by Jenna Kernan
The worry that he was lying undercut her confidence.
Demko reminded her that the Huntsman was not infallible. He had, in fact, lost Linda, because of Nadine’s correct targeting of his territory. Unfortunately, they had not protected her from the second attack.
It was two in the morning and Nadine had given up hopes of sleep. She heard the agents assigned to their protection having a conversation in the living room beyond the master suite. Their laughter drifted through the closed door. Demko had moved a day bed into the seating area. But he slept in her bed. He’d gotten used to her nightly prowling and no longer woke when she sat at her desk with her laptop.
Since the latest letter, she’d been under house arrest, which was fine because she could barely think at the office. Too many interruptions. But now, in the dead of night, she had think time.
Nadine slipped on her noise-canceling headphones and opened her laptop. For the next two hours she re-read every scrap of evidence, every report and her profiles.
When she finished, she had more questions than answers. Gazing at the photo of Jo Summerville, she wondered, did she know this woman? She looked vaguely familiar. Pulling up everything about her on the file-share platform, she made a chilling discovery.
Although Jo worked full-time as a receptionist in an urgent care place, her taxes showed other sources of income. Summerville had a vendor’s license for selling antiques with a listed income of $1,200 for the previous year. And she had earned $6,000 working part-time at their favorite gastropub.
“He’s been following me,” she whispered to the glowing blue screen. “Attacking women on the periphery of my inner circle.”
How long until he worked up to Tina, Juliette or Agent Coleman?
He’s showing me how close he can get without my knowing.
She snatched up his manifesto and re-read the section on camouflage and stealth. Now she wondered if this was less a declaration of his beliefs than an attempt to connect with her and explain or justify his attacks. Did he think that she would understand him because of her connection to an infamous serial killer?
And then another thought struck. Was this his home territory or had he chosen this location because it had been her mother’s home territory? The chill lifted every hair on the back of her neck and she felt certain she was right.
She stared at the screen, speaking to it as if it were the killer.
“Where were you hunting before this? Where’s your home territory?”
She came to another conclusion. This man would not release Jo Summerville. That was not part of his game. He had taken a risk to recapture Linda because she had the audacity to escape him. He would not be making that mistake again.
So why have her read this on air? Was it entertaining for him to have control of her?
Nadine thought about the women in the periphery of her circle and the ones closest to her heart. They all had only one thing in common. Her.
Was this a battle of wits or something more? Skogen believed the Huntsman was goading her. That did not quite fit the pattern that was emerging.
At four in the morning, the light began to change. Weariness settled over her and she thought that she could at last sleep. Nadine drew off her nightshirt and tossed it beside the bed. But once she crawled beneath the covers and snuggled up close to Demko’s warm solid body, she found herself thinking of other activities.
Demko roused to make a humming sound in the back of his throat. He stroked her shoulder and arm and tugged her close. Both of them slept naked, allowing a wonderful pressing of flesh to flesh.
“Can’t sleep?” His voice was gravel.
“Hmmm. Not sleepy.”
“You need to rest,” he said.
“I know,” she whispered.
His hand slipped down her back, cupping her bottom. He turned his head, and she lifted her chin, angling to meet his kiss.
Mouths met and opened. Their tongues began a slow dance of arousal. Even after she had pushed aside all his efforts to move their relationship forward, and stalled and hesitated, he did not withhold what she needed most, the underpinning comfort of his body. As he rolled her on top of him, Nadine understood how much she needed him and how very fortunate she was.
She paused, reaching for the side table and retrieving a condom. He waited as she tore the package and rolled the contraceptive over his erection. Then she straddled him, hungry to take what he offered.
They moved in opposition as they deepened the kiss. She relished the liquid heat and friction, the way his body moved with hers. Her thoughts and worries faded like the sounds of the night creatures at the approach of dawn. All her attention now focused on reaching satisfaction. It was close and he knew how to coax her body to yield.
Her release began with a rippling wave, cresting and crashing into a curling torrent. She threw herself upright upon him, arching back as the pleasure rippled outward, staring down at him, her mouth open and her eyes wide. He gripped her hips. His face showed the strain of a man waiting for his woman’s release. Their gazes locked. She groaned as the waves ebbed, feeling him vibrate with the tension to remain still, to hold on just a moment longer.
She lifted and then rocked her hips down on him. He cried out and arched, his eyes pinched closed as his expression mixed pain and ecstasy. The erotic sight and the surging of his body brought her a second release.
Nadine collapsed on his slick chest. He withdrew and pulled her to his side. They panted, staring at the ceiling and the orange light of dawn creeping along the edge of the closed blinds.
“You’re so good at that,” she murmured.
“We’re good together. Amazing.”
She lifted a hand to his chest and her head to his shoulder. Then she closed her eyes. He settled against the pillows as the light stole between the slats of the venetian blinds.
She needed to tell him about her connection to Jo Summerville and her belief that this killer was circling her like a wolf.
“Not a game,” she murmured and forced her eyes open.
But Demko’s snore told her that this would have to wait a bit. Nadine’s body stilled with her slowing heartbeat and she melted into slumber.
The aggressive buzzing of Demko’s phone alarm woke her in what seemed only a moment later but was actually six-thirty in the morning.
She was dizzy from lack of sleep and her body ached in all the right places. Something important, she needed to remember. What was it?
Demko flicked off the alarm. She groaned.
“How late were you up?”
“Till four.”
“Oh, Dee. You should rest.”
“Can’t. Got stuff.”
She retrieved her nightshirt, sat on the edge of the bed, and dragged it on. When her head popped through the opening, she discovered Demko on her side of the bed on both knees.
“Lose something?” she asked.
“I hope not,” he replied and cast her a lopsided grin. He didn’t move and she frowned, sensing something was happening but too dim-witted to work it out until he lifted his hand. In the center of his large, calloused palm was a small black velvet box.
The meaning of this crashed in on her like a falling anvil.
Her mouth dropped open as he lifted the lid. Inside the jewelry box was a gold solitaire ring, the square-cut diamond glittering in the morning light like a thousand rainbows.
His timing was way off, she thought.
What she said was: “I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”
He made a sound that might have been a chuckle.
“I know you have concerns about moving forward. I wanted you to understand what the next step looks like for me. This is it.”
She stared down at the glittering offering, speechless, as he continued.
“I wanted to do this before you went to DC and then again when you came back and every Friday night since you stepped off that plane. I’ve been carrying this ring in my pocket for months waiting for the perfect time. Finally it st
ruck me. There’s never going to be one. What we do, our jobs, shows us very graphically that life is uncertain. So I’m not waiting any longer. Waiting is a mistake.”
She understood that. And he was right, this case alone showed her not to take even one minute for granted.
Nadine’s heart hammered so hard in her chest she thought it might break a rib. Her breathing came in short rasping gasps.
Was this really happening?
“We’re a good team,” said Demko.
“If we are such a good team, why did our last case end up with me getting shot and you getting brain surgery?” she asked.
“It was just a clot,” he said, waving away her objection.
“On your brain!”
He cleared his throat and tried again.
“Nadine, I love you. I’ve been in love with you since the first moment I saw you in the lobby of the police station.”
Nadine thought she might hyperventilate.
Demko took her hand. “I want you to be my wife, Dee. I want you to believe in the possibility of a life together. I know you have fears.”
“I’m terrified.”
“I’m asking you to be braver than those doubts and give us the chance to be happy.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
She watched the disappointment flash across his face. He wanted her to say yes. A resounding yes, with no doubts or misgivings.
“He might target you.” She’d brought this killer into the center of his proposal. She lowered her head as the shame and guilt took hold.
“There’ll be another one after that and after that. It’s what you do, Dee. It’s your calling. I’m okay with that. But I want to be here beside you. You need me to have your back. I’d do that anyway.”
“I know you would.”
“Then stop resisting the happiness that is right here for us. You deserve this, Dee. We both do.”
Did she? She wasn’t as certain. Some of that darkness lived within, it was why she could do this job. Because the shadow of her mother’s crimes fell long over her.
He waited. She stared as her heart banged in her throat. Her skin grew damp. His mouth pressed to a grim line and he nodded.
“Keep the ring. Think about it. I’m sorry I didn’t do this right, with flowers and champagne.”
“I hate champagne.”
“I know.” He did laugh then. “Here.”
He closed the box and pressed it into her hand. “I love you.”
He held the ring box tight in both hands over her heart.
“Clint? It’s all right, taking a little time?”
His smile was sad and showed the weariness of the world. But he said, “Of course.”
“I’m just worried about this case.” She didn’t want his life jeopardized because of her. She didn’t want to bring this killer to this man she loved. Clint wanted to protect her. She wanted to do the same for him.
Her heart ached as joy and sorrow thrashed against each other, two dying fish in a barrel.
“Can we keep this a secret for now?”
His voice was incredulous. “I’m not telling anyone I proposed to a woman who asked to think about it.”
She gaped, understanding the punch she’d given his male ego.
He smiled, leaned in to kiss her and rose to his feet.
“You’re a thinker. I get it. Just don’t think too long because it’s a decision of the heart. Now get dressed or you’ll be late to the studio.”
“Studio!” It all came flooding back to her.
She clutched his hand and explained the connection she had uncovered between her and the latest missing woman. When she finished, he pointed at her phone.
“Call Skogen.”
Then he headed to the bathroom as she reached for her phone and remembered the engagement ring. She paused alone in the bedroom and opened the box, drawing out the circle of gold to admire the raised setting and the white diamond. Then she slipped the ring on her left finger. It was a perfect fit.
But was she a perfect fit for Demko?
They’d have to have a conversation, the one she dreaded. The reason she had not wept and cried and instantly said yes. He deserved to know what he was giving up by marrying her.
She returned the ring to the box and slipped it into her nightstand. Then she called Skogen.
Special Agent Jack Skogen arrived to pick Nadine up forty minutes later. Her hair was still wet from the shower, but she’d finished her makeup and one cup of coffee. They pulled up at the television studio at eight in the morning. She was to appear on the ten o’clock news broadcast.
Upon arrival at the studio she discovered that her makeup was all wrong for the cameras and lights. Their makeup artist took over. Nadine watched as she was transformed. Meanwhile, the chrysalises in her stomach emerged.
Her message would air on the morning news. Skogen insisted on pre-recording so that Nadine would be away from the studio at broadcast. Coleman would be here, surveilling for possible appearances of the Huntsman.
The timing of her piece was under three minutes. They seated her and attached a microphone, threading the wire up under her shirt. The director told her to watch for the red light as she counted in.
She focused on the director’s hand as he counted.
“Five, four…” Then went silent as his fingers continued to count down, ending by pointing at her. The red light glowed. They were recording.
The moths in her belly settled and she faced the glass eye of the camera, suddenly numb.
“I’m Dr. Nadine Finch, the FBI profiler working on the Huntsman case. He has forwarded this manifesto and a request that I read it on air.”
Then her eyes were on the page as she read the now-familiar words with a flat, emotionless affectation. Would he watch it?
“‘…To procreate, all living things must attract a mate by displays of strength and cunning, proving themselves strong enough to reproduce, defend their territory against rivals and protect their offspring. To exist past their own life they may pray on weaker members of their race, reject inferior beings, and seek to breed with a suitable female. It is the right of every living creature to ensure their survival by all means. This is the way of life. Fair warning, The Huntsman.’”
She finished the last sentence, the last word, and glanced up, staring at the cold glass eye of the lens.
“And we’re at break,” said the director.
Nadine rose, forgetting the mic as a woman rushed in to help her detach.
Skogen beamed at her. “That was perfect. Just the right amount of a hostage-reading-demands vibe.”
“I’m not a hostage.”
“No. Of course not.”
It was an odd thing to say.
“Now we wait for word from your boy.”
“He’s not my boy,” she said, more disgruntled by the minute. How long before the major networks picked up the story of Arleen Howler’s daughter reading a killer’s rant on television? How long before it was up on YouTube and she was a GIF or meme? She felt dirty and the makeup itched.
She headed to a dressing room to wash off the mask. It was not until she cupped the cold water on her scrubbed face that she realized she was sobbing.
Damn them all for making her do this and damn this hunter for fixing his deadly aim on her. There was more than one way to kill a person, she realized.
Sometimes all it took was a very bright spotlight.
An ant on the sidewalk, under the pinpoint light of a magnifying glass, knew that much.
She needed the focus on him. Not her. How this affected her didn’t matter if they caught him.
Several serial killers were apprehended because they had fixed on a single person associated with the investigation and opened communications. The Zodiac picked a district attorney. Son of Sam chose a newspaper reporter. The BTK Killer selected a television studio and the lead investigator.
She reassured herself that such contact led to captures. Except with Jack the Ripper
. He’d contacted the papers, or so it was believed. But the Ripper had never been stopped. Some thought he’d just moved to Chicago.
Nadine toweled off her face and used her lip gloss. Then she pulled herself together and downed a second antidepressant.
She studied herself in the mirror, thinking about Jo Summerville as she met her own stare.
“He’s not going to release her. But if he does, he’s not capturing her again.”
There was a knock on the door. Skogen’s voice was muffled by the barrier.
“He got your message. Floral arrangement just arrived at the studio for you. The card is from your… the Huntsman.”
She swung open the door and extended her hand for the card.
He passed her the note, now tucked in an evidence bag.
“Any way to trace this?” she asked.
“Delivery guy is detained. Coleman is on his way to the florist.”
She nodded and glanced at the message, seeing a series of numbers. It took only a moment for her to decipher them.
“Is this geographic coordinates?”
“Yes. Vea and the sheriff are en route.”
“Where?”
“River Forest in Ocala.”
The bag slipped from her fingers. Had he left Jo Summerville at the site of Dennis Howler’s grave?
Skogen retrieved the evidence and they rushed from the studio and headed to the forest. When they arrived at River Forest camp, they were directed to the search already in progress with dogs, but Nadine knew a faster way.
“Come on,” she said, motioning Skogen back to the vehicle.
He glanced in the direction of the search party and then followed. From the foliage came the bloodhounds’ bay. In only a few moments, they reached Deadman’s Circle. Storm clouds billowed as a cold current of air shook the trees, making the palmetto fronds rattle.
The dogs were on the scent, but she didn’t need them. She knew exactly where she’d find Jo Summerville. Nadine walked to the animal trail, using her hand to push aside the palmetto and spiderwebs as she ran to the unmarked grave, beating the dogs to the clearing. Skogen was at her heels.
It takes an hour for spiders to weave a web. Her mind tossed the information into her conscious thoughts, alerting her that no one had traveled this path recently.
