CHAPTER ELEVEN
“SO...ARE WE supposed to think that the police captain was some kind of killer?” Jonah asked hours later as they stood inside Harwell’s office. An office that was now an active crime scene.
The body had been taken away. Macey was currently with the ME. Bowen had been left with Jonah and Tucker, and he grimly stared around the room. The crime scene team had come and gone, and they’d found nothing to help their investigation.
Because this bastard knows what he’s doing.
“I mean, that is the MO we’re looking at with this perp, right?” Jonah said as he carefully skirted the desk. “He goes after killers that he’s profiled. And the last guy—Curtis Zale—you hadn’t even realized he was hunting, not until our perp contacted you.” His gaze trekked around the room. “Maybe it’s the same thing with the dead captain. Maybe he was a killer, too. One who hid in plain sight.”
Just like with the other victims, a nail had been found in Harwell’s body—two nails, actually. His hands had been nailed to his desk. Bowen moved behind the desk, trying to figure out just why the killer had set the scene in such a manner.
“Could be possible, I suppose,” Tucker mused from the right, “that Henry Harwell was working with Curtis Zale. I mean, perhaps all those murders occurred in the mountains because Harwell was making sure no one investigated the disappearances?” His voice roughened as he added, “Wouldn’t be the first time a law enforcement officer went bad and, though it’s uncommon, serial killing teams do work together.”
Bowen wasn’t ready to buy that the captain had been a killer. “The perp is ballsy as hell. He’s throwing his crimes in our faces. The guy came into a police station.” The whole fucking place was a crime scene. “Based on the blood spatter we found outside, we can assume that the killer attacked Harwell next to his Jeep, and then the killer brought the captain back in here.” Because the blood had pooled on the chair, on the floor. “The amount of blood here tells us this is where he died. He brought Harwell back in here specifically to set the scene for us. If the perp attacked Harwell outside, in that back parking lot, he could have easily killed him there.” His head lifted from the marks on the desk and he met Tucker’s stare. “But he didn’t. The perp brought Harwell back in here to deliver a message to us.”
“What message is that?” Jonah wanted to know.
“He thought the captain was guilty, all right.” Once more, he stared at the marks left on the desk. “Did you see the files that were beneath Harwell’s hands? The hands that were fucking nailed to the desk? They were the files on Curtis Zale’s victims. Our killer was blaming Harwell for those crimes.”
That was easy enough to see. But when Curtis had been making his grand confession at the end, he’d never implicated anyone else. He’d taken all of the credit himself.
“Because Harwell was guilty?” Jonah said.
Maybe. Or maybe something else was at play. “Dig into his personal life,” Bowen said. He knew Jonah could hack into the guy’s life far too easily. “See if there isn’t something that stands out to you. Missing money. Absences. Property that wasn’t listed on official records. Trouble with a current lover or even an ex. If Henry Harwell had skeletons in his closet, we’ll find them.”
A knock sounded on the open door.
Bowen looked up. Officer O’Neil stood there. His face was pale and the lines near his mouth appeared deeper. His gaze studiously avoided staring at the desk. “Dr. Amelia Lang is in interrogation room one. She’s waiting for you.”
The police station had security cameras in place—cameras that had stopped working right after Amelia Lang left the night before. As far as they knew, she was the last person to speak with Harwell before he’d been murdered.
Other than the killer, of course.
The video footage had showed Dr. Lang walking out of the front door. A few moments later, Captain Harwell had gone out the back.
Then the security feed had just stopped.
“Jonah, let us know what you find,” Tucker ordered as he led the way to the door. He cast a quick glance at Bowen. “You’re standing in for this one, right?”
Standing in, but not leading the investigation. FBI orders. Jaw locking, Bowen snarled, “Yes.”
Tanner hurried out, not looking back, and Bowen knew the guy was glad to get away from that scene. The station had been like a grave site all day long. The officers had been lost to shock, grief...and a growing rage.
“He’s ballsy as fuck,” Tucker groused when they stopped right in front of the interrogation room. “How much more in-your-face can you get than this kill?”
“He didn’t call me,” Bowen said. That nagged at him. “Didn’t challenge me on this one. Didn’t do his routine like he did with Curtis.”
Tucker’s stare turned measured. “You mean he hasn’t called...yet. Because my money says he will. I think the guy was going for shock value. He knew you’d be back at the station today. He locked that door, left his twisted prize inside and he waited for you to find the captain. He was sending a message to you—to the FBI.”
Bowen shoved open the door.
Dr. Lang jumped. Her face was tense and her hands were fisted on the table in front of her. “I—I was told that I needed to come in and speak with you two.” She hurried to her feet and walked toward them. “The captain is really dead?” Her voice was weak.
Bowen nodded. “Yes.”
“I was talking to him last night. He seemed...he seemed like a good guy. He was worried about me getting back to my motel for the night. Tried to get me to take a uniform with me.” Her lips twisted. “I never—not even for a second—worried about his safety. It was nearly three a.m., I was dead on my feet and I—” The phrasing seemed to hit her and a dark flush stained her cheeks. “Oh, God, that’s terrible, isn’t it? I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” Tucker said softly. “We know what you meant. Why don’t you just sit back down and we’ll talk? Bowen and I have a few questions for you.”
She seemed to collapse in the chair.
* * *
THE BODY WAS on the exam table. Police Captain Henry Harwell had been given top priority at the ME’s office. One of their own had been taken.
And the mayor, the governor, everyone was demanding immediate action.
“I found a contusion on the back of Henry—the victim’s head,” Shamus McKinley corrected quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I believe he was struck from behind, and, based on blood recovered in the parking lot, I think he fell forward, his head hitting the side of the driver’s door, and the impact caused this contusion.” His gloved fingers hovered over Harwell’s forehead. “But then...then I think his assailant came at him with another powerful strike here—”
Macey realized his fingers were shaking. “Dr. McKinley.” She spoke his name quietly.
Once more, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and he looked up at her.
“Are you all right doing this investigation?” Because she did not believe that he was. “I think it might be for the best if another ME led this exam.”
Before they went too far.
“You’re too close,” Macey added.
He licked his lips. “I’m the leading ME in Gatlinburg, and I’m the only one who can do this exam the right way—”
“No, you aren’t. Because you’re too close to the victim,” Macey said again. “Look, I get that you’re being pushed by the mayor and the governor and who the hell knows who else, but you need to back away.” She nodded. “I know another ME who can take your place. Dr. Sofia Lopez,” Macey said, throwing out the name quickly. “She’s already familiar with this perp, and she can be here very soon. I spoke with her not five minutes before I walked into this lab, and she volunteered her services.”
He was staring down at the body, as if unable to look away. “I know Sofia’s work. She’s top-notch. We’ve even done some workshops together at conferences. She’s someone I would trust completely.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I think, yes.” He pulled off his gloves and tossed them into the trash. “I think it would be best if Sofia came for the full exam.” He looked up at her. “I’ve done exams on police officers before. Men and women who’ve come into my office as they ran their investigations and I got to know them, but Henry...” Dr. McKinley turned away from the table. “I’ve known him for the last ten years. He was a good man. And I called him a friend. You don’t...you don’t cut into your friend.”
No. “I’ll have Dr. Lopez come immediately.” Because Dr. Lopez had finished her exams in Hiddlewood. If there was any red tape to cut through, Macey was confident that the FBI could do it. She’d leave that matter in Samantha’s capable hands.
Sofia Lopez was familiar with the cases, and she didn’t have any personal ties to the victims. She’d be the ideal ME to have on hand.
“Excuse me,” the ME said. “I need some air.”
He hurried out, and Macey pretended not to see the moisture filling his eyes.
She glanced back at the body—at Henry Harwell. For an instant, she saw him as he’d been in the office last night. The shadows lining beneath his eyes, the haggard tiredness...and the guilt that had shone in his stare.
* * *
“WHAT DID YOU talk about with Henry Harwell last night?” Tucker asked as he took the seat across from Dr. Amelia Lang.
She crossed her hands over her chest and slanted a quick glance at Bowen.
“Sorry,” Bowen said, “should have made the introductions sooner. Dr. Lang, this is Special Agent Tucker Frost. He just needs to ask you a few questions.”
“Just...just Amelia, okay? I kind of think we’re past the formal phase.” Her gaze slid down to Bowen’s side. “You don’t have your weapon.” She bit her lip.
“I won’t have it, not until the official investigation into Curtis Zale’s shooting is over.” He pressed his shoulders to the wall. “I’ve briefed Tucker about your work.”
“You’re the forensic geophysicist,” Tucker added. “And you found the bodies behind the cabin.”
“Thirteen of them,” she said softly. “So far. That’s what I was talking about with Captain Harwell. I was finishing up my notes—he’d let me use an office here at the station. Before I left, I found him in the conference room.” Her lips formed a tight line. “He was staring at all of the photos on the board. The pictures of the victims.”
“Did he say anything to you about those victims?” Tucker questioned.
“He...he wanted to know if I thought there were more out there.” Amelia shook her head. Her hair was in a loose bun. “But I told him I didn’t know yet. That my job was just to find the victims, not to understand the killers. I wouldn’t know more until I’d done more searching with my equipment.” She started to say more, then hesitated.
“Amelia?” Tucker prompted her.
“He...he started talking about Curtis Zale. He said that Curtis had grown up here. That he lived over in Pigeon Forge. He even told me that Curtis had been a normal kid, once upon a time.” She licked her lips. “He almost sounded as if...as if he knew Curtis.”
Tucker slanted a quick glance toward Bowen.
Bowen inclined his head.
“Anything else?” Tucker asked her. His voice was low and easy, a deliberate technique that he utilized when he wanted to keep his witnesses talking without intimidating them.
“Then he just said I could get one of the officers out front to drive me to my motel. That was it. When I left him, he was still in that conference room, staring at the pictures.”
Tucker’s fingers tapped along the table. “And did you see anyone when you went outside?”
“No, the lot was empty.”
Bowen pushed away from the wall. “Why didn’t you get an officer to take you to the motel?”
“I had my own car. A rental. There wasn’t a need for anyone to see me to my motel. I was perfectly safe.” Her shoulder lifted in a shrug.
I’m sure Henry thought he was perfectly safe, too.
“He seemed sad,” Amelia blurted. Then she winced. “Sorry. You probably don’t care about how I think the guy felt—”
“On the contrary.” Tucker’s attention was completely on her. “I’d love to know what you thought about him.”
“He seemed...” Her breath rushed out again. “Guilty, okay? That was my first thought when he turned to me. He was in front of those pictures, asking if I thought there were more victims, and the tone of his voice... I felt as if he were blaming himself. I wanted to say something to make him feel better.” Her shoulders lifted once more. “Only I’m not very good at that sort of thing. I was afraid I’d make things worse, so I left him. I thought he might want to be alone.”
“And who was here when you left?” Bowen asked, though he’d already gotten a list of staff members. Not many at all had been there.
“I don’t know. There was an officer at the front desk. Maybe one...one on his phone in the bull pen? It was empty. So late. And I was just trying to get out.” Her eyes were wide and stark. “I’m sorry that I’m not more help. Do you think the killer was here when I left?” Her hand rose and fluttered near her throat. It was a move he’d seen witnesses and victims make hundreds of times—an absolutely primal response to danger. When threatened, humans always covered their most vulnerable spots...like the jugular.
Tucker smiled at her. Instead of answering, he said, “Thanks for your time, Amelia. I know you have to get back out to the cabin and finish work at the Curtis Zale crime scene, so I don’t want to hold you up any longer.” He rose, and she did, too. “Actually, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you out at the cabin. I want to come and take a look around myself.”
She nodded. “Okay, um, thanks. I’ll be heading out there—I actually called in my assistant because there is so much work there. Carlisle is a grad student at the university. Very capable, and I could definitely use him right now.” Her head dropped a bit as she turned for the door. “There are just so many more bodies there than I’ve ever found before.”
Bowen opened the door for her. “Thanks again.”
She stopped and glanced up at him. “Is Agent Night all right?”
Bowen frowned.
“You seemed quite worried about her last night at the cabin.” Her hand lifted and her fingers fluttered near her throat. “She’s not here today and I was concerned about her wound—”
“Agent Night is fine. She’s assisting the ME right now.”
“Oh.” She gave a weak smile. “Glad she’s all right.” Then she slipped through the doorway.
Bowen didn’t speak until the lady had disappeared. “So Captain Harwell had a guilty conscience...” He craned his head to look at Tucker.
“Because he was involved in the crimes?” Tucker asked. “Or because they happened right under his nose and he didn’t see them?”
“Let’s talk to Harwell’s family. Find out if there was any connection between Curtis and the captain.”
Tucker nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” But his gaze was considering as he stared at Bowen.
Bowen frowned at him. “What?”
“I saw it, man.”
Bowen turned to face him fully. “Excuse me?”
“Heard it, too. So you’d better watch it.”
Bowen shut the door to the conference room. “Okay, you need to clue me in on what it is that you’re talking about.”
“I saw the way you looked at Macey this morning.” His lips twisted. “I know the look, man.”
Bowen shook his head. “You’re mistaken.”
“You often stare too long and too hard at Macey, especially when you think she isn’t watching.”
Bowen made sure his expression was schooled to give nothing away. “Tucker, you might know killers, but you have no freaking idea what you’re going on about right now.”
Tucker gazed at him, straight in the eye. “When you say her name, your voice changes. When you talk about her, your face changes. You need to watch those giveaways.”
Fucking hell.
“I’m guessing Samantha doesn’t know?” Then before Bowen could answer, Tucker shook his head. “Course not, she wouldn’t have paired you two together in the field. Although...” Now his brow scrunched. “Come to think of it, Samantha is engaged to her ex-partner, so maybe it’s another one of her experiments. The way she thinks all of us can hunt killers better because of our pasts. Maybe Samantha saw this shit between you and Macey coming, and she thought it might make you even better in the field.”
“You know the FBI doesn’t allow agents to become—”
But Tucker waved that away. “We’ve both seen Samantha say screw off to the FBI rules when they don’t match what she wants.” He flashed a cold smile. “One of the things I admire about the woman. So maybe she does know you and Macey are in a relationship.”
“We’re not.” Flat, cold.
Tucker cocked one brow.
“We are not in a relationship, so don’t go spreading that shit around.” They were just...meeting in the dark. “We were partners, that’s it.” But we’re not even partners right now.
That one eyebrow of Tucker’s slowly lowered. “Are you lying to me—or yourself?”
The guy could go fuck off—
Bowen’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, and glanced down at the screen. “Unknown caller.”
Tucker swore. “I’ll alert the team. Keep him on the line, got it?”
“I know the drill.” Just when I thought the jerk wasn’t going to call anymore.
Tucker pulled out his own phone and hunched his shoulders as he made his call.
Bowen let his phone ring again. Once more.
Tucker motioned to him. We’re set.
Bowen slid his finger across the screen, then tapped to accept the call. “Agent Murphy.”
“Sorry you lost a member of your task force.” The same robotic voice filled the room. Bowen had made sure the phone was on speaker so that Tucker could hear what the killer had to say. “But the guilty have to pay.”
“Guilty?” Bowen repeated. “Just what crime do you think Henry Harwell committed? The guy was a cop, he dedicated his life to—”
“He didn’t stop the crimes. He didn’t even see them. Those men died on his watch, so that made him guilty.”
“The fuck it did. He never lifted a hand to anyone.”
“Sometimes, the guilty aren’t the ones holding a weapon in their hands. They’re the ones who do nothing.” Static crackled. “But you think the same thing, don’t you? That’s why you went after Arnold Shaw yourself. The cops weren’t doing anything to help you. They knew women were dying. You blamed them. I know you did.”
“You don’t know jack shit about me.”
“I know you’re fucking your partner.”
Every muscle in his body locked down. His gaze jerked toward Tucker.
“And here I thought you’d love precious Cadi until the day you died. I’m disappointed in you, Bowen.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m disappointed that I’m standing here talking to some psychopath who murdered a cop. Who thinks he’s the freaking hand of justice when he’s just some delusional killer who needs to be put in a cage.”
“That’s not what you really think. You think Henry Harwell was a blind fool who was too worried about the tourist business and not worried enough about the people in his mountains. You think that Daniel Haddox deserved a painful death and that Patrick Remus had the send-off to hell that he had coming.” Robotic laughter. “You’re welcome, Bowen.”
“That’s not what I think. You don’t know me. You know—”
“You went into that alley intending to kill Shaw. You went there knowing he wouldn’t make it out. You even see yourself as a killer.”
Bowen’s back teeth clenched.
“Don’t deny what we both know.”
“Where are you?” Bowen wanted to find that bastard and rip him apart. “You want to punish someone? How about punishing your damn self? Because you’re the one killing. You’re the one—”
“My work isn’t done.”
A chill slipped over Bowen.
“Maybe the FBI should clean house. Because I think...I think the guilty are there, too, Bowen.”
The line went dead. Bowen looked up at Tucker. “Tell me that you got that location.”
Tucker had his phone to his ear. “They’re triangulating and they think...” His eyes widened. “They say the call came from within a one-mile radius of this station. The killer is right here.”
Bowen yanked open the door and raced down the hallway. As he passed the conference room, Jonah called out to him. Bowen paused long enough to snarl, “Bastard just called again—he’s close. So fucking close.”
Jonah ran after him. Tucker was barking orders, trying to organize the officers there, and Bowen was searching for the caller. He ran outside. One-mile radius. One mile.
He hurried toward his SUV. Bowen yanked open the door. And he saw the phone lying on his front seat.
“Bowen?” a female voice called out. He glanced over his shoulder. Amelia Lang stood uncertainly near a pickup truck. “Everything okay?”
No, it damn well wasn’t. He knew he’d found the phone the killer had just used. “Did you see anyone here?”
“Um, yes, actually, there was a uniformed cop by that vehicle just a moment ago.” Now she glanced around, as if she were confused. “I don’t know where he went.” A furrow appeared between her brows. “Why? Is something wrong?”
Not something. A whole lot of fucking things.
* * *
THE MUSEUM WAS closed to the public. It was dark and quiet, cavernous. When Macey walked inside, with Bowen just steps behind her, she couldn’t quite shake the chill from her bones.
The perp had called him again. Bowen’s voice had been flat and his face expressionless as he told her about the call. They hadn’t found the guy. Their team had interviewed every cop at the precinct and even those not on duty, but they’d turned up nothing.
Dr. Lang had said she’d seen a white male, maybe around six feet, with dark hair. She hadn’t gotten a good look at his face, and Macey figured that had been deliberate on the guy’s part.
No prints had been found on the phone, and Dr. Lang had thought she remembered the guy wearing gloves. The phone had been a burner, one picked up at some gas station. Used and dropped.
Bowen had been pissed, a quiet fury that seemed to roll off him. Tucker had gone to investigate the cabin and the remains of Curtis’s victims that were still being unearthed, and Jonah had stayed to try to determine just how their perp had disabled the security footage at the station. Bowen wasn’t supposed to be at the crime scene, and when Macey had said that she was checking out the museum, he’d insisted on accompanying her.
Were they breaking the rules about him being in the field? Not exactly. She’d taken the lead and would be doing the bulk of the questioning. Bowen had promised to stay silent.
She wasn’t so sure he’d be able to keep that promise.
“You’re... You really think hate nails could be connected to a crime you’re investigating?” the museum’s manager asked. Peter Carter. Midthirties, with light brown hair, dark eyes and tats that circled his wrists and lower arms. “That’s crazy. Like, seriously crazy.” He turned away from them and led the way to the exhibits upstairs. The stairs creaked beneath their feet. “It’s just a display, you know. Nothing for people to get worked up about. The kids come in, they see it and they get a little creeped out...”
Macey glanced around at some of the displays in the museum. She was noticing a definite trend. “That’s what you do, right, you creep people out here?”
“Well, yeah.” Peter turned back to look at her. “People like to be scared, you know? It gets their adrenaline flowing. Makes ’em feel more alive.”
Macey considered him a bit more. “How long have you been working here, Peter?”
“Last five years.” His smile stretched, revealing not dimples, but deep slashes on either side of his face. “Never would have thought a guy with a degree in criminal justice would wind up in this place, huh?”
Bowen was silent. So far, he was keeping up his end of the deal.
Macey replied, “I’ve learned you can never judge a book by its cover.”
Peter’s gaze slid down to her right hand. Her hand was against the banister, and her sleeve had slid up a bit, revealing part of her scar. “No,” Peter murmured. “You can’t.”
She pulled down her sleeve.
“Show us the damn skull,” Bowen growled.
Peter straightened. “Right. This way.” He led them into another room. This room was dim, deliberately so, Macey knew. A glance around showed her that the room was supposed to appear menacing. There were lots of scary props in that room. Mummies, vampire relics, and, in the back, next to a strobing light, she saw the skull.
And the nails.
“Interesting, isn’t it?” Peter mused. “Families tend to stare the longest at it. Some just can’t look away.”
Macey was having a bit of trouble looking away herself. She crouched next to the glass. She could see the old, rusty nails that had been driven into the skull. And the sign right next to the skull told about the “hate nails” on display. “Every nail is a wish for bad luck, for a grievance.” She read the description and then glanced back at Bowen. The lights were strobing, flashing right on him, and he appeared sinister as light and darkness shadowed over him.
“How long has this display been here?” Bowen asked quietly.
“Only a few months. It’s a new addition. We try to keep things fresh here at the museum.”
Macey’s gaze slid back to the skull. “This isn’t a reproduction.” Macey knew she was staring at a real human skull. The tourists who came in the museum might not understand that fact, but she did.
“Of course it’s not fake!” Now Peter sounded offended. “We are an oddities museum, not some trick shop. Our materials are all authentic.”
Macey glanced over at the mummy. “That’s not real.”
“That’s for scene setting, not an actual display.”
Her head tilted as she studied the skull once more. “How many people have been to see this skull since it was put on display?”
Bowen had stepped closer to her and the skull. Macey could almost feel him behind her.
“Thousands,” was Peter’s instant reply. “I’d have to check my receipts for an exact number. See, um, summer is actually one of our busiest seasons...and then fall...oh, man, we get so many people here because they come to the mountains to see the leaves change colors. You would not believe how many people visit this little town each year.”
She’d seen the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the little roads in Gatlinburg. Macey definitely believed.
“You remember anyone showing too much interest in the skull?” Bowen asked.
“I don’t...I don’t watch the guests, man. They can come in and wander around as much as they want. Not like I police them.”
Macey rose to her full height. “We’re going to need a list of all your employees.”
Peter gave a weak laugh. “Look, I, um, I’ve heard the tales about what’s happening in town. The story about that Pyro guy, Remus? It made the news. But I mean, you two coming in here and asking all of these questions...you don’t seriously think murders are related to the skull here, do you?”
So far, they’d managed to keep much of their investigation under wraps. But Macey knew that wouldn’t last much longer. The bodies were piling up—and, as evidenced by Peter’s words, gossip was spreading. With the police captain’s death, the whole case was going to explode soon. She knew that as soon as he got back from the Zale scene, Tucker was supposed to be organizing a press conference with the mayor. They were trying to get on top of the story, trying to control the flow of information before things got out of hand.
If it’s not too late already.
“I think we are investigating all possibilities.” And the manager definitely wasn’t going to like what she had to say next. “I’m afraid we’re also going to be confiscating the skull for the time being.”
“What?” Peter demanded. He took a lunging step toward her. “No way, no way. You can’t just take part of my exhibit.”
Bowen put his body in front of Peter’s, blocking the guy from reaching Macey. “Yes way. We can. This is a criminal investigation and you have material that may be pertinent to the investigation. So we’ll be taking that skull. We’ll be checking it for fingerprints and DNA and anything that could possibly be useful to us. And when we’re done—” his voice was flat “—the FBI will thank you for your assistance and we’ll return the skull.”
The strobe light kept flashing.
“Now, we’d really appreciate that list of your employees. Because we’re going to need to speak with them.”
Macey thought Peter might argue again. Instead, he let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll get the list,” Peter muttered. “Excuse me.” He hurried out, leaving them near the exhibit.
Macey waited until he was gone, and then, voice deliberately void of emotion, she said, “I thought you were going to keep quiet.”
He growled. “The jerk was invading your fucking personal space, Macey.”
“I could handle him.” Her head tilted. “You’re usually a bit more tactful.”
Bowen swung toward her. “My tact is running low because the bodies are piling up.”
And because the killer was taunting him. She took a step closer to him as the lights flashed. “What did he say, Bowen?” Because he hadn’t told her. She just knew another call had come through, and then the team had leaped to action.
And Bowen...she’d seen the dark rage gathering in his eyes.
“He thinks he knows me.” Bowen’s words were low, angry. “And that he knows you.”
Her heart jerked in her chest. “I don’t understand.” Macey glanced down and saw that his hands had clenched.
“He realizes we’re lovers, Mace.” His words were a deep, hard rumble. “He said that.”
Her heart wasn’t jerking now. It was racing. “He’s trying to get into your head. He doesn’t know anything. No one does but us—”
“He talked about Shaw. About how when I went into that alley, I intended to kill the bastard all along.” His words were softer, but still tight with anger, and she found herself leaning toward him so that she could catch each word. “He knows what I was doing. He thinks he understands me.” Bowen shook his head. “He doesn’t. I’m not going to play some game with your life on the line.”
But Macey was considering exactly what he’d just said. Or rather...what the killer had told him.
“Samantha was worried there could be a leak at the FBI. I think she’s right,” Bowen continued grimly. “I think the bastard has hacked into our files. Our psych reports. I think he’s using what he knows against us. Hell, access to the FBI files would also explain how he knows so much about these victims.”
“But it wouldn’t explain how he knows about us.” She eased even closer to him. “And I’m betting you haven’t told any FBI shrink what you told me last night.” Because he’d bared his soul to her.
He shook his head, and once more, she couldn’t help but think Bowen looked particularly dangerous—sinister—in that flashing light.
“Then he found out another way.” A way that had her worried. “Bowen, I believe he’s still watching us.”
She saw his shoulders stiffen. The perp had taken their pictures in North Carolina; of course he’d continue his stalking in Tennessee. But maybe, maybe he’d gone past just the picture-taking phase of things. “If he truly knows we’re lovers, if he knows what you said to me last night...” There could only be one explanation. “He has surveillance at our cabin. He’s literally seen us together. He’s heard our secrets.”
“Son of a—” Bowen began.
“Got them!” Peter announced as he hurried back into the room. “Here are the names of our staff members, though I assure you, we have thoroughly checked the background of every person here. We are a top-notch facility. You will not find any criminals working at our museum—”
“That’s the thing, buddy.” Bowen took the files from him. “Sometimes, you just don’t know who people really are. Not until it’s too late.”