As they stepped inside, Samantha froze in the entryway.
The place was ramshackle, which fit her recollections. She remembered feeling the grit against her shoes. Remembered smelling decay. Remembered the rough tweed of the old couch beneath her.
It was small inside. A tiny kitchen took up residence in the far left corner. The sink there overflowed with dirty dishes that looked years old. Roaches scurried across the yellowed plates. Sauce was splattered on the stove and counter.
At least Samantha hoped it was sauce.
Her stomach revolted at the thought.
There was also a small table in the corner. Junk was piled high on it. There were old coffee cans, fishing hooks, plates, and pre-packaged food wrappers.
A pea-green tweed couch sat on the opposite wall with an old woven rug in front of it.
Could that be the couch where she’d been prisoner? The dirty rug she’d felt beneath her stockinged feet?
Quinn’s grip on her elbow tightened, but he said nothing. He was giving her space to process, and she deeply appreciated that.
There was no need to go any farther in the house. To her knowledge, this was as far as she’d gone. That couch had been her dungeon for three days—if it was the right one.
“Anything?” Quinn finally asked, his voice full of compassion.
“I’m not sure.” Remembering grit on her feet didn’t quite seem like enough to verify this was the place. She couldn’t haphazardly give an answer, either. Too much was on the line.
“Take as much time as you need.”
Samantha took another step forward and closed her eyes. There was too much noise around for her to remember the sounds of the house. The door was open and a frigid wind swept inside, extinguishing any familiar scents as well.
She needed something else to jog her memory.
“Could I sit on the couch?” Her throat felt achy as the words left her lips.
Quinn glanced at someone—probably a CSI—who gave him a nod.
Slowly, Samantha lowered herself on a filthy cushion. Her hands brushed the fabric and sent another round of nausea through her.
It felt the same as the one from her nightmares.
The dust that rose from the cushions held familiar scents of age and woods and neglect. But she needed more.
“Is there a frame beneath this?” she asked.
“A frame?” Quinn repeated, his warm brown eyes accessing her.
She nodded. “I was tied to something. I assume the rope was attached to a sofa bed maybe. Possibly the sofa frame. I’m not sure.”
He motioned for his guys to check. She stood and watched with bated breath as they took the cushions off. Sure enough, there was a hidden bed there. And on one of the metal frames were wear marks, just as if a rope had rubbed against the metal and worn off the black paint.
Her nausea grew.
When she saw the fireplace across from her, the truth crept closer and closer.
That was the fireplace that had crackled as though the gates of hell had opened and were taunting her.
She took three steps toward it. Heard a creak. The creak.
The one that she’d always heard as the man approached her.
This was the place, she realized with certainty.
Everything went white around her.
Chapter 11
At once, Samantha was back in the watery depths of that partially frozen pond from her nightmares. That familiar layer of clear ice was there, separating her from the help just on the other side.
As always, she was unable to scream. Unable to get any attention.
Her fist banged against the ice, hoping to break it. But it was too thick.
She couldn’t breathe. Water began filling her lungs, drowning her. Hypothermia stole the feeling in her extremities.
And it would be so easy to close her eyes and just let go of everything. To let go of life.
But Samantha couldn’t allow herself to do that.
No, she wasn’t beneath the surface, she realized. But the memory was—the one that begged for her attention.
Whatever her memory was, it lingered at the surface. It was so close yet just out of reach. If she could just break through and retrieve it . . . instead, she disappeared into the pond with it.
“Samantha? Samantha?”
Her thoughts tried to come back to the present. Tried to be rescued from her icy grave.
But part of her didn’t want to.
Maybe she could stay here. Conscious yet unconscious. Part of her didn’t want to face reality. Being in this state of oblivion was a welcome break from the painful memories.
The truth was there. If she could just survive down here another moment. Maybe then the answers would become clearer.
But someone shook her again, rumbling the water around her. She couldn’t fight the pressure to emerge anymore. She pulled her eyes open.
She’d passed out. Again.
Maybe these memories were too much for her to handle. Maybe her body shut down in order to cope.
As she blinked, Agent Quinn’s face came into view. They were in a bleak room. Cold air surrounded them.
Frost peered at her, as well as two officers.
Quinn’s arm slipped around her back, and he helped her to sit up there on the dirty floor.
When she realized where she was, nausea pooled in her gut again. The grit beneath her. The squeaky floor underfoot. That horrid couch.
“This was too much for you,” Quinn said.
Samantha shook her head, hating the fact she was making a spectacle of herself. Wishing she was stronger and more capable and more in control. But she wasn’t. She’d thought she was at one time, but tragedy had humbled her. Sweat covered her palms.
“This . . . this is the place,” she muttered, the life draining from her as the words left her lips. She held onto Quinn, afraid she’d hit the floor again.
Frost’s phone rang and he stepped away. Even having the man farther away made her feel better.
“Are you sure this is the place?” Quinn asked.
She nodded, but the motion caused everything to swirl around her, made her feel like she was inside a snow globe that a toddler was shaking. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Frost put away his phone and approached them again. “I just heard back about who owns this place.”
“Who?” Quinn asked.
“Aaron Jeffries.”
The blood drained from Samantha’s face. Aaron? Her old high school classmate and the friendly town paramedic?
Could he have really been behind all this?
She didn’t want to believe it. But she’d always suspected the Grim Wrecker was someone she knew.
Chapter 12
Quinn left Samantha in the car as he and six other law enforcement officers surrounded the fire station where Aaron Jefferies was working. He’d go in to talk to Aaron—calmly, he hoped. But he needed the men outside as backup, just in case the guy decided to run or do something else foolish.
He didn’t feel comfortable leaving Samantha alone right now—not until they knew for sure where Aaron was and until they confirmed he was their guy. Instead, he directed a sheriff’s deputy to stay with her, just to be safe. He couldn’t take any chances.
Aaron fit the profile on so many different levels. He knew Samantha. He knew the area. He would have been in the middle of the action when the bodies were discovered. For a serial killer, that could be just the buzz he needed.
Could the Grim Wrecker have been under their nose this whole time and no one had seen it?
When the building was sufficiently surrounded—and there was nowhere for Aaron to run—Quinn and Frost entered the station. The fire chief—whom Quinn had already spoken with on the way here—greeted them somberly at the front and directed them to a space toward the back.
They walked into a break room and saw Aaron sitting there eating a sandwich and reading the newspaper. He straightened when he saw them, visibly tensing.
“Y
ou guys are with the FBI,” he muttered, setting his sandwich down. “What’s going on?”
“We have some questions for you, Aaron,” Frost said.
His eyes widened with confusion. “For me? Sure. What do you need?”
“We know about your cabin,” Quinn said.
The confusion remained in his eyes. “What cabin?”
Quinn wasn’t sure if he was playing dumb or not, but he couldn’t let this guy off the hook yet. He was their best lead. “The one down in Miller’s Hollow.”
Aaron’s shoulders slumped slightly. “My granddad’s old place? I haven’t been there in years. What’s going on? What’s the big deal about the cabin?”
Frost crossed his arms and glowered at Aaron. “When was the last time you were there?”
“I don’t understand . . .” He braced his palms on the table top.
“Just answer the question,” Quinn said. “When was the last time you were there?”
He shrugged, his surprise morphing into the beginnings of panic. “Probably when I was fifteen. Before my granddad passed. I used to go there with him on fishing trips. Now that I think about it, some guys from high school and I took a trip there after I graduated. That was the last time I went. Now, what’s going on?”
Frost continued to stare at him, his eyes intense. “When did you take ownership?”
“My granddad passed away five years ago. I haven’t had the heart to sell it. I’m not a hunter or fisherman myself.”
The man seemed to be telling the truth, but Quinn would take nothing for granted. Thoroughness was an asset right now. “Where were you yesterday?”
“You saw me.” His voice rose in pitch as his nerves obviously began to get the best of him as a sheen covered his skin. “I was at the scene of the crime. I helped Samantha after she passed out.”
Frost leaned closer, going full-on with his bad cop persona. Or maybe it wasn’t a persona. “Did you come back to gloat? Because you get some kind of sick high out of seeing officers on the scene? Maybe you called Samantha just so you could see her reaction when she realized who she was speaking with.”
Aaron’s eyes widened.
“Wait. You think I’m the Grim Wrecker?” His voice pitched upward.
Frost continued to stare. “You know a thing or two about cars, don’t you? You could easily sabotage them.”
“So do most of the men in this area. That doesn’t mean we’re all killers.”
“We strongly suspect that cabin is where all the victims have been kept,” Quinn said. “It’s your cabin.”
Aaron stood and raised his hands, his face deathly pale. “Then I’m being framed. I would never do this. You’ve got to know that. I’m in the business of helping people. That’s why I became a paramedic.”
“Could you come down to the station so we could talk then?” Quinn said.
Aaron looked left and then right.
And then he darted toward the door behind him.
* * *
Samantha watched as the officers outside the building took off in a run. Her breath caught. What was going on?
At once she saw Aaron.
He was running. Why would he do that?
Unless he was guilty.
Her heart pounded furiously. She didn’t want to believe he could be behind this. He’d always been nothing but kind to her.
Elise’s words came back to her. He’s always had a crush on you.
That couldn’t be true. The two of them had always just been friends.
The man didn’t have a chance to escape, not with so many officers. Two of them easily tackled him. A moment later, Quinn and Frost appeared and handcuffed him.
Aaron was placed in a police cruiser before Quinn climbed back in the car with her.
“Is he the Grim Wrecker?” Her voice cracking with every other word.
“It’s his grandfather’s old cabin. He claims he hasn’t been there in years. Can you think of any connection he may have had to any of the victims?”
“We went to high school with one. It’s a small town. I’m sure he knew the others. Maybe he responded to emergency calls at their houses?”
“It’s a theory worth looking into.”
Back at the sheriff’s office, Samantha was quarantined in the lounge area. Until Quinn knew for sure that Aaron was behind this, she had to stay. Or, at least, they strongly recommended for her own safety and well-being that she not go anywhere else.
While sitting on a leather couch, an icy knot in her stomach, Samantha kept replaying the events from yesterday. Some detail begged for her attention. Something that didn’t make sense.
If Aaron had been the one who called her yesterday while at Mandy’s car, Samantha would have heard more than silence in the background. Officers were talking all around her during that call. Another police cruiser had pulled up, lights and sirens blazing.
It had been too quiet on the other end of that phone line.
Her gut told her that Aaron wasn’t the person who’d done this.
Yet he’d owned that cabin.
Was that a coincidence? Or had he been set up?
The waiting was killing her.
Someone brought her a sandwich. She forced herself to eat. The ham and cheese had been tasteless to her.
Her attention was drawn to a flurry of activity in the conference room, and her spine tightened.
Something had happened. Something new.
She walked to the door, watching carefully. Holding her breath with anticipation.
Quinn’s eyes met hers through the glass, and she saw the grief there. She knew something was wrong.
He walked toward the door and slipped into the hallway.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Someone found Mandy,” he said.
She froze. “And?”
“She’s dead.”
Chapter 13
I need more. I can’t resist.
I fist my hands and think about my conquest. A surge of delight rushes through me until my toes tingle.
The hunger is back. The hunger for revenge. To make people learn their lessons. It feels so good, so right, so much like . . . my destiny.
I glance at my watch again. I have a break right now where I can slip away. I can do what I need. I can follow my hunger until I’m satisfied.
I know who I need right now. I know the next woman who will die at my hands.
And nothing will stop me.
I pause and ball my hands into fists again. Except maybe Samantha.
But she hasn’t reached out to me.
Maybe she will run to me when her heart breaks. It would be so much sweeter than me forcing her to become mine. With Samantha, my life would be complete. All my hurts would disappear.
I want my life to be complete.
Until then, I need to make my mark. Tell my story.
All as a faceless legend who makes people fear. I climb into my car, ready to begin again.
They used to say I was a nobody.
But look at me now.
I was a headline maker, the one that every woman was talking about.
And there is still more to come.
I put my keys into my ignition and take off down the road, my next victim only minutes away from having her life turned upside down.
Chapter 14
Quinn went to check the scene where Mandy’s body had been discovered. Whereas other women had been left in shallow graves at isolated, private cemeteries, Mandy had been left by a stream, not far from the roadside. Some fishermen had discovered her on one of the rocky boulders there.
Samantha didn’t know for sure—she was only theorizing—but she wondered if Mandy had been left here so her body would be discovered more quickly. Everything seemed accelerated for this murder, happening at a much more rapid speed than with the earlier killings.
As Quinn talked with investigators, Samantha remained in the car. Numbness washed over her.
It was horrible enough that Mandy h
ad been snatched. But she was dead. Already. The Grim Wrecker usually waited three days. Why was he changing his MO?
Samantha could only hope that in his rush, he’d been careless. Maybe he’d made a mistake that would allow the FBI to catch him. It would be the only good that could come out of a situation like this.
After three hours at the scene, Quinn returned to the car and sat down.
He looked pale, like he needed to sleep and eat. No doubt he’d been going nonstop since this started. Yet strength still emanated from him, an underlying calmness in his soul.
He didn’t need to say anything. She knew the truth; this was heartbreaking.
He dropped his head back and let out a breath before turning toward her. “Listen, you want to grab a bite to eat?”
“Now?”
“Don’t worry—I’ll still be in work mode. But I might think more clearly with some food in my stomach. Maybe you will too.”
She nodded, realizing she could use some nourishment also. “Okay then.”
“Anywhere around here to get a good hamburger?”
“I know just the place.”
She didn’t ask any questions as they drove. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the details of the crime scene. If she wanted to know if Mandy had been tortured. If her body showed signs of trauma. If she’d suffered.
Finally, they stopped at the Burger Shack, sat at a corner table surrounded by windows that displayed the majestic mountains in the background, and their food was delivered.
Quinn studied her a minute. “How’d you get through it, Samantha? You seem so calm right now.”
His question surprised her. She thought Quinn would jump right into questions about the case. Instead, he was asking about her.
She didn’t have to think very hard about her answer. She dwelt daily on the one thing that had grounded her. “Really, I wouldn’t have gotten through any of this without my faith.”
“Your faith in what?” He took a bite of his burger.
“In God. He’s helped me to see a perspective outside of this world around me. A higher vision, of sorts. I want to use my tragedy to help others.”
The Wrecking (Suspense Thriller) Page 5
