CHAPTER TWO
Seven years later...
SECOND CHANCES DIDN’T come around often. If a man was lucky enough to have one, then he should grab on to that opportunity and hold tight to it with every bit of strength that he had.
It was a good thing Tucker Frost was strong.
He hurried into the conference room at the FBI’s Washington, DC, office. It was early June and the sun glinted through the window, shining right through the blinds. The other agents were already inside, seated at the round table. Their laptops were out. Their manila files were open. Their phones were on the tabletop, probably already turned to mute.
He took the last seat, had his laptop out and open in seconds and was adjusting the volume on his phone when Samantha Dark delicately cleared her throat.
“I want to thank all of you for joining me on such short notice.”
The meeting had been called ten minutes ago. He’d been outside the building, already anticipating just how he’d be spending the weekend.
“I know that our unit is still in the development phase, but you were all handpicked to join this team because I know that you bring a unique set of skills and a perspective for targeting killers that others just can’t imitate.”
Her voice was low, calm, and she turned her golden stare on all of the agents at the table.
Samantha Dark.
He was damn glad she’d come back to the FBI. He’d always respected Agent Dark. From the very first moment that they’d met at Quantico, he’d known just how sharp she was. Samantha had been the profiler to watch, but when her ex-lover had turned out to be a vicious serial killer, she’d retreated, pulling away from everyone close to her. He’d hated that.
But Samantha was back now. She’d stopped not just one serial killer on her last case, but two, and since she’d also managed to save the life of the FBI’s executive assistant director, Justin Bass, she’d been given carte blanche to try her experimental unit.
“Some folks would say,” Samantha began as her stare turned pensive, “that we aren’t the best ones to profile killers. They’d say our personal connections to murderers are weaknesses.”
His jaw locked.
“But those people would be dead wrong.” She gave a grim nod. “The fact that we’ve had serial killers intimately involved in our lives means that we understand them like no other person can.” She paused. “They were friends. They were lovers.”
She’d taken down the lover who’d tried to hurt her and who had hurt so many others.
“They were family.” Now her golden stare came back to him.
Beneath the table, his hands fisted. Blood always comes first.
Then her stare tracked to the red-haired agent on his left, Macey Night. “They have been our tormenters.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Macey stiffen.
But then Samantha’s focus was on the last agent at that little table as she stared at Bowen Murphy and said, “And they have been our prey.”
Bowen inclined his head toward her.
“We have all been in life-and-death situations with serials. We know how dangerous they are. We don’t underestimate them. We see them from a unique perspective that no one else can fully appreciate.” She exhaled as she moved around the table. “And that perspective is going to help us. It will allow us to think outside of the box. It will allow us to notice things that others cannot. It will allow us to stop the perpetrators before they take more innocent victims.”
Hell, yes. That was what he wanted. Why he’d agreed to join this group when Samantha had approached him. He’d been working in Violent Crimes for years now, but going back to profiling, it was exactly what he needed.
Maybe the guilt will finally stop. If he could stop enough serials. If he could make a difference, if, if, if.
“You all know that there are currently 25 to 50 active serial killers hunting in the United States.” Her lips thinned. “Or at least, that’s the number we’re supposed to be working with.” The number that the FBI bandied about to the media.
“I think there are more,” Bowen said, his voice rumbling. “I think there are hunters who are so good at killing, the authorities have no idea they’re out there. They’re flying right beneath the radar, picking victims that no one will miss, and they’re getting away with murder.”
“That’s where we come in,” Samantha said with a nod. “Part of our job will be to try to find those unknown killers. We will unmask the ones who are hiding in shadows. We’ll find the victims that they don’t want anyone to know about.”
“That’s easier said than done,” Macey murmured.
Samantha smiled. “Yes, it is.” Her shoulders rolled in a shrug. “But I think we’re up to the challenge.”
Tucker didn’t speak.
“That’s part of our job,” Samantha continued in that mild, calm voice of hers. An oddly soothing voice. “But another part...another part is immediate mobilization when we think local authorities have uncovered an active serial. At the first hint of serial involvement, a team will immediately deploy to the local area and begin cooperative action with the authorities there.”
He liked that. Damn straight they needed immediate action. When it came to serials, the locals were often in way over their heads, and time lost meant lives lost.
“That brings me to the reason I called this meeting...” She glanced at the watch on her slender wrist. “At seven p.m. on a Friday night.” She headed toward her laptop and pressed a few buttons. She had a projector hooked up and a screen had already lowered from the ceiling. “Agents, we have our first target.”
And an image appeared on that white screen. Even though he’d prepared for it, Tuck’s whole body tensed. No, hell, no. Not happening. It shouldn’t be happening—
“Is she...frozen?” Macey asked.
“Yes,” Tucker gritted before Samantha could speak.
Because the crime scene photo they were staring at...it showed a woman with skin that appeared almost blue. Her lashes were covered with small ice particles. Her lashes, her lips, the tip of her nose. He could see the slices on her body, slices that were wide and deep, obviously from a big knife. And her body—
Samantha hit a button on her laptop. Another picture appeared. This one wasn’t as close up. Instead, it was a distance shot of the crime scene, and it showed the victim’s body perfectly.
She was inside an open freezer.
Tucker wanted to jump to his feet. He wanted to snarl... No fucking way. This can’t be happening. Not again. But he knew Samantha was watching him. He knew Samantha needed him.
And he knew he was going to give her exactly what she wanted.
“The Iceman.”
He could feel the other agents staring at him.
He rose to his feet and headed toward the screen. He stared at the victim’s arms, her bare torso. Her neck. “The angle of the cuts...it appears to be the same.” Because the Iceman had enjoyed inflicting maximum pain on his victims. “He’d start easily, just little flicks of the blade. Then he’d go deeper. Starting with the arms. The stomach. Then driving the blade into the shoulders. The right first, then the left.” And the guy had only been getting started at that point. His torture would last much, much longer.
Tucker stared at the victim’s face. “She’s in her early twenties. A young, pretty female. Just his type.”
Only it wasn’t possible.
“Uh, yeah...” Bowen cleared his throat. “I was under the impression that the Iceman died seven years ago.”
Tucker forced himself to turn away from the victim. “You’re not the only one who thought that.” He’d been under that same impression, until Samantha Dark had given him a heads-up when she first told him about the meeting. She hadn’t wanted him walking into that room blind. And, in fact, she’d given him the option not to come in at all.
He’d been late to that meeting for one reason...because he’d gotten lost thinking about the ghost of his bastard brother.
There were some things a man couldn’t forget, and there were some things that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, hide from.
“The original Iceman was Jason Frost, and, yes, I’m the man who shot him one long-ago Louisiana night.” He kept his voice flat with an effort. Tucker valued his control above all else. “It’s safe to assume that we’re looking at the work of a copycat. It could be as simple as some jerk who wanted to get rid of his girlfriend, so he thought he’d imitate the work of an infamous killer, or—” he rolled back his shoulders “—it could be one of those guys who gets obsessed with a serial killer’s work. Who tries to imitate and duplicate the kills.” Of the two options, that was the one that worried him more. If someone was duplicating Jason’s work, that meant there would be more death coming.
They couldn’t have that.
Macey’s fingers tapped lightly on the table. “If I remember correctly, Jason Frost’s body was never recovered.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Though dive teams had searched for days. “But his body isn’t the first to disappear into the Mississippi, and it won’t be the last.” By the time the cops had arrived, his brother’s body had been long gone. It had taken two hours for the cops to get there...mostly because it had taken a very long time for Tucker to call them in. If he’d called sooner...
Then maybe we would have pulled him from the water. But my priority was elsewhere then.
“If they didn’t get a body—” Bowen’s head tilted as he studied Tucker “—then how can you be certain he’s dead?”
He didn’t let his expression alter. “I’m a former SEAL. When I shoot at something, I hit it. Before he went into the water, I shot Jason Frost three times.” The breath he inhaled felt cold. “With my last shot, I was aiming for his heart.”
Bowen’s eyes narrowed. “But he was your brother. Your blood.”
Blood is all that matters.
“In that last second,” Bowen continued, his brown eyes narrowed, “are you sure you didn’t hesitate?”
“Yes.” He stared straight at Bowen. “I’m sure.”
“Fair enough.” Bowen’s gaze slid from his and focused once more on the woman’s image. “Do we know who the victim is?”
“Right now, she’s listed as a Jane Doe,” Samantha replied. “She doesn’t match with any missing person’s report, and her fingerprints haven’t turned up any hits in our system. But this is still early in the investigation, so I’m expecting to hear more news soon.”
Macey swiveled her chair toward Samantha. “Just how early are we talking?”
“The victim was discovered less than twelve hours ago.”
Bowen gave a low whistle. “That is early.”
Samantha nodded. “And that means we have an advantage. Luckily for us, one of the detectives who is working on this case in New Orleans was familiar with the Iceman’s work. He knew instantly what he was seeing, and he put in a call to my office.”
When the Iceman’s crimes had first been uncovered, his kills had been flashed on every news channel in the United States. But then time had passed and other killers had taken his place. More tales of gore and death had pushed the Iceman out of the spotlight. That was the nature of the beast. In a 24/7 online world, there was always another sensational story waiting.
Always another killer hunting. Always someone out there to satisfy the public’s need for bloody details.
“We can hit the ground running on this one. We can get down there and we can hunt. We can stop him.” Samantha’s gaze lifted to meet Tucker’s. “We can prove that this unit is exactly what the FBI needs. We know killers and now it’s our turn to show everyone just what we can do.”
Tucker eased out a slow breath. “You know I want to be on the plane.” The one that would be leaving to fly down to New Orleans that very night. She’d told him about that flight during their brief premeeting chat, too.
“And you’re going.” She nodded. “You and Macey are heading out tonight. Evaluate the scene, see exactly what we’re dealing with and then make contact with me again. If you need additional backup, Bowen and I will be ready to go.”
Back to Louisiana. “The location is different.” That was something that was already nagging at him. “Jason Frost killed in Baton Rouge, not New Orleans.” And he had to ask. “Was the victim alive when she went into the freezer?”
He saw Macey flinch.
“The coroner doesn’t know yet. When you get down to New Orleans, visit the coroner’s office and see what she’s learned.” She pointed toward Macey. “The fact that you’re a medical doctor is going to come in handy for us—I want your eyes on the victim. Make sure nothing gets missed with her.”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, then.” Samantha straightened her shoulders. “You all have files that I passed out earlier—take a look at them. They contain information on Jason Frost and his victims, including the one woman who managed to escape.”
Slowly, Tucker returned to his seat. He opened the folder that had been set out for him, and he found a picture of Dawn Alexander staring back at him. It was a picture that had been taken of her when she’d been at the hospital. Her big green eyes were blank, glassy. Bruises and cuts covered her body.
Sonofabitch. Pain knifed right through his heart. Time should have lessened the pain. It hadn’t. He didn’t think it ever would.
“One of the things that concerns me most about this case is Dawn Alexander,” Samantha murmured. “Because the only surviving victim of the Iceman? She’s living in New Orleans... The exact place our new perp is using for his hunting grounds.”
* * *
“DAWN!” HE TURNED, frantic to find her. He’d been screaming her name, but she hadn’t called back to him. She wasn’t at his car. She wasn’t in that shit-forsaken cabin. She wasn’t on the old dirt road that led out of that place.
She’d vanished. She’d run from him. Because she was afraid.
“Dawn, I swear, I am not going to hurt you!” He’d taken a flashlight from his car and he’d shone it onto the ground. That was when he saw the blood drops, leading into the thick, twisting woods behind the cabin. One drop, another, another... Tucker started following them. “Jason isn’t here any longer!” He hadn’t seen his brother’s body come back up because he’d been so frantic to find Dawn and make sure she was all right. She’d been covered in so much blood. He needed to check her out. He needed to make absolutely certain she wasn’t going to die out at that cabin.
Another soul taken.
He pushed through the woods. The branches tore at him, but he didn’t care. There was more blood there. Some high up on a tree, forming a bloody hand print as if she’d stopped to brace herself. Other drops were low, on leaves, as if they’d dripped from her body as she fled.
He kept walking ahead, calling for her, following that blood trail, but she never spoke back to him. Never called out for him to help her.
He knew why. Because she was afraid. Because Dawn thought that he was just as much of a monster as his brother.
And the problem was...she was right.
* * *
“WE’RE ABOUT TO LAND.”
He jerked at the soft voice, his gaze shooting to the right. Macey Night gave him a worried frown. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?” Her unusual eyes—one blue and one brown—showed her concern as she stared at him. “I was talking to the captain. He said we’d be touching down soon.” She slid into the seat across from him and hooked the seat belt over her lap. “I thought you’d want to know.”
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He’d been staring out of the window, trying to get into the head of the killer they were facing, but memories of Dawn had come back to haunt him.
“You said her name.”
His hand tightened around the armrest. “Didn’t realize I talked in my sleep.”
Macey stared straight at him. “May I ask...what was it like?”
“To kill my own brother?” His voice was cold. He was cold. He had to have that ice to block off his emotions. Otherwise...
Iceman.
“I had a choice to make. I could let a killer destroy an innocent woman or I could stop him. Since I’m not a sadistic bastard, I stopped him.”
“You were involved with Dawn Alexander before her attack.” She pulled at the sleeve of her top. Long sleeves. Macey always wore long sleeves. “What happened between the two of you?”
“You’ve seen the photos of Jason Frost.” Jason Frost. He always tried to refer to him formally. He couldn’t say my brother. Because he had to keep it separate. His brother had been the guy who kicked the ass of any bully who’d tried to mess with Tucker. His brother had been the one to teach him how to ride a bike. His brother had been the one to hold his hand when their mom was buried.
Jason Frost had been a depraved killer. His brother had been his best friend.
Tucker cleared his throat. “You’ve seen photos,” he said again. “You know we look...similar.” Even more so now. Time had sharpened his features so that he resembled Jason even more.
“You guys could be twins.”
Right. Because fate was cruel and twisted. “Would you want a lover who had the same face as the man who tortured you for hours?”
Her face went white. She pulled on her sleeve again. “No.”
He swallowed. “Right. So...that’s what happened with me and Dawn. I wanted to stop causing her pain, and the best way to do that was to stay far away from her.”
“When we get to New Orleans, do you want me to be the one to make contact with her?”
Because one of them would have to meet with her. Once they’d talked to the local cops and learned the latest details of the case, it would be necessary to have a sit-down with Dawn. Her being in New Orleans while a crime like this occurred? He wanted it to be just a coincidence, but he couldn’t take any chances.
“Tucker?” Macey prompted. “You want me to handle the interview with Dawn?”
He looked out the window. He could see the lights from the Big Easy. “I think that would be best.” Because he’d never responded just right when he was around Dawn. She stirred his emotions too much. She made him want...too much.
No, that was seven years ago. He hadn’t touched her in seven years. “You don’t have a personal involvement with her,” he continued, clearing his throat because his voice was too rough, “so you should handle the interview.”
“You don’t have to lie to me.” Her voice was a gentle rebuke. “It’s not about personal involvement. It’s because you don’t want her to hurt,” Macey added softly. “When she sees your face.”
He glanced back at her. There was no need to reply.
“You might look like him, but that’s just skin deep.”
Easy enough to say. But having a lover who was blood kin to the man who’d spent hours making you scream? That wasn’t exactly something a woman could get past.
The captain’s voice floated over the speakers and the plane began its descent.
* * *
“BEFORE WE’RE DONE, I’ll teach you to like the pain.” He smiled as he trailed the knife over her face. “You’ll hurt at first. When the blade cuts you. You’ll cry.”
A tear trickled down her cheek. “Please...let me go...” Her voice was a desperate rasp. “I...I won’t tell anyone...about you...”
She was a liar. Straight to her core. He let the tip of the blade slice into her cheek. She screamed, a high-pitched, desperate sound. No one was around to hear that cry.
“You’ll beg,” he continued. He moved the knife down her neck, making small cuts, enjoying the desperate sobs that broke from her. “You’ll promise anything if I stop the pain...”
He let the bloody blade slide down her arm. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her feet were tied to the chair legs. He’d stripped her so that she wore only her bra and panties.
“But then...” He backed away and smiled down at her. “When the pain does stop, you’ll wish for it to come back. You’ll be so desperate for it.”
She shook her head. “L-let me go...”
Never.
“I’ll teach you to like the pain.” He rolled back his shoulders. “And your lesson will start right now.”