Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  “Hello,” she called to him. “Can I help you?”

  “Are you Dru Tanner?” he asked, smiling.

  He seemed harmless enough. And friendly.

  “Yes, I am. And you’re?”

  When he moved out from underneath the canopy, she noted that he wore a navy backpack.

  “I’m new to town. Just moved in a few blocks from here and was told this is the best fitness center in the area.”

  Dru breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, it is. Sorry if I seemed a little leery. It’s just that customers use the front door.”

  “Oh. Good to know. I’ll be sure to remember that from now on.”

  As Dru approached him, the key to the back door in her hand, he moved toward her. When he came up alongside her, she noticed that he held both hands, clutched into fists, at his sides.

  Odd.

  “I guess I’m early, huh?” he asked as his arm brushed against hers.

  He was a little too close for comfort, so Dru took a step to the side to put some breathing room between them. Just as she reached the back door, she realized she’d made a deadly mistake taking this man at face value. Before she knew what he intended to do and could manage to stop him, he stuck a needle into her upper arm. She cried out and turned on him, determined to put up a fight. But it was already too late. Whatever drug he’d injected her with was already zinging through her system, making her dizzy and blurring her vision.

  “Don’t fight it,” he told her. “Just relax and go to sleep. I’ll catch you when you fall.”

  She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. In her mind she yelled at the top of her lungs. But only in her mind. In reality, she felt herself swaying. Her knees gave way. And then everything went black.

  Nic and Griff met the Special Agent in Charge of the Charlotte FBI field office, Betty Schonrock, for breakfast and discussed the Scalper case over bacon, eggs, and toast. SAC Schonrock had made it clear to Griff the moment they met that he was being included only because the killer had chosen Griff, along with Nic, to play his sick, twisted game. But by the time they’d finishing eating and were on second and third cups of coffee, Griff was, at her request, calling the SAC by her first name. In her midfifties with graying brown hair and keen hazel eyes, Betty stood no more than five three and was, to use a polite term, pleasingly plump. And like most women who came into contact with the Griffin Powell, she had succumbed to his charm in no time flat.

  “I contacted the police department, the sheriff’s office, and the highway patrol,” Betty had explained. “But there’s only so much that can be done. We don’t have a name. We don’t even have a general area where we can look, and Charlotte’s a big town. Do you know how many women in their twenties are into some type of physical fitness as a profession?”

  “We realize that it’s not much to go on,” Griff admitted. “But it’s all we have.”

  “He’s playing with you two.” Betty glanced from Griff to Nic. “Of course, y’all already know that.”

  “And he knows we’ll keep on taking his calls, listening to his clues, and hoping beyond hope that somehow we can get to his victim before he does.”

  “You’re playing a game you can’t win,” Betty said. “This guy holds all the trump cards.”

  “Sooner or later, he’ll make a mistake, and when he does, I want to be there to nail his hide to the wall.” Nic looked right at Betty. “Someone capable of the horrendous crimes he has committed doesn’t deserve to live.”

  Betty studied Nic closely. Crap! Had she said too much? Said the wrong thing? Had she come off sounding totally obsessed?

  “I understand how you feel,” Betty told her. “And I agree completely.”

  Nic sighed with relief.

  “Why don’t you two follow me to the office and I’ll introduce you to some of the other agents?” Betty stood, then reached to pick up the bill.

  Griff snatched the bill off the table. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks.” Betty smiled at him. “You’ve got the address for the office: 400 South Tryon Street.”

  “You two go on,” Griff said. “I’ll be right behind y’all.”

  Nic walked out of the restaurant with Betty, but before they reached Betty’s car, the SAC’s cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. “I need to get this.”

  Nic nodded. She tried not listen, since she had no idea if the call was business or personal, but when she heard Betty say, “How old is she? Hmm … It could be nothing. Women walk off and leave husbands and kids behind every day. Let’s not assume anything at this point.”

  Nic’s heartbeat quickened as she waited for Betty Schonrock to tell her the news she didn’t want to hear.

  “A woman named Dru Tanner, who manages a physical fitness center, may be missing,” Betty said.

  “What do you mean, ‘may be missing’?”

  “It seems when customers starting showing up at the center, they couldn’t get inside, so they called her house. Her husband had no idea where she was if she wasn’t at work, so he went down to the center and found her car in the parking lot and found her purse and keys lying by the back door.”

  “I assume the husband called the police.”

  Betty nodded. “This could be your woman or Dru Tanner may have nothing to do with your case.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Thirty.”

  Griff came out of the restaurant, scanned the area, and threw his hand up when his gaze connected with Nic’s. “What now?” she asked Betty.

  Just as Griff approached, Betty said, “I intend to hold a press conference. I want you there with me. It’s time the country knew about this guy.” She looked at Griff. “What was it he said he wanted to be called? ‘The Hunter’? We’ll tell the press that the bureau suspects the Hunter has killed five women and possibly abducted a sixth.”

  Griff lifted an inquisitive brow. “I take it you’ve heard something in the past few minutes. He worked fast this time, pretty much overnight.”

  “There’s a woman missing who manages a physical fitness center,” Nic told him. “She’s thirty.”

  “Odds are she’s his sixth victim,” Griff said.

  Betty turned to Nic. “We’re going to take off the brakes and get things rolling this morning. As far as I’m concerned, you’re in charge. And I’ll tell Doug Trotter that, and the other SACs whose territories are involved.”

  “I have only one suggestion concerning the press conference,” Griff said.

  Nic and Betty looked at him.

  “Don’t refer to him as ‘the Hunter.’ He may consider himself a hunter, but we don’t want to give him what he wants, do we? So far, we’ve pretty much been playing by his rules. It’s time we buck him again and see what happens.”

  “What are you getting at?” Nic asked.

  “When you announce that the FBI is searching for a serial killer who has murdered five women and possibly abducted a sixth, someone is bound to ask about the victims being scalped. You need to confirm this and once you do, the press will dub him ‘the Scalper’ and not ‘the Hunter.’”

  Chapter 12

  The small charter plane landed at a private airstrip outside Baton Rouge—with one passenger and four shipping crates. The largest crate was coffin size and the others suitcase size.

  Pudge stood and watched while the pilot and the driver of the hired truck load his precious cargo onto the bed of the rental vehicle. When he had placed Dru Tanner in the large crate, he had given her another injection, which should keep her unconscious for a number of hours. But just in case she woke during transport, he had bound her hands and feet and gagged her.

  Once the crates were loaded, Pudge settled into the truck cab alongside the driver, a rather brutish-looking fellow, with long, stringy dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. In his peripheral vision, Pudge noted a large eagle tattooed on the man’s right arm.

  Thankfully the driver wasn’t a talker. Pudge despised trying to make idle chit-chat wi
th underlings. The driver, who had introduced himself as Rod, didn’t bother asking if Pudge minded listening to the blaring country music the ruffian seemed to enjoy.

  They took Interstate 10 southwest, then exited off near Grosse Tête. Pudge gave the driver exact directions, explaining that his home wasn’t far, just situated out in the country. They arrived at Belle Fleur a little before two. Once the driver had helped Pudge unload the cargo and place the crates on the veranda, Pudge offered him a beer. He didn’t invite Rod into his home. The big oaf didn’t seem to mind waiting on the porch.

  Pudge retrieved a beer bottle from the refrigerator, took off the cap, and set it on the counter. He pulled out his wallet, removed a hundred-dollar bill, and returned to the veranda.

  He handed Rod the beer. “Take it with you.” He held out the single bill.

  Rod eyed the money.

  “Just consider this a bonus for a job well done,” Pudge told him.

  Rod grabbed the bill and stuffed it into his jeans pocket; then saluted Pudge with his beer bottle, sauntered off the veranda, and headed for the rental truck.

  Pudge watched while Rod drove off, waiting until he was completely out of sight before approaching the largest of the four crates. He would dispose of the crates later, break them apart with an ax and put them in the woodshed out back.

  Pudge ran his hand over the rough wood. “Are you still resting peacefully, my lovely sleeping beauty?”

  Not a sound. Hmm … Good.

  “I’ll be right back and get you out of there,” Pudge said. “I have a very special place waiting for you in the basement.”

  Griff kept a low profile during the press conference. This was Nic’s moment in the spotlight. She had now gotten what she’d been wanting—to head up the bureau’s investigation into the series of murders that they both knew had been perpetrated by the second BQ Killer.

  SAC Betty Schonrock introduced Nic as the task force leader and turned the microphone over to her. Nic made a brief statement, giving the press the basic facts without revealing too much information. Then she took questions, which came at her fast and furious. The audience consisted of national, state, and local press. Television, newspapers, and some freelancers.

  Nic answered the first question quickly, giving a succinct reply, then did the same with the next question and the next.

  Yes, there had been five murders in five different states. Yes, they had every reason to believe all five murders had been committed by the same person. Yes, a possible sixth victim had been abducted. Yes, law enforcement in all six states were working together with the FBI.

  Then a reporter for one of the national networks asked the question Griff knew someone would eventually ask. “Is it true that all five victims were scalped?”

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  Nic squared her shoulders. “Yes, all five women were scalped, postmortem.”

  She answered half a dozen more questions but refused to confirm any other rumors. As soon as she left the podium, Griff moved in alongside her, clasped her elbow, and together he and SAC Schonrock flanked Nic as she exited through the crowd.

  Although most of the horde of newspeople gradually dispersed, some of the reporters continued shouting questions at Nic.

  “What are you doing with Griffin Powell?” one of the newspaper reporters hollered. “Rumor has it that you two are engaged.”

  A loud roar of laughter rose from the onlookers.

  “Ignore them,” Griff told her.

  They made it to the rental car without being followed. Nic shook hands with Betty and thanked her again for her support.

  “Grab a bite of lunch and relax,” Betty said. “If those autopsy reports come in before you get back to the office, I’ll call.”

  Griff got in on the passenger side while Nic slid behind the wheel. Within minutes, they were back in traffic.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” Griff asked.

  “I haven’t the foggiest,” Nic admitted.

  “Then let’s find a fast-food place, hit the drive-thru, and park somewhere so we can talk in private.”

  Nic nodded.

  “The press is going to have a field day with the fact that you and I seem to be a team.” She glanced hurriedly at Griff. “You need to go home and stay out of my way from now on.”

  Griff had figured this would happen. That one sarcastic comment by the newspaper reporter had set her teeth on edge. He’d noted the way she had instantly tensed. Nic wanted not only the press but her superiors to see her as a strictly by-the-book agent. Her recent association with Griff had already compromised her image.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Griff said.

  “Is that a sandwich shop up ahead on the right?” she asked.

  Griff checked out the strip mall. “Yeah. Take a right at the next red light.”

  “What sort of deal are you offering?” Nic stopped at the red light.

  “Let me go along with you to Betty’s office and allow me to take a look at the autopsy reports and I’ll go home this evening.”

  “What sort of deal is that?”

  “Once I go home, I won’t bother you again … until the Scalper calls us.”

  Nic heaved a deep sigh as she contemplated his offer. “If he stays true to form, he may not contact us again until after he murders Dru Tanner.”

  “If he stays true to form, which he’s already proven isn’t always the case.”

  “You think he’ll get in touch with us after he sees the press conference on tonight’s news, don’t you?”

  “Assuming it’s broadcast wherever he is right now and assuming the fact that you didn’t follow his instructions pisses him off, then, yeah, I think he’ll call.”

  “If that’s what you think will happen, your deal is worthless.”

  “There’s always a chance he won’t call. I could be wrong about him.”

  Nic took a right, then another right directly into the strip mall parking lot. She eased the rental car into a slot, killed the motor, and turned to Griff.

  “You can take a look at the reports, but I want your word that even after he calls us again, you’ll back off. I’ll keep you updated as long as you stay out of my way. That’s my best offer. Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it—with an amendment.”

  “What?” She glared at him.

  “The deal is good only until Dru Tanner is found—alive or dead.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we negotiate another deal. Agreed?”

  “Okay,” she replied rather reluctantly. “But I’m agreeing to this because even a few weeks with you out of sight and out of mind is worth the steep asking price.”

  Griff smiled. “You’ll miss me, Nicki.”

  She groaned. “I seriously doubt it.”

  Pudge deposited Dru in the basement, restricting her by shackling her with handcuffs and ankle chains. She didn’t stir as he adjusted her into a sitting position, her back against the wall, her head slumped forward almost touching her chest. He ran his hand over the side of her face and down her neck.

  His gaze rested on her breasts. High, round, and full.

  “I’ll dream of you tonight. You and I, in the woods together. Those long, trim legs of yours running, running …” He skimmed his hand down one leg and up the other.

  Leaving only one sixty-watt lightbulb burning, so that she wouldn’t wake in total darkness, Pudge left her alone in the basement. When she awoke, he wanted her to see where she was and know that he now controlled her life.

  He had a great deal to do to prepare for tomorrow, the first day of the hunt. He would keep her out no more than a couple of hours. Just long enough for her to become familiar with the rules of the game. Each day he would leave her out longer until that final week, he would leave her alone in the woods to fend for herself. She would be forced to forage for food, water, and shelter. And she would have to stay constantly alert, never knowing when he would track her down.

  N
ic paced back and forth in Betty Schonrock’s office. Cursed with nervous energy, she couldn’t sit still. The three of them had gone over the autopsy reports on the first four victims. The autopsy results on Amber Kirby weren’t ready yet.

  The facts were clear, leaving no doubt that all four women had been killed by the same person. Each had been shot in the head with the same caliber rifle. The entry wound was to the back of the head and the larger exit wound in front, leaving each face all but destroyed. Each woman had been scalped either with the same knife or with similar knives.

  Betty tapped the papers spread out in the center of her desk. “The autopsies reveal that each woman had been shot more than once—in the arms, knees, ankles, as if he was killing her slowly, one hit at a time.”

  “He wants them to suffer first,” Griff said.

  Nic rubbed the back of her neck as she kept moving, wishing she could erase the images flashing through her mind of the victims as they were shot, their battered bodies taking one bullet after another until the final bullet ended it all.

  Betty asked, “What do y’all make of the bruises, scratches, and cuts on each woman’s body?” Betty asked. “And the fact that their feet were pretty battered, as if they had been doing a lot of barefoot running.”

  Nic paused and stared at Griff, then said, “I think he’s chasing them. He wants to be called ‘the Hunter,’ so that gives us a major clue. He’s hunting these women, possibly for the entire three weeks they’re missing. And in the end he kills them.”

  “If they’re allowed to run free for three weeks, why hasn’t at least one of them been able to escape?” Betty asked. “And where could he take them so that they wouldn’t be anywhere near other people?”

  “He either owns or rents land,” Griff said. “Somewhere private, secluded, probably out in the country far away from other homes, and it’s a place not easily accessible to the public.”

  “Maybe the reason no one has been able to escape is because there is only one way in and out of the property without crossing a river or a mountain, or simply because the area is so vast.” Nic stopped, braced her hips on the edge of Betty’s desk, and crossed her legs at the ankles. “He could have hundreds of acres at his disposal.”