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

by Angela Kay

  She didn’t say anything.

  She only smiled.

  Aidan's eyes were on her. She moved her mouth as though she was trying to speak, but no sound would come.

  He only heard the whistle of the wind outside the car.

  Then out of nowhere, hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back into the darkness.

  37

  AIDAN'S eyes flew open.

  His breathing rose and fell in quick, heavy motions, his skin hot and clammy.

  He remained gazing across the dark room, into the bathroom, trying to control his emotions.

  Slowly, he turned onto his back and looked to where Cheyenne was sleeping. The moonlight glistened through the curtains, revealing the outline of her body. One of her legs hung out of the covers, over the side of the bed.

  She snored softly as her breath entered her body and exited.

  Aidan sat up slowly and crawled out of bed, careful not to wake her. The clock on the table told him it was only three in the morning, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep even if he wanted to.

  Slipping on his robe, Aidan crept down the stairs.

  He made a pot of coffee and leaned against the counter until it finished brewing a few minutes later.

  He poured it into a mug and sat at the kitchen table with the dummy files. Aidan stared at his and Shaun's notes on the mileage. He knew the agents over the weekend would attempt to triangulate possible locations for the offender’s home base.

  They’d call him if anything was found.

  But because he couldn’t sleep, and because he couldn’t stop thinking about the offender, with the help of a map, Aidan used the mileage of Jane’s and Maya’s vehicles to mark where their cars may have been on the nights of their murders.

  He heard the sounds of footsteps creaking from the stairs.

  A second later, Cheyenne appeared in the kitchen, rubbing her eyes as she yawned.

  “What are you doing up?”

  “Sorry, honey,” Aidan told her. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “It’s late,” she replied, eyes half-closed. “Come back to bed.”

  Aidan shook his head. “I can’t sleep.”

  She frowned but didn’t press the subject further as she pulled a glass from the cabinet. Cheyenne filled it with water from the refrigerator door.

  “Hey,” Aidan said, setting his pen on the table.

  She glanced at him, her face tired.

  “Come here.”

  She came, and he grabbed her hand to pull her into his lap. He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

  “I’m fine, okay? I just...” Aidan paused and regarded the map on the table with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. “I just woke up and had an idea where we might be able to find the offender.”

  “Did you find him?” Her words were soft and full of sleep.

  “Almost,” he whispered. Aidan kissed her cheek. “Go back to bed, okay? I’ll be up shortly.”

  She kissed him and left the room.

  Aidan rubbed his eyes before resuming the work he was doing.

  Soon, he had found a handful of possibilities within a fifty-mile radius. He made a note to contact the agent on duty in the morning, so he could check into it and try to narrow the search even more.

  After he finished, Aidan followed through on his promise and went back to bed.

  But instead of trying to sleep, he climbed under the covers and draped his arm across Cheyenne’s body to keep watch over her as she slept.

  38

  AIDAN promised HIMself and Cheyenne he would give her his undivided attention the rest of the weekend. No more thinking about The Carnations Killer murders. Not until the following morning, anyway.

  Agent Douglas, who was in charge when Shaun and Aidan weren’t, was good at what he did, so truthfully, Aidan figured he should be allowed to have a day or two to himself.

  It proved to be no easy task. Douglas sent him a few texts, at which time Aidan would make an excuse to be out of earshot of Cheyenne.

  The last he heard from Douglas was that a tip had come through to the Columbia County Sheriff’s Department that a vehicle matching Jane Ridgeway’s blue Honda was spotted by a dog walker at a house on Mike Padgett Highway.

  He hadn’t heard anything more from Douglas, and Aidan found himself having difficulty concentrating as the day went on.

  When Cheyenne suggested they make a date for dinner and a movie, Aidan agreed. He took her out for an early dinner at their favorite restaurant before the movie started.

  Aidan began to realize they had hardly seen each other for almost two months since being busy with his sister’s wedding, then when he was forced to cut his vacation short due to The Carnations Killer’s resurfacing.

  Aidan had his mind on whether or not he wanted to ask for her hand in marriage later in the evening.

  That thought in mind, Aidan wrapped his arms around her as they watched the movie on the large screen and she laid her head on his shoulder, when Aidan's phone vibrated in its hook on the side of his pants. He tried not to be conspicuous when he checked to see who was calling. Aidan could feel Cheyenne’s glare as her attention moved from the projector screen to him.

  The caller was Agent Douglas.

  “I have to…get something to drink,” Aidan whispered in her ear.

  Aidan ignored her wondering eyes as he left the vast, dark room. By the time he exited, the vibration had stopped, so Aidan called Douglas back.

  “We’ve found something,” Douglas announced when he answered.

  “Tell me,” Aidan said, keeping his voice low.

  “The witness panned out. The information on the mileage you sent this morning coincided with a house on Mike Padgett Highway,” he said. “We found tire tracks matching Jane Ridgeway’s car. The house is perfect for taking his victims. It’s secluded, surrounded by trees, and has more than eighty acres of land.” He paused. “And you’ll never guess who owns it.”

  “Who?”

  “Thomas Blake.”

  Aidan's heart beat against his chest, and he leaned against the wall.

  “You’re kidding. Jordan Blake’s uncle?” Aidan began to pace, rubbing the nape of his neck. “You get a warrant yet?”

  “Got it two seconds before I called you. I have my guys running a check on both the house and Thomas Blake. In the meantime, we’re on our way to give him a proper hello,” Douglas said. “Care to join us?”

  Aidan glanced at the closed door of the theater, thinking of Cheyenne. If he left her here, she wouldn’t be happy. But then again, they may have caught up with The Carnations Killer. And he wanted to be there when they slapped cuffs on his wrists.

  Aidan told Douglas where he was and asked if he could have someone swing by and retrieve him so Cheyenne could take her car home.

  “I’ll do it myself,” Douglas agreed. “I’m minutes out.”

  “Thanks,” Aidan told him. “Go ahead and notify Henderson. He’ll want to come along.”

  After he ended the call, Aidan slipped into the dark room. It had become silent on the screen and a girl was slowly creeping through the house.

  Aidan returned to his seat to whisper in Cheyenne’s ear.

  “I’ve got to go,” he told her.

  Her eyes seemed to burn with fire. “What?”

  “Someone’s picking me up, so you’ll have the car. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  She nodded her head once, but he could tell it wasn’t okay. Aidan kissed her cheek. She continued to glare at the enlarged screen, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. Her lips curled into a scowl.

  Aidan never liked it when Cheyenne was mad at him, but right now, catching the one responsible for the deaths of more than fifty women took precedence. He'd have to deal with Cheyenne’s wrath later.

  39

  Thomas Blake’s house stood in the middle of his land, a few trees scattering the area. It was a two-story brick house, four white columns holding the roof of the porch intact. The upkeep tol
d Aidan that he—or someone at the least—kept it clean. The grass was freshly cut, the flowers recently watered.

  There was a large pond in the front, and a tackle box sitting next to a small deck.

  Aidan recognized the house immediately as the one in the photo in Jordan Blake’s home office.

  According to the real estate archives, the house on Mike Padgett Highway had been in the Blake family for at least three generations. On the drive over, Douglas informed him that Thomas didn’t live in the house—he had bought another one in North Augusta with his wife. He’d been renting it out for a few years.

  Looking around the area, Aidan agreed with Douglas that it seemed to be the perfect spot to take victims and murder them. No neighbors to hear the screams and it looked normal enough for passersby to not give it a second glance.

  If Aidan were a killer, he decided he'd want to operate at a place just like this.

  With that thought in mind, he slipped on a vest and held his weapon at the ready.

  Douglas and Aidan were stationed at the front door along with four other agents. Douglas signaled for a few of the men to survey the backyard to be sure there wouldn’t be a chance for the offender to escape.

  Two agents held a battering ram at the ready, preparing to rush the door when ordered. The other two held their weapons in front of them.

  Douglas nodded his head twice at Aidan to signal him to take charge.

  Aidan rapped the doorframe. “FBI! We have a search warrant!”

  He tried one more time to no avail.

  Aidan gripped his weapon.

  Took a breath.

  Standing on the side of the doorframe, he looked behind him and nodded to the men holding the ram.

  On that note, they crashed through the door and the agents entered the premises.

  “FBI!” an agent shouted.

  They scattered throughout the house, looking through every room on both floors. The silence was deafening, and after Aidan cleared his part of downstairs, he regrouped with Douglas in the kitchen.

  Upstairs, an agent shouted out, “All clear!”

  “All clear,” Shaun said as he entered the kitchen behind him.

  “Want to bring Thomas in for questioning?” Douglas asked.

  “Yeah.” Aidan looked out the window across the vast backyard. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence we found this place.”

  Douglas nodded. “I agree.”

  Aidan waited as he got on the phone to put in a request for someone to bring Thomas in for questioning. Shaun rummaged through a stack of papers on the counter.

  “Looks like someone named Ron lives here,” Shaun muttered. Without looking away from the pile, he passed Aidan a note.

  Ron—

  Let me know if there’s anything you need. Here’s my address to send your first month’s rent.

  They didn't see any other mail for Ron or a last name for him.

  As Douglas spoke into the phone, the radio on Aidan's shoulder came alive and someone announced they had found something in the back room.

  Exchanging glances with Douglas, they made their way to the back of the house.

  Entering the room, Aidan saw that someone had pulled back the red rectangle rug, revealing a trap door.

  “It was like this when we came in,” an agent said.

  Interesting.

  Aidan knelt and steadied the hatch, and Shaun followed suit.

  Putting a finger to his lips to indicate to be as quiet as possible, he wrapped his fingers around the latch and pulled open the door. It made a soft creak as it revealed stairs leading into the darkened cellar.

  There were no other sounds, and Aidan grabbed his flashlight and shined it below. Motioning for the other agents to stand guard, he silently told Shaun to follow.

  Using the beam as a guide, Aidan slowly began to descend, trying to reduce the amount of creaks as possible.

  40

  He was IN the process of preparing for the arrival of his next victim when he first heard the footsteps above him. He slipped on his hat, turning the bill downward so it’d cover his eyes. Next, he switched the lights off in the cellar.

  He didn’t know how they managed to find him so soon, but that didn’t matter now. He needed to take care that he didn’t get caught.

  His heart thrummed in his chest as he stood in the shadows, remaining quiet in hopes that the agents wouldn’t find the hatch in the back room of the house.

  He held a knife in one hand and a taser in the other.

  His mind raced as he tried to figure out a way to escape without being caught. There were no windows, nor was there a door in the cellar—the only way out was the stairs. And now the trap door slowly opened, revealing light from above.

  He moved behind a nearby chifferobe and peered over the edge, taking in his surroundings.

  There was a fuse box on the opposite side of the room.

  Next to it was a table that held a few homemade gadgets, including a smoke bomb.

  Yes, that should do the trick.

  He only had to get over there and turn off the lights for the rest of the house.

  From there, he would be able to figure out a way to get past the agents he was sure were stationed outside the house.

  He watched feet slowly appear onto the top rung of the pull-down ladder.

  It was Agent O’Reilly who first appeared, then Henderson after him.

  Agent Henderson was a big man, so he was hoping he wouldn’t be the one heading his way. It’d take some doing to overpower him.

  The flashlight beam swept across the room, and he ducked deeper into the shadows.

  Aidan looked around the room to see only a cellar full of old furniture. There was a large stained tarp in the middle of the floor. A tire iron rested against one of the dressers, which also held a container of duct tape and fishing wires.

  Aidan glanced at Shaun, who motioned with his eyes that he was going to look near the antique chifferobe.

  Aidan tilted his head in the opposite direction, and they separated.

  Henderson headed his way.

  The Carnations Killer gripped the taser in his hand.

  Aidan crept near the other side of the cellar, keeping an eye out for a light switch. He saw nothing except a fuse box and more fishing wires, as well as a box of tasers and smoke bombs. They continued to move slowly in order to hear better, but Aidan only heard the blood pulsating in his ears.

  Henderson stopped at the chifferobe and glanced behind it. The agent’s eyes grew wide when he saw him. By instinct, Henderson raised his weapon.

  “Over—”

  He expertly knocked the hand gripping the gun and swept his foot against Henderson’s. He swung a left hook to the agent’s side, resulting in a soft grunt.

  Working quickly, he jammed the taser against the agent’s upper arm, so he’d earn the momentum to get away. Henderson shouted with surprise as his body convulsed and he dropped both his weapon and the flashlight. The beam from the light sent rays across the cellar floor before it blinked out after banging against the wall.

  He grabbed the weapon.

  Agent O’Reilly had spun around but didn’t shoot—he guessed it was in case his friend was in the line of fire.

  He fired a shot at O’Reilly, who ducked behind a large desk to keep from being hit.

  Agents began to descend the stairs, so he fired a few more rounds to buy himself time. The results were what he’d hoped. The agents took cover, providing him enough of a chance to make his way toward the fuse box.

  A second later, he flicked off the lights in the house.

  Someone grabbed his neck from behind.

  He swung his chin toward the ceiling so his head would knock against the agent’s, then spun to connect his fist to O’Reilly’s temple.

  He sent a forceful low kick to the agent’s leg, and O’Reilly cried out as his knees buckled underneath him. He pulled off the helmet and wrapped his arms around his neck. O’Reilly tried grabbing some part of him to
loosen the hold, only managing to knock off the cap. Soon, the agent went limp in his arms.

  “Not today, Agent O’Reilly,” he whispered, lowering him to the floor. He dragged the unconscious agent behind the dresser and quickly removed the FBI vest. He slipped it on, tucking his hat inside. He fitted O’Reilly’s cap and pulled in a heavy breath, pushing it out.

  Agents had begun to descend the stairs again, their strides slow and cautious, weapons and flashlights filling the room.

  He held Henderson’s weapon in front of him and quickly, but quietly, slunk to the table with the smoke bombs. He grabbed two.

  The flashlight beam began to mow in his direction, so he tossed the bomb on the ground.

  Chaos erupted amongst the agents as they scurried to exit the cellar.

  He used his shirt to protect his nose and mouth and made his way out, blending in as best as he could.

  With the aid of O’Reilly’s cap, he kept his head lowered and exited the hatch. He tossed his second smoke bomb at the agents standing guard nearby.

  They began coughing, shouting for each other to get out. One agent decided to tough it out. He squinted his eyes, tears filling the corners. The agent held his gun at the ready.

  “FBI, freeze!” His voice was muffled behind his shirt.

  Without a second thought, he held the gun to the agent's head. For half a second, he saw the fear in the agent's eyes.

  But he didn't shoot. Instead, he knocked the agent hard on the side of his head and hurried out the back door to safety.

  41

  “Aidan.” SHAUN's voice was calling to his friend, but Aidan couldn’t open his eyes. The pain still exploded in his head and his knees throbbed, making it difficult to focus. He also felt his eyes burning.