Rule of Thirds (A Mirror Novel Book 1)

by Stephanie Tyler

  Jasper was right, but that didn’t make this step any less terrifying. Bren paused outside the driveway before pulling up to the secluded house—a pleasant enough place, with a perfectly manicured landscape and a lot of privacy. Which was both good and bad.

  There were no other cars, and a note pinned to the front door. After several moments of hesitation and inner debate, Bren got out of his car, bag slung over his shoulder—and his gun slid into the front pocket within easy reach—and went to read it.

  Bren, I’ll be a little late—held up—so sorry. Door is open (we are very low crime around here) – pls. help yourself to the food in the fridge.

  –Jasper

  “Now or never,” Bren muttered, trying to monitor his feelings when he pushed through the opened door so he could capture them later for the book.

  The house was pleasant and cool inside—decorated with a modern sensibility which didn’t quite match the outside. But it was neat and clean, and most definitely empty. Bren walked the entire area—all two bathrooms, three bedrooms and kitchen worth. He even checked in the closets.

  Finally, he sat at the kitchen table to wait and turned the small TV on. He didn’t partake of the meal Jasper had left for him, although it looked good. It was three hours later, just when he was wondering whether or not he should leave—or nap—when he heard a car coming up the drive. He glanced out the window and saw it pull up next to his. A man got out, looking polished in a pair of jeans and what looked to be a cashmere sweater, thin and expensive. Like a man used to living in Europe, scamming people into thinking he was wealthy.

  The man’s a scam artist, he reminded himself. Was he letting himself be scammed?

  Even if he was, he’d been paid a big enough advance to allow it to continue. Or maybe he could write about the fact that he was scammed.

  Stop, he ordered himself, because he was spinning out of control. The door opened and a strong voice said, “Bren? So sorry I’m late.”

  It was the same voice from the phone, and Jasper’s smile and manner was friendly and put Bren at ease. “Bren, I can’t apologize enough—you must’ve been thinking—”

  “It’s okay,” Bren said, attempting to look and sound as at ease as his subject. He’d only seen grainy pictures of Jessica, so looking for a resemblance was futile. But he did so anyway…because what did the brother of a serial killer look like?

  Jasper went to the fridge and took a can of soda. He offered one to Bren, who took it and drank out of the need to do something. Jasper sat across from him and sat, “Weird, right?”

  “Yes,” Bren admitted. He studied the dark-haired man with the lean face and the bright eyes. “I’ve been thinking about what to ask you and I swear, I’m blank.”

  Jasper laughed a little. “I’m sure I can talk enough for both of us. It’s just been great to get my story out. Cathartic. I guess I’m using you a little like I would a shrink. Hope that’s all right.”

  “It’s fine,” Bren assured him. “I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you.” This was almost a repeat of some of their first conversations, almost like this was the way Jasper eased into telling the next part of his story.

  Now, Jasper pulled a folder from a drawer he could reach from where he sat. “I’ve got a little surprise for you. I can’t give these to you to publish—I mean, I trust you but…well, I don’t want her to ever know that you could identify her.”

  Bren’s stomach clenched with excitement—Jasper was going to show him pictures of the most famous serial killer of her time. He’d be lying if he didn’t say this was everything. It was one thing to have Jasper describe her, but to have a true visual during the writing process would make everything come alive.

  Jasper passed him a picture—it was a color picture of Jessica, taken when she appeared to be off guard, not caring that someone took her picture. She was relaxed. Smiling. Blond and blue eyed, perfect features. A woman who would turn heads.

  Beautiful.

  It was weird to think a killer was beautiful. And she was looking sultrily at whoever was taking the picture.

  Who did take the picture? Jasper? Because this wasn’t the way a sister looked at a brother. Then again, there was nothing normal about this family—Jasper had told him that many times over.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jacoby was feeling uneasy. Off his game. Bren might simply be gone, but Jacoby would bet his life he’d been taken—or, at the very least, was in serious trouble. And Jacoby didn’t bet his life lightly.

  He’d showered for a while, letting the warm water take away a bit of the tension, and he dressed quickly and went down to find Ward and continue their slog through the old files. On his way to the kitchen, he caught sight of the first floor bathroom. He’d seen it many times since he’d been back with zero reaction, but tonight…something was different. He stopped, stared into it, and the first night he’d met Ward rushed back to him in full Technicolor, and so hard it was dizzying. He refused to grab the wall and steady himself. Instead, he let the sense of off balance fill him, using it to build up his strength, both external and emotional.

  Like he didn’t have enough. If the old saying of “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” applied, he already had more than enough strength in him to live out the rest of his life comfortable with nothing—or no one else trying to kill him.

  When he heard Ward coming, he yanked himself away from his memories and went to the leather couch—comfortable and familiar as it was—and ran his hand along the soft, scarred leather.

  “You okay?”

  Jacoby nodded. No, he was the furthest thing from it, but Ward suspected that already. No need to confirm.

  “Dinner?”

  Jacoby realized he hadn’t eaten all day. “That sounds good.”

  “Maybe I’ll grill something.”

  “Make it easy.”

  Ward nodded. He was a good cook and Jacoby subsequently followed him into the kitchen where he watched Ward chop onions and peppers and season thick steaks. He also cut up meats and cheeses and surrounded them with crackers on a plate, making it look effortless and nothing like a thrown-together mess that Jacoby would’ve made of it.

  Now, Ward slid the plate in front of Jacoby. His stomach growled. Loudly.

  Ward didn’t break a smile. Instead, he went onto the deck that was covered from the light rain and grilled as Jacoby ate some of the appetizers.

  It would be okay between them. At some point, Ward taking care of him was at least familiar. And maybe that was the issue—Ward never gave him the opportunity for Jacoby to take care of him.

  And maybe you’re not trying to take care of him.

  By the time Ward came in, Jacoby had set the plates and silverware on the island. Ward acknowledged it with a flash of surprise and Jacoby liked the look in Ward’s eyes whenever he managed to accomplish that.

  They began to eat in a comfortable silence as the rain pattered on the roof. At one point, the lightning and subsequent thunder hit a one-two punch of close together and hard and Ward suddenly froze. The lights flickered, illuminating Ward’s deer-in-the-headlights expression and Jacoby slid off his stool and stood next to Ward protectively, with no clue as to why he was so freaked.

  The lights flickered again. “It’s from the storm, Ward,” he murmured, although he wasn’t sure if he was assuring Ward or himself. He slid a hand tentatively around the back of Ward’s neck and he stiffened at the touch. “Ward, baby—it’s me. We’re okay.”

  “Cameras,” Ward managed in a tone that sent chills down Ward’s spine.

  “I’ll check them,” Jacoby assured him. He went to the monitor in the kitchen and checked all the floors and then centered in on all the rooms.

  Nothing. He brought the portable monitor over to Ward and while Ward checked himself, Jacoby went to set the alarm.

  “No!” Ward shouted.

  “What the fuck?”

  Ward swallowed hard, but at least the spell seemed to have broken. “I’ll che
ck with you. Every room from the top down. For now, only alarm the doors on this floor.” Jacoby didn’t argue. Ward hesitated for a brief second more, then ordered, “Leave the rest clear.”

  They walked up the wide staircase, Jacoby taking point. He was barely breathing as they moved noiselessly in sync to the third floor. Jacoby pointed to the attic doors but Ward shook his head and pointed to the series of outside locks, some keyed and some deadbolted, then mouthed, “Last.”

  “Fair enough,” Jacoby mouthed back and together they began a relentless room-by-room search from top to bottom. Jacoby only allowed himself to say the word, “Clear,” after the house and perimeter were secured. “Now I’ll check the attic.”

  “Don’t bother.” Ward sounded hoarse as he sat, almost defeatedly, into a broad leather chair in the den. “It wasn’t anything. It was just me.”

  “Right, because you’re such the type to overreact.”

  Ward put his head back. “I’m tired.”

  Again, un-Ward-like behavior. “Go sleep. Maybe I’ll head to the office and check out some of the files I can’t access from here. Dig a little deeper.”

  Ward frowned. “You’ve been gone awhile.” Jacoby acknowledged that with a nod. “You’ll go through the cases we discussed?”

  “A full night’s work.” As Jacoby spoke, the rain stopped, and Ward’s expression cleared. “I’ll call when I’m there.”

  “Don’t make any stops,” Ward offered.

  He obviously wanted to be alone, and Jacoby got that, accepted it, understood it…even though he was worried as hell about Ward. Jacoby nodded, slid on his jacket and unalarmed and unlocked the door. When he walked out, he heard it click and beep behind him. And he felt Ward’s eyes on him until he rode away.

  He didn’t look back. When he got to the bureau’s offices, he garaged his bike, checked in with the agent on duty and finally called Ward.

  No text. Ward had to hear his voice, in case Jacoby spoke the word they’d deemed their signal all those years ago, in case Jessica was there, trying to lure them into a trap.

  Ward answered on the first ring. “You’re in?”

  “All locked and guarded,” Jacoby agreed. “Getting to work.”

  “Good.” Ward cut the line.

  “Prick,” Jacoby said to the empty line, put the phone next to him on the empty desk he’d been reassigned—his old desk, his old office, across from Ward’s—along with his laptop and piles of paper.

  All the cases from the time Ward had been attacked until now—two years’ worth—waited for him to go through. He was particularly interested in the ones from the past eight months, and he swept the files that didn’t fit that criteria out of his way until he found the first ones from February.

  February eighth was the date Bren claimed to have gotten his very first call from Jasper. Jacoby’s hunch pushed him to want to check if there was an upkick in any activity on Ward’s cases. He figured that Jessica would know that Ward would get involved in any case she was associated with.

  After this, he’d go through all the bureau’s serial cases. And the stalking ones as well. Stalkers and serials weren’t the same animal at all, although there was occasionally a crossover, or a mislabeled case.

  He knew the published statistics—at any one time, between thirty-five and forty serial killers were active in the US and a similar number abroad. In Jacoby’s estimation, that number was still much lower than the real thing, thanks to a steady climb in DNA advances and law enforcement training.

  He’d researched black widow cases, angels of mercy and the like, but none of them fit his sister.

  He checked into the last Couples Killer’s kill, which was a full six months ago. Before that, he’d been steadily killing every three months, but there was sometimes what was known as a honeymoon period, and usually a pattern leading up to the killer’s escalation. The cooling-off period between kills could be anywhere from ten years to a couple of days, depending on how a killer was escalating. Jacoby always felt that there were probably more in between the Couples Killer’s documented kills, maybe some mistakes, some who got away, some practice cases that maybe ended in rape, rather than a kill.

  So maybe the Couples Killer had gone through a honeymoon phase. Jacoby cross-referenced missing persons and couples. The guy liked to show off, but maybe he’d had some of those practice rounds that had gone unnoticed…and there were a lot of unsolved murders that maybe-but-not-quite fit the pattern.

  After hours of that type of near-miss, the sun finally rose, and Jacoby had nothing but a tension headache and zero to go on. He went to the bureau’s gym for some training. After a few pick-up boxing sessions, a run and weight training later, Jacoby was still unsettled.

  Ward hadn’t checked in beyond a few calls and texts, their codes, so he wasn’t worried…not about Ward being physically safe, anyway.

  However, there were obviously varying degrees of “fine.”

  He went to find Leo. They discussed the cases and that’s when Jacoby realized what was missing—Ward’s case file. It was no doubt locked down tight, purposely not given to Jacoby. But he wanted it, convinced it was now more necessary than ever, the key to what was happening.

  When he told Leo, the former SEAL shot him a measured look. “You really think it could help, or do you just really want to know?”

  “Both.”

  Leo accepted that. “Why now?”

  For a second, Jacoby hesitated, not wanting to betray Ward. But he quickly realized that Leo probably understood Ward’s behaviors, maybe better than Ward did. “He freaked today for no reason. Wouldn’t let me alarm the house.”

  Leo nodded, but didn’t look surprised.

  “It’s about the attack, right?” Jacoby asked bluntly.

  Leo stared at him hard again, then went into a closet and brought out a box. He unlocked it with a key he pulled from around his neck and handed Jacoby a large binder. As Jacoby took it, Leo said, “She took him in a thunder and lightning storm. Actually, he alarmed himself inside with her. And when he couldn’t escape, no one thought to help him because his alarm was on and there were no issues. Nothing he did could trip it. He’d set the code from the inside.”

  It was Jacoby’s turn to freeze in that same way Ward had last night. “It happened in his house? I thought…”

  “Read the file. I’m going to get us lunch.” With that, Leo exited, locking Jacoby and the file inside safely.

  The locks on the attic door were new…

  The attic. She’d been waiting in the attic. Fuck. No wonder there were new locks on the doors. Jacoby’d thought Ward might be hiding something.

  And he was.

  She’d lain in wait, for God knew how long. Then she lured him or snuck out after he’d had a drink from the whiskey he’d always kept.

  Whiskey she’d drugged.

  Jacoby imagined Ward still drinking it nightly, refusing to give in to the worry and fear she’d attempted to instill in him.

  Ward had been kidnapped in his own house. Jessica knew where he lived…

  And Ward didn’t tell you.

  Should he have? Jacoby’s mind spun too fast to even attempt an answer. Instead, he paged through the files, reading over Ward’s accounting of what happened. What he remembered.

  “He’s leaving things out,” he said when Leo walked back in…right after Jacoby had hurriedly taken pictures of the most important pages he’d just read.

  “Purposely,” Leo agreed as he unpacked sandwiches. He slid one to Jacoby. “Never questioned him on it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Figured when the time was right you’d come back and do it for me.”

  His tone was one hundred percent serious. Jacoby opened his Coke and began to flip through the doctor reports, and pictures he knew Leo took. Jacoby had seen all these scars in their healed state, but seeing the wounds as they were when Ward had been found…

  “Yours were worse,” Leo said abruptly.

  Jacoby stared at hi
m, blinking. Time had definitely softened those memories, even though he still bore the scars. “I’m putting him in danger being back here.”

  “You’re both always in danger.”

  He hated Leo for being right, and so calmly matter-of-fact about it. “For forty-eight hours in his own attic.”

  “Lotta drugs.”

  “Like?”

  Leo swallowed the bite of sandwich he’d been chewing and took a slug of soda before answering. “Hallucinogens. Sodium pentothal.”

  Truth serums. What was she trying to get from him?

  A truth you don’t even have.

  “He’ll hate that you know all this,” Leo offered.

  “So why show it to me?”

  “Thin line between love and hate,” was all Leo said. “You done?”

  He was. He’d snapped pictures of everything and he figured Leo would know he’d do this. Jacoby needed to study all this in private, obsess over it, beat himself up some more about drawing Ward into all of this.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Bren’s head began to pound after several hours of Jasper’s nonstop talking. The phone calls had been draining, but in person, Jasper was soul-sucking. A true narcissist. “Do you have any Advil?” he asked finally.

  “Sure.” Jasper jumped up, continuing his ongoing monologue about his favorite subject—himself—as he did so. He tossed Bren the bottle and Bren downed four pills dry. “Hey, want some wine?”

  Bren shook his head. “Water’s good.”

  “Suit yourself.” He slid a glass of water Bren’s way and poured himself a healthy glass. “Where was I?”

  Finished with your story, hopefully? Bren used the opportunity to ask, “Can I go over some of my notes with you, just to make sure I got the points correct?”

  “I guess,” Jasper said, sounding less than enthused at the prospect of talking about Jessica and not himself. He took several sips of wine and opened his mouth to talk.

  Bren braced himself for another story when Jasper slumped forward, a look of panic on his face. Bren got up to go to him when he heard a purred, “He’s fine, Bren. I’ve got this.”