by Lisa Childs
“Not you?”
Because of all the tension, he tried for humor. “Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride’s gown before the wedding?”
But instead of smiling, her face grew even paler. His joke had fallen short. But then he’d never been funny.
“The killer will know it’s a trap,” Reyes said, “if Jared drives up with you.”
Becca nodded. “Of course.”
“I’ll keep you safe,” he promised again.
“And so will I,” Reyes assured her.
“You can change your mind, though,” Jared reminded her. “You don’t have to do this.” But he’d already seen the grim determination on her face. He knew she wasn’t changing her mind even before she shook her head.
She swung a bag over her shoulder and spoke to Reyes. “Let’s go.”
“Everything’s in place at the chapel,” he updated Reyes. Undercover agents and bodyguards were hidden all over the place. The killer would not get to her.
Reyes nodded. “We’re going to get him.”
She turned back to Jared. “And it won’t be George Droski.”
She didn’t sound as confident as she once had, though. She’d told him about the man’s phone call that had unsettled her.
But the guy had come to Chicago for that interview. He’d been nervous. Nervous enough to make Jared nervous.
“It’ll be Harris Mowery,” she insisted.
Jared wasn’t so sure. Some alibis had fallen apart but not for Harris Mowery.
He walked out with them, but when their car pulled out of the parking garage, he didn’t follow. He turned toward another section of town—a higher-rent district—and found a parking spot on the street near Kyle Smith’s building.
Since the guy hadn’t been parked outside Jared’s building the way he usually was, Jared wondered if he’d already left for the chapel. He would have found out when Becca’s dress fitting was; he would have made a point of it.
Penny Payne had confirmed a break-in of the office in her wedding chapel/reception hall. And the organized woman was certain someone had gone through her date book. Jared was pretty sure that had been to find the time for Becca’s fitting. He wouldn’t have cared about the wedding. Nobody expected her to actually make it to the altar.
Least of all Jared. Once they caught the killer, the fake wedding would be called off. Unless he could convince her to forgive him for how he’d treated her six years ago.
Maybe she already had. But had she forgiven him enough to let herself love him?
He would find out—once the killer was caught. He stepped out of the car and swung the door shut. And as he headed into the lobby, he patted his jacket, making sure his gun was ready. Not that he would have forgotten it today.
Today was the day he needed it most. To protect the woman he loved. He flashed his badge at the doorman. “I need to see Kyle Smith.”
The doorman picked up the phone. “He’s not answering, sir.”
“Did you see him leave?”
Had he already beat Jared to the dress fitting at the Little White Wedding Chapel?
The doorman shook his head. “No, and he didn’t call for a car.”
“I need to go up to his apartment,” Jared said.
“Agent Bell...”
The doorman obviously recognized him—thanks to Kyle Smith. “You know he’d want to see me,” Jared said. “He’s usually parked outside my apartment.” Or following Becca everywhere she went.
Why hadn’t he called for a car?
The doorman leaned closer and whispered the reporter’s apartment number. Then he winked. Apparently he wasn’t any more a fan of Kyle Smith than Jared was.
“Thanks,” he said as he hurried into a waiting elevator. The doorman had given him the apartment number, but Jared probably should have asked for a passkey, as well. Kyle Smith probably wouldn’t be in a hurry to open the door for him—especially if he’d learned that some of his alibis had fallen apart.
Of course the reporter had struggled to remember where he’d been when each woman had disappeared, so he might have inadvertently given Jared incorrect information. Or he might have slipped up.
Finally. Six years later...
Jared paced the elevator car as it ascended. Maybe he should have taken the stairs. But finally it stopped with a sharp jerk. Long seconds passed before the doors began to slide open. Jared didn’t wait for them to open all the way; he squeezed through the first crack in the doors and headed down the hall.
Hell, if Smith refused to let him in, Jared would just break down his door. Giving incorrect information in a federal investigation gave Jared the right to bring him in for further questioning.
But he didn’t have to break down the door; it gaped open. Had the doorman had a change of heart and alerted Smith? Jared swallowed a curse. But then he noticed the broken doorjamb. Smith hadn’t done that running out; someone had broken in. He reached for his gun and pulled it from the holster beneath his jacket.
He pushed the door fully open and stepped inside. Furniture had been overturned and pictures had been knocked off the walls. He moved slowly through the apartment, stepping over things until he came upon the body.
Kyle Smith stared up at him, but for once he didn’t wear that smug grin. His mouth was open, blood trickling from the corner and over the side of his face. And his eyes were open, too, staring blindly.
He was dead. He wasn’t the killer, but maybe he’d figured it out. Maybe he’d found the evidence that Jared had been looking for all these years, and that was why his apartment was torn apart. The killer had been looking for it.
Why hadn’t Smith called him? Had he been saving the reveal for a special news broadcast? Probably. And trying to further his career had cost Kyle Smith his life.
Jared uttered a sigh, but the breath had barely passed his lips when he heard a creak. Maybe it was just some of the broken furniture. But before he could turn, something struck his head—hard.
Pain blinded him, and his knees folded from the force of the blow. And he fell beside Kyle Smith. But he didn’t have to look into the dead man’s face for long—because everything went black as oblivion claimed Jared. He only had time for one final thought: he’d broken his promise to Becca. He wasn’t going to be able to keep her safe.
* * *
SPECIAL AGENT NICK RUS leaned in the open driver’s side window. He wore a hard hat and looked like a road crew worker holding up traffic with a sign. “I don’t think you should go on to the chapel until Jared gets here.”
Dalton glanced over at Rebecca as if debating how much to reveal in front of her. Then he replied to Rus, “Jared was stopping somewhere to check out another lead before meeting us here.”
“Did he bring backup with him?” Rus asked, his blue eyes darkening with concern.
Rebecca’s pulse had already been racing with fear for herself—for what she might encounter in that dress fitting room. A monster. But now she worried about Jared. Was he facing the monster now?
“Where was he going?” she asked.
Dalton shrugged. “All he would say is that he was following up on an alibi that had fallen apart.”
A gasp slipped through Rebecca’s lips. “Harris. He had to be going to see Harris Mowery.”
“Why wouldn’t he say?” Dalton asked.
“He probably didn’t want to get my hopes up,” she suggested. Six years ago she’d been relentless in wanting him to arrest her sister’s fiancé.
Dalton pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. He muttered a curse before saying, “It went straight to voice mail.”
Agent Rus glanced at the backed-up traffic, as if looking for Jared’s car. “He wouldn’t miss this.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Dalton Reyes agreed.
Her heart pounded harder and faster. “Do you think something has happened to him?”
Dalton shook his head. “No. He wouldn’t have risked being late for your fitting.”
“No,
” she said, “unless he thought he could catch the killer before...”
“The killer catches you,” Dalton finished for her.
Her fear increased. “But what if the killer caught him?”
Dalton and Rus both shook their heads. “Jared’s a better field agent than he even knows. He’s fine.”
Were they lying to her so she wouldn’t worry? Or was Jared the one playing games? Maybe he thought if he didn’t show, the fitting would get called off. Was that his way of protecting her—to get the whole operation canceled?
The only way to truly protect her and countless other women was to catch the killer. If Jared had apprehended the Butcher, he would have called.
She drew in a deep breath to brace herself. “It’s getting late,” Rebecca said. “We need to do this.”
Rus shook his head, then cursed.
“Lynch in your head?” Dalton asked.
Rus touched his earpiece and nodded. “The boss says to proceed. We have enough backup without Jared.”
Chief Lynch must have come to the same conclusion Rebecca had—that Jared hadn’t showed because he had never approved of setting a trap using her as bait. Anger replaced her fear for him. And that anger strengthened her resolve.
“Let’s do this.”
Rus stepped back from the car and waved them through to the church. Dalton parked at the curb and escorted her up the stairs. But he wasn’t the only one in the area. A lawn care crew worked on the grounds around the church. One mowed while another trimmed shrubs and a third worked a weed eater.
Even if he didn’t realize they were special agents and bodyguards, she doubted the killer would try to grab her with so many people around. Jared hadn’t needed to worry about her. But apparently he wasn’t worried or he would have showed up.
She hurried up the steps to the church as if anxious for her fitting. As if she couldn’t wait to marry the man she loved.
And she did love him—despite how frustrating and stubborn he could be. But she doubted that they would ever marry. Mrs. Payne greeted her in the foyer—with a big hug.
“I remember you from Dalton’s wedding,” Penny Payne said. And she reached up and patted the special agent’s cheek like he was a small boy. “Such a handsome groom he was. And his bride...”
“Beautiful,” Dalton said with a loving smile.
“You will be a beautiful bride, too,” Penny promised her. “I bet you can’t wait until you see your dress...”
Rebecca couldn’t wait until this was over and she could return to her son. At least Blaine Campbell was protecting him. Alex was safe. With the list of questions he’d had to ask Agent Campbell, he was also occupied and amused.
“The dressing room is right this way,” Penny said as she led Rebecca to a short hallway off the foyer.
A door stood open and inside the sunny-yellow room was a tall, dark-haired woman. She had a measuring tape draped around her neck. But Rebecca recognized her from the wedding. She was one of the bodyguards.
“This is my seamstress,” Penny said. “Candace...”
The other woman smiled at Rebecca. “Your dress is in the garment bag. Please try it on, and we’ll see where we need to make adjustments.” With Penny Payne, she stepped out of the room and closed the door—leaving Rebecca alone inside.
But she wasn’t alone. She had a mike taped onto her, so that Dalton and every other FBI agent in the area could hear her call for help—if she needed it. She suspected she wouldn’t need it.
Obviously, Candace had made sure the room was empty before she’d shut her inside. So what was she supposed to do now? Try on a dress that she would never wear anyway?
She reached for the zipper of the garment bag, but just as she began to pull it down the door opened again. She drew in an unsteady breath, but it was only Candace again.
“Are you okay?” the bodyguard asked.
“Of course,” Rebecca said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“The perimeter guards caught someone trying to get in through a basement window,” Candace replied.
Rebecca started forward, but Candace blocked the doorway. “Stay here,” she advised her. “Until I make sure the suspect’s been contained.”
Goose bumps lifted on Rebecca’s arms. She wasn’t sure they’d contained the actual suspect. It was probably just Kyle Smith who’d been trying to break in to get exclusive coverage of her murder.
But before she could voice her concerns to the female bodyguard, Candace closed the door, once again shutting Rebecca alone in the room.
But when she turned around, Rebecca realized she wasn’t alone any longer. Someone else stood inside the room with her—someone she’d never suspected.
A scream burned her throat, but she was too shocked to utter it. Too shocked to do anything to save herself...
Chapter Twenty
Jared winced when Reyes touched the back of his head. “You probably have another concussion,” the agent said. “You should’ve gone to the hospital instead of driving up here.”
But he’d promised Becca that he would protect her. He hadn’t done a very damn good job of that, though—at least not personally.
“We had this,” Nick told him. “You should have gone to the hospital. What the hell happened to you?”
“Kyle Smith’s dead,” he revealed.
Dalton whistled. “I know the guy was a pain in your ass, but I didn’t think you’d actually kill him.”
“I found him dead.”
“So how’d you get the blow to your head?” Dalton asked. “Trip over his body?”
Jared winced as he remembered nearly falling on the dead man. “I didn’t realize the killer hadn’t left yet.”
“You must have been out for a while,” Reyes remarked, “since he beat you here.”
Jared touched his head himself. While the blow had caught him by surprise, it hadn’t been as damaging as the one he’d taken while protecting Elizabeth. Sure, he’d lost consciousness, but he hadn’t thought he’d been out that long.
“It’s probably good he was in a hurry,” Reyes said as he touched Jared’s wound again. “Or he might have finished you off like he had Kyle Smith. Why do you think he killed Smith? Do you think the reporter figured out who the killer was before we did?”
Jared didn’t even know who the killer was. “Where is the suspect?” he asked.
Reyes chuckled. “Does it irritate you that we caught him without you?”
“I just wanted him caught,” Jared said. He followed Reyes over to one of the Bureau’s black SUVs. The windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see inside. “Open the door.”
Reyes clicked the locks and gestured at the handle. “I’ll let you do the honors.”
Jared pulled open the door and expelled a breath of surprise. Becca was going to be horribly disappointed that her trap had snagged the person she’d least suspected.
“It was hard to get you to come up to Chicago,” he said. “Surprised to see you came all the way up here. From... Where is it you’re from again, Mr. Droski?”
The man said nothing.
So Jared answered for him. “You’re from St. Louis, George. Did you forget? But then you’re a very busy man—busy with your wife and kids. Or busy abducting and killing brides-to-be?”
“And apparently knocking federal agents over the head,” Reyes added for him.
George Droski ignored Reyes but focused his gaze on Jared. During the interview the man hadn’t been able to look him in the eye. Instead, he’d stared down at the table between them. The guy had red hair—not Jared’s auburn—but a fiery red. He also had freckles and pale skin. He was nobody’s image of what the Butcher would look like; he looked like Howdy Doody, not a violent serial killer. “It’s not what you think...”
And the nerves he’d shown during their earlier interview were gone. It was almost as if he was relieved.
Serial killers often said that they’d wanted to be caught—after they were caught. That they were hoping that someone
would stop them. As a profiler, Jared knew that was bullshit and just a feeble attempt for the killer to save face. They got caught when they got cocky—when they’d gotten away with their crimes for so long that they believed they couldn’t be caught.
But he didn’t believe George Droski was trying to save face. The man didn’t have the arrogant, narcissist personality that Jared had profiled the Butcher would have.
He shook his head. “It’s not him.”
Dalton laughed. “Just because you didn’t catch him?”
“It’s not him,” Jared repeated as he turned and headed toward the church. He was vaulting up the steps when he heard Becca scream—a scream of pure terror. Other agents started forward, as well, but Jared shook his head. He wanted to assess the situation first—to make sure Becca hadn’t been taken.
George Droski was talking now—drawing the attention of the agents away from Becca’s scream to him. But Jared didn’t care what he was saying. He cared only about Becca.
His weapon drawn, he rushed through the doors and toward the room from where the scream had emanated. Hoping he wasn’t too late, he kicked open that door. Becca wasn’t gone—not like all those other brides-to-be.
She was pale and shaking with her hand clasped over her mouth. There was no blood. No wounds. But she looked horrified—as shocked as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “What’s wrong?” Then he turned and saw her, too. The ghost. The woman whose murder he’d spent six years trying to solve.
“No wonder I never found your body,” he mused. “Hello, Lexi.”
* * *
JARED SAW HER, TOO. She wasn’t a ghost. Or a figment of Rebecca’s imagination. She hadn’t lost her mind. And apparently she hadn’t lost her sister—at least not the way she’d thought she had these past six years.
And anger replaced her shock and fear. “Why?” she asked and her voice cracked. She refused to acknowledge the tears burning her eyes. Her voice had cracked because of the scream—the one she hadn’t even realized had slipped out. She had stood there for so long, just staring at that apparition—because certainly it couldn’t have been real. Lexi couldn’t be real. But Jared saw her, too.
