Paige hung up. “Fair Rate Rentals just rented out a Kia Rio ten minutes ago to a Sandy Hoss. I’ve got the color and plate.”
“We’ll just get a warrant for the tracking device on the car.” Jack had his phone out again.
Paige shook her head. “Low-end, remember? The company told me equipping their cars with tracking devices wasn’t in their budget.”
Jack clenched his jaw. He paced a few feet and took a cigarette out of his pack. “I will go in one of our rental cars. The three of you will take the other,” he directed. “I want you to stay back from me, though.”
“Jack, you’re crazy,” Paige protested. “You can’t walk out there on your own—”
“We have to bring her down.”
I was with Paige. Jack was crazy for considering this, but I wasn’t going to say anything. At least he was having us come along as backup, even if it was from a distance.
PAIGE, ZACH, AND BRANDON were on the way to the lot in LA. Her stomach was swirling, and it had nothing to do with Brandon being in the backseat and their argument the night before. It was about knowing that if anything happened to Jack, it would be her fault.
If it weren’t for her coming out to confront Ferris Hall, none of them would even be here. And did that mean that Simpson might still be alive and Foreman might not be fighting for his life? She knew she had to release that guilt. Paige wasn’t the one wielding the blade. But she’d never forgive herself if Jack was hurt…or worse. He was her father on the road, her guardian angel, if one believed in such things. Paige wasn’t sure what she thought in that regard, but she did know that Jack was always there for her. Even when she was certain he was disappointed in her and would have preferred to lash out at her.
As she thought of Jack and what the four of them might face when they arrived at the abandoned lot, she prayed to God the killer remained predictable and only wielded a knife. From a strategic viewpoint, there were four of them—armed with guns—against one, but experience had taught her that hunting a killer was never routine. Things could take a bad turn quickly. If something went sideways, she might not ever see Sam again to smooth things over, either.
If only she had left everything alone. Not only would the bloodshed have been avoided but she’d still have Sam. But did she really want a man who didn’t stick around during the rough times? Then again, it wasn’t about her being a murder suspect. It wasn’t even about her shuffling his calls to voice mail. It was about Brandon.
The two of them had made their peace a couple of months ago. She had moved on with Sam; he had moved on with Becky. And all that sounded good, but what if Sam had a point? Brandon had always proclaimed he cared for her, but he would never commit. Yet, what if that changed? What if their jobs changed? Even if she and Sam worked things out, would she leave him to resume a relationship with Brandon if given the opportunity? Would Brandon make life difficult for her if she tried to stay with Sam?
As she analyzed her thoughts, she didn’t much care for the words that kept popping up.
If.
Try.
Lasting relationships shouldn’t exist because of trying. They took work, sure, but it shouldn’t take a concentrated effort to stay together. Was she making too much out of this? Giving Brandon too much power over her again? Sadly, she had the inclination to do just that.
-
Chapter 46
JACK HAD DIRECTED HIS TEAM to hang back from his vehicle. He wore a comm to communicate with his team and was still wearing the Kevlar vest—for good reason. The vacant land was rather isolated, but there were other buildings in the area. Most of them appeared to have closed up shop years ago, but Leslie could be hiding in any one of them, making him that much more exposed. Even though her weapon of preference was a knife and she seemed to enjoy killing up close, he had to factor in the possibility that she might have a gun.
He turned the car’s headlights off and then pulled to the side of the road and cut the engine. Leslie would expect him to show up in front of the lot, but he wasn’t going to stick to a script.
He locked the car, despite the fact that his agents were watching his vehicle from about fifty feet back. The last thing he needed was Leslie finding a way into his backseat and holding a knife to his throat. The thought instinctively had him rubbing his neck.
He walked slowly toward the lot, keeping close to the curb on the right side of the road. Streetlights were casting a muted glow around the area, creating shadows that made it look like an abandoned military test zone. As he looked around, staying alert, he considered that this location didn’t fit with the rest of her murders—she typically killed indoors. But this had to be about Leslie getting her story out. And if she was looking for understanding, it wouldn’t be coming from him.
She based her actions on emotions, and that only made for poor decisions. Feelings were useful, however; they let him know intuitively when things were off. And they were off right now.
He reached the property, faced it, and looked around cautiously, taking his steps diligently. It soon became apparent that no one else was out here but him.
Jack spoke to his team. “She’s not—”
A noise came from his left, and he turned toward the sound, and a rabbit jumped out from beneath a shrub.
Just a rabbit…
Jack rolled his eyes. The darkness had a way of playing with one’s mind. Add in stalking a serial killer, and the worries and possibilities just became worse, even for someone like him who had a lot of experience dealing with psychopaths.
He walked around the area for a while longer. Eventually, his phone rang.
“Is this Supervisory Special Agent Fisher?” a woman cooed.
Even her voice sounded like a woman’s. “Leslie Shaw.” He said her name for two reasons. One, to let her know he was aware of her true identity, and two, to let his team know to trace his phone.
“Would you be expecting someone else?”
“I thought you’d be here, where Clancy’s used to be.” He inflected a hint of disappointment into his voice.
“Ah, well, you jumped to the wrong conclusion.” She sounded pleased with herself.
“Where are you?”
“Oh, if I told you that, it wouldn’t be any fun. And don’t bother trying to trace this call. It won’t get you anywhere.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I want you to know why I did what I did,” she said, “why I killed those people. To stand where I was when—”
“When what?” He had to keep her talking, but as he kept the conversation going, he remained vigilant to his surroundings.
“At least you are there. I knew I could count on you.”
Click.
Jack squeezed his hand around his cell phone. “Tell me we got something,” he said to his team.
“Unfortunately not,” Zach informed him.
“Son of a bitch!” He ripped the comm from his ear and stuffed it into a pocket as he hurried back to his vehicle. But he went past his to go to his team’s. He tapped a cigarette out of his pack and lit up, savoring every little bit of nicotine that hit his system.
Zach put the driver’s-side window down.
Jack exhaled a puff of smoke. “She’s not here, and this was a fucking waste of time.”
Paige leaned over the console to see him. “Do you think we interpreted the clue wrong?”
Jack shook his head. “No, she wanted us to come here. Not that it seems she had any intention of joining us here. She wants to make sure that we understand her and know what happened to her.”
“And she had to drag us all the way out here to do that?” Brandon asked.
“She’s trying to manipulate us, and she’s done a fine good job of it.” Jack took another deep drag from his cig.
Ah, almost as good as an a
phrodisiac.
But it still didn’t calm the frustration over having wasted the time coming here. “Let’s get back to the hotel and talk this out. Who knows when she’ll kill again…”
-
Chapter 47
WE MADE IT BACK TO the Hyatt around eleven at night, but it felt like two in the morning. While we had been in California for a couple of days, my body still hadn’t adjusted to the time change. I wasn’t sure what else we were going to accomplish tonight, though. It seemed apparent we were letting Leslie call the shots right now, and there still hadn’t been any hits on the BOLO for the rental. Trying to track the GPS in Leslie’s phone also met a dead end, which meant she was smart enough to call Jack from a burner cell.
The four of us entered the lobby. Paige yawned, and Zach and I followed suit. Jack seemed immune.
“Maybe we should pick up in the morning, boss?” Zach suggested.
I liked his proposition, but I wasn’t about to request any leniency on bedtime.
Jack’s jaw tightened, and I wasn’t sure what he was going to say to Zach but I had a feeling it might not be so nice.
“All right,” Jack said on a sigh. “Five o’clock in the lobby.”
Shows you what I know.
We all headed to the elevator bank. Paige was the first off the car as her room was on the third floor. The rest of us continued up to the fifth floor. I couldn’t wait to sink into the pillow-top mattress and drift off to dreamland.
“Night,” I said to Zach and Jack as I stopped at my door and slid in the keycard.
I wasn’t sure if I had enough strength to even get undressed before dropping into bed, but I managed to walk out of my clothes as I went across the room. I set my gun and holster on the nightstand, crawled under the sheets and comforter, and I closed my eyes.
But my mind wouldn’t rest. What had we missed? That clue left behind with Foreman… Two words: crime and scene. What did they mean?
I rolled onto my side, willing my mind to shut off.
It wasn’t working.
I rolled onto my other side.
Seconds later, I was sitting upright, eyes wide. There were actually three words in Leslie’s clue to us, only we hadn’t put them together. The first word was what Foreman had said when we first got there. Jack. We had thought Jack was just being addressed with the message, but what if Jack was supposed to be connected to the other two words? What if she was actually threatening to kill Jack? What if she meant Jack’s crime scene?
“Shit!”
I jumped up, stubbed my toe on the nightstand—how I managed that, I don’t know—and let out a string of curse words. I turned on the light.
I fumbled with my clothes as I tried to get them back on. This was crazy. I could be totally wrong about this. I tried his cell phone, but it was going to voice mail. Maybe he couldn’t get to it or he didn’t hear it?
He could be asleep already, I reasoned.
No, that wasn’t like Jack…
But I’d try calling his room before I got too worked up. If he answered and everything was fine, I’d figure out something to say.
I dialed. One ring…two…three… I let it continue until it rolled over to voice mail.
All right. I had to breathe. Maybe he was just in the shower or in the bathroom and couldn’t get to the phone.
I called Paige and Zach to let them know what I was thinking, hoping that my gut feeling was wrong.
NOT COUNTING THE NIGHT SHE had spent in jail, Paige hadn’t remembered ever being this tired. But she wanted to be strong for Jack and the others. Mainly Jack. She had been so relieved when Leslie hadn’t shown up at the address. And she had been just about as relieved when Zach made the suggestion to resume things in the morning. It had been a good call. What else were they going to do tonight?
But as tired as she was, her stomach still growled for food. They’d worked right through dinner, so as soon as she stepped off the elevator on her floor, she hit the vending machine for a bag of chips.
She opened the bag and stuffed a few chips into her mouth before unlocking her door. Inside, she slipped out of her shoes, dreaming of setting her weary bones on the soft mattress when she noticed a silhouette in the chair next to the window. She dropped the bag of chips and had her gun drawn and aimed.
“Put your hands up!” she shouted as she closed the distance.
The figure moved, and it looked like the person was wiping his or her eyes.
Paige flicked the light switch on the wall beside her. As her eyes adjusted and she made out her visitor, she holstered her gun. “What are you doing here?”
Sam came toward her, arms extended, hands reaching out to touch her. “Listen, I can understand if you’re mad at me.”
She held up her hands and backed up to where she had dropped her chips. Her appetite was gone, but she had made a mess, and she rather wanted the distraction of cleaning it up. She was bent over picking up the chips when she felt his hand on the small of her back. She stood and looked him in the eye.
“I’m sorry, Paige.”
Since he’d left, she’d been thinking about reconciliation, but now that he was in front of her, she was angry. “You made me look like a fool. At the very least, feel like one.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He paced a few steps. “I was hoping that we could—”
“You left me, Sam. I came to California to spend time with you.”
He angled his head. “Be honest. You came to California to confront Ferris. It wasn’t about us.”
“I could have come by myself, but I didn’t.”
“You just wanted someone to tell you that you were doing the right thing by dredging up the past.”
Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it beating in her ears. “I was doing the right thing. People like Ferris—rapists like Ferris—need to know that their behavior isn’t acceptable, that it has real-life consequences.”
“And I get that, Paige, I do.”
Silence fell between them.
What was she supposed to say? She had hurt him, too, let him down. But somehow, in her mind, his leaving her trumped all she had done.
“Why did you come back?” She wasn’t going to ask him where he had been for the past day. She hoped wherever he had been that he’d regretted leaving her every second.
“I’m hoping that you’ll forgive me.” He searched her eyes, his own gaze soft and sincere. After a few seconds, he added, “But if we’re going to make a relationship work, I need to know it’s over between you and Brandon.”
She pressed her lips together, not wanting to say anything she’d regret. “I told you it was over, but you didn’t want to believe me.”
“I still don’t understand why you called him first.”
“You want to know why? Because I knew I could trust him. I didn’t want to give you a bad impression of me. Here your new girlfriend is suspected of murder, and I knew how you felt about me going to see Ferris in the first place, let alone by myself.” She crossed her arms.
“What if he still loves you?”
“Brandon?” She puffed out a lungful of air. “The only person he loves at this point in his life is himself.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t believe that.” When she didn’t respond, he went on. “Do you?”
He obviously wasn’t going to let her bypass the subject. She looked him straight in the eye. “What does it matter if he loves me or not? What we had is over.” She held up her hand because Sam opened his mouth as though he was going to say something. “And even if things did change—one of us got another job, Brandon decided he did love me—none of it would matter if I’m in a relationship with someone else.”
“Are you in a relationship?” Sam studied her eyes. The pain in his gaze mirrored what she felt inside.
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Her old self would have given him the power to decide their status, but if Brandon had taught her anything, it was that she needed to assume that power for herself. “How about we take it one day at a time?”
Sam’s shoulders sagged.
She touched his arm and caressed his cheek. “Neither of us is good at the long-term thing.”
“I’m willing to give it a go with you, Paige.” He took her hand from his face and held onto it. “I promise I’ll never run out on you again. I’ll trust you.”
“And I—” she took a deep breath “—will trust you.” She pointed a finger at him. “But if you ever leave me again, I will give you a swift kick in the ass.”
Sam laughed and scooped her into his arms. “Deal.”
She let herself sink into his embrace. Whether she had another day with Sam or fifty years, she was going to enjoy the moment. Then her cell phone rang.
-
Chapter 48
JACK FLICKED ON THE LIGHT as he entered his room, closed the door, and slid the chain across. The day had seen far too much murder. First Simpson and now Foreman. He had received the text from a local agent on the way from the elevator to his room, telling him that Foreman had died on the way to the hospital. He wasn’t going to bother his team with that news right now.
Let them go to sleep thinking they saved a man.
Calling it a day might have been the right move for his team, but Jack wasn’t built that way. He could only rest when circumstances dictated it, and while he knew he should have been exhausted like the others, his mind whirled with thoughts about Leslie Shaw, aka Sandy Hoss.
Jack reached the nightstand and slipped out of his shoes as he set his phone down and worked to unfasten his holster. It was then that he felt the sharp point against his back. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
[Brandon Fisher FBI 05.0] Violated Page 22
