He wasn’t as naive as any of them thought.
*
When Ward’s office phone rang later that evening, both men stared at it like it could bite them. After two rings, Ward picked up with, “Thayer,” and after a few seconds of listening said, “Are you kidding me? Stop it. Shut it down right now—take the live goddamned feeds off the air. I don’t care if you have to contact every news station—do it!” he roared, then hung up and turned on the TV.
“What’s happening?”
“He’s giving a press conference,” Ward said grimly.
Jacoby was staring at the feed outside of Bren’s house. “How the hell did he arrange that without us knowing? I didn’t see him leave.”
“Impromptu, he claims. His lawyer says that he was planning on doing it with the FBI but the story leaked out to the press, and the press surrounded him instead before he could tell the proper authorities.” Ward sighed. “I knew I should’ve wired the neighbor’s yard—he probably cut through and his lawyer picked him up on the next street over.”
Indeed, on the television screen, there was a view of Bren outside the police station. “I just want to set the record straight,” he was saying to the members of the press who’d gathered around him as several uniformed officers took up behind him. “I had every intention of going to the FBI with what I’d learned, thanks to my source, but apparently members of the press were also informed of the recent murder. My source denies giving them this information, which could mean that Jessica is involved.” Bren took a breath. “There is so much more to the story I’m writing, so much more that Jessica’s brother knows. For now, out of respect for a possible murder, I won’t say more. I’d like to tell the police what I know and let them do their jobs. Thank you.”
More questions were shouted, flashbulbs popped and Ward and Jacoby were frozen for several seconds.
“He did not just reveal a possible murder on national TV.” The veins in Ward’s neck bulged.
Jacoby fought the urge to calm him down, because in his estimation, Ward angry was a beautiful thing. “I guess we didn’t get through to him at all, because he fucking did.” And maybe they’d just made things worse, he told himself as he dialed the police station. He got the chief on the phone and told him to lock down the area.
“Send Jude,” Ward barked, holding his own phone to his ear, on the phone with his supervisor and probably Leo.
“You didn’t think I was going there myself, did you?” Jacoby asked quietly. Ward’s stance was both protective and deadly.
Jacoby wouldn’t want to be Bren anytime soon.
*
Hours later, they did in fact have a murder on their hands. Ward had gone to FBI HQ under the cover of night and Jacoby had been forced to stay home and work behind the scenes.
Bren was tucked safely at home, guarded by a staff of men his lawyer had hired, along with a black and white at the edge of his driveway to keep the press at bay.
Ward had been locked down in meetings, so he was behind on the intel that Jacoby got from Leo. As soon as Ward checked in about the body found and sent to autopsy, Jacoby told him, “The man’s been ID’d. He raped a nine-year-old. Lawyer got him off on a technicality. Fuckers. And yes, I’ve already sent a car to the lawyer’s house, even though that piece of shit doesn’t deserve it.”
Ward never lectured him on being politically correct—their opinions were what they were. It wouldn’t ever stop Jacoby from protecting the piece of shit.
“Don’t go to Bren’s,” Ward warned him.
“What are we going to do—let him run wild?” Jacoby asked.
“He’s on lockdown—where we can control his calls.”
Jacoby shook his head. “I’ll believe it when I see it. You sure you don’t want me to go there and drag his ass away?”
“Sure—make sure the press gets plenty of shots,” Ward told him. “Bren never mentioned you holding him hostage.”
“Told you it was no big deal.”
“You held a knife to his throat.”
“Details.”
“We’re supposed to protect him.”
Jacoby pointed to him. “You’re supposed to. Me? I’m on leave. Technically, I was protecting Bren from an impostor—most likely a serial killer.”
Ward couldn’t argue with Jacoby’s logic, so he didn’t. “Bren’s holed up in his house with private security.”
“He’s not, actually,” Jacoby said after a brief moment’s hesitation and Ward turned to glare at him. “I might’ve gone there.”
“No one is supposed to see you.”
“And really, his new security team sucks because I got in and out without being spotted.”
“Jesus motherfucker.”
“Nice, Ward. Glad our marriage is having a positive influence on you.”
Ward lowered his voice. “I’ll show your ass positive as soon as possible.”
“I’ll hold you to that. And Bren’s not at his house—that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. He set that up as a diversion for us, most likely, and the reporters too. But he’s gone.”
“I suppose I don’t need to tell you to find out where he’s gone to?”
“Already did.”
“God, I love you.”
*
The cabin was a luxury log cabin, newer than Bren’s house in the city and with more amenities. No one knew he was here except his lawyer. Even the security crew outside his house was ordered to not come in—they would call him and he would answer as if he were inside. He’d kept the same phone number active for Jasper and had it forwarded to a new phone he’d gotten with the help of his editor so he couldn’t be traced, but certainly, Bren would never reveal his location to Jasper.
Here, there were no distractions, from Jacoby or Ward or anyone. There was grocery delivery set up for once per week and other than that, it was Bren and the sound of his own voice.
And a fully loaded cable box. Thankfully. Because a writer couldn’t live without distractions. It was some kind of unspoken writer code.
He hadn’t told his lawyer about what Jacoby and Ward had done to him, the information he knew…and he hadn’t heard from Jasper since. He guessed he was hiding here as much from Jasper, even though Bren didn’t think Jasper knew where he lived before anyway.
If Bren did this correctly, the book would be even more explosive than originally planned. He’d already written up the chapter on his assault by Jacoby and Ward, their lies…framing his story against Jasper’s persecution at the hands of Jessica was working perfectly.
But Bren had to admit, he was scared shitless—about being wrong where Jasper was concerned. Jacoby’s scars had looked real as hell—they haunted him.
If this was all a huge miscalculation, Bren still had a story. Because he was writing a second one, just in case Jacoby was who he said he was. So Bren had been working on chapters that detailed his relationship with Ward, how he’d met Jacoby for the first time…
Bren was just glad he had a good lawyer and a willing publisher.
Now, all he had to do was wait for Jasper’s next phone call. There was no way Bren would’ve been able to go meet with Jasper the way things stood at home. Here, he was free to move about as he pleased.
Chapter Nineteen
Ward was driving like a bat out of hell up the highway, following the directions Jacoby programmed into the GPS.
Jacoby would’ve been more comfortable following on his bike—cars and trucks always made him feel too boxed in—but he figured he’d use this opportunity to go over the case. Again.
This time, he’d try a new angle. He glanced down at his ring—he’d been rubbing his thumb against it almost constantly, spinning it, getting used to it. Maybe it was the ring that gave him the strength. “What did she force you to talk about?”
Ward blinked, his fingers tightening on the wheel until his knuckles went white. “How do you know she made me talk? You said you didn’t listen.”
“I didn’t, Ward. I just
figured…the drugs…”
“You really think this is the time and place to bring this up?”
“Yeah, actually, I do. Baby steps.”
Ward stared straight ahead. “You never told me she interrogated you.”
“Yeah, well…telling you about my life was hard enough. Explaining her bizarre Q&A?” He paused. “No one can ever be prepared for that.”
“No,” Ward agreed, his voice hoarse.
“She knew a lot about me. More than I thought. I didn’t realize that she’d been following me around. She knew who’d I’d slept with.” Jacoby swallowed. “It was horrifying—like she was inside my mind, living there. She knew how I felt about things. It was like she knew me better than…”
“You knew yourself.”
“And you’re the only one I want to know that kind of shit,” Jacoby conceded.
“And still, a part of you hates that.”
“Maybe a little less as more time passes.” When Jacoby admitted that, Ward’s hand reached out to give his a quick squeeze. “I could’ve—should’ve—God knows I deserve to be in your place. I deserved the torture.”
“No, you don’t. You never did.”
“But you did?” Jacoby shot back.
“It was luck of the draw. It’s part of my job. When I signed up, I knew that it was a possibility. We were warned about it—you went through the same training I did.”
“She wouldn’t be after you—”
“If it wasn’t for you? Really? Nothing at all to do with the fact that I almost caught her?” Ward glanced over at him quickly, but long enough for Jacoby to catch the flash of anger in his eyes. It was aimed more at Jessica than him but Jacoby still felt it as keenly as a punch to the gut. Because he was good at guilt. Guilt was his thing.
“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Ward told him. “Not every FBI agent gets killed by the serial killer they hunt. In fact, it’s pretty fucking rare.”
Jacoby’s response was to give him the finger and ignore him for the rest of the ride.
*
Half an hour later, Jacoby and Ward were inside the luxury cabin.
“He’s not here. Maybe you’re wrong?” Ward asked.
“Go fuck yourself,” Jacoby growled. “I’m not wrong. Take some prints. There are recent tire tracks. And there’s fresh food in the fridge. Clothes that would fit him. No sign of his computer, which sounds about right—he’s too paranoid to leave it behind. And this place was rented out by his lawyer’s firm.”
Ward walked through the cabin himself, the way Jacoby figured he would. Mainly because that was Ward, but also, since Jacoby wasn’t officially on the case, it was all about CYA. “It’s after eleven. There’s no place around here for him to be—closest neighbor’s six miles and even then…” Ward got on his cell, had his assistant begin to check tapes of the closest bridges and tunnels in the area that might’ve captured a glimpse of Bren’s car and plates rather than put out a BOLO on the car.
They drove around the immediate area, but it was so damned remote, there was no way they’d find him like this. There were no stores around, not for many, many miles.
“Maybe he was headed back home and our paths crossed,” Jacoby said when they got back on the highway.
“So we’ll go check his house. Again,” Ward said.
When they were almost to Bren’s house, his phone rang. “Gone? What do you mean gone?” Ward asked, like it was the first time he’d heard of Bren’s disappearance. Jacoby would’ve given him an Academy Award for that performance, especially when he barked, “Well get off the phone with me and find him.” He handed Jacoby his phone when it beeped again. “Handle this.”
“It’s a text.”
“From the office?”
Jacoby didn’t recognize the number, but when he saw the message, he said, “Definitely not. You’ll want to see this.”
Ward pulled over to the side of the road and took the phone, staring at the message Jacoby was rolling around in his head.
You have more to worry about than Jessica.
–Jasper
Jasper.
Ward cursed under his breath and peeled off the side of the road. Seconds later, he put the next call from the office on speaker.
Two vics…in a park, fifteen minutes from Bren’s house.
The last part of the ride was understandably tense as fuck. The feeling of dread gnawed in Jacoby’s gut, grew worse the closer they got…but instead of going directly to the crime scene, Ward stopped at his house. Presumably to let Jacoby continue his work on the case from afar, since he’d never officially asked to come back into the case.
But now? He was asking by saying, “I’ll grab my bike and go with you.”
“Are you coming back to work?” Ward asked.
“Who are we kidding, Ward? I was back the second I knocked on Bren’s door.”
“Which is what Jessica wanted.”
“Probably,” Jacoby agreed.
Ward rubbed his palm over his face. “I don’t…dammit, I want to protect you.”
“You have. You are. You will,” Jacoby said simply. He exited the car and minutes later he pulled up into the driveway next to Ward’s driver’s side window. “I’ll follow you.”
“Never thought I’d live to hear you say that,” Ward shouted above Jacoby’s revved engine.
Jacoby shot him the finger, but followed Ward…for most of the way. And then right before they got off the exit, Jacoby pulled ahead of him.
Both men smiled at that.
Jacoby knew it probably would be the last time in quite a few hours.
Chapter Twenty
The crime scene was a swarm of cops and EMTs, who were, unfortunately, unnecessary. First responders, no matter how well intentioned, tended to fuck up a scene as complicated and fragile as this one almost immediately.
The medical examiner from the FBI—Leo Donovan—pulled up next to Jacoby. Ward had already done the same on the other side of the bike. Leo glanced at Ward, then over to Jacoby. “So much for the honeymoon,” he told them before heading to the bodies.
Jacoby followed him and Ward, careful to step where they had to avoid further contamination of the scene. Which was a fucking joke, since it’d been trampled.
“Clusterfuck,” Jacoby muttered as Ward began ordering officers to “Get the fuck out of our crime scene and wait by your cars.”
Not Bren. That was the first—and only—relief in this situation for Jacoby. Bren was still missing…but he wasn’t about to be placed in a goddamned body bag. That was something to be thankful for.
The only thing the crime scene had going for it was the bodies—and from a single glance, Jacoby knew who’d committed this crime. He stared at the couple splayed in front of him, posed almost artistically. He recognized the technique—the rule of thirds was an early lesson in most amateur photography classes. And, of course, he recognized the kill pattern.
Serial killers enjoyed being distinct. They studied one another, determined to be the best at what they did—the most shocking and therefore, the most memorable. This definitely wasn’t the biggest or best of them, but it definitely was memorable.
Now, he grabbed his phone and snapped some pictures, imagining the way the Couples Killer (the political term—the FBI dubbed them the BJ Killings) would’ve seen it from his point of view. All Jacoby could think of this as now was a Jasper killing. Which meant the BJ Killer had been only pretending to be Jasper, the one luring Bren into writing about Jessica…
The big question remained: how did Jasper and Jessica know each other? Was Jasper one of Jessica’s trainees?
Either way, it was a complete motherfucking clusterfuck, which was what Leo muttered as he brushed past Jacoby.
Jacoby stood back again, then walked around the bodies, taking a rule of thirds picture. From many different angles. He’d enlarge them and study them at Ward’s, but as much as he hated the smell, the sadness of this scene, there was nothing like the chance to study the real thing
. The Couples Killer had been around for five years with zero leads.
Now, they had a tentative connection to Jessica.
The fact that this kill happened the night Bren went missing was no goddamned coincidence. Jacoby had never dealt with this case—it was a Cullers special. But it was time to get up to speed.
In the middle of the chaos that Jacoby blocked out, he pulled his focus to narrow in on the bodies. He listened to Leo, letting the man’s litany become a background wash.
Dead less than five hours.
Caucasian male between twenty and twenty four. Same with the female vic.
Naked. Clothes folded neatly.
He made a brief note on one of the small stenos he’d pilfered from Ward—they seemed to be permanent fixtures in his car, on his person, in his house for as long as Jacoby could remember. He makes them fold their own clothes.
The couple was posed, with the female vic’s face contorted grotesquely, thanks to the fact that she had the guy’s dick in her mouth, with his balls hitting her chin. His body was straight, on his back and she was semi-curled next to him.
“Guy definitely has a pattern,” one cop was saying to another, loudly. “Makes you wonder if some chick bit his dick off when she was going down on him.”
“Why kill the guy, then?”
“Needed a prop.”
Jacoby held his tongue. They were so wrong but hey, such simplistic thinking helped them sleep at night. Seeing things as black and white…well, Jacoby was jealous, actually.
He turned then, saw the tree—a great climbing tree that would give him the perfect aerial view of the bodies.
*
Even though he’d barely moved, just enough to circle the scene, Ward could feel the frenetic, restless energy writhing off Jacoby.
As he watched Jacoby climb the tree, he heard someone behind him mutter, “FBI profilers are always fucking nuts,” and he couldn’t argue. It wasn’t only because of the job, either. You had to go into it that way.
Rule of Thirds (A Mirror Novel Book 1) Page 11
