Winter’s End: Winter Black Series: Book Nine

by Stone, Mary

  If Bree looked perfect, then Noah was Bree’s painting of Dorian Gray. Every wrinkle her clothing avoided, his took on. Her hair was styled and neat, his was…something between pillow hair and Einstein in an electrical storm. She stifled a laugh seeing them side by side like this until it registered with her exactly what Max was saying.

  “It is for these reasons and others,” Max stared directly at her through the television, “that the FBI has declared Jaime Peterson one of America’s Most Wanted.”

  Winter gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Most Wanted? Max had just declared that Justin was wanted dead or alive, and it didn’t really matter which. Of course, that was never the intent of such a designation, but it was the net effect. Being on the Most Wanted was an invite for every nutcase with a deer rifle to go after Justin and claim self-defense in hopes of fame or fortune, or both if they could get it.

  Justin. Her baby brother.

  She’d said it was too late to help him. He was too far gone, had done too many crimes. But this brought it home in a way that she never would have believed. The horror that someone she knew and loved, someone from her own family could have reached such a terrible point in his life, was beyond painful. What made it worse was that he deserved it. Justin had earned the name of Most Wanted. She hated it, but she also couldn’t disagree.

  Her heart ached.

  If she hadn’t been watching so intently, she might have missed Bree’s reaction to Max declaring that title on Justin. The agent covered it quickly, but it was there. Max hadn’t told her, that much was clear. That meant he hadn’t told Noah either. She stared at Max, seeing only his grim iron stare, and tried to suppress a shudder.

  Even if Max was justified in declaring this, the news still hit her like a cold wave. She watched numbly as Noah stepped to the podium, the remote falling from her hand to the floor, and thudding against her foot. She left it, too intent on the drama playing out on the screen to care.

  A small part of her mind took in the stubble and the rumpled suit, and she risked a tremulous smile that he would go on TV in such a state. It meant he cared, that he’d worked all night just like he said he would. If he’d slept at all, it was on a couch somewhere in the Bureau. Winter knew that when Noah said he was working late, it was the job that called to him and nothing else. Here was her proof. He looked like shit. On national TV.

  Remembering the towel, she lifted one hand to blot moisture from her hair, trying to bite back a wave of emotion. How lucky was she to have someone in her life who was working around the clock to solve this case?

  Oh, she knew he was doing it to protect future victims and not let anyone else get killed. She also knew that the extra effort he expended every day was as much for her sake. He wanted her to be able to put this behind her, to let her bury her past and not have to deal with the reality that her little brother with the sagging SpongeBob pajamas and the stupid broken giraffe dragging on the floor behind him was…America’s Most Wanted Serial Killer.

  She gave up on her hair and put the towel over her mouth and nose, breathing in the fresh scent of soap and fabric. For a moment, the towel became her security blanket, a tie to her mommy and daddy and a night before the bad one, the night before she found them dead in their bedroom, throats slit and blood everywhere.

  That old bastard. That son of a bitch.

  Why did he have to do it? Why couldn’t it have been enough to kill her parents, as horrible as that was to even think. But to take her little brother and turn him into…into a younger version of himself? What kind of anger fueled something so vile, justifying the action in the killer’s mind?

  Douglas Kilroy had twisted an innocent child and bent him past redemption. If there was a hell, it wasn’t deep enough or bad enough to suit the damage the preaching bastard had done in Justin’s life.

  She sent out a prayer and message to whatever gods were out there, giving every angry, injured thought to the universe. Let The Preacher writhe in pain for eternity. Amen.

  On the screen beside Noah, an image of Justin stared, mocking her. The image was washed from the video he’d sent, but it was done professionally, illuminating his face, defining it through a very talented sketch artist. She took in the hard line of his mouth, the tightness around his eyes, and searched hard for the little boy she once knew. She gave up, unable to see him. Maybe the boy with the giraffe wasn’t there anymore, as dead as her parents.

  It would have been better if he had died. Kilroy should have killed Justin. At least then she would have grieved alone. How many more families would suffer at the loss of a loved one before this was over?

  Stop. Just stop. She couldn’t think that way.

  Something occurred to her as Bree spoke briefly about DNA and evidence on the Ulbrichs. Looking at Justin’s image, larger than life, she wondered why.

  Why would a mad man and killer abduct a child? For that matter, he killed my parents and left me in a coma. Why hadn’t he finished the job and killed me too? Why hadn’t my blood been used to write scripture on the walls?

  Through the intervening years, she’d often asked why she’d been spared. Sometimes in wonderment, sometimes in impotent rage, often demanding answers from her grandparents or from God.

  But for the first time, she asked that question not with rage or guilt, but with the keen analytical mind that the FBI had trained and honed in her. It was a valid question and one she needed to understand.

  Why had she been spared?

  Why was Justin taken?

  What would make a mad man want to adopt a boy then raise him as his own?

  And why this particular boy?

  She got up and paced around the room, thinking hard.

  Typically, men like Kilroy were lone hunters, running through the night and causing death in their wake. What made Justin so special? Was it just the blood relation? That seemed thin, a stretch, and even then, it didn’t make sense.

  The press conference ended. Winter stared at the screen as the images faded and the commentators stepped in to discuss what had been said. Their words felt meaningless, nothing more than a repetition of what they’d just been told, worded slightly different to make them seem astute and insightful.

  Then they began speculation, hurtful accusations about Justin’s family and the way he was raised. News commentary turned to idle gossip and each word twisted in Winter’s heart. Sick to her stomach, she turned off the TV and went to get dressed.

  The phone rang again. It took her a minute to find it, as it had gotten lost in the bunched sheets on the bed. As she fished it free, she saw Noah’s picture on the screen. She couldn’t deal with him right now. He was concerned for her, he cared and that was wonderful, but in order to get through the day, in order to force herself to be able to respond to the stress, she had to be cold. Professional.

  Having him asking her if she was okay wouldn’t help. There would be time for tears and comfort later. For now, she was Agent Black, not Winter, not Justin’s sister. She was a member of the FBI, and she was proud of that.

  Besides, she was unreasonably pissed at him. It wasn’t logical, she knew. She was projecting her anger and helplessness onto the person closest to her, which wasn’t right. Better to stay silent than say something she might regret later.

  She pulled on her underwear and had her pants belted when the obvious struck. If she needed to know what a psychopathic killer like Kilroy thought, then she needed to talk to one. What would make him want to take and raise a boy? What would force someone like that to do something so different?

  She puzzled these questions through, turning ideas over in her mind as she finished dressing and paused to quickly make the bed. By the time she finished she was calmer, more ready to face the world. Her phone waited for her on the nightstand, where it had been dancing in silent vibrations for the last ten minutes. When she picked it up, she saw Noah had called three times since the press conference ended. She would have to call him back, but first, there was something she needed to do. She
searched for a phone number and punched it in.

  “Hello,” she said to the operator answering the phone, surprised that her voice could sound so calm and natural when her stomach churned and her head still spun with a thousand thoughts. “This is Special Agent Winter Black, FBI. I would like to request an interview with one of your inmates.”

  “Of course, Agent Black,” the woman on the other end said more cheerfully than she maybe should have sounded. “Which inmate are you looking to interview?”

  “Cameron Arkwell.”

  The silence at the other end of the phone was telling. Winter wondered how many people requested visits with the young serial killer she’d helped to bring down.

  “I’ll process your request, Agent Black, but I must remind you that it will ultimately be up to inmate Arkwell if he will talk to you or not.”

  “Tell him it’s me.” Winter smiled bitterly into the phone. “He’ll see me just out of curiosity.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The woman’s tone was dubious. “I’ll call you back with a decision and set up a time for your interview.”

  “Thank you.” Winter gave the woman her cell number and went to the closet to find the purse that matched her shoes. The phone rang in her hand. Noah again.

  “Hi,” Winter said and didn’t wait for his question. “Yes, I saw the press conference. Might I suggest keeping a razor and a fresh suit at the office for such an occasion?”

  She smiled more genuinely when he barked a laugh, and she could almost see him raking his fingers through his hair. “I guess so. It was very last-minute. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to warn you.”

  “You tried. I was in the shower and didn’t hear the phone. Thank you for letting me know.” She felt a rising surge of annoyance at Max and the Bureau, but the image of Noah with his rumpled suit and wild hair gave her a moment’s pause and the anger ebbed a little. “I have to say, it was quite entertaining to see you all scruffy like that. I’ll have to see if I can get a print to frame from one of the photographers there. To remember the occasion.”

  “Max suggested I go get a shave and change of clothes.”

  “I hope you suggested he give you a bit more notice before pulling you into the circus ring like that.”

  Noah took a deep breath, and she flinched, knowing what he was going to say before he even said it. “I thought I’d come home for lunch. I’ve missed you.”

  She pondered this a moment. She wanted to see him. She always wanted to see him. Would he be her undoing? Maybe not. So long as he didn’t expect her to weep on his shoulder. “Can you get away? If you can, give me some warning. I’ll order in.”

  “Deal. And Bree already said she’d cover for me. Apparently, I have a certain aroma.”

  “Oh yeah.” Winter chuckled and the laughter felt more genuine now. “Bring that home. It’ll add to the occasion.”

  Noah laughed too. It was good to hear. It only occurred to her then how long it had been since either of them laughed or even smiled at each other.

  “Please,” she said seriously, surprised at how much she meant it, “bring that home.”

  “I will,” Noah promised. Those two words were filled with intimacy and promise, and they cut straight to her heart. There was nothing he could have said more endearing, more important than those two words.

  “I love you,” Noah whispered over the phone. She was wrong. That was so much more.

  “I love you too.”

  It felt like they had been apart for a long time, and in a way they had been. She hung up and walked to the living room where yards of papers were in neatly stacked piles. She began picking them up and filing them into boxes. Each paper was neatly set in orderly rows, separated by orientation so they could be extracted and the pile recreated quickly when Noah left again.

  She was going to make it up to him, make up the time she’d been obsessing on Justin. Noah was the important part of her current life.

  She was not, however, going to tell him about Cameron Arkwell.

  Not unless he asked.

  19

  Noah walked through the door feeling better than he had in weeks. He was still exhausted, and one of the things he was hoping he’d be able to do today was shower and change. It wouldn’t replace a good night’s sleep, but it was the next best thing. Right now, he’d take what he could get.

  Primarily, though, he wanted to see Winter. This investigation had been a strain on their relationship. The stress wasn’t just the long hours and the occasional physical distance between them, nor was it only the strain of the suspect being her brother. All of those contributed to the tension between them, of course, but the frustration of her forced inactivity was beginning to tell in different ways. It showed in the way she held herself, in the tightness around her eyes and the pallor of her skin.

  She was conscientious enough to put away the boxes of papers when he got home, but she didn’t try to hide them from him at least. It was as though the apartment was neutral territory when he was there, though what the place looked like when she released the cyclone of paperwork and spread it out to truly work, he didn’t want to guess. Every day, it seemed the boxes multiplied, adding more documents to the mix.

  He never looked to see what the boxes contained, though. To do so felt like an invasion of her privacy. She’d tell him when she found something, this much he knew. Even in those moments when she woke from feverish dreams from which she would rouse shaken and confused, he didn’t appease his curiosity.

  Not that it wouldn’t have been easy to. When he walked into the kitchen for a glass of water or a small glass of wine, he could have very easily peeked into the boxes to find out what had left her so rattled. But somehow, he couldn’t come to disturb the sanctity of her obsession.

  He had to consider what he would do in her place, though it was hard to imagine what she was going through. More than anything, he had to trust her. Maybe this case was pushing her over the edge a little, but she was a highly trained agent and an intelligent, capable woman. He had to allow her to go a little off the rails now and then or she might go very off the rails and not be able to come back. That was true for anyone.

  Still, he’d warned her that he was coming home for lunch. That warning was fair, but it was also a way to tell her to get her papers in order and covered so that the illusion of her keeping her actions separate from him, from their relationship, could be maintained.

  Even with that notice, he hadn’t been sure what he was going to walk into when he’d opened the door and thrust his head into the apartment.

  The place was clean and tidy, with the boxes carefully placed under the table. A part of him was glad to see that. Maybe they could spend time together over lunch and not have Justin hanging over their heads for a while.

  On the other hand, and quite perversely, there was a deep part of him that was disappointed that there was a part of her he couldn’t touch, a part of her that had no intersection with him. A part that was deliberately kept separate.

  A part of her that didn’t trust him.

  I’m not being fair.

  He stepped into the room and heaved a sigh. The truth was, she couldn’t trust him, not to keep evidence from the Bureau, if that was what she was doing. Those boxes, whatever they were, might contain vital clues, or they might be full of old newspaper coupons. If he didn’t know, he didn’t have to act on it. He preferred to not know, for her sake.

  “Hi!” He stalled inside the doorway, waiting for her to realize he was there. A moment later, Winter entered the room from the bedroom. She’d showered and dressed. Not just the sweats that had been the ubiquitous uniform of the week, not even in the jeans and t-shirt she’d worn when she announced that Autumn was stopping by the other day. She was in slacks with a white shirt and a blazer. It was the sort of thing the Bureau loved their agents to wear: professional, smart, and stylish. This seemed a good sign, and he found himself hopeful that she was finally coming through the chaos back to normalcy.

  She looked
like she was back on duty.

  Noah blinked. Not sure he liked where that thought was going. “You’re looking good?” Noah made the statement a question, hoping she would tell him the reason for the sudden shift in attire. So far as he knew, Max was giving her time off until Justin was found. As unusual as that was—normally, she’d be sent to other duties—the stranger thing was that she hadn’t fought it.

  “Thanks.” Winter smiled. She looked as though she was going to kiss him but took a step back as her eyes scanned him from head to toe. “You’re not.” She winked to take some of the sting out of her words. “And you’re right about being ripe.” She stepped aside and gave him a clear shot to the bathroom. “Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll get our lunch ready?” Without waiting for a reply, she turned to the kitchen and left him standing in the living room.

  Noah sighed. Still distant. He headed for the shower. It wasn’t like he’d thought that they would have sex or even make out, not when she’d been so wrapped up in a decade-old grief as she’d been. But after talking to her on the phone, he’d thought she’d be back enough to greet him with a kiss, perhaps. Hell, right now he’d settle for her being willing to talk to him about her day.

  On the other hand, he might have been reading too much into it. He did smell strongly. Of course, he’d wanted to come home for lunch and spend time with Winter, but it was Bree’s and Aiden’s desire for him to go home and clean up. Preferably, as Bree’d said with a wrinkled nose and wave of her hand, “In boiling bleach. And burn the clothes. They’re beyond saving at this point.”

  He stripped in the bedroom, assuming that her remark about his clothing was a joke, but as he stripped off the shirt, he wasn’t so sure. It was going to take some effort to get the suit back to fresh and pressed, the way the FBI like their agents to present themselves to the world.