by Mary Stone
Bree slid the file across the table. It was freshly labeled with a neatly typed adhesive strip that read “victim profiles.”
“Do you keep a label maker in your car?” he asked. She flushed a little, and he shook his head, letting out a laugh. “Genius side-effect? That’s just anal.”
But his half-smile fell away as he opened up the manila folder and spread out the pictures of the victims. Not the crime scene photos, but the photos of living, breathing women taken at various times before their deaths.
“Shit,” he murmured under his breath.
“What is it?”
“He’s killing her.”
Bree stared at him. “Killing who?”
“Winter.” A cold feeling settled in his belly as he turned the pictures toward Bree. “Do you see it?”
She studied the pictures, her dark eyes flicking back and forth between the prints and then widening. “I feel so stupid. With the second victim’s eyes missing…the bodies so unrecognizable…”
“The Preacher came out of retirement for Winter. He’s going to kill her.”
Bree’s voice shook a little. “The hair on Tala Delosreyes. Thick, black, pulled back in a braid. Audrey Hawkins, deep blue eyes. Gabby Dean. Their builds are similar enough that they could have played stunt doubles for each other. That long, athletic type…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked up at him. “You think Winter is the target.”
“Remember how we talked about the murders all being within a two-hour radius of Richmond?” Excitement and dread tangled in his gut. “Picture the hit locations like a compass rose. North, South, East. Richmond is the center. What’s West?”
Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer.
“Where were Winter’s parents killed?” Bree asked. She was on the same track.
“Harrisonburg. Two hours away from Richmond. Roughly west.”
The waiter popped back up with a hopeful expression when Bree and Noah got to their feet.
“Sorry, man.” Noah dug out his wallet and handed the surprised kid a twenty. “We’re not eating after all.”
Bree had already picked up her phone to text Max and tell him about the change of plans. “We going to drive?” she asked Noah as they left the restaurant, expertly navigating puddles in the parking lot without looking away from the phone screen.
“Might as well,” Noah replied. “I’ll drive if you can extend the rental reservation too. Harrisonburg is a four-hour drive from here, but it’ll take that long just to arrange any other kind of transportation.”
“Noah.”
He stopped, turning around.
Bree had halted just behind him, a look of trepidation on her face, her phone forgotten in her hand. “Why was Winter going home this afternoon? You left the office about one, right?”
“She said she had an appointment.”
“Like your appointment?” The question was gentle but pointed.
He was already shaking his head before his answer left his mouth. “She wouldn’t lie to me, and she wouldn’t know about the possible Harrisonburg connection. If anything, wouldn’t she try to get here? To Ocean View?”
But he remembered her face. Drawn. Intense. Of course, she would lie to him.
He knew her, and catching The Preacher was the most important thing in her universe right now. If it was a doctor’s appointment, what was it for? Would she be thinking about scheduling an annual physical right now? Not likely. Unless it was something worse. Something to do with her migraines.
Or, she could have lied.
Bree started walking again but more quickly.
“Say she is obsessed. Say she manipulated me to get inside information. Even if she didn’t, and she’s just working with whatever the BAU has come up with, couldn’t she have put the Richmond circle pattern together herself, just like we did? She’s brilliant. She could have beat us to it.”
Noah yanked open the door to the silver Prius they’d rented for their stay.
“Maybe,” was all he’d allow. The thought that she’d be heading for Harrisonburg wasn’t a good one. Nothing was good with Winter right now.
Minutes later, they were on the road, heading west.
“Do me a favor,” Noah said to Bree. “If Winter tries to get any more information out of you, consider misleading her. I know I sound like a chauvinist now, but she needs to be kept safe. Both from herself and from The Preacher. I don’t care how much that pisses her off. Her safety is most important right now, not her feelings.”
Bree surprised him by immediately agreeing.
“There’s no question she’s a target. Whether Winter likes it or not, I agree with you. And I’m afraid he’s speeding up his timeline. One month between Delosreyes and Hawkins. Three weeks between Hawkins and Dean. What’s next? Two weeks? One? It’s already been two days since Dean was killed.”
Or maybe, Noah thought grimly, Winter would speed up The Preacher’s timeline for him. If he found Winter in Harrisonburg, there would be no need to wait for another perfect victim.
Noah prayed they were wrong, and Winter wouldn’t be there for him to find.
19
The hotel hadn’t been updated since Winter had last stayed there. She’d been put in a different room, but everything was the same, from the musty, stained beige carpeting, to the pastel-splashed cheap wallpaper. She’d checked for cameras the night before and found none. Then, she’d tried to sleep for a few hours, without much success.
Coffee.
But first, she had a question for the manager.
Winter pushed open the door to the lobby. The overhead bell that had dinged last time to announce visitors had quit working sometime in the last couple of months. She moved farther into the dingy office, carpeted in a tired floral pattern, hearing the excited murmur of conversation coming from the back room.
She could sit and wait, though the rickety, Naugahyde-covered chair to her right looked as though it would fall apart if she sneezed at it.
Alma Krueger, who ran the place as far as Winter could tell, was probably burning up the phone lines. Someone had to let people know that one of the FBI agents who had investigated the old burial grounds in Linville had rented one of her rooms.
Or maybe someone else had put together who she was, and information was flowing into Alma’s ear, instead of out. Anyone who had known her as a kid could have seen spooky Winter Black, back in town again.
She’d run into old acquaintances last time she’d been to Harrisonburg. Sam Boxley, nee Benton. Her childhood BFF-turned-frenemy had been directly involved in the case she and Noah had worked on. The local police knew she was the daughter of Bill and Jeanette Black—murdered in their beds back in the 2000s. Sam’s husband, Tom, was an officer with the Harrisonburg PD.
Samantha and Tom Benton probably had their hands full with their own lives these days. They’d been trying to adopt a child when she’d seen them last. If anyone was talking about Winter, it was Alma. There were people who could sit on a juicy tidbit of news like that without sharing it with someone else. Alma Krueger wasn’t one of them.
Winter hadn’t made any effort to keep her identity a secret, and if it got out now, who cared, she decided. The sooner the word got out, the better.
Bring on the endgame.
She was reaching out to tap the little silver bell on the counter when the murmuring voice in the back got abruptly louder.
“I tell you, Elva, I bet she’s here about that old case. It’s just like the last episode of that new show on the TV.” Alma rounded the corner, her face flushed with excitement, her helmet of gray curls shellacked into submission around her rounded, avid face. “I talked to Bernadine, and she thinks…oh!” Alma dropped the phone, throwing a pudgy hand to her chest. “Land sakes, I didn’t know anyone was out here. ‘Bout scare me to death, why don’t you?”
“Sorry.” Winter smiled, doing her best to make it seem genuine. “I just had a quick question for you before I head out for the day.”
“Go ahead,
dear.” Alma’s face lit with interest. “What can I do to help you?”
Before Winter could speak, Alma held up one hand and shot her a warning look. “If you ask me about anybody who knows anything, though, I’m not telling you. The last person I sent you to ended up dead, God rest Elbert’s sweet, loving soul.”
Winter winced at the reminder but nodded. It was a valid concern. Alma had been trying to get into Elbert Wilkin’s pants for years, and the irascible old man had been murdered shortly after Winter’s arrival.
Alma’s phone was still on the floor. “Aren’t you going to grab that?” Winter nodded at the bulky, ‘90s-model cordless that emitted squawking shrieks.
It wasn’t broken. It was Alma’s sister on the other end, demanding to know if Alma was dead.
The elderly woman huffed and fluttered her hands. “Of course, of course.” She scooped it up, not bothering to let Elva know that she was alive and tucked it in the pocket of the smock-like apron she wore.
“Now. What can I do for you, Special Agent Black?”
“Just Winter,” she corrected. “I’m not here on official business.”
Alma snorted. “Sure you’re not. Everyone who stays with us at the Kreuger Motor Inn comes back for the lovely atmosphere.”
The statement surprised a quick laugh from Winter. “Honestly, I just had a question for you. Last time I was here, I thought someone had maybe been in my room.”
Alma puffed up indignantly. “If you’re suggesting that I would steal your things, young lady—”
“No, not at all! Is there anyone else who works for you? Housekeeping staff? Maintenance? Some things had been moved around, and I was just curious about it.” She grinned. “FBI agents are naturally curious. Heck, maybe it was my imagination. Sometimes I think my brain invents things if there’s nothing else to investigate.”
Alma gave her a look that clearly said Winter was crazy.
“I don’t have much help here, taking care of the place,” she finally admitted. “My sister’s neighbor’s daughter, Sue, comes in and cleans up after the guests. As a matter of fact,” she added, narrowing her gaze on Winter, “Sue said that there was some drywall dust behind the TV in one of the rooms a few months ago. If that was you, I’ll have to ask you to pay for any damage to my wall.”
“That wasn’t me,” Winter replied serenely. “Is there anyone else who comes in to help Sue out?”
“No. We don’t get a lot of business, and she needs the money.”
“What about maintenance?”
“No. We had a man that came in to do that for us.” Alma sighed, sounding sad.
Winter tensed, keeping the slight, interested smile on her face. “Does he still come around?”
Now, Alma looked downright wistful. “No. After years of being the most reliable handyman you could ask for, he quit showing up one day.”
The hair raised on the back of Winter’s neck. “Oh? How long ago?”
“A few months. But it wasn’t Barney who touched your things. He’s such a sweet man,” the older woman enthused.
Winter’s stomach iced as she connected the dots. Could it be?
Staring at the woman, she realized that Barney could have very well been The Preacher. In fact, her intuition practically screamed that her theory was true. Alma must have had a crush on the serial killer. The Preacher who had done handyman work for her for years but quit coming around after he’d made contact with Winter months ago.
“Barney?” The name almost scalded her tongue. “What was Barney’s last name?”
Alma jammed her hands on her hips, giving Winter the stink eye. “Now, look here. Barney wouldn’t go through your things any more than I would. He was such a gentleman. Always told me what a fine woman I was.”
“His last name?”
Alma looked surprised at the sudden steel in Winter’s voice. “Fife,” she squeaked.
Winter blinked. “Seriously?”
Alma chuckled, appearing to relax a little. “I know. Sounded like a fake name to me, too, and a bad one at that. But I’ve known Barney for years. He’d no more lie to me than my own sister. Plus, Barney had his own key, but I trusted that he would never go into occupied rooms. If you thought any of your things were moved, you must’ve been mistaken.”
Even as the woman was talking, Winter’s mind whirred with questions. Possibilities. Concerns.
“Do you have his social security number on file? Copy of his driver’s license? Did he drive a green and red truck?”
“He did, but—” The phone in Alma’s pocket squawked, interrupting. “Oh! If you’ll excuse me.”
Without waiting for an answer, she pulled out the handset. “Shut up, Elva. Couldn’t you hear any of that?” she hissed in what she probably thought was a whisper. She disappeared around the corner and Winter heard her say, “I was talking to her! The spooky law girl!”
Conversation over.
Barney Fife. What the hell.
Winter’s own phone rang in her purse, the ringtone a twangy country song she’d downloaded and assigned to Noah’s number. She dropped the idea of faking a warrant to get into Alma’s employment records as she dug her phone out of her bag and left the lobby. The Preacher’s real name was not Barney Fife.
Outside, the air was bright and fresh with the smell of wet dirt from the rain the night before. The morning sky was a vivid blue and birds twittered. It wasn’t spring yet, but Mother Nature was thinking about it. Winter hit the talk button.
“‘Morning, Noah. What’s going on?”
“Not a lot. Just checking on you.” His voice was deep and rumbling, tired sounding, like he’d just woken up.
“You’re checking up on me? After such a long radio silence? Odd. I’m fine.”
“How’d your appointment go yesterday?”
Winter headed for her Civic. She recognized a probing question when she heard one, and Noah hadn’t contacted her out of the blue like this in weeks.
“Super fun and exciting. Annual pap smears always are. You want details?”
He made a choking noise, and she grinned, even as a pang of wistfulness shook her unexpectedly.
She missed him. The goof.
“How was your appointment? Did you have a pap smear too?”
“Seriously, can you just stop saying ‘pap smear?’” Noah demanded, sounding pained. “Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’m actually getting ready to head out. I just wanted to check in with you real quick.”
“Well…thanks? You still in Ocean View?”
He paused for a moment, clearly startled that she knew.
Good. She wanted him off-balance.
“Yeah,” he finally said. “I’m not telling you anything though, so don’t ask.”
“Wasn’t planning on it. Different departments now, right? Not my circus, not my monkeys.”
That might have been laying it on a little thick. She wrenched on the door handle to the Civic a little harder than she meant to. The rusting spring inside creaked.
“Where are you going?” Noah demanded. “Was that your car door?”
Winter cursed under her breath. “Work. You know, where we go and do things and get paid?”
“I thought you weren’t driving.”
She held a hand over the phone speaker. “Thanks, Jake,” she said to the empty interior of her car.
“Who’s Jake?”
“Jesus, Noah,” she burst out. “Why the third degree? It’s not any of your business, but Jake is the Uber guy who’s been driving me to work. He lives in the next apartment complex over from us, and I’ve seen him every morning for weeks. He’s twenty years old, blond/blue, six foot three, and moved to Richmond from San Diego three years ago, for college reasons. We’re practically best friends now.”
“I thought you said yesterday that you use Lyft.”
She blew out an exasperated breath, and then grinned reluctantly. He was good.
“Bye, Noah. Thanks for the morning interrogation.”
“Sorry.”
The one word sounded genuinely regretful, and she pulled her car door closed with a quiet click. “I’m just worried about you,” he added.
The words poked a hole in her conscience. Guilt leaked out. She struggled to shove it back.
“I miss you, Noah.”
She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
It had apparently surprised Noah too. There was silence on the other end, and then his voice, rich and warm like coffee. “Miss you, too, Winter. Take care of yourself.”
He hung up.
What if she was wrong? What if The Preacher was really in Ocean View still, and Noah was the one in danger? The thought took her breath away. She never should have let him get as close as he had.
It took her a minute of using anger to gather the shards of her armor around herself again, find the single-minded focus she’d managed to gain, but Winter finally started the car. It was time to get back to work.
The countdown clock had been reset the last time The Preacher had killed. Whether it dinged in a week, or two weeks, or a matter of hours, she had no time to waste on self-pity. Noah was where he needed to be, and Winter was where she needed to be.
It was time.
Even the nosy, stroller-pushing mother who lived on her old cul-de-sac now wouldn’t think Winter was up to anything this morning, she decided as she headed out of the parking lot. It was a lovely day, bright and sunny. She needed coffee, and luckily, there was a Starbucks nearby.
Anyone seeing a car parked out in front of the old Black house and a young woman in jeans and a sweatshirt going in with a coffee would think she belonged there. She could pass for a realtor or prospective home buyer.
Instead, she was going to be inside, deliberately trying to provoke a painful vision of blood and death.
My hands jittered on the steering wheel, my knobby knuckles still aching from all the work I’d been doing lately. In the old days, I could keep up. Now, not so much.
All those tiny little cuts I’d had to make on my girlie…
I loved workin’ for the Lord, but it was hard craft for an old man’s arthritic hands. Winter had looked almost cleansed when I was done, though, I thought with a smile. I’d exorcized every last sinful sign of the bitch.
