by Angela Kay
He stared into the smiling faces of the photos crowded on the table by the kitchen entrance. They were primarily of his target and her family, including a pretty blonde whom he assumed to be the sister of O’Reilly’s girlfriend. It was a shame she wasn’t around—he’d have use for her as well.
The countertops in the kitchen were of red granite, the chairs stationed by the middle island made of wrought iron with a heart carved in the backings. A rack containing various pots and pans hung above the island. The stainless steel refrigerator, stove, and dishwasher all seemed brand new. Next to the fridge, in the corner, sat the wine rack, containing mostly red, but some Chardonnay. The kitchen walls were cream colored. Above the back door hung a decorative sign reading Count your Blessings.
Next, he peered in the downstairs’ half-bath and saw it was wallpapered with black cats. The girlfriend’s sister must have a cat fetish, he decided.
He found the stairs and began to ascend. He needed to go slowly because it creaked underneath his weight.
The first bedroom he came to looked to be a spare with a framed USS Enterprise above the headboard and a poster of dogs playing poker on the adjacent wall.
Then he entered what seemed to be an office. It didn't have a computer but held a desk and a bookcase. Apparently, the sister was a fan of James Patterson and Michael Crichton. He saw a few more photos of his new target and her sister.
The second bedroom he came to was where he wanted to be.
The snoring had grown louder.
He stood in the darkened room, his eyes on the lump underneath the covers. It rose and fell in slow, soft movements.
He made his way to the edge of the bed to watch the woman sleep.
He couldn’t help himself.
He had to do it.
Clutching his hands around the covers, he pulled it back, revealing a thin nightgown that was just a little too tight around her body.
He put his hand on her. She released a soft moan but didn’t wake.
Running his hand against the coolness of her skin, he imagined being with her.
He imagined how exhilarating it would be to put himself inside O'Reilly's girlfriend. Maybe this time. Just this one time, he could make an exception. Break his rules.
But, no.
He had come too far to risk leaving evidence.
“Wake up.”
His voice was soft but clear. He sang it to her. He leaned in close to her lips and brushed his against hers.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty.”
When her slumber proved to be too deep, he frowned and slapped her.
That did it.
She sprung in her bed, eyes wide. When she saw him, for just a second, she froze.
He gave her a smile. “Hi.”
His target was about to scream out, but he was too quick. Clamping his hands over her mouth, he pushed her head to the pillow. He straddled her as her arms and legs thrashed wildly.
With expertise, he held her as he pulled off a long piece of tape and placed it over her mouth. He saw the tears in her eyes as she looked at him, trying, but failing, to push him away.
He hit her hard against her temple.
She cried softly in pain, but settled down, the fight leaving her.
He climbed off her. She used the opportunity to attempt to roll off the other side of the bed, but he grabbed her hair and jerked her back.
She tried to scream when the prongs of the taser connected to her neck, but it was a fruitless effort. He paused to watch her convulse, then he zapped her again for good measure.
“We’re going to have a lot of fun,” he assured her. Then he scoffed. “Well, I am, anyway.”
Making sure it was secured, he tied her hands and feet together.
He made a beeline toward the window to look across the street at the men keeping watch of the house. Before he made the call to take them away, he had to prepare to leave.
He carried his target half-conscious down the steps, found her keys on the kitchen island and opened the door to the garage.
He popped the trunk, set her inside, closed it, and returned to the bedroom to finish what he’d planned. Once the task was over, he tossed everything he came with into the backseat. He searched the house to double check that he didn’t leave anything behind.
Now that it was time, he gazed across the street at the unmarked police car and dialed the number.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“Help, please help,” he said, in a quiet, childlike voice. “My daddy’s hurting Mommy. I think he’s going to kill her.”
“What’s your name son?” The voice on the other end sounded bored, rather than concerned.
“Jay. Please. I think he has a gun. I’m scared.”
“What’s the address?”
He gave her an address far enough down the road for the officers to leave their station, but close enough for them to have no choice but to be the first responders.
And he’d be able to keep an eye on them in case they returned quicker than he left.
“We’ll dispatch someone right away. Remain on the line please.”
He stayed on the line as he waited for the car to leave their position. Once they did, he ended the call, hurried down the stairs and into the garage.
He opened it, climbed in the car and cranked it.
He pulled out of the garage and closed it again as he headed in the opposite direction of the neighborhood, tossing the cell phone in the passenger seat.
63
When Aidan knocked on the door, the reporter opened it.
His eyes were bloodshot, his face wet.
Aidan could tell immediately the dog meant a lot to him.
“This is your fault,” Jordan accused, pointing an angry finger toward him. “If you and Henderson didn’t coerce me into trying to trap the guy, Duke would still be alive.”
“I realize you’re upset, Jordan,” Aidan said as compassionately as he could, “but no one’s at fault here. Let’s focus on finding who is.”
Aidan tried to pat his shoulder in a friendly way, but Jordan shrugged him off and headed through the house, leading the way to the backyard.
“He’s out here.”
He tried his best to remain strong, but his voice failed him.
Aidan decided to not make matters worse by playing nice. He was here for one reason, and that wasn’t to make friends with the guy who had become his arch nemesis.
Aidan opened the back door as a knock came from the front.
“That’d be either Agent Henderson or the CSU,” he said.
Without responding, the reporter turned to open the door.
Aidan stepped outside and made his way to the dog.
Taking the dried blood from Duke’s fur out of account, Aidan would have thought he was sleeping.
A bouquet of white carnations rested next to the body.
No matter what he thought about Jordan, Aidan hated that his dog fell victim to the sadistic killer.
He knelt next to Duke and laid his hand on the still head.
“I'm sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Shaun approached with a curse.
“This guy doesn’t have any morals.”
“No,” Aidan agreed as he pushed to his feet. “He doesn’t.”
Aidan noticed a member of the crime scene unit team had also arrived. He recalled her name to be Fallon, but couldn't remember her last name. He told her to keep her eyes peeled for evidence.
“And we don't have much time,” Shaun added. “Forecast says the rain is imminent.”
Fallon nodded, her eyes glued to the dog. She set her kit by her feet and prepared her camera.
Using the beam of his flashlight as a guide, Aidan surveyed the surrounding area while Shaun went in a different direction.
A raindrop struck Aidan’s nose. He turned to Shaun but there wasn't a need to tell him what he was thinking. Shaun looked at the sky as if to gauge how much time they had left.
&nbs
p; Aidan continued to comb through the tall grass, wishing Jordan took care of his yard better. He felt it would make it easier to find evidence.
Then again, maybe not.
Aidan knelt where a section of the grass was flat beside the dog house. It had sunken into a soft spot on the ground and left a shoe print. There were also droplets of blood around the area. Shining his flashlight on the print, he studied it.
Glancing up, he saw Shaun and Fallon covering Duke with a sheet. Aidan called out for them, and when they appeared at his side, he gestured with his head.
“Look. I think he stood here, waiting. He likely made the phone call right here to watch Jordan’s reaction.”
Shaun looked toward the house as another drop of rain fell. “Yeah. I think he had the perfect vantage point. He could see Jordan, but Jordan couldn't see him.”
Fallon knelt to snap a photo of the blood and shoe print. “I'll need to case this. Can you bring me my kit?”
Without answering, Aidan pushed to his feet and hurried to grab the kit. Shaun ran past him to speak to Jordan.
By the time Aidan returned and set the kit on the ground next to Fallon, the rain had begun, and Shaun arrived with a blanket. They worked together to keep Fallon and the evidence dry as the rain broke from the sky.
Despite the humid heat, the rain water was cold against Aidan's skin.
After Fallon finished casting the print and collecting the blood sample, they hurried inside from the rain.
“I think that's all we'll be able to get,” Fallon said. “I'll take it to the lab and let you know what we find.”
Aidan thanked her as she left. Turning back to Jordan, he ran his hands through his soaked hair. “Jordan, did you hear anything? See anything out of the ordinary?”
Jordan shook his head.
“I don’t get it. Duke’s always barking. But he was so quiet.” He sat in his chair. “Do you think he killed my dog when I wasn’t home?”
“When did you get home?” Shaun asked.
“Around eight thirty.”
Aidan shook his head and pointed to Jordan’s blood-stained shirt. “The blood was fresh.”
“I’ve had Duke for almost eleven years,” he whispered. “He was my dad’s dog. He died of cancer three years ago. Duke was all I had left of him.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Aidan replied. He rubbed the back of his neck, glanced out the window at the rain, then back at Jordan. “Do you mind if we check the rest of your house? Make sure nothing is disturbed?”
Jordan shrugged, so Shaun and Aidan took different rooms to look around.
A few minutes went by and they regrouped back to the living room, neither of them finding anything.
“Try to get some sleep, okay?” Aidan said. “We'll do everything we can. The casting may narrow down a lot of suspects.”
Jordan looked at Aidan. “So, you have suspects?”
Aidan swallowed, trying to think of a way to evade the question. It was Shaun who answered.
“Look, man.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. His skin color contrasted with Jordan’s paleness. “Don't worry yourself.”
“Right,” Jordan grumbled.
Aidan only nodded while he and Shaun made their way to the door. They didn't bother speaking until the agents reached their respective cars.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Aidan told Shaun. He climbed into the car to return to Laura’s house for the night.
64
WHEN AIDAN ARRIVED home, he opened the garage, pulling the loaned company vehicle into his usual spot. Immediately noticing Laura's car wasn’t there, he looked at the time on the dashboard. It was after midnight.
Where could she be?
It wasn’t like Cheyenne to leave in the middle of the night. Whether she had an emergency or decided on a late night ice cream run, she would have called or texted. The officers were still across the street, so where was Cheyenne?
And why would she have taken Laura’s car and not her own?
Aidan opened the door and called out to her, but his racing heart knew something wasn’t right.
Instinct had him drawing out his weapon.
He called out for her again, but no response came.
Slowly, Aidan checked each room, but nothing appeared disturbed.
“Hey, honey?” he called again. “Love, are you home?”
His pulse throbbed underneath his skin and his hands began to sweat. Something was wrong. Aidan could feel it with each breath he took. With one hand holding his weapon, he used his free one to push the door to the master bedroom open.
He almost dropped his gun when he saw the room.
On the wall, were the words your move.
It was scratched out by something sharp. Aidan assumed it was from the kitchen knife left on the bed of white carnation petals.
“Cheyenne!” he hollered through the silent house.
Aidan rushed into the adjoining bathroom, and then rechecked all the other rooms, including the closets.
His heart was now lodged in his throat, beating faster by the second. He tried to catch his breath, but couldn’t. Aidan gripped the wall to steady himself but still fell to his knees.
Cheyenne wasn't there.
She was his next victim.
His fingers feeling like putty, he struggled to hold the cell as he called Shaun.
It took a few rings for his partner to answer. “Yeah?”
“He has her.”
“What?”
Aidan didn’t say anything. He couldn’t find the words.
“Aidan, what’s going on? I didn’t hear you.” He clearly seemed annoyed. “Listen, it’s been a really long day, and I—”
“He has Cheyenne,” Aidan said again. His voice shook, but he knew Shaun heard him because he cursed.
“I’m on my way.”
As Shaun ended the call, Aidan heard the screeching sound of tires, presumably Shaun making a quick U-turn. Aidan struggled to his feet.
He went back into the bedroom and looked at the white petals covering the bed, and then the embedded note on the wall.
Your move.
Nothing about Cheyenne’s abduction made sense.
She didn’t fit the profile of The Carnations Killer: she had brown, not blonde hair. She wore glasses—none of the others did.
So why did he go after her?
Because you love her.
The words echoed in his head.
Aidan scanned the room for anything out of place but found nothing. He wanted to grab the petals from the bed and toss them in the trash, but he needed to wait. The room had to be documented.
“Aidan!” Shaun’s voice bellowed from downstairs as the door banged open.
He shouted to Shaun that he was upstairs. Aidan stared at the words on the wall, hearing several footsteps before Shaun rushed into the bedroom, backup trailing after him.
Shaun sucked in a heavy breath, then released another curse.
He instructed one of the agents to begin processing the room. Aidan allowed Shaun to guide him by the elbow downstairs. He told him to let the guys take charge for the time being.
Shaun sat on the couch and urged Aidan to do the same. Instead, Aidan began to pace the living room, almost burning a hole in the carpet. The things the women before Cheyenne endured flashed through his mind and he couldn't turn it off.
“We’ve got to find her, Shaun. I can't lose Cheyenne this way.”
“We’ll find him. I promise.”
His assurance didn’t do Aidan any good.
The living room began to spin faster, and Aidan sat on the couch, his head between his knees.
Shaun said nothing more. Aidan figured it was because there was nothing he could say to make the situation okay. Instead, Shaun placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.
Aidan sucked in several deep breaths, trying to contain his fears. He couldn’t fall apart. Not when it was more important than ever to find a killer.
“I’ve got
to find her,” Aidan repeated, raising his head so he could look into Shaun's eyes. “She can’t become just another face on the news. She can’t—”
Still rambling, Aidan rose and began to make his way back to the bedroom. There had to be something that would tell him where to find Cheyenne.
Aidan stood in the doorway and watched as the agents murmured to one another about the writing on the wall. One of them looked his way and he saw pity in the agent’s eyes.
“Did you find anything?”
They shook their heads.
“Wait,” said an agent who was putting the carnation petals in a plastic bag. He used the camera he held to snap a photo of a brown book. Skimming it through, he said, “It’s a photo album. And there’s a note for you.”
Aidan stepped to his side. Because he wasn’t wearing gloves, he grabbed a couple of tissues from the bedside table and took the album.
FBI Special Agent O’Reilly—
Surprise! I left a very special gift for you: all the women I’ve killed in my lifetime. You think the fifty I have attached to my name is enough to make your skin crawl? Well, enjoy a little light reading. Now, your girlfriend is such a lovely young woman. Lovelier than the others. I suppose it’s because she’s yours. Well, I have her now, so I guess technically speaking, she’s mine. I'm going to enjoy your little girlfriend. And I'll be thinking of you all the time. I wonder if she'll cry out your name. I'll let you know. Anyway, this is our end game. Thank you for playing, and I do hope we’ll meet again.
Your friend,
The Carnations Killer
Aidan's hands began to shake as he read the letter.
The Carnations Killer wanted Cheyenne to be his last victim. Then he was going to vanish in the night.
Again.
Aidan skimmed the pages of the album. He could feel Shaun's breath against his neck.
All the pages contained full spread bodies of women, most wearing black dresses, holding a bouquet of carnations against their chests.
He recognized some of the women, others he didn’t.
Aidan heard Shaun curse under his breath.
“There’s got to be more than a hundred pages in that book,” the agent who found the album stated. “If they are all of women he killed, then—”
