stood by the window looking out at the night sky, and Hannah leaned against the kitchen doorway watching him. The dining room was lit with the eerie glow of the LED lights from the computer array, the narrow swath of light from the kitchen cutting across the room like a pathway to nowhere.
Hannah’s heart constricted as she watched. She’d felt anger before. Even hatred. But nothing like what she was feeling now. Total and complete impotence. There was nothing to be done. They had identified the cyber killer, but they still couldn’t find him. Everyone within a two-hundred-mile radius had been alerted to his presence. But there’d been nothing. No sign of him at all.
It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or maybe searching for answers in the middle of a minefield. The best they could do was to shore up their defenses and wait. So Avery had sent everyone home. And the two of them had come here, ostensibly to dig into Draper’s past. But the truth was there was nothing more to learn.
The man was a born killer, and nothing could ever truly assuage the fury that burned inside him. He was like a bomb waiting to be triggered. And Walker—with the help of the Consortium—had set the charge. And now there would be hell to pay.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked, pushing away from the door frame and walking over to the window to stand beside him.
He shook his head, his eyes still on the stars outside. “It all looks so normal,” he said, his voice so quiet she almost couldn’t hear him. “It looked a lot like this the night my sister died. I remember standing at a window a hell of a lot like this one, watching, waiting—unable to do anything else. God, I feel so fucking helpless.”
“That’s what he’s counting on,” she said. “He wants us to fall apart. He’s just trying to get in your head.”
“Well, it’s working.” Harrison blew out a breath and then carefully laid the necklace on the table. “I feel like he’s taunting me. Making me relive it all over again.”
“So what can I do?” she asked, reaching out to take his hand.
“Stay safe?” He gave her the ghost of a smile. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” she said, shaking her head, willing him to believe, “not as long as I’m here with you.”
With a groan, he pulled her into his arms, his eyes devouring her as he bent his head to kiss her. She opened her mouth beneath his lips, offering herself to him—wanting to become a part of him. To heal him. Even as he healed her. Two wounded souls coming together—forming a whole. If someone had said the words out loud, she would have dismissed them as romantic claptrap, but standing here in the half light, with the feel of his skin against hers, it seemed that anything was possible.
His tongue thrust deep, tangling with hers, the two of them taking and giving. Thrusting and parrying. It was like a dance. The movements already defined. The partnership the key.
He removed her glasses and kissed her eyelids, and her cheeks, his tongue tracing a line of heat that sent shivers of desire racing through her. His hand dipped beneath the simple camisole she wore, his fingers closing around her breast, his thumb moving across the nipple. The friction falling somewhere between pleasure and pain, the sensation arousing a fire deep within her.
She pressed against him, and he pushed the camisole off her shoulders, tracing the line of her shoulder with his tongue, then kneeling before her to take one of her breasts in his mouth, his hands hard against her bottom as he sucked, his tongue dancing over her overly sensitized skin until her entire body was throbbing in anticipation.
And then he moved to the other breast, rolling the nipple between his teeth, biting softly, shards of electricity dancing across nerve endings she hadn’t even known she possessed. With gentle hands, he pulled off her pants and panties, his big hands closing around her bottom as he sank lower, kissing her abdomen and then the soft hair that curled between her thighs.
Hannah’s legs turned to Jell-O and she would have fallen except that his hands held her firmly. With a smile, he lifted her leg, pulling it over his shoulder, the action opening her to the full ministrations of his mouth. She threaded her fingers through his hair as he parted the folds that guarded all her secrets. And then with a soft sucking kiss, he pushed his tongue deep inside her as he tasted and teased.
She writhed against him, swallowing a scream as he pulled her clit into his mouth, sucking deeply, building the rhythm as he flicked his tongue against it. The pressure was almost unbearable, and yet when he pulled free, she cried out in frustration.
But instead, he lifted her into his arms, his mouth finding hers again. And she tasted herself on his lips, the essence primordial, and she drank deeply—wanting him so badly she thought she might die from it.
With shaking fingers, she pulled his shirt free, working feverishly to remove it. He released her long enough to take off the rest of his clothes, and then he pulled her back into his arms, settling them onto one of the dining room chairs, his penis hard against her as she straddled him. She opened her mouth to protest, but he covered her lips with a finger, pulling her back so that her bottom was couched in the curve of his lap, her back against his chest, his hands circling her hips as he lifted her.
Opening her legs, he thrust into her, his hands moving to her breasts, fingers circling, kneading, pressing as he began to move, and she began to ride. Up and down. Up and down. He was so deep she felt as if he’d pierced her core. All the places that she kept hidden—secret. He was part of that now. Part of her.
Deeper and deeper still, he thrust. And she closed her eyes, letting the rapture of the movement and the accompanying sensations carry her away. It was like flying. She’d never felt so free.
Beneath her, she could feel his rising tension, feel his muscles contracting with his own desire. And she concentrated on the feel of him rising and falling—thrusting and retreating—matching his rhythm, determined to give him as much as he was giving her.
And then there was nothing but the feel of their bodies moving together, the strength of him moving inside her, and the powerful sensations rocketing through her as they climbed higher and higher, everything in the world disappearing but the two of them, riding a wave of pleasure so strong and pure she wasn’t entirely sure she’d survive it.
But she didn’t care. There was nothing more important than this moment with this man. He was everything. He was thrusting harder and faster now, and she met his challenge with movement of her own. Squeezing and releasing, the friction beyond incredible.
And then his hand slid down between her legs, slipping inside to pleasure her as she pushed downward, taking him deeper still, his lips moving against her neck, her body tightening as if she were a finely tuned bow. And with a spasm of pure joy, she let herself go, falling over the edge, her body shuddering around his as she splintered into shivering delight.
He pulled her close as he, too, found his release, his breathing rasping against her ear, his fingers still stroking her body, his face buried in her hair. They stayed for a moment like that, and then he gathered her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs, but instead of heading for the bedroom, he took her into the bathroom.
Setting her on the soft warmth of the carpet, he ran a bath, the sound of the water sensual and soothing. Steam filled the air, swirling around them as he pulled her to her feet, and after a long languid kiss, helped her into the water.
It lapped around her breasts, teasing her as he took the soap and gently began to lather her body, starting with her back and then moving to her breasts. First one and then the other, his fingers moving tenderly, caressing each one, the soap sliding over her nipples. And then he moved the soap lower, sliding it across her stomach and back and then between her legs, the act more intimate somehow than anything they’d done before.
She shuddered, desire rising again, and with a smile, he moved to the front of the tub and slid into the water, pulling her soap-slick
body onto his lap, her legs around him as he leaned in for a kiss, his tongue tracing the line of her lips before dipping inside.
The kiss was dreamlike. The steam and the water moving around them in slow undulation, enhancing the feel of his mouth moving against hers, and his penis growing hard again between her legs.
Buoyed by the water, she pushed closer, her heat surrounding his, her hips gyrating softly with the motion of the bath water. She felt him growing even harder, his pulse pounding against hers. And she pulled his tongue into her mouth, sucking as she opened her legs, lifting her hips to slide down onto his hard length, taking him deep inside her.
She felt him shudder, his passion laid bare, and she marveled at the fact that she had the power to give him pleasure. And then with a groan, he started to move again, his mouth taking possession of hers, the power shifting again as his hands circled her hips, urging her onward, setting the rhythm for their passion.
As the steam and water caressed them, they moved together, lost in each other’s arms, their passion this time going deeper—the physical joining less important than the binding of their spirits. Hannah was aware enough to know that they were crossing into uncharted territory, and that there would be no going back, but as the power of their lovemaking swept her away, she was certain that she didn’t care.
Wherever they ended up—the journey was going to be worth it. Something she could never regret. Harrison had said that it was important to have faith. But maybe the simple truth was that you just had to hold on to each other and take the leap.
She closed her eyes and let sensation take over. And there was nothing but the feel of their bodies moving together—their hearts beating in tandem. The two of them becoming one. And in that moment, Hannah knew that she was falling in love.
Harrison woke to a tangle of sheets, Hannah’s body pressed against his, one leg thrown possessively across his thigh. For a moment, he simply lay listening to the sound of her breathing, content to be close to her. They had made love more times than he’d have thought himself capable of. Her nearness seemed to inspire him to greater and greater heights. The chair. The bathtub. The floor and the bed. So many surfaces, so little time.
