by Brenda Novak
“Describe him,” Bennett said.
“White guy, dark hair, blue eyes. Shit—I don’t know. His hair was pushed back. I just—I really noticed the car, okay? It was a sweet ride. Damn fine. I was looking more at it than I was at him.”
Bennett motioned to a nearby officer who hurried over. Then Bennett focused on the witness again. “Did you get the tag number?”
“Uh…”
No, he hadn’t. Ivy could already tell that from the man’s tone of voice.
Bennett turned to the uniform. “There’s a traffic camera at the light two blocks away. Get access to that camera, now. If the Porsche is on there, we can get the license plate.” He pointed at Morris. “And you’re going to describe the vehicle to us. Every detail. We’ll get an APB out on the car. I want every Porsche fitting that description pulled over right the fuck now. The guy wants to drive a fancy ride? His mistake. It will just make tracking him easier.”
Maybe…Ivy shifted a bit nervously from foot to foot as she considered the matter.
But the killer had stolen Hugh’s phone to call her.
So maybe he’d just stolen that car from someone, too. Just in case…in case a situation like this occurred. If his car was spotted, he wouldn’t want it to be traced back to him.
“It was dark blue,” Morris said quickly. “A new car, one of those fancy 911 models.”
Oh, hell. Ivy cleared her throat. She had to speak up now. “I know someone with a car like that.”
Bennett’s gaze was immediately on her.
“Cameron Wilde,” she said softly. “He got that 911 just a few months ago.” He’d been so proud of that car, driving it everywhere. Then he’d gotten a scratch on it when the car had been parked at a wine bar. After that, he’d started keeping his ride locked up in his garage, and taking his “baby” out only for special occasions.
“Was Cameron attending the party tonight?” Bennett asked her.
“I don’t think so. When I talked to him last…” A talk that hadn’t gone so well. “He said he was heading over to his beach house. He has a place in Fort Morgan.” That would be about an hour drive away. “If his plans changed, he didn’t tell me.” And he wouldn’t. Because he’d been pissed when he left her.
“I’m putting out an APB for that car,” Bennett said, his voice hard. “And I want you…” His gaze cut back to Morris once more. “I want you going downtown.”
Morris lifted his hands. “Aw, man, no, I—”
“You’re working with a sketch artist. You saw the guy. You—and any of your men who were close by. I want every single detail that you can give me. This man has killed three people in the last two days. He’s not getting away with his crimes.”
Because if they didn’t catch him, Ivy knew he’d just be killing someone else again soon.
“And I want a patrol car sent to Cameron Wilde’s house, right now,” Bennett gritted out as the officer near him nodded briskly. “Bring him in to the station. I’ll be having a nice chat with him, too.”
“Bennett—” Ivy began.
He whirled toward her. He took two steps and his hands caught her shoulders. “It could have been you in that body bag.”
She shook her head.
“He called you. He lured you here. He’s baiting us. Playing a game that I won’t let him win.” His breath sawed out as his eyes glittered down at her. “I won’t let you be his victim. I can’t.” His hold tightened on her. “I need you too much.”
That was good, right? He needed her. He—
“So I’m sorry, Ivy, but this has to be done. You matter too much. I can’t risk you.” He dropped his hands and stepped back.
Oh, no. She got a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Bennett?” Just what was he doing?
Bennett sighed. “Officer Jansen, please place Ivy DuLane in protective custody.”
“What?” Had she just misheard? Because she was already freaking out over Shelly, so maybe—
“You’re going to have a guard, twenty-four seven, until this bastard is caught.” Bennett’s hands clenched at his sides. “You’re not going in a body bag, understand? I won’t let that happen. I’ve seen first-hand what sick freaks like him do to their prey. How they get off on the pain. That’s not happening to you. It can’t.” His voice sounded ragged as he whirled away from her.
Seriously—that was it? “Bennett?” Chill bumps rose on her arms.
“Um, Ms. DuLane?” A female officer was at her side. Must be Officer Jansen. She hadn’t even realized the woman was there until Bennett had said the lady’s name. “You’ll need to come with me now.”
Bennett had already paced several feet away. He was on his phone, barking orders. Probably demanding that APB and putting out a search for Cameron.
“Can he do that?” Ivy asked. “Can he just put me in protective custody?”
“Uh, ma’am, it’s for your safety.”
The ME’s van was pulling away. Shelly didn’t have any chance of safety. She shouldn’t have died. If the killer was truly playing a game…then why won’t he just come after me? Why was he bringing her friends and her brother into this nightmare?
“Life can change so fast,” Ivy murmured. “Two days ago, my biggest worry was whether or not I’d get enough new clients this year for my business.”
Now…
Now she had to worry about staying alive. Worry about protecting those close to her.
If he wants me, then he needs to focus on me. And leave them the hell alone.
“Ma’am,” Officer Jansen’s voice hardened. “You need to come with me now.”
Ivy nodded. Yes, she did. And she also needed to figure out what the hell she could do next.
***
Police Chief Berney Quarrel stalked into Bennett’s office and shut the door behind him with a soft click. “Tell me…please tell me that I didn’t see Senator DuLane’s son in my interrogation room.”
Bennett put down his phone. “You saw him.”
The chief winced. “You really thinking that man is our killer? That he brutally stabbed his own girlfriend and then just hung around at that party, waiting for her body to be found?”
I think Hugh DuLane has plenty of secrets.
“You think that man is harassing his own sister? Trying to kill her?”
“No, shit, I don’t.” Because Bennett thought the man they were after had driven away in a Porsche. “I saw Hugh when he realized Shelly Estes was dead.” The guy had been destroyed. And Bennett didn’t think that reaction had been faked. “He’s just one of the killer’s pawns. Hell, the guy is in interrogation because I think he saw the bastard. I think the guy walked right up to Hugh and took his phone, and DuLane didn’t even realize what was happening.”
The chief grunted. “Well, that makes things easier. At least I won’t have to deal with the nightmare of arresting a DuLane.”
Even with the scandals that had been attached to their family, Bennett knew the name still carried power. Power and too much wealth.
“Would it matter?” Bennett asked him grimly. “Say Hugh was our killer. Would his last name stop you from arresting the guy?” Because the senator hadn’t been arrested when he’d committed murder. Back then, the cops had just let him walk.
The chief’s face hardened. “You must not know me well, son. Because you shouldn’t have to ask that question.” His coal black eyes narrowed. “Money and power don’t mean shit to me if you’re guilty.”
Good. Bennett nodded. “My apologies, sir.”
The chief grunted. “You think I don’t know about what went down here before? I heard all about your aunt.”
That wasn’t what Bennett had expected to hear right then.
“That shit won’t go down under my command. Count on it.”
Bennett’s respect for the man notched up even more.
“Now tell me about Cameron Wilde,” the chief said gruffly.
He wished that he had more to say. “You know Cameron Wilde is missing.”<
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The chief lowered into Bennett’s desk chair.
“Wilde and the Porsche.” The traffic camera had caught that vehicle fleeing, and they’d gotten the tag number, a tag number that showed the owner of the vehicle was one Cameron Wilde.
His hair isn’t dark. It’s blond. But, otherwise… “There weren’t any signs of foul play at his house in Mobile. Ivy told me the guy had a second home over at the Fort Morgan beach area. I had officers from the Fort Morgan police department check the place out, but they said it looked deserted.” Not a good sign. “They’re going to head back at first light and check again.” Though they sure hadn’t sounded very hopeful when they’d talked to him.
“How are those sketches going?” Chief Quarrel asked him.
“Fucking worthless.” He shook his head. “We had three witnesses who saw the guy—Morris Hatch, the head of the security at the gate, a guy named Todd Wiles, and Peter Blask, the valet. All three men saw the driver of that Porsche. And when they were paired up with sketch artists, all damn three of them described a different man. The pictures are useless to me.”
The chief sighed. “You know how faulty eye witness descriptions can be—especially in situations like this one.”
Yeah, he damn well knew how unreliable such testimony could be. He’d had his share of issues with misleading descriptions during his time with the FBI. But he’d hoped they’d gotten lucky. He’d needed to see who he was hunting.
“I’ve got the APB out for Wilde,” Bennett said. “Uniforms are searching his property and his business. We should be able to find him.”
The chief just looked back at him.
And Bennett knew the chief was thinking the same thing he was. We should be able to find him…provided that Cameron Wilde was still alive.
He wasn’t so sure about that. Maybe the killer had stabbed Cameron and dumped his body, then taken his ride.
“You’re the hotshot from the FBI,” the chief groused. “I know you worked with serials. Is that what we’ve got here? A serial?”
Bennett’s hand rose and pressed to his side. Beneath his shirt, he could just feel the ridge of his scar. So many scars marked him. “Usually, serials have certain victim types that they enjoy.”
“Like pretty young brunettes…”
“Just like that.”
The chief’s fingers tapped on Bennett’s desk. “Give me a profile.”
Bennett’s brows rose. “I’m not a profiler, not some psychiatrist—”
“Aw, cut the bullshit. You were Violent Crimes. I know you’re the one who tracked down the Greenville Trapper.”
Bennett didn’t let his expression alter. Greenville Trapper. That was the name the media had come up with for the killer who had terrorized the Greenville, South Carolina area. A man who’d hunted his prey—and had trapped that prey. The Trapper had seen himself as some sort of big gamesman, and he’d only gone after big prey. Men in their prime. Men who were physically fit. Men who could survive his game for longer periods of time.
Because after he’d trapped his prey, the sick freak had enjoyed torturing them…for weeks.
“I tracked him,” Bennett said grimly. The marks beneath his clothes—the scars he would always carry—seemed to burn.
“So I think you know a pretty good bit about profiling killers.” The chief motioned to him. “Profile this one. Go—”
Bennett’s door flew open. Ivy stood there, chest heaving, her dark eyes blazing at him. “Three hours,” she snapped.
What was she doing there? She was—
“I’ve been back in holding for three hours.” She stalked toward him and jabbed her finger into his chest. “Like a common criminal! I’m all for protective custody. I mean, hell, do what you need to do, but you can’t just lock me up and forget about me!”
As if he could forget about her.
“You need to use me,” Ivy said flatly. “The killer is calling me. He’s hurting my friends—use me.”
The fuck he would.
“Ah, Ms. DuLane,” the chief murmured as he rose. “I was wondering when you’d be making an appearance.”
Ivy glanced over at him. “As exciting as I find your jail, Chief. I think my time can be better spent elsewhere.”
“Actually,” the chief drawled. “I think you might be here just in time. Detective Morgan was just about to tell me what sort of profile he had for the killer.”
“He was?” Ivy asked quickly.
“Uh, chief, she’s a civilian. She—”
“Do you have any idea how many cold cases the woman has solved in the last year?” The chief marched toward Bennett. “I tried to draft her for my force, but she likes playing it independent. Just like her grandfather.”
And he suddenly wondered if—like Dr. Battiste—the chief had enjoyed fishing with Ivy’s grandfather back in the day.
“He would have been proud of you,” the chief murmured to Ivy.
“I don’t know about that,” she whispered, her voice so low that Bennett barely heard her words. But then Ivy straightened her shoulders. “Give us the profile, Bennett, and then let’s see what we can do to trap him.”
Trap him.
For an instant, Bennett remembered pain. Screams. Death.
“Bennett?” Ivy frowned at him. “Are you okay?”
No, he hadn’t been okay in a very long time.
When he’d been far too close to death, when his partner had been dead around him, the Greenville Trapper—a guy with the non-threatening name of Paul Friend—had tried to make Bennett beg. He’d tried to break him.
Bennett had screamed with his agony, but he hadn’t broken.
Because he’d been thinking…
Of her.
“He’s obsessed,” Bennett said flatly. “A woman…a woman he can’t let go. A woman he wants to own.”
Ivy stared up at him.
“Dark hair, mid-twenties…beautiful.”
You won’t touch her.
“He’s been killing a while. So confident. The first time he killed…it was her.” His obsession. “And he got high from the pleasure of taking her life. Of having the ultimate control. He liked that feeling. He liked having her…so he did it again and again…but he was smart. He picked two different towns. He killed when the crowds were at their full height. When the cops were so busy that they didn’t notice a woman missing. He did that, not too often, maybe once a year or once every two years, controlling himself as much as possible. Choosing his victims and hunting.”
Ivy licked her lower lip. “But he’s had more than one victim this year.”
Yes, he had. “Because something changed in his equation. You changed things.”
“Th-that’s why he called me. Why he’s targeting my friends. Because I saw him kill Evette.”
Yes. “Maybe he liked that you saw. Maybe it pissed him off. I don’t know yet—but you were a trigger for him. You broke his control. He’s acting on impulse now, with no cooling off period between his kills, and that makes him even more dangerous.”
The chief rubbed his chin. “Because that means we don’t know what he’ll do next?”
Bennett nodded. “We need to contact the FBI. They’ll send a team down here. He’s been crossing state lines, killing for years. He’s a serial they need to chase.”
Ivy grabbed his arm. “You were FBI! You can catch him. Bennett, come on, we can do this.”
“You’re out of your league, Ivy.” She didn’t understand. “What will you do if he gets you alone again? If you can’t get free? When he drives his knife into you…what will you do?”
Die.
He couldn’t let that happen.
“If he’s focused on me, if I set him off, then we can use that,” she said desperately. “Bennett, we can—”
“He’ll kill you! He’ll stab you, carve you up until nothing is left!” His fury and fear erupted. “Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?”
She sucked in a sharp breath and pulled her hand away from him.
/>
Silence.
“Yeah…” The chief murmured. “I’ll let you two talk this out a bit more. I think I’ll head in there and see what her brother has to say…”
Ivy didn’t speak, not until the chief closed the door behind him.
Then…
“What the fuck,” Ivy asked softly, “am I supposed to do if he targets someone else that I care about?”
He flexed his fingers. He wanted to touch her. Wanted to hold her tight.
“If he calls me again, if he contacts me…we bait the trap,” Ivy said as her dark gaze held his. “Stop looking at this from a personal angle. If you didn’t know me, if you’d never slept with me…wouldn’t you already be using me to catch him?”
His hand lifted and slid under her chin. “I do know you. I did sleep with you.” Too long ago. He needed her now. “And I will be lost if he hurts you.”
“Bennett?” She stared at him in confusion, as if she didn’t know him.
When she was the only one he’d ever let close. “How do you think I survived before? When that freak had me chained up in that cabin? When he took his time slicing the skin from my chest even as my partner’s dead body was just a few feet away?”
She backed up a step. “I didn’t…I didn’t know!”
She’d asked for the gritty details before. Be careful what you wish for. “That’s what you’re asking for, baby. You’re asking to become a serial killer’s toy. You’re asking me to stand back and let that shit happen to you.” He gave a grim shake of his head. “No, it won’t happen. It can’t happen.”
“Bennett…”
“That’s my worst fear,” he rasped. “For you to be hurt like that. For you to be trapped, to need me…”
“Protective custody,” she said softly. “Now I understand.” She threw her arms around him.
He bent, hugging her, holding her as tightly as he could.
He thought of the way Hugh had reacted when he’d seen Shelly’s body. The guy had been destroyed.
If Ivy had been on that floor…
“It can’t happen,” he said flatly. “It won’t.” Because he truly would go mad. She didn’t get it—Ivy thought he’d left town and never given her another thought.
But she’d been on his mind. Every day. The one thing that had been his.
