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

by Angela Kay

  “Well, I have been trying to stop him for many years.” Aidan cleared his throat. “Too many.”

  “Hansford has told me a great deal about you, and I’ve read your file. He was your first,” Zane stated. “Wasn’t he?”

  “Not the best way to be welcomed to the FBI.”

  For the first time since Aidan met him, Zane offered a smile. “No, it’s not. I’ve heard good things about you, Agent O’Reilly. Hansford thinks highly of you. As does Monroe. You’re dedicated, you’re thorough, and you care about the people and the victims.” He stepped behind Aidan and reached for the doorknob. “I hear you have a teaching opportunity at Quantico?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you going to accept?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Hmm.” Aidan couldn’t tell whether or not he liked the idea of him going to Quantico. Zane opened the door. “I wish you the best of luck. I’ll be keeping in touch.”

  He left the room, shutting the door behind him.

  “Now I know why Agent Henderson requested the agents to watch your house,” Monroe replied as she scanned the letter. She looked back at Aidan. “Maybe you should tell your girlfriend to go home.”

  Aidan shook his head. “She doesn't know about the letter. I'd like to keep it that way. And anyway, she's too stubborn to go home. Besides, I want her where I can keep an eye on her.”

  Monroe hesitated, then nodded. “I understand. Do you have anything else to report?”

  After Shaun and Aidan briefed her of their conversation with former Agent Byers, they left her office to continue searching for the offender.

  23

  The next few days were quiet.

  Aidan didn’t receive any messages from The Carnations Killer, and there were no reports of another victim found anywhere in the city.

  It was quiet.

  He found that unsettling.

  Aidan spent his days and nights reviewing the information in the file, willing for vital information to appear.

  Shaun and Aidan, along with a few other agents, spent a good deal of their time calling the families of the victims, asking questions they’d already answered in years past. Aidan wasn’t sure about the families Shaun and the others talked to, but the ones he dealt with seemed to want to move on from the nightmare they’d suffered.

  A part of them wanted to forget they’d ever lost their loved ones, others pleaded for him to tell them there had been some new development.

  Aidan couldn’t decide which was worse: the ones that wanted to give up or the ones holding onto the glimmer of hope justice would finally be given to them.

  It was for this reason he couldn’t stand talking to the families. He was never good at it. He was afraid he'd become too emotional, and the families were emotional enough without adding his own feelings.

  Aidan stopped by Shaun’s cubical to see if he was getting anywhere. He heard him consoling someone over the phone, promising he was doing everything he could to find the man who took away their loved one. He offered a small smile to the phone, which told Aidan he’d done what he'd set out to do.

  After hanging up, he typed something into the computer.

  “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?” Shaun kept his focus on the screen.

  “You talk to the grieving families, but by the time you’ve finished the conversation, it seems they feel better than they did minutes before.”

  “I guess people feel like they can confide in me. Most people know the tears and fears don’t help. They just want somebody to understand. They want somebody to listen.”

  “I guess that’s my weak point,” Aidan muttered. “I never know what to say to them.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. That’s what listening means,” Shaun replied, the corner of his lips turning upward. He looked at Aidan, studied him. “Why did you want to become an agent?”

  Aidan widened his eyes at the unexpected question. “What?”

  He repeated himself.

  “Because I wanted to be in law enforcement.”

  Shaun contemplated the statement before responding. Aidan tried to guess what he was thinking, but came empty.

  “If you wanted to be in law enforcement,” Shaun replied, “then you could have been a beat cop. It’s less demanding. Instead, you chose to be a federal agent. You investigate serial killings, terrorism, things of that nature.”

  “I guess I believed I could do more good as an agent than a regular cop. Or even a detective.”

  Shaun nodded. “So basically, you want to help people in a bigger way. Bring down a serial offender who’d been killing for ten years or so.” He put his hands behind his head. “What will happen if you never catch this guy?”

  “I’ve got to.” Aidan put his hands on the edge of the desk and leaned over, his voice in a harsh whisper. He squared his jaw. “He’s got to be caught, Shaun. I need to catch him. If I don’t, then—”

  “Then what, Aidan? If you don’t catch him, what?”

  Aidan’s breath rose and fell in quick motions. He realized the edge of the desk was digging into the palms of his hands. Shaun watched him with curious eyes but remained calm and silent as he waited for an answer.

  Aidan found himself wanting to scream that if he didn’t catch this guy, then he’d continue to kill. Aidan wanted to shout that if the offender kept killing, everything he had worked for in his career would be for nothing.

  But Aidan didn’t say any of that.

  He righted himself and ran a hand through his hair. He calmed his breathing as he realized it was happening: he was becoming obsessive.

  Or maybe he already was.

  Aidan had promised Cheyenne it wouldn’t happen to him. He promised he wouldn’t lose himself in The Carnations Killer investigation.

  Not this time.

  Not again.

  Aidan looked at Shaun, who was still watching him. His curious gaze turning into concern.

  “I want the families to have justice,” Aidan told him quietly. “That’s all I want.”

  “It’s okay to feel close to this,” Shaun replied in kind. “But even the best agents need to take a break. All you’ve ever done is try to catch him. It’s not going to be whether or not you take the job at Quantico that’ll cost your relationship with Cheyenne. If she sees you going off the deep end, that is when she will leave. Because a wild-eyed, obsessive federal agent isn’t any woman’s fantasy.”

  Aidan hated to admit it, but he knew Shaun was right. He had lived and breathed the investigation for ten years, and now that he has returned, it was all Aidan thought about. He’d left him messages. He was taunting him. He was hinting at the things he planned on doing. But he was a ghost. He had Aidan pulled in a game of cat and mouse, and Aidan couldn’t tell whether he was the cat chasing the mouse, or if he was the mouse running from the cat.

  “You’re right,” Aidan said, finally.

  Shaun smiled. “Of course, I am.”

  Aidan looked at his wristwatch and said, “You know what? I’m going to take today off. I think it’d do me good.”

  Shaun nodded. “I agree.”

  Aidan returned to his desk to finish his paperwork, then logged out of the computer and gathered his things.

  He left the office to go home to Cheyenne.

  24

  It was Friday evening, and he watched as the lights of HomeGoods went dark, blending the store in with the night. A few minutes later, he watched as a group of employees walked out of the store. The young girls chatted amongst each other as they headed for their cars in the vacant parking lot. An older woman with a scowl on her face climbed into her Buick in the handicapped parking spot and pulled away.

  His target named Jane was the last to leave.

  She made sure the doors were locked, and by the time she turned, most of the employees had left in their vehicles for home.

  Only two remained: his target and a pimply-faced skinny man.

  He straightened his ca
p on his head and made a beeline in his target’s direction as the man slid into his car.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  She looked at him. He could tell she was tired from a busy day of labor. She worked eight hours nonstop. It was enjoyable watching her work. He hoped for her sake it was a good day because, though she didn’t realize it yet, he knew it would be one of her last.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” he continued. “I’m afraid I made it back too late before you closed. What time do you open in the mornings?”

  Despite her weary eyes, she smiled at him. “Eight o’clock.”

  She didn’t seem to remember him from last week.

  “Okay, great,” he said, “I was in there earlier and saw a beautiful wooden trunk you have on clearance. I forgot my credit card, so I had to run home and get it. But then my daughter needed me for some school project.”

  “Oh, that antique trunk with the elephant lining the top?” she replied. “Yes, that is very beautiful.”

  She used her key fob to unlock her car.

  She waved at the last vehicle, which began to pull away from the lot.

  They were now alone.

  “It’s going to be an anniversary present for my wife. She loves antiques and elephants.”

  “Then I’m sure she’ll love the trunk. You’ve got excellent taste.”

  “I only hope it’ll still be there when I return tomorrow.” He inched toward her.

  Another smile as she opened the car door. “Our clearance has been going fast. It’s not usually busy in the morning, so if you’re able to make it shortly after we open, you’ll be in luck.”

  He now stood close to her and smiled. He could smell her strong perfume clinging to her body. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re more than welcome. Have a good night, sir.”

  She turned to face her door. Reaching for the taser in the back of his jeans, he pulled it out. As she climbed in the car, he zapped her. Her body convulsed, and she only whimpered from the shock before slumping to the side, falling onto the black tar.

  He popped the trunk. After double checking that there were no prying eyes, he used the fishing wire to bind her arms and feet together. After she was secured, he carried her to the trunk.

  She whimpered.

  “I’m sure I’ll have a wonderful night,” he told her. He touched the skin underneath her clothes. She was warm to the touch. She reeled in disgust. “Unfortunately, you won’t be having too much fun. My women never seem to.”

  “Please,” she pleaded. Her green eyes blinked at him and a tear slid down her face.

  “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  He leaned in, cupping his ear as if to hear her better.

  “Please,” she said again. “Please don't hurt me. I'll give you anything.”

  “Sorry, dear,” he replied with a mock frown. “I’m afraid I can’t understand you.”

  He taped her mouth, closed the trunk and climbed into her car.

  The night was still as he pulled out of the store’s parking lot to take her to the last place she’d ever see before she died.

  25

  He watched as she slowly crawled away from him.

  He’d already been at work on her for an hour and the shrilling that came from her was like ecstasy. He had an urge to jump, as if he were a kid opening a major birthday present.

  She begged him to stop.

  So, he did after a while.

  He sat on the floor, watching her squirm and sob and beg.

  “You’re beautiful when you’re like this, Jane from HomeGoods,” he said. He crawled to her side and put his hand on her cheeks and stroked.

  She was ice cold, but that was because he’d set the thermostat to run the cool air. He liked it when the goosebumps appeared on her skin.

  “What’s that?” he leaned close to her lips. “You’re having fun?”

  He pulled back, pushed to his feet, all the while keeping his eyes on her.

  “I’m glad, Jane. I’m also having a pretty good time if I do say so myself.”

  “You—” Jane slurred as her words trembled, “You’re i-inane. I-i-insane.”

  “But I thought you were having fun,” he said with a mock sympathetic frown. “We’re going to be here all week.”

  “Please.” She tried to look at him, but her head wouldn't cooperate.

  He looked at his watch. He’d have to leave soon if he was going to make it home in time to read Jamie her favorite bedtime story.

  “Okay,” he said. He removed his glasses and set them on the dresser.

  He turned her to her stomach, stepped on her head to hold her in place, and gripped the tire iron.

  “It’s about time for me to go, Jane from HomeGoods,” he told her. “But I'll come for a visit tomorrow.”

  He made contact with her lower back, and her cries were muffled against his foot. He swung the weapon in the air again, slamming it against her leg.

  The pain she must have felt.

  Just like ecstasy.

  After he’d finished with her for the night, he chained her to a table leg.

  He touched her again to make sure she was still breathing. She was, but only slightly. He decided to give her a break tomorrow after all.

  Give her time to heal.

  Of course, he’d stop by to feed her three times a day. After all, he wasn’t a monster, right?

  Smiling, he leaned close to her ear. Her body shivered slightly, whether it was from the cold or their closeness, he wasn't sure.

  He whispered goodbye and left.

  He pulled up the driveway of his house, turned off the car, and entered through the front door.

  “Honey!” he shouted. “I’m home from work!”

  “Daddy!” Jamie’s feet pounded the stairs and he knelt to catch her in his arms. She was already dressed for bed in a Princess nightgown. “Read me a bedtime story?”

  “Of course, pumpkin,” he said, kissing her cheek.

  He carried her up the stairs and read her the story of her choice. After Jamie slipped into dreamland, he went into the master bedroom.

  His wife lay in bed, thumbing through a magazine.

  “How was work, honey?” She closed the magazine and smiled at him.

  “Exhilarating,” he told her. He began to undress and then climbed into the bed. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Yeah, about that. I’m going to have to—”

  He crushed his lips to hers.

  She kissed him back, hungry for him.

  “Oh, I love it when you come home like this,” she moaned as he bit into her neck.

  He said nothing as he prepared to release himself with his wife, something he could never do with his targets as it would only leave traces of evidence.

  His mind echoed with the screams Jane from HomeGoods when the tire iron slammed against her stomach.

  He never left evidence he didn’t want to leave.

  He saw the blood from the one the media called Maya Gibson trickle down her neck.

  The erotic pleasure surged through him as he heard the satisfying moans from his wife.

  No, he was much too careful for that.

  26

  It was nearing three in the morning when Aidan's eyes flew open. He was lying on his side, staring at the bright red numbers of the alarm clock. He had managed to get four hours of rest, which was more than he'd received in a long while.

  Cheyenne snored softly next to him, hunched in a tight ball, the sheets pulled to her chin.

  It was then Aidan realized he'd tossed the sheets off his body and was covered with sweat. Despite not wearing clothing, the temperature rose through his body as though he was lying in the middle of a blazing furnace.

  Running a hand through his hair, he found it was also very damp,

  Aidan rolled to a sitting position.

  Something in the corner of the dark room caught his attention. He looked over, then blinked his eyes to try and get the reflection of Maya standing there
out of his head.

  She reached out to him, mouthing something, but no sound came out. Blood flowed from her eye sockets and the ends of her hair.

  In several jerking movements, she crawled into the bed with Aidan. The mattress bounced ever so slightly. He glanced over at Cheyenne to see she was still asleep, undisturbed.

  Maya inched closer, closer.

  It was only a dream, right?

  It had to be.

  Aidan wanted to move, to get away. But it was impossible.

  Soon, Maya’s face was close enough to touch. He could feel her cold, cold breath on him.

  “You’re not real,” Aidan whispered. “You’re not.”

  Only the sound of Cheyenne’s peaceful snoring, in tune with the pulsating veins in his ears, filled the room. The blood dripping from Maya was thick and warm, despite the draftiness. Sweat poured down his face.

  “No,” Aidan whispered. “Get away from me. You’re not real. You’re not.”

  He shook his head with fervor. It seemed as though his blood would begin to seep out of his skin until the veins burst.

  Aidan closed his eyes tight, telling himself he was only dreaming.

  That Maya wasn’t really there. She wasn’t. She couldn’t be.

  Chills crawled across his back.

  Aidan reopened his eyes.

  Maya had vanished.

  He scanned the room for any remnant of her, but she was gone. Using the light of the moon, Aidan looked to see there was no blood, only sweat, which continued to run down his face.

  His feet wobbly, he inched out of the bed to feel his way to the bathroom. With the intent on taking a long cool shower, he turned on the water.

  Aidan stepped under the cold water spewing from the showerhead and placed his palms against the wall, leaning his head forward. He closed his eyes and shuddered.

  He tried to shake the image of Maya out of his head, but she seemed to have embedded herself into his consciousness.

  The dreams were too real, too vivid.

  The image of Maya was etched in his mind, just like the faces of the other victims.