She nodded to both of the agents and slid her hands into her slacks, feeling more out of place in the field than in her examination room. With its drains, exposed pipes, surgical instruments and refrigerated drawers, she felt in control there. This... This was something else. She wasn’t an investigator. Not the kind that followed the clues, put the pieces together and saved the day. Not like Nicholas. The victims she dealt with on a daily basis came to her already deceased, but the guilt taking root inside, the kind that blamed her for what’d happened to Kara, wouldn’t let her go back and hide in her comfort zone. She owed it to her sister to find whoever killed her.
Nicholas brushed against her arm, resurrecting that flare of heat and disorientation as he had back at the safe house. “Storm’s moving in. I figure we’ve got about twenty minutes of search time before things get real complicated.”
Heavy rains washed away evidence. If they didn’t move fast enough, they could lose anything that might identify the next victim or the killer.
“Where do you want us?” Agent West’s incredibly brown eyes flickered to her for the briefest of moments, telling her far more in that single instance than she’d asked for. He didn’t approve of her being involved in the search or the investigation, and she didn’t blame him.
She’d been trained in pathology and uncovering cause of death. Until they recovered a body, she didn’t understand what she could contribute here.
“Our unsub wouldn’t have left the body to be recovered by anyone other than the people he intended to find it. That’s why he left us the photo at Kara Flood’s death scene.” Nicholas pulled his phone from his pocket and turned the screen toward his team, every ounce the lead case agent she believed him to be. Authoritative, in control, unrelenting.
“I believe this is the woman we’re looking for. Paige Cress, a paralegal for a firm downtown, who fits the Gingerbread Woman’s victim profile. He’s using the bread-crumb MO to draw us in, possibly into a trap. Dr. Flood and I have narrowed down a possible dump site on Pier 58. She and I will search there, but we can’t risk narrowing our focus. West, you take the pier to the south. Striker, the pier to the north. Gear up and keep in radio contact.”
Nicholas backtracked to the rear of his vehicle, West and Striker doing the same. He pulled a Kevlar vest over his head and strapped in, then unholstered his weapon, released the magazine and pulled back the slider to clear the chamber. A bullet leaped from the top of the gun, and he caught it before it hit the cargo area of his vehicle. Green-blue eyes raised to hers. “You know how to handle one of these?”
Aubrey shook her head, unable to look away from the overtaxed muscles of his forearms. “No. Not really.”
He offered her the weapon, the weight of his team’s study burning between her shoulder blades, but Nicholas didn’t seem to notice. As though in his world, she was all that existed. He set the grip of the firearm in her hand then maneuvered behind her, his mouth close to her ear. Positioning his index finger over hers, he directed the finger she’d use to fire the weapon should the moment call for it alongside the trigger.
“Safety is here.” He pointed to the small button above the trigger. “Magazine release is here. You currently have fifteen bullets. To load a round into the chamber, you pull back on this slide.” He brought her left hand up and set it on top of the gun. “Always use your nondominant hand to load and unload the weapon. That way you’re not wasting valuable seconds switching hands. Go ahead.”
She pulled back the slide and heard a distinct click that said she’d loaded a bullet into the chamber. Her hand shook. The weapon was heavier than she’d imagined it being. “Now what?”
“Now you take a deep breath before you accidentally shoot me.” His laugh whispered along the underside of her jaw and sent a rush of warmth straight into her gut. His hand slipped from hers, and an instant coolness absorbed into her body from the breeze coming off the sound. Pulling what looked like another vest from the back of the cargo area, Nicholas handed it to her. “Put this on. Stay behind me. If anything goes south, you use me as a shield, then get the hell out of there and don’t look back. You understand?”
His words registered through the haze his proximity had built, and all evidence of the bubble he’d created around them disappeared. “You think he’s here. That he’s watching the remains because he enjoys the rush of the chase?”
“This killer, whoever he is, has broken in to your apartment, targeted your sister and left a map to her remains on your apartment door, Aubrey. From what I can tell, he has an unhealthy obsession with you, and I will do whatever it takes to make sure I deny him as long as I can.” He pulled a second firearm from the cargo area and reached up to the SUV’s hatch and slammed it closed. He lowered his voice. “Wear the vest, use the gun if you have to, but no matter what happens, do not leave my sight.” Cutting his attention over her shoulder, he called to his team, “Let’s move out. That storm is getting too close for my comfort.”
Aubrey attached the holster he’d handed over to the waist of her slacks and fit the bulletproof vest over her head. The weight sank hard on her shoulders and stole the oxygen from her lungs as she followed behind Nicholas and his team across the parking lot.
The Seattle Waterfront centered on an atmospheric collection of piers filled with souvenir shops, amusement attractions, an aquarium, cruise ship boarding, seafood restaurants and the Seattle Great Wheel. Gondolas overlooked Puget Sound and gave postcard-perfect views of the coastline and the city all at once. On the weekends, the farmers market was packed with tourists and locals buying fresh produce and crafts, but as dark, swirling clouds moved in, visitors retreated to the safety of their vehicles as the BAU spread out. Agent Striker veered off to Aubrey’s right, heading for Pier 59, with Agent West taking the pier to her left, leaving her with Nicholas.
She adjusted the Kevlar vest around her neck as they crossed the sidewalk clinging to the edges of the piers, the weapon he’d given her heavy on her hip. Blockades prevented waterfront visitors from crossing onto Pier 58, but Nicholas didn’t pay them any attention. Following in his wake, she stepped onto the old, weathered wood that was a strong match for the wood pictured with the victim in the photograph. The combination of metal and wood seemed to groan with the addition of their weight, and her heart shot straight into her throat. “In order to keep the body from being discovered too quickly, I imagine the killer left Paige Cress protected from the elements. Out of sight. Possibly in one of the maintenance sheds.”
“You’re probably right.” Nicholas unholstered his weapon. “We’ll start there.”
Her steps echoed off the planks under her feet. Cement stairs branched off the concave pier and led to the piers on either side. Movement caught her attention from the right as Agent Striker moved farther out toward the end of Pier 59. Sphere-shaped white lamps flickered to life as the clouds centered directly overhead. Spits of rain stained the planks around her and caught in her hair. The storm was just beginning. They were running out of time.
Water tinked against the frame of the Seattle Great Wheel at the end of the pier. There were too many man-made angles that kept them from seeing the expanse of the pier as a whole—too many places to hide.
Nicholas moved ahead of her, the muscles down his back rippling with every step as they closed in on the closest maintenance shed. Built from the same cement as the stairs, the shed had been graffitied over the years with bright red and yellow spray paint. Steel double doors had been raised enough to allow the planks to run into the space. If the killer had wanted to protect the body from being found until the right time, this would be an ideal location to keep Paige Cress to himself until he was ready to show her to the world. Nicholas tested the handle, and the door swung open.
“Holy hell,” he said.
Hot waves of decomposition and baked flesh dived deep into her lungs, and both she and Nicholas stepped back to release the buildup of bodily gases.
The outline of a body registered as her senses adjusted to the darkness inside. Aubrey crouched alongside the remains, her medicolegal kit thudding against the pier. “Female, approximately twenty to twenty-five years old, which falls into the description given of the victim. There is evidence of petechial hemorrhages in the face, edema in the fingers and blue discoloration of the skin, suggesting the victim died of asphyxiation.” Aubrey memorized the face of the victim, down to the obvious perimortem bruising in her face. She pulled back, her heart heavier than the Kevlar pulling on her shoulders. “I believe we’ve found Paige Cress.”
Chapter Six
Nicholas stared down at the remains as Aubrey performed the initial study of the body. Heat had engorged the skin around the victim’s eyes, mouth and stomach, but he agreed with the ME’s identification. They’d found Paige Cress.
“It’ll be difficult to narrow down time of death in these conditions. Cement holds heat, which will raise body temperature, but the wood planks underneath the remains are spaced far enough apart to allow the ocean to cool the underside.” Aubrey stepped back. “We won’t know anything until we can get her to Dr. Caldwell to have him perform the autopsy.”
The detachment in her voice as she spoke about the victim who’d been suffocated and left to play a part in a psychopath’s mind game jarred him. This wasn’t a body. These weren’t just remains to be cut open and studied. This had been a woman who’d worked hard to land a paralegal position in one of the city’s largest law firms, who’d been reported missing by a family who’d cared about her. Doubt scattered the similarities he’d noted between them. He’d spent most of his life trusting a man who’d murdered thirty women over the course of his life until Nicholas had caught the son of a bitch. He couldn’t take anyone at face value. Not even Aubrey. He had to remember that.
“The killer wanted us to find your sister on that bench. He wanted us to find Koko in the back of the van. He wanted us to find the photo of Paige. He’s been leaving us bread crumbs from the beginning. Taunting us because he likes the feel of the chase. Not only is he trying to prove he’s better than his idols, but he’s determined to outwit the investigators on his trail. This is a game for him, and he’s got a front-row seat to the whole show.” Nicholas unclipped the radio from his vest. “Striker, West, come in.”
Static punctured through the frequency. No answer.
Aubrey searched the area for Madeline Striker. “I don’t see Agent Striker. She was there a minute ago.”
Warning knotted at the base of his spine. He hit the press-to-talk button again. “Striker, West, do you copy?”
Damn it. Nicholas attached the radio into place, instincts screaming. His team wouldn’t have gone silent without specific instructions or a damn good reason. Something was wrong. He nodded toward the weapon now clutched in Aubrey’s hand. They couldn’t leave the victim unsupervised, but he wouldn’t abandon his team, either. “You remember how to use that?”
She glanced down at the firearm as though suddenly aware she’d taken it out in the first place and widened her stance. “I remember.”
“Good. Call this in. Don’t let her out of your sight. Understand?” He extracted his phone and dialed SSA Miguel Peters. The line rang once. Twice. “I’m requesting backup, but I give you permission to shoot anybody who comes near you without official identification. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’ll protect her.” She nodded a split second before he turned his back and took the first few steps to head across the pier. “Agent James.”
Nicholas twisted around, catching the full sight of her standing guard over the body with his backup weapon in hand, and his gut clenched harder than it should have.
“Be careful,” she said.
The doubt that’d trickled past his defenses cracked. “You, too.”
The ringing ended, and the call picked up. He pressed the phone harder against his ear. “You’ve reached Supervisory Special Agent Miguel Peters...”
“Damn it. Voice mail.” Keeping low, Nicholas ended the call and took cover behind one of the cement columns making up the inclined roof of a carnival game booth. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and broke cover to search the pier. No movement. Nothing to suggest an ambush. “Where are you, you bastard?”
Straightening, he forced one foot in front of the other around the curve of the damaged pier toward Miner’s Landing—a souvenir shop—and the Seattle Great Wheel. Muted catches of sunlight reflected off the ocean waves, the scent of salt water clearing the lingering odor of decomposition from his lungs. Gulls screeched overhead, and he looked up.
Movement registered in his peripheral vision then vanished, so fast he almost believed he’d imagined it. Almost. His heart rocketed into his throat. The shadow had disappeared behind the long stretch of the souvenir shop, and he picked up the pace. The killer didn’t just want to prove he was better than the BAU assigned to take him down. He’d want to humiliate them by showing he held all the power. This was all a game, but one Nicholas was prepared to win. His legs burned as he closed in on the northeast end of the building. He pressed his back against the old wood and craned his neck around the corner, air lodged in his throat.
Empty.
Blue umbrellas adorned minimalist outdoor restaurant seating along the south side base of the Ferris wheel. Hip-height Plexiglas created a barrier that led toward the back of the building. His pulse pounded hard in his throat as he maneuvered toward the southeast corner of the building. Tourists had cleared the piers with the oncoming storm, but Nicholas still felt as though he was being watched. Air-conditioning units and storage prevented any chance of escape along the back of Miner’s Landing. There was nowhere for the killer to run.
Nicholas crept past the restaurant with its gleaming windows offering perfect views of the sound and swung around the corner, weapon aimed high.
An elbow slammed into his face. Lightning exploded behind his eyes as he stumbled back. He fell into the Plexiglas divider around the restaurant seating. Pain ricocheted around his skull as he tried to focus. A hole of clarity spread, but he wasn’t fast enough.
A second hit rocketed into his jaw.
Nicholas flipped over the half wall and slammed onto a glass table on the other side, his weapon slipping from his hand. Glass shattered under his weight and sliced into his forearms and the back of his neck. Stinging pain woke the nerve endings throughout his body, and a groan escaped his chest. He shook his head as the masked attacker vaulted over the barrier and landed beside him.
“Agent James, so good of you to join us. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t get my message.” The distorted voice beneath the mask grated against his inner ears. Muscular build, well over six feet, trained in hand-to-hand combat. No identifying scars or tattoos. The killer had been watching, waiting, for the BAU to recover Paige Cress in the maintenance shed.
“You’ve got some control issues.” Nicholas hauled himself to his feet, glass crunching beneath his boots. His pulse pounded at the back of his head, and he swiped a fair amount of blood from a laceration. He struggled for balance as he faced the bastard who’d targeted Kara Flood and Paige Cress. “Where are West and Striker?”
“Always out to be the hero, aren’t you, Agent James? Or should I call you Nicholas? It’s not enough you took down the X Marks the Spot Killer or the Gingerbread Woman, but you have to save your teammates as well. I’ve always admired that about you,” he said. “In a way, you and I are very similar. Each trying to rise above the circumstances we were dealt. But where you’ve chosen to hunt the legends responsible for so much pain and loss, I’ve chosen to become one. When this is over, everyone is going to know who I am, but don’t worry, your teammates are alive. For now.”
Nicholas struck out, fisting the attacker’s black jacket, and slammed the killer into the reflective glass of the restaurant. The window cracked beneath the momentum and spidered out around the k
iller’s head. “You don’t know anything about me.”
A low, steady laugh penetrated through the ringing in his ears.
“On the contrary, Agent James. I’m your biggest fan.” Wrapping his gloved grip around both of Nicholas’s wrists, the suspect twisted out of his hold. The pier blurred in Nicholas’s vision as the killer kicked his legs out from under him and slammed him facedown into the shattered glass of the destroyed table. “You’re one of the best, and I like to honor my idols the only way I know how.”
A scream tore from his throat as pain unlike anything he’d experienced before burned down the side of his face. Nicholas rolled out from under the suspect’s grip onto his back and kicked out hard with both feet. He landed a hit in the center of the bastard’s chest and threw him backward into an adjacent table. Shoving to his feet, he pulled a piece of glass from the entry wound in his cheek and tossed it to the ground. Blood dripped from his chin. He swiped it away with the back of his hand. He spit the copper and salt mixture from his mouth.
“You honor the killers you admire by becoming them, by re-creating their kills to prove you can do it better than they did and never get caught, but, the way I see it, you’re nothing more than a copycat playing dress-up.”
“I am better.” A hint of rage filtered through the killer’s voice, and Nicholas inwardly cringed against the pain of a smile.
“Seems I hit a nerve.” He spotted his weapon a few feet away. “You see, I had you pegged the moment I saw Kara Flood’s body. Using another killer’s MO?” He shook his head in disappointment. “What that tells me is you’re a run-of-the-mill narcissist. There’s nothing special about you. You’re going to go down like all the rest of the killers I’ve put behind bars.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Agent James,” the killer said.
Profiling a Killer Page 7
