“What does that mean? That line about it being special. About getting real?” Because if the monster hadn’t been real enough already, she didn’t even want to think about the further horrors he might conjure up.
Brandon frowned, obviously puzzled by it, too. “We’d better call Wyatt.”
Lily reached for the phone on Brandon’s desk, quickly dialing their boss, who was right down the hall.
He was in their office less than sixty seconds later, pale and tense, visibly exhausted. And equally as stunned. “Something’s wrong. He’s getting sloppy and far too ambitious. He’s been careful until now; he must know we’re onto him.”
“Impossible,” Brandon said. “Lily and I have covered our tracks. They don’t know we’re watching.”
“Brandon’s right,” she said, meaning it. “We’ve been bouncing off servers all over the country, revolving IPs every single time either of us goes in. We’re piggybacking on long-existing members, leaving no footprints that we were there. No way do they know we’re as deep inside as we are.”
That would be very deep. Brandon had been watching every move the cyber Reaper made, going back into the site’s history to trace every interaction he had with other members: who he was “friends” with, who he’d purchased things from, who his victims had been, and where he lived in that incredibly detailed imaginary world.
Lily, meanwhile, was following the spiderweb-thin thread from each auction, which she hoped would lead her to the money and its final recipient.
“He knows,” Wyatt explained, “because he knows we’re looking for the first victim’s body.”
“Someone in that town …” Lily murmured.
“Yes.”
The scrolling red line running across the bottom of the sign had been repeating itself over the past few minutes, the word special flashing out its message like a dark, evil heartbeat. Now, though, it changed.
All three of them leaned closer, reading the text. New experience! Never before witnessed! All restraints are off!
“Like the guy ever restrained himself before?” Brandon muttered.
You wanted more? You’re going to get it. For the right price, you get the how and the who. But be ready to pay. This one won’t come cheap. Qualified bidders only.
No credit.
“He’s playing. Having a great time for himself,” Brandon said. “Writing his own ads, like he’s selling some damned piece of real estate. No credit, for God’s sake.”
No credit. Lily let the words replay in her head, trying to untwist those spiderwebs that led in so many different directions, and find a clear path to the unsub.
Wyatt, who’d been standing behind them, watching and deep in thought, suddenly spun around and thrust his hand against the door, sending it flying closed with a loud crack. His hard, lean form shook, and anger consumed his handsome face. “Damn him. Damn him.”
She’d never seen him lose control. Never heard him raise his voice. Never witnessed a personal reaction from the man at all. He was always calm, reasonable, and in control. Now he looked ready to hurt someone.
“When?” he snapped.
Obviously just as shocked by their boss’s out-of-character display, Brandon kept his voice low. “He posted it at around eight a.m. our time, and said within hours.”
Lily had a thought. “We could …”
“What?”
Swallowing, still unused to this side of him, she said, “We could try to interfere with the auction, somehow disable the site temporarily to prevent it from happening.”
“Without them knowing why?”
She exchanged a quick look with Brandon, who said nothing. “We could try exploiting their security patches; they might be outdated. Or DNS poisoning.”
“Oh, that’s subtle,” Brandon said.
“We can try,” she insisted, then turned back to Wyatt, knowing he was the one who would have to be convinced. “There are ways to take it offline and make it look like just a random technical difficulty.”
“Which, even if it worked,” Brandon pointed out, “would merely postpone things.”
“Giving us a little more time to find him,” Lily argued.
Brandon nodded, conceding the point, then made another one. “He’s never let anyone choose the victim before. If the Reaper means the winner can be specific about who he wants killed, maybe we could catch him by staking out the intended victim.”
Wyatt’s jaw clenched, and his dark blue eyes glistened with frustration. “We’d never find out who it is in time. We haven’t been able to trace a single dollar to this guy going back a year and a half. You really think we’re going to be able to intercept communications between the Reaper and the winner to get the name of the victim in a matter of hours?”
Lily glanced down, murmuring, “I’m sorry.”
“Save it. We don’t have time.”
She took no offense. The man couldn’t possibly be any more stressed. She found it amazing that he was still able to function, given everything this case had done to the team. They’d put in long days; he’d put in longer ones. They’d dug deep to find creative strategies for catching this guy; he’d dug deeper. Plus Wyatt had the added strain of being jerked around on the puppet strings held by supervisors who probably wouldn’t even care that more victims would die, as long as Wyatt was humiliated.
Oh, yeah, everybody knew. And the more she worked with the man and his team, the more she resented it. Wyatt was the kind of agent everybody wanted to be, and the kind everybody wanted to work for. Including Lily. Why his superiors wanted to punish him, she had no idea. She only knew it was unjust and incredibly stupid.
“So what are we going to do?” she asked, her heart racing as she remembered the team being in this position less than one week before. Then, the consequences has proved horrific for a teenage girl.
Would they have to sit back and let this vicious psychopath take some other unsuspecting victim and extinguish her life?
Wyatt hesitated, considering. Then he yanked the door open, snapped, “Take it down. Take the whole goddamned site down,” and stalked out.
DEAN WAS ON his way back to Hope Valley before noon on Thursday. Knowing the Reaper intended to host another auction so quickly had put the entire team on high alert. They were counting on Brandon and Lily to find a way to get the site offline for at least a day so they could try to find the man and stop him.
Their failure didn’t bear thinking about. Especially because signs pointed to the unsub spinning out of control. “It’s too soon,” he muttered, alone in his car. Serial killers were never so deadly as when they began to melt down and decided they had nothing to lose by giving in to their darkest urges as many times as possible.
Something had spooked the unsub. Which just convinced Dean even more that the Reaper lived in Hope Valley and knew the FBI had been all over the town last weekend.
He dreaded telling Stacey. She had no idea the stakes had increased so dramatically, and he wanted to relay the news in person. Considering she had probably been making herself bleary-eyed watching the surveillance footage from the mall every waking hour since he’d left her yesterday morning, he didn’t expect to find her in the mood to receive more bad news.
She can take it. She’s a pro.
Yes, she was. A pro who was too good to be wasting herself in a job that would never fulfill her. He understood her original choices; he just thought it was time for her to reevaluate them. Not that he could say that to her. The lines on their sort-of relationship were carefully drawn. If he tried to go there, he had the feeling she’d shut him down completely.
Maybe later, when this was all over. God, please let it be over.
They had hours now, not days. So, not wanting to waste time tracking her down, he called her when he hit town. To his surprise, she told him she was at home.
One thing was sure: Their reunion at her door would not be as sensual as their good-bye had been yesterday morning. After spending Tuesday night in her bed, making l
ove to her the way he’d wanted to Saturday, it had taken pure will to walk away again. With the exception of the two hours he’d spent with Jared last night, he’d wanted to be nowhere but back here.
Not that he was about to tell her that. Stacey had made it pretty clear Saturday night that they were having a fling. He didn’t think she’d be happy if he told her that last night, before falling asleep, he’d mentally replayed every minute of the night before. That sounded like a little more than she was bargaining for. Hell, it was more than he was bargaining for.
“Hi,” she said when she opened the door to him. She wore her uniform, though her blouse was unbuttoned to her collarbone. Her hair was piled loosely on her head, her face pale, as if she’d been dealing with a headache.
He meant to keep it cool and professional during work hours, but something within him demanded the right to touch her, to taste her. Stepping inside, he didn’t even say hello before reaching for her. He tugged her close, wrapping his arms around her.
Their mouths met in a slow, warm kiss that demanded nothing yet promised the world. The kind only two people who’d shared incredible intimacies, and knew how good things could be, were able to fully savor. She tasted so sweet, and felt so right in his arms, that he couldn’t even remember why he’d bargained for anything but the real deal with this amazing woman.
Though their lips finally parted, they stayed close, her forehead against his. In silence, they exchanged warm exhalations, and through their clothes he felt the pounding of her heart begin to slow. His, too.
They put off the world for one more moment, reconnecting before having to dive back into the nightmare. Dean allowed himself to enjoy the warmth of her skin and the curves and valleys of her body pressed so tightly against his before regretfully letting her go. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I left yesterday,” he admitted.
She hesitated for a split second, then came clean, too. “So have I.”
So much for just sex and nothing more. Because there was something else here, whether either one of them was ready to admit it out loud or not.
“How’d your evening with Jared go last night?”
He cracked his first real smile of the day. “Great. I took your suggestion and took him to one of those pizza places with the big dancing puppet dudes and the indoor play place. The kid loved it.”
She rolled her eyes. “How have you lived thirty-four years of your life without ever hearing of Chuck E. Cheese?”
“Hard to believe, huh? Anyway, thanks. I was Dad of the Year last night.”
“I’m glad,” she said softly, her smile slowly fading.
His did, too. They’d finished with the personal stuff, the warmth. Now it was back to the cold darkness of the case both of them desperately wanted to solve.
“Working at home today?”
“I tried doing it at the office this morning, but couldn’t get a moment’s peace. Our esteemed mayor has finally heard about what’s going on and has demanded to be part of the investigation into Lisa’s murder.”
Gawking, he could only stare at her.
“I know, it’s ridiculous, and I told him so. He’s an arrogant blowhard, and I guarantee you what he’s most interested in is getting credit and attention once this thing is solved.”
“Politicians.”
“Yeah. Anyway, he informed me that the only reason he wasn’t actively out there searching with ‘his’ deputies was because he and the first lady are going out of town for a day or two. Must be time for her latest face-lift.”
That told him everything he needed to know about Hope Valley’s mayor and his wife. “Hopefully by the time they get back, this will all be over with.”
“Hear, hear.” She quickly got serious again. “So tell me what’s going on. I didn’t expect you back here in the middle of the day. I could hear it in your voice that something else has happened.”
Something had happened, all right. He filled her in quickly and concisely.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Already?”
“Yes. Have you gotten anywhere with the tapes?”
She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, sending it spilling from its loose bun to fall against her cheeks. Beautiful. “My eyes feel like they’re about to fall out and my head is pounding. Considering all the different vantage points of the cameras, it took me all day and long into the night to get through one twelve-hour period at the mall.”
They had a week’s worth of video to go through. This would never work. “We don’t have enough time to go through them all.”
“You have a plan B?”
He had several, starting with conducting more interviews. But they could take one more shot at the surveillance video first. “I might. Show me.”
“In here.” She led him to the kitchen, where she’d set up her laptop. The picture on the screen had been paused in the middle of a shopping day, with harried, bag-laden shoppers and teenage mall rats armed with Daddy’s credit cards filling the screen.
“Let’s tackle this more effectively. I have the victim’s work schedule. Assuming he had an idea of when she would be there and wanted to keep an eye on her, why don’t we focus in on those times first. She worked only four shifts in the week before her death, ranging from four to six hours.”
She scooted a chair around so they could both easily see the screen, then gestured for him to sit. “There are a dozen views of the mall in these files. We could narrow it further and focus on the ones closest to her store. If he went to the trouble of driving up there, he’d want to actually see her, wouldn’t he?”
“One would think.”
“From what I’ve figured out, you can select which camera views to watch and split the screen. Might be quicker if we include three views: the store, the closest mall entrance, and the nearest parking lot. I’ll have a better shot at recognizing someone, obviously, but you can focus on the exteriors and let me know if a lone man is in the frame.”
“You’re good at this,” he said. Too good to be wasting her time in a little town where the biggest crime she ever dealt with was an occasional red-light runner.
And the occasional serial killer.
Spying the half-empty pot of coffee, he rose and poured himself a cup, then topped off her nearly empty one. He had a feeling they were going to need it.
Over the next two hours, as they watched every second of the tapes, he was proved right.
The longer they watched, the more Dean’s irritation built. He tapped his feet on the floor, his fingers on the table. Doing nothing but staring at a computer monitor while a psychopath was preparing to strike again filled him with impotent frustration. Stacey obviously sensed it; she’d grown very quiet, very intent, scooting closer to the screen so she wouldn’t miss it if a mosquito had flown by one of the security cameras.
“Why don’t we take a quick break?” he finally said. He wasn’t used to this kind of inactivity. Sure, he’d conducted stakeouts that had proved boring and fruitless. But this … hell, it felt as if he were napping while a dragon was scooping up his own son.
“No problem. I’m starving.’
“Me too.”
“Leftover pizza okay?”
They’d ordered it Tuesday night. And had barely touched it, not wanting to consume anything but each other. Damn, it seemed like a lifetime ago.
“That’s fine,” he said. He opened his mouth again, about to say how much better he had liked it in bed the other night, when there was a knock on her front door.
Stacey tensed, her eyes shifting in that direction. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
It was the middle of a sunny afternoon in small-town America. Obviously the stress of this case was putting her on edge if the thought of an unexpected visitor had the woman tensing up as though she expected a home invasion. He wished like hell she’d never had to feel that way about the safe haven she’d been clinging to—burying herself in—for the past two years.
“Maybe some kid selling cookies.”
She didn’t relax. Instead, with quiet, measured steps, she approached the door, her head cocked to the side to peer out through the narrow window beside it.
That was when he realized something was really wrong, and remembered the dog. God, no wonder she was edgy. What an idiot he’d been not to think of it immediately. They hadn’t discussed the incident since the other day in the car. With the insanity of the case, he’d let it leave his mind.
“Stacey, wait!” he insisted. “Let me get it.”
She’d already reached for the knob. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not for me, anyway. It’s for you.”
She opened the door. On the other side of it stood both Mulrooney and Stokes.
He didn’t question how they’d tracked him to Stacey’s home, or how they’d gotten the address. Because they both wore twin dark frowns. Nearly tangible tension caused Mulrooney’s suit jacket to strain against his stiffened shoulders, and Stokes’s jaw appeared carved of granite.
“What is it?”
Mulrooney answered. “They couldn’t do it.”
“Couldn’t do …” The truth dawned. “Oh, hell.”
Beside him, Stacey brought a shaking hand to her mouth as she figured it out, too.
Mulrooney explained anyway. “Lily and Brandon tried, but they couldn’t bring down the site.”
“No.”
“It’s worse.”
He didn’t ask how it could be worse. He already knew. “The auction?”
“Over.”
Over. Mere hours after it had been announced. Not even one week since the last one. The unsub was either insane, desperate, or suicidal. “Meaning we have about twenty-four hours to find this guy and stop him from killing another woman,” he said.
Jackie Stokes shook her head. For the first time in the several weeks he’d known her, she appeared less than entirely professional. Her mouth quivered the tiniest bit.
This was bad. Very bad.
“It’s not just murder, and it’s not a woman,” she said. Her voice trailed off, as if she couldn’t bring herself to finish.
So Mulrooney did.
FADE TO BLACK - Thrilling Romantic Suspense - Book 1 of the BLACK CATS Series Page 25
