I Can Kill: An FBI Thriller (The O'Reilly Files Book 1)

by Angela Kay

  If that were even possible.

  Aidan cursed again, jamming his thumb on the power button of the remote and tossing it toward the couch. It missed the cushion by an inch and hit the wall with a loud crash.

  “I’m on the way to the news station now,” Shaun informed him.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m on the way.”

  Aidan ended the conversation and slipped his cell back into its holder.

  “I’ve got to go,” he told the girls.

  “I really wish you would quit that,” Cheyenne scolded, fitting her glasses more comfortably on the bridge of her nose.

  “What?” Aidan asked as he made his way to the door.

  “You know what—that profanity you do,” she stated. “It really bothers me. I tell you all the time.”

  “I know,” Aidan muttered. “I’ll work on it. But right now, I’ve got to get back to work.”

  He kissed her cheek, and she told him to be careful. Telling Cheyenne he loved her, Aidan said goodbye to Laura and hurried out the front door where the bureau car waited.

  9

  AIDAN pulled INTO the WJFX News parking space as Shaun climbed out of his car. He pushed his door closed and waited until Aidan parked and turned off the ignition, then met him at the driver’s side. Shaun pulled open the door.

  “This is a mess,” he complained.

  “You’re not kidding,” Aidan agreed, unbuckling. “We hardly started investigating. Now the state’s going to be in panic mode. We’re not sure yet if it is The Carnations Killer.” He climbed out, slammed his door. Straightening his dress shirt, he released a heavy sigh.

  Another wave of sleepiness overtook him, and he attempted to mask it by shaking his head.

  Shaun looked at him curiously. “Are you saying you don’t think it’s The Carnations Killer after all?”

  Aidan frowned and crossed his arms. “I’m saying we don’t know anything yet. Until we do know something, there isn’t a need to cause undue panic.” He paused, then in a low voice said, “But I have no doubt in my mind The Carnations Killer murdered Maya Gibson. We have to proceed carefully. All he wants is attention. Fear. That’s why he contacted this reporter in the first place. And because of Jordan Blake, that’s exactly what he’s about to get.”

  They began walking, and as they reached the door, Shaun grabbed the handle. Before he opened it, he regarded Aidan.

  “Do me a favor and don’t punch this guy.”

  Aidan eyed him, wondering how he could tell what he was thinking. They’d only met this morning, and he seemed to have the ability to read his mind.

  “Why not?” Aidan said. “He deserves it.”

  “Because if you were in his shoes, you would have done the same thing,” Shaun pointed out. “As would I.”

  Aidan rolled his eyes.

  “Fine,” he promised after it was clear they wouldn't be proceeding without an agreement. “I won’t punch him.”

  “Good,” Shaun said with undeniable satisfaction, pulling the door open.

  They walked into the building side-by-side, and a few minutes later found themselves in a conference room. Jordan Blake was already waiting, sitting comfortably in his chair, one leg over another. Next to him sat the cameraman who attended him at Clarks Hill Lake.

  “Agents,” Jordan acknowledged, a smug smile playing on his lips.

  The sight of him made Aidan want to deck him.

  Before he had the chance to respond, the door opened, and another man stepped through.

  “Agents O’Reilly and Henderson?”

  “Yes,” Shaun said, extending his hand.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Thomas Blake.”

  After shaking his hand, Aidan looked from Jordan to Thomas.

  “What I'm sure you're thinking is correct. The conceited young news reporter over there happens to be my youngest nephew,” Thomas explained. “He’s full of himself but is a dang good reporter.”

  “I see,” Aidan replied. “But that doesn’t give him the right to go on the air and—”

  “So, the first amendment doesn’t apply when it comes to reporting serial killers?” Jordan interjected.

  Aidan squared his jaw.

  “The point Agent O’Reilly is trying to make, Mr. Blake,” Shaun said, “is that informing the public there’s a serial killer in the vicinity, without prior authorization, does nothing but create havoc within the community.”

  “But don’t they have a right to know?” Jordan pressed.

  “They do,” Shaun admitted. “However, we need time to assess the situation.”

  He waved his hand and took a seat across from the reporter. Aidan followed suit, remaining quiet. He opted to let Shaun do the talking. Aidan decided his new comrade seemed like he’d handle it much better than Aidan ever could. Aidan worried he may make the situation worse if he spoke.

  “But what’s done is done.” Shaun cleared his throat and folded his hands together. “Can we see the card?”

  Aidan followed Jordan’s gaze toward his uncle, who remained standing by the door. Thomas gave him a slight nod, resulting in a light sigh from the reporter. He leaned toward the floor and removed an envelope from his bag and set it on the table, pushing it across the table.

  Shaun used a tissue to retrieve the envelope. He used another tissue to remove the card. They read the note.

  “Did you see who left the card?”

  “Kent was the one who saw the guy,” Jordan replied.

  Aidan regarded Kent, who shook his head.

  “I didn't get a good look at him. He was white, black hair. I saw him lean down and slide the card underneath the door. Then he walked away. At the time, I thought it was a fan. Jordan gets a lot of fan mail, and with his birthday coming, he gets plenty of cards and gifts.”

  “We’re going to have to admit this as evidence,” Shaun said.

  “Think you’ll be able to get fingerprints off it?” Jordan asked.

  “Doubtful,” Aidan said. “But we’re going to try. It doesn’t say anything about him returning. Where did you get that information? Or did you only speculate?”

  “He received a text message shortly after reading the card.” It was the cameraman who spoke.

  Jordan fished for his phone and searched his messages.

  “Wait a minute,” he said after a few minutes of silence ticked by. His eyes grew. “It’s gone.”

  “What’s gone?” Shaun asked.

  “The text. It was there. I promise. Kent saw it, right?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it came shortly after he received the letter. It said to tell the world The Carnations Killer was back.”

  “What’s your number?” Aidan grabbed a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket. He scribbled the number Jordan recited and began to pack his things. “We’ll have our techs check to see if they can’t find out who sent the message to your phone.”

  Aidan looked across the table at Jordan, who was tapping his phone’s screen. He assumed the reporter was still trying to find where the text message may have gone.

  “In the meantime, Mr. Blake,” Aidan began. He waited until Jordan looked at him. “In the meantime, if this guy contacts you again, please don’t go directly to the camera, okay?” He slid his business card across the table. “If he contacts you, I need you to call us. Day or night.”

  Jordan nodded slowly.

  “I’m being serious,” Aidan warned. “If you do this a second time, I’ll have you arrested for obstruction.”

  “I get it,” Jordan replied coolly.

  “Perfect.” Aidan pushed to his feet, Shaun following his lead. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen.”

  They made their way out of the conference room, Shaun studying the note as they walked.

  “Curious stuff, isn’t it? The Carnations Killer contacts Jordan Blake and tells him to report he’s back. A text message disappearing from Blake’s phone?”

  “It’s not unheard of that serial killers reach out to the media,” Aidan reminded him. “It’s
their way of crying for attention, while at the same time taunting us. And there are technologies that allow you to remotely delete a text message. I’ll stake my career on it that the text message was sent from a burner phone, so we won't be able to trace the sender anyway. But we now know something we didn't before.”

  Shaun considered it. “He’s tech savvy.”

  Halfway to the cars, Aidan unwittingly released a yawn.

  Shaun glanced at him and it was obvious he noticed.

  “This was supposed to be your last week of vacation,” he remarked. “Why don’t you let me write the assessment into the database? I’ll finish the day and you go on home. Get some rest.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Aidan insisted.

  They reached their cars.

  “You left Boston around three yesterday, right? I think that was what you said earlier during lunch.”

  Aidan nodded, not liking where he was going.

  “So, you said you drove non-stop to get home to Atlanta. It takes at least fifteen hours from Boston to there, so you probably got home around six thirtyish. And you arrived at the crime scene around eight thirty. And now it’s almost four.” Shaun frowned. “Which means you’ve been up for twenty-four hours, give or take. You need sleep, Aidan. You’ve done enough for the day. Go home, finish off your vacation. We'll regroup Monday morning. The investigation isn’t going to go anywhere, and you know as well as I do that you have to be alert to do the job well. I don’t want to have to tell Monroe that the agent Atlanta sent us is falling asleep on the job.”

  Aidan fought back another yawn, knowing Shaun was right.

  “Okay,” he agreed. “You win.”

  “Good. I’ll let you know if something comes up. In the meantime, get some rest and I’ll see you soon.”

  Aidan opened the car door, climbed in, and turned the key, listening to the engine rumble.

  “Thanks, Shaun,” he told him.

  “Anytime, boss.”

  As he walked to his car, Aidan steered away from the news station.

  10

  AIDAN pulled IN front of the open garage and climbed out of the car. He stepped across the stone walkway to the front door and, using his key, opened it. When Aidan strode inside, the smell of spaghetti sauce greeted his nostrils. He found Cheyenne in the kitchen leaning over a pot, stirring its contents.

  “Hey, you,” she said with a warm smile.

  Aidan went over and wrapped his arms around her waist. Kissing her neck, he told her the sauce smelt delicious.

  “Thanks,” she replied. “It’s a new recipe. Very spicy. I wanted to make Laura’s favorite dish.” She turned to face him. “What are you doing home? I thought you were going to work late.”

  “Shaun—he’s my new partner—insisted,” Aidan replied. “Said I need to try and sleep off the drive from Boston.”

  “Good for Shaun,” Cheyenne muttered. “I like him already. I hate it when you chase bad guys in your sleep.”

  “That’s all I ever do,” he countered with a scoff. Almost as soon as the words came out of his mouth, he realized his joke was a bad one. “It’s just not always easy to leave work at work.”

  “I understand.” She put a hand on his cheek to caress it. “I just worry it’s going to get the better of you. Before I left, I picked up the mail. You got another letter from that guy at Quantico. They still want you to teach.”

  Aidan groaned and padded to the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of Michelob. “I told you I don’t want to teach, Cheyenne. Being a field agent is all I’ve ever wanted to be. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  “Can’t you just think about it?” Cheyenne pleaded. “If we moved to Virginia and you taught, I wouldn’t have to spend my life wondering if today’s the day I’ll get the news you’ve been killed. You’ll have a steady job and no more late night calls. We could start a family.”

  “Cheyenne—”

  She pressed her fingers against his lips. “Just consider it. That’s all I want you to do. Please? Whatever decision you make, I’ll support you. But think about it.”

  “Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll consider it.”

  She kissed the tip of his nose before turning to continue stirring the sauce.

  “Where’s Laura?”

  Cheyenne pointed to the ceiling with her wooden spoon. “Changing the sheets in the master. We’re going to sleep in there while she’s away.”

  He watched her taste the sauce, savor it, and then dump a dash more of Oregano.

  “Monroe is going to deliver the press release shortly,” he told her. “I’m going to go watch it.”

  “Okay,” Cheyenne replied.

  Aidan kissed her cheek before making a beeline for the living room. The television was on Two and a Half Men, so he switched it to WJFX. He had already decided it was going to be his favorite news station...he needed to keep his eye on Jordan Blake.

  The news cast were discussing the weather—it was supposed to storm this weekend—and something about a man finding a baby on a park bench. He apparently took her to the hospital, and now the police were in search of the mother.

  Thinking about the park baby made Aidan consider his growing relationship with Cheyenne. He had been with her almost ever since he moved to Atlanta five years ago. They met shopping at the grocery store. Their quick friendship grew into an unexpected romance and Aidan knew he wanted to spend his life with her. They’ve been living together for the last two years.

  He knew she wanted to begin having children and building a family with him, but he wasn’t sure if they were ready yet. They weren’t even married. Then again, he had an engagement ring hidden away at home. He told himself it wasn’t the time to ask her, despite the bridal magazines she’d buy as a not-too-subtle hint. Aidan wasn’t sure what was preventing him from popping the question. He loved Cheyenne. He knew that without a doubt. His sister had told him several times before that it was because he had a fear of commitment. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was right.

  On the TV, Aidan heard the news anchor announce that FBI Assistant Special Agent-In-Charge Carolyn Monroe was going to issue a statement regarding the Maya Gibson murder.

  He turned the volume up and listened. Cheyenne entered the kitchen and sat with him on the couch, leaning her body against his.

  Monroe appeared on the screen with Lieutenant Christenson standing behind her. They both stared straight into the crowd. Monroe’s posture effected authority and determination while Christenson seemed to be relieved that he didn’t have to speak.

  “Early this morning,” Monroe began, “the body of twenty-eight-year-old Maya Gibson was found at Clarks Hill Lake. The last time she was seen alive was last Tuesday night around six o’clock leaving her yoga class at Downward Dog. She was discovered at approximately seven o’clock this morning. The autopsy results revealed no sexual assault. Mrs. Gibson was tortured, bound, then killed, possibly strangled with a thin wire.”

  Monroe paused to take a deep breath. She scanned the crowd.

  “We believe Mrs. Gibson’s death was the work of a serial offender who refers to himself as The Carnations Killer.”

  She went on to discuss what was already public knowledge about the offender. At Aidan’s request, she left out that the victim had been tased, and that he’d received a letter from The Carnations Killer. When she finished, she paused again before asking the media if there were any questions.

  They began to talk with excitement over one another.

  “No, we do not have any persons of interest at this time,” she told one reporter. “But the FBI and the Columbia County Sheriff’s Office are working closely together, attempting to narrow down the pool of possible offenders.”

  Her attention went to another reporter.

  “As long as women—particularly blondes—remain in groups, I don’t see there’s cause to worry. We’re exhausting every bit of enforcement we have. I’m working with a team of excellent men and women. It’s a matter of time before The Carnat
ions Killer is caught.”

  She answered a few more questions before the press release was over. At the end, she requested the public contact the sheriff’s office or the FBI Resident Agency if they knew anything about Maya’s abduction and murder. The numbers flashed at the bottom of the screen. Aidan muted the TV and leaned back against the couch, his head on the armrest. Cheyenne sat up and pivoted to look at him, her eyes laced with concern.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He nodded, still staring at the ceiling. He didn’t like talking to Cheyenne about his investigations, but he knew she wanted him to set free the frustration that came with the job. She once told him to start writing things in a journal if he couldn’t talk to her. Cheyenne had told him it might help unleashing the evil he saw, rather than holding it inside. She knew him well enough to know he was bothered by the things he had seen, and she knew his first year as an agent was a daunting one. He never went into details about why it haunted him so much.

  Aidan tried to hide it, but he knew Cheyenne could see through him. A part of him wished he could open up to her. But if he did, the parts of the investigation he kept locked in his mind would only make things worse.

  The issue was would it make it worse for him or her?

  She lowered her head to his chest and released a sigh.

  “I’ve been chasing him for ten years,” Aidan whispered, his voice sounding rough to his ears. “Every time he’d kill, I’d try to find something—anything—that would lead us to him. But he’s always so careful.”

  “You’ll get him,” Cheyenne assured him. “I know you will.”

  “The sheets are ready for you,” Laura announced, entering the room.

  Cheyenne sat upright and looked at her sister.

  “I really wish you didn't have to go so soon,” she frowned.

  “I promise when I get back, we’ll do something,” Laura said. “I’ll even take a long vacation. We’ll just make the time.”

  Cheyenne stood to wrap Laura in a tight hug. “Thanks for letting us stay here.”

  “Well, it works out for me,” Laura replied playing with Cheyenne’s short ponytail. “Make yourselves at home. Mi casa es su casa.”