by Webb, Debra
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
VICIOUS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
About the Author
SILENCE
Faces of Evil
Debra Webb
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 Debra Webb, Pink House Press
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
PINK HOUSE PRESS
WebbWorks
Huntsville, Alabama
First Edition November 2013
Absolute silence...is the image of death.
~Jean-Jacques Rousseau
1
Ten years before OBSESSION, the holiday magic of Christmas touched the lives of Special Agent Jess Harris and Dan Burnett, her first love... a love that would linger for more than two decades before destiny would bring them together once more. But first, Agent Harris must survive the faces of evil.
Christmas Eve
Birmingham, Alabama, 6:20 p.m.
She should have taken I-459 before she hit Birmingham proper. Traffic was bumper to bumper. Why the hell weren’t these people at home already? It was Christmas Eve for heaven’s sake!
I think you need that vacation now.
Jess Harris banished Supervisory Special Agent Ralph Gant’s voice from her head. Taking a deep breath, she slowed for the exit to Hoover. Lily was going to be more than a little unhappy that Jess was running late. She had promised to be there before seven.
“Not going to happen,” she muttered ruefully.
The cell phone in the cup holder chimed as if she’d telegraphed that thought directly to her sister. It wasn’t necessary to check the caller ID, it would be Lily. From the moment her sister delivered her first child, she became the matriarch of their relationship as if the rite of passage into motherhood anointed her with a special wisdom Jess didn’t possess.
No, that was wrong, the transition happened way before that. Lil had evolved into a pint-sized mom the day their parents hadn’t come home. A car crash had stolen them away. Even now the memories of that afternoon made breathing difficult.
She and Lil had been doing homework at the kitchen table when the police arrived to take them away from the only real home they would know until they were adults with places of their own. Despite being just twelve Lil had, on some level, immediately assumed the role abruptly vacated by their mother.
A smile tugged at Jess’s lips. Or, maybe Lily Harris Colburn just liked being bossy. After all, she was two years older than Jess.
Summoning a chipper tone, Jess flipped open her cell before the third chime. “Hey, Lil. Almost there.”
That was a major stretch of the truth considering she still had to stop and pick up the dessert she’d promised to bring for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner. To the best of her memory there was a Publix in Hoover. At least she hoped the store hadn’t closed or moved. If it had, she’d just have to wing it. From Hoover it was maybe another twenty minutes to Lil’s house if traffic didn’t get even more congested.
Wishful thinking. She glanced at the line of cars waiting to merge.
Jess listened through her sister’s patient reminder for her to drive safely and not to forget that the new minister’s older son—who just happened to be about Jess’s age and single now that his divorce was final—was having dinner with the family tonight.
How could Jess forget?
“I can’t wait to meet him.” What was one more little deviation from the truth? “I’m making a quick stop at Publix. See you soon.” She closed her phone before Lil could protest, tossed it on the passenger seat and let out a big groan. “Why in the world did you do this, Jessie Lee?”
Because you had a moment of weakness after looking death in the face. Because even her new boss had insisted.
As an agent in the field she had danced with death a few times. It went with the territory. The tension she wanted so badly to deny tightened in her chest. But this time the house call she’d made had been different, had hit a little closer to home. Images from those frantic hours before daylight this morning crowded in on her. Scrubbing the backseat of her car and the carpet in the floorboard. No matter how hard she cleaned the smell of desperation and death lingered—at least in her mind.
She banished the chill that tried to invade her bones. Her colleagues at the Bureau would be shocked. Special Agent Jess Harris hadn’t taken more than a day here or there in eight years. She wasn’t married. Didn’t have kids. Never got sick. What did she need with a vacation? That was her motto and she’d stuck to it her entire career.
Stress is cumulative, Agent Harris. There comes a time in every agent’s career when they need a break... or they break. That profound statement had summarized her last psychological evaluation. When she’d moved to the Behavioral Analysis Unit two months ago, Gant had mentioned he preferred his profilers take their downtime a little more seriously. She’d smiled and agreed, then promptly dismissed the concept... until around midnight last night. A few hours after that she hastily packed a bag and headed to Alabama.
The reality of just how long it had been since she’d come home had hit Jess squarely between the eyes. Her sister was the only family she had left in this world—at least the only family she claimed anyway. Jess was not allowing another holiday to pass without spending it with her family even if that decision meant coming here.
Coming back here was... difficult.
Stretching the kinks from her neck, Jess repositioned her hands on the steering wheel. Already that particular tension had started to twist tighter and tighter inside her and she was barely within the city limits. Her heart beat faster and her mouth grew dry.
He was here.
Memories of cruising through downtown Birmingham on hot summer nights in that convertible he’d owned back in high school rushed through her mind, doing strange things to her pulse. The lights... the stars... sitting so close to him she could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest.
She had been crazy in love with Daniel Burnett. And completely certain they would be together forever.
A wry laugh bubbled up in her still raw throat. “Good thing I didn’t lay a wager on that one.”
Ten years ago, while they were planning their wedding no less, he’d announced he couldn’t be what she wanted and had come back here—to their hometown—alone, leaving her in Boston... alone.
Apparently he hadn’t looked back. In fact he’d gotten married, not once but twice according to her sister, since then. The last time was scarcely a year ago. Maybe their breaking up had been a good thing.
Just hadn’t felt like one at the time, or any of the other times since, whenever she’d irrationally permitted herself to wonder what if they’d stayed together.
Dismissing thoughts of Dan, she turned onto John Hawkins Parkway and aimed her almost new Audi toward Publix. The gently used car was a present to herself for the long awaited promotion she
had worked so hard to achieve. After eight years as a special agent in the field with the Bureau, she had been selected for a rare and prestigious position at Quantico’s National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.
The opportunity to dissect the most evil criminal minds was both challenging and exhilarating and worth all the years of personal sacrifice. More of the images from the past thirty-six hours elbowed their way back into her thoughts.
Unable to turn off work at the end of a case much less at the end of the day.
Maybe she’d prove the shrink wrong by not allowing the carousel of cases she spent her time digging around in to haunt her last minute vacation.
Now there was a novel concept.
To her frustration, traffic was even slower moving on the parkway, but she was almost there. She worked at relaxing, first her neck and shoulders, then her arms and hands. All she had to do was let go of all things related to work.
This break would be fun. Visiting Lily and her cute little family was always a joy. Except for the blatant matchmaking. Jess rolled her eyes. Her sister was desperate to get her home permanently. Nearly all the emails she got from Lil these days included a bio on some newly divorced or widowed member of her church.
“Not going to happen, sis.” Jess was never coming back here permanently.
N.E.V.E.R.
After cruising the rows of cars, she finally found a vacant slot in the crowded lot and parked. Her body complained as she unfastened her seatbelt. A fringe benefit of driving for twelve hours with only two brief stops, not to mention all the bruises she’d sustained last night joined the protest. Nothing a couple of long hot baths wouldn’t fix.
The last time she’d come to Birmingham—had it been four years?—she had taken a commercial flight. Not this time. She’d needed those long driving hours alone to evict work from her head. Not an easy task for someone so hyper focused.
Well, not today. Today she wasn’t a special agent with the FBI, she was Jessie Lee Harris, the sister who’d come home for Christmas.
Despite the cold, blustery weather it was considerably warmer here than the winter storm conditions she’d left back in Virginia. The streets were free of ice and snow. The only precipitation she’d run into as she crossed into Alabama was rain. She grabbed her coat and shouldered into it, then cinched the belt at her waist. The black wool blocked the crisp wind and helped to conceal her travel wrinkled clothes.
She hit the clicker, securing her car, as she headed for the entrance. “One pecan pie coming up.”
While she was at it, she might just get two desserts, the promised pecan pie for tomorrow and one of those decadent hot fudge pies for tonight. Maybe she’d pick up some wine too. After the minister’s son was gone and the kiddies were in bed, she, Lil, and her husband, Blake, could share a few toasts. There was plenty to celebrate. Lily had the husband, kids, and the white picket fence she had always wanted. And Jess had the promotion she’d worked so very hard to achieve.
“Careful what you wish for.”
2
Two days earlier...
Quantico, Virginia, 10:50 a.m.
“Harris, I’m not going to beat around the bush here.”
Even before being assigned to his unit, Jess had worked with Supervisory Special Agent Gant on occasion so she wasn’t exactly worried about why he’d called her into his office or about his direct tone. Going straight for the heart of the matter was his usual style. He evidently saved all his charm—assuming he had any—for civilians.
Charm or no, Jess liked him. “That saves us both some time, sir,” she agreed. “I have a stack of cases waiting on my desk.” Two months in the Behavioral Analysis Unit and she was either Miss Popular or simply low profiler on the food chain and got the cases no one else wanted. Didn’t bother her one little bit. She was more than happy to have a crack at the most challenging subjects.
Gant leaned back in his functional, government-issue chair. It squeaked. “You were handpicked to join this unit because when it comes to ferreting out an unsub you’re the best we’ve seen in a long time. Your instincts are spot on, Harris. Most agents can’t boast about solving the cases assigned to them in any given year, much less those assigned over their career to date. You have a perfect record.”
If he was hoping to butter her up, he was off to a stellar start. Jess beamed a smile. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” He studied her for a beat or two “I’m sure you’re familiar with the Zip Code Killer.”
Who wasn’t? “Agent Taylor did the profile on that case last month.”
She would’ve given her first born for that assignment—not that she had any prospects of marriage much less children—but Taylor, having moved to BAU six months ahead of Jess, was senior so he’d landed it. The “good old boys club” remained alive and well in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Since she wasn’t a “boy,” she’d had to work harder and wait longer. Case in point, she and Taylor had graduated from the academy together. Taylor was a damned fine agent but, as Gant said, her record spoke for itself. Still, Taylor had gotten the plum promotion and assignment ahead of her.
No big deal. She’d never been afraid of a little extra hard work. And patience was a virtue. That was the one thing from her southern upbringing she was immensely grateful for.
“The profile Taylor built helped Agent Bedford and local law enforcement over in Warrenton identify and arrest the unsub.”
Since northern Virginia fell under the jurisdiction of the DC field office, an agent assigned there, Bedford, had contacted BAU for support. Jess hadn’t worked with him before, but Bedford’s reputation was well regarded.
“Can’t ask for much more than that,” Jess offered though she suspected more was exactly what Gant hoped to attain. She’d kept up with the case. Nothing about it had gone down the way anyone had hoped.
Gant leaned forward, his chair complained again, and braced his forearms on his desk. “The problem is everyone involved, including the Bureau, is catching hell for not finding the bodies.”
Folks were most unhappy that the killer, a sixty-seven year old Caucasian, who stalked young women who rented mailboxes at the post office where he had a contract to provide janitorial services, refused to give up the locations of his victims. Melvin Aniston hadn’t said a single word since he was captured. Total silence.
Five young women had gone missing. The remains of one had been discovered on the property where Aniston lived. The others were presumed dead based on the length of time missing and photos found at the Aniston residence that showed the women caged, their bodies obviously abused. The families of those missing victims were left without closure. Christmas was only a couple days away and the community of Warrenton, Virginia, wanted a miracle.
Miracles weren’t Jess’s specialty but she was damned good with murder. She was itching to get a shot at nosing around in the case.
“You may also be aware there’s a witness, Delia Potter. We’ve kept her name and her relationship with Aniston out of the news to protect her.”
“Yes, sir.” Jess had heard about her all right. “She was pivotal to the investigation.”
Delia Potter, not Taylor or anyone in the field conducting the investigation, was the reason the unsub had been identified. Without Potter’s cooperation, Aniston might still be out there, stalking his next victim. The first of the women who’d gone missing, Shawna Johnston, had disappeared seven months ago. Larissa Stone vanished two months after that. Then Aniston suddenly got brave. His next two victims, Bonita and Marie Duncan, sisters, went missing the same day just three months ago. Victim number five, Valerie Prince, had disappeared a mere two weeks later.
No ransom demands. No bodies. No nothing. Just gone.
Until Delia Potter came forward the case had been at a standstill. She’d found photos in Aniston’s house. Those photos had led to a search warrant and a veritable lottery windfall of evidence. Valerie Prince’s remains had been sta
shed in the man’s smoke house. No forensic evidence was discovered to corroborate the other four had ever been at Aniston’s home. But hair and clothing fibers in the cargo area of his Subaru linked him to two more of the missing women.
They had him on one count of murder and four kidnapping charges. The death penalty was looming large. Still, the man said not a word. He had no intention of giving up the location of the other victims not even if it meant he kept breathing.
“The situation is a delicate one,” Gant confessed. “Potter knows she’ll be called as a witness at trial and she’s not a happy camper. Trouble is, it could be years before this case goes to trial. These families deserve to know what happened to their loved ones.” Gant shook his head, his expression grim. “The evidence proves he took those women—or at least was involved—but we can’t say for sure if they’re dead or alive. They could be dying at this very moment because their only connection to food and water is in custody.”
Unless Aniston had an accomplice.
Taylor had created the profile on the unsub and advised on a course of action for those investigating the case. Bedford and the locals had turned Warrenton upside down in an attempt to find the missing women. Hotlines were still open for anyone who might have information.
No one wanted a sociopath like Aniston to get away with one final blow by refusing to give up the location of his other victims.
“Are we taking another stab at getting more information from Potter or from Aniston?” Jess crossed her legs to prevent her heel from tapping with her mounting anticipation. She would love the opportunity to square this for all involved.
If—enormous if—those women were still alive, they needed rescuing. If they weren’t, the families deserved the opportunity to provide a proper burial. Jess wanted a chance to make one or the other happen.
“Aniston’s not going to talk.” Gant heaved an exasperated breath. “Agent Bedford believes Potter knows more than she’s shared so far. Taylor agrees. I spoke with the lead detective and the prosecutor. We’re all on the same page. You,” Gant set his full attention on Jess, “might be able to connect with Potter. You’re not a field agent anymore, Harris, but I need you to make this happen.”
