by Rita Herron
Samson worked with Cat, which meant he could have knowledge of the latest Keeper, the one who’d killed Milburn. He could have even committed the crime for her.
“Seth Samson is a good employee,” Heard said. “He keeps to himself, treats the patients with kindness and respect.”
That didn’t fit with the image of the man Wyatt had created in his head—an image painted by the starving dog locked in that cage in the closet.
“He works on the floor where Cat Landon is, doesn’t he?”
Heard shifted. “He does. I warned him and all the employees to be cautious around her. She can be very charming.”
So could sociopaths.
Wyatt raised a brow. “You think they have a sexual relationship?”
Heard looked surprised at his bluntness, but Wyatt didn’t have time to beat around the bush.
“Ms. Landon doesn’t like men, at least not in that way,” Heard said.
“I’d like to talk to Samson,” Wyatt said.
Heard pressed an intercom button and paged Samson. Several minutes later, when the man hadn’t shown up, Heard motioned for Wyatt to follow him.
Just as they exited the elevator, Wyatt spotted Samson ducking into the stairwell at the end of the hall. Heard called his name, but Samson broke into a run.
Wyatt jogged after him. He passed a nurse with a medical cart and ran around it, then ducked into the stairwell where Samson had disappeared. Footsteps pounded the cement steps. He followed.
One flight, then a second, then a door screeched open. The exit. He dashed down the last few steps and raced through the door. Samson was sprinting across the grass toward the parking lot.
Wyatt’s leg throbbed, but he ignored the pain and sped up. “Stop, Samson, I’m FBI.”
But the man didn’t even slow down.
Wyatt yelled his name again, then dove at him and knocked him to the ground. Samson heaved for a breath, finally going still when Wyatt dug his knee into the man’s back to make him stop fighting.
“I didn’t do anything!” Samson shouted.
Wyatt snapped cuffs around the man’s wrists, securing his hands behind him, then rolled him over.
“Then why the hell did you run?”
Samson’s eyes darted sideways, a guilty reaction that made Wyatt even angrier.
“What didn’t you do?” he said between gritted teeth.
“I don’t know, whatever it is you think I did.”
“I’m not here to play games, Samson,” Wyatt said. “Did you kidnap Joyce Ferris and kill her?”
“What?” Samson’s eyes widened in shock. “No, God no. I would never hurt anyone.”
Wyatt narrowed his eyes. “You locked your dog in a cage and starved him.”
Samson’s erratic breathing punctuated the air. “I wasn’t starving that animal. I was training him.”
“That is no way to train an animal. It’s called abuse.” Wyatt yanked him to a standing position. “And I intend to charge you with animal cruelty.”
“You’re arresting me for not feeding my dog enough?” Samson bellowed. “Don’t you have more important things to do?”
“Abusing animals is a precursor for abusing others. Even murder.”
“I didn’t murder anyone,” Samson said. “I’m a nurse. I help people.”
Heard ran up, his breathing labored.
“Then I’ll ask you one more time,” Wyatt said as Heard stopped beside them. “Why did you run?”
Samson glanced at his boss, then down at his feet. “I didn’t want to get fired.”
“Why do you think you’re going to get fired?” Heard asked curtly.
Samson shifted, his expression strained. “For helping Ms. Landon.”
The image of Milburn’s body flashed in Wyatt’s mind. “How did you help her?”
“I gave her a phone,” Samson said. “She wanted to communicate with her mother. I didn’t think it would harm anything.”
Heard folded his arms. “You know our policy, Samson. Giving a patient a phone or a tablet is considered contraband.”
“Cat wanted to call her mother?” Wyatt asked pointedly. “But she hates her.”
Samson gave him a wide-eyed look. “That’s what she told me. She was crying the other day and said she wanted to make amends with her.”
And he’d fallen for her act. “I doubt she was talking with her mother,” Wyatt said icily. “She was most likely communicating with the Keepers.”
Shock streaked Samson’s face again.
“If she orchestrated the murder of Milt Milburn, then you helped her do it.”
“I had nothing to do with that. I swear I didn’t.”
Wyatt grunted. “You provided her with the means to put a murder plan in motion. That can be considered conspiracy.”
The implication that he could be charged as an accomplice sank in, and Samson moaned a protest.
Wyatt jerked him to his feet and shoved him toward the hospital. He’d haul him into the field office later.
But first he wanted to see that phone. If Cat was running the Keepers from inside the hospital, they might be able to trace it to Milburn’s killer.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Nerves clawed at Tinsley as she read Wyatt’s text message. Liz was wringing her hands together, her expression tormented. Mr. Jingles sat perched on the bar by the door to his cage, his eyes darting back and forth as if he knew something was wrong.
“Who was that?” Liz asked, her voice tight.
If Liz had drugged her, she wanted an explanation. Liz was supposed to be helping her overcome her trauma. “Wyatt. He got test results back on the tea bottles. I was definitely drugged.”
Liz’s eyes widened. “Who drugged you?”
“It wasn’t the Skull,” Tinsley said. “A woman’s hair was found outside with those skulls. At first we thought it was Marilyn Ellis’s, that she made me think the Skull was back just to get a story.”
Liz sighed. “But it wasn’t.”
Not a question but a statement.
“How did you know that?” Tinsley asked. “Do you know who drugged my tea?”
Liz averted her gaze. “I can’t say. I wish I could, but I can’t.”
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Tinsley said, unwilling to let it go. “I poured my heart out to you and trusted you, and you sabotaged me. Why?”
“No.” Horror tinged Liz’s voice. “I swear, Tinsley. I would never do anything to hurt you, much less terrorize you. I’m your friend.”
“Then why are you acting so strange?” Tinsley cried.
Emotions clouded Liz’s face as she grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. “Just watch this special newscast, and you’ll understand.”
Tinsley wanted to scream, but Liz turned up the volume as the camera zoomed in on Marilyn Ellis.
Tinsley gaped in shock.
Her sister was sitting beside the news anchor. What in the world was going on?
“This is Marilyn Ellis with this breaking story—an exclusive interview with Carrie Ann Jensen. Ms. Jensen is the sister of Tinsley Jensen, the only known surviving victim of the man the police call the Skull.” She angled the microphone toward Carrie Ann.
“Oftentimes people don’t realize the far-reaching effects a victim’s trauma has on his or her loved ones. The devastation is like a poison that spreads to anyone associated with the victim, whether family, friend, neighbor, or coworker.” Ellis paused, her voice softening. “Today we’re going to hear firsthand just how deeply impacted Tinsley Jensen’s family was.”
Tinsley twisted her hands together. “How dare that reporter do this segment without my permission. And why would Carrie Ann agree?”
Liz took her hand in hers and squeezed it. “I’m sorry, I know your life was ripped apart. Unfortunately, so was your sister’s. She wanted to do this.”
“You know Carrie Ann?”
Liz nodded. “I met her in a group counseling session. She’s had a difficult time this past year.”
Carrie Ann straightened her shoulders. “I’m not telling my story to earn sympathy. In fact, I didn’t handle things well after Tinsley was rescued. I was selfish and childish and wanted her to assure me that everything was all right.”
But she hadn’t done that, Tinsley thought. She’d been too lost herself.
Carrie Ann continued, “My sister was abducted almost twelve months ago. With that gruesome anniversary approaching, and with my sister still locked away in fear, I was desperate to do something. To find the man who tore apart our lives.”
Tinsley’s heart pounded.
“So I concocted a plan to draw him out. The Skull had gone radio-silent, but I knew he’d come back for her one day. The wait was destroying both of us. So I figured if he thought someone was copying his crimes, he’d take notice. Maybe get mad. Come out of hiding.”
“What did you do?” Tinsley whispered.
“So I dug up some skeletons and put the skulls on my sister’s porch to get his attention. This bastard is narcissistic. His ego drives him. He wants people to know who he is. I knew he’d hate it if someone else took credit for being him.”
She wiped at a tear and faced the camera as if she was directing her words to Tinsley. “I’m so sorry, sis,” Carrie Ann said. “I knew it would scare you to think he was back, but I thought it might push you to leave the house. To move in with me so you wouldn’t be alone anymore.”
Tears filled Tinsley’s eyes.
“I had no idea my actions would endanger anyone else. No idea this maniac would kidnap Dr. Joyce Ferris and hurt her, much less kill her. I’ll . . . never forgive myself for that.” Carrie Ann inhaled sharply, defiance in her expression. “So whoever you are, hiding behind that Skull mask, if you want to retaliate against anyone for posing as you, then here I am. My sister had nothing to do with it. It was all me.”
Horror ripped through Tinsley. Her sister had drugged her tea and left the skulls on her doorstep.
And now she’d challenged that monster to come after her.
This was Tinsley’s worst nightmare.
“I thought I was protecting her by pushing her away,” Tinsley said in a hoarse whisper.
Instead, she’d pushed Carrie Ann right into the hands of a madman.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cat said. “What phone?”
“Give it up, Cat,” Wyatt said. “You and I both know that I won’t buy your act.”
“Ms. Landon, unless you want to spend some time alone, and I do mean alone with no privileges,” Heard said, “then hand it over.”
Cat fumed but stormed over to the corner in her room, unscrewed the vent, and removed the phone. She seared Wyatt with a furious look when she slapped it into his hand.
“You won’t find anything in there,” Cat said.
Cat was a tech expert, a genius in the field. She’d probably already erased anything incriminating.
“Your replacement at our field office is smart and honest,” he said, hoping to put Cat in her place.
She simply glared at him, then tapped her foot. “Maybe so. But instead of hounding me about Milburn’s killer, why aren’t you tracking down the real monsters out there?”
“We are doing that,” Wyatt said. “So if you have any idea who the new Keeper is, tell us.”
Cat’s devious look chilled him. “How could I know? I’ve been locked in this hellhole for months.”
“Maybe you orchestrated Milburn’s death with that phone Samson gave you.”
“That’s a stretch.”
“Are you talking with the new Keeper? Or is there a group of you out there?”
“I told you before that I acted alone.”
“I don’t believe you. I think you and the Keepers are hunting the Skull so you can put him to death before we can make an arrest.”
Her smile lifted. “He deserves to die.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “Don’t stonewall us, Cat. If you know who the Skull is or where he is, tell me so I can stop him before he hurts anyone else.”
“I wish I could help you, but I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
She folded her arms again and turned her back on him. Samson stood at the door, looking shaken, like he would run again if he had the chance. A night in jail would do him good.
Wyatt tucked the phone in his pocket, shoved Samson into the hall, and followed Heard out of the building to his SUV. He secured Samson in the back seat and drove straight to the field office, then threw the man into a holding cell.
He handed the phone over to Bernie, and she immediately went to work on it.
“You think Cat knows the Skull’s identity?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I think she’s working with the Keepers again. Word was before that they have a list of targets. The River Street Rapist was on that list. My guess is that the Skull is, too.”
“So how would they find him if we can’t?”
“Good question. She and Marilyn Ellis seem to know a lot of things before we release information.”
Bernie was busy tapping keys and running a search.
“Damn, you’re right. She tried to delete her posts to the Keepers. But I found one connection.”
“To whom?”
Bernie drummed her fingers on the desk. “To a woman named Carrie Ann.”
Wyatt went still. “Carrie Ann Jensen?”
“No last name listed, but . . .” She tapped a few more keys. “Yes, Jensen.” She swung her chair toward Wyatt. “That’s Tinsley’s sister, right?”
He nodded. “What exactly did you find?”
“Looks like she joined the Keepers.”
Wyatt’s phone buzzed. A text from Hatcher.
Turn on the news. Tinsley’s sister is on with Marilyn Ellis.
“Find the news,” Wyatt told Bernie.
Bernie leaned in, studying the information spilling onto her screen, then clicked a few keys on the computer monitor.
He sat dumbfounded as Tinsley’s sister addressed the reporter and admitted that she was the impostor who’d terrified Tinsley, that she’d done so to smoke out the Skull.
Fuck. Carrie Ann’s ploy had pissed off the Skull and driven him to kidnap Dr. Ferris.
Earlier he’d wondered why the bastard had killed her instead of holding her hostage and torturing her.
The truth hit him like a knife in the gut.
He’d killed Joyce Ferris because she wasn’t Tinsley.
Which meant he was coming for Tinsley.
He snatched his phone and punched Marilyn Ellis’s number. He needed her to make sure she kept Carrie Ann at the station.
Then he’d call the officer guarding Tinsley and put him on alert.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Cat paced her room, furious with Camden. He was too damn by-the-book. She would have thought that he and Hatcher would understand the reason she’d resorted to taking justice into her own hands.
They saw firsthand the devastating effects when they failed to get justice for a victim.
Just look at Tinsley Jensen and the River Street Rapist’s victims.
But Camden had confiscated her phone. She’d covered the bases and deleted anything that might lead back to the Keepers, but if that new analyst was as good as Camden said, as good as her, then she’d eventually find a link.
She might be locked up, but she’d protect the others at all costs.
Antsy, she dug out the letters her mother had written.
Her hand trembled as childhood memories of Esme baking Christmas cookies with her taunted her. For a few short years, she’d had a happy childhood. Even without a daddy, Esme had loved her enough to make up for it.
Until the shrink who was supposed to help her had taken advantage of her.
Sure, Esme had apologized, but . . . it didn�
�t change things.
Tears blurred her eyes as she turned one of the envelopes over in her hand. She studied the handwriting. Knew what Esme would say inside.
Esme wasn’t a bad woman. She’d done her best. One day she’d tell her that.
Cat pressed her hands against her eyes to stem the stupid tears.
She couldn’t afford to be weak.
Couldn’t start letting emotions interfere with the cause.
The Keepers were doing the right thing. Making up with her mother would only compromise their plans.
Weak people didn’t achieve anything.
The Keepers were more important than anything personal Cat wanted for herself.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Carrie Ann waited to the side as Marilyn Ellis finished her segment. Some folks didn’t like Marilyn. She hadn’t either at first, not when she’d bugged Tinsley.
But she admired her guts and tenacity.
She wanted to be strong like Marilyn. And she wanted to comfort Tinsley instead of relying on her sister to take care of her.
Once she’d started reading Heart & Soul, she couldn’t stop herself from reading every single post. The tormented cries from the women who’d posted had hit home.
And her sister . . . her soulful cries from her self-imposed prison had made Carrie Ann ache inside. She’d known she had to do something to end the hold that maniac had on her.
So she’d devised a plan. Had befriended the Keepers. And Marilyn.
But things had gone wrong. And Tinsley was going to hate her now.
God help her, she hadn’t meant for anyone else to get hurt.
Hopefully today’s plan would work. She just hoped she didn’t get herself killed in the process.
But if she did, at least Tinsley would finally be free.
Marilyn finished and strode toward her, an odd look in her eyes. “You did good today, Carrie Ann. But putting yourself out there is dangerous.”
Carrie Ann bit her bottom lip. “It’s time someone stopped him.”
