CHAPTER EIGHT
“BOWEN!” MACEY’S FRANTIC shout reached him just as Bowen and Zack managed to contact the ranger station. There was still no damn cell signal, but Zack’s radio had worked to connect.
At her cry, Bowen whirled back toward the cabin. His heart raced in his chest and adrenaline pounded in his blood as he raced for the open door. His gun was gripped tightly in his hand.
He burst into the cabin but then Bowen froze. Froze.
The guy who’d been bound—the victim who had been so desperate—stood behind Macey. And the jerk had a knife at her throat. Bowen could see a trickle of blood sliding down her neck.
“Let her go,” Bowen snarled. “She’s FBI. She’s here to help you.” You dumb son of a bitch.
But the man shook his head. “No...” His voice was still that broken whisper, and Bowen had to strain to hear him. “She’s gonna...lock me up.”
“We’re not the bad guys,” Bowen said. He didn’t let his gaze stray to Macey’s face. Not then—he couldn’t. He had to focus on the man who held her. A man who’d been pushed too far. A man who—
“I am,” the guy rasped.
I am. A cold chill slid over Bowen’s skin. He stared into the “victim’s” eyes...and he didn’t see fear staring back at him. He saw rage. Hate.
And he realized just what had happened.
The bastard on the phone... The perp did beat us. He beat us again. He said there was another serial out here. And I think I’m looking at him.
Bowen and Macey had been told that another killer was hunting in the area, but when they’d gone into the cabin, he’d thought they were looking at a victim. The man had been tied, dehydrated, held captive, tortured...
“He did to you,” Bowen said quietly, “what you did to the others.”
Curtis flinched. “Fucking SOB. I’m gonna...find him. I’m gonna kill him.”
Bowen took a step toward him.
“Don’t!” And Curtis jerked Macey closer to himself. “I will slit her throat from ear to ear.” The threat was low and whispery, but Bowen heard it. His whole focus was on the man who held Macey. “Not my first kill...so don’t think I’ll...hesitate.”
Bowen’s weapon was aimed at the bastard’s head. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a clear shot. Macey was too close. One move of her head to the left, and the bullet would hit her. And Curtis kept jerking her, so there was no way Bowen could take that risk.
I also can’t let him kill her. “Ten,” he said, throwing out the number.
Curtis squinted at him.
“Is that how many people you’ve killed, Curtis? Ten people? Ten hikers who never made it out of these mountains.”
Curtis laughed, a rusty, weak sound. “A few more than that...”
“How?” Bowen asked. He wanted the guy to keep talking. If he kept talking, Curtis would be focusing on Bowen and not Macey. If he kept talking, Curtis’s hold on Macey might ease. Bowen knew Macey would be waiting for her chance to escape. As soon as the guy’s hold weakened, she’d act. Bowen had to give her that opportunity.
Helplessly, Bowen’s gaze jerked to her face. Her eyes were wide, emotionless and locked on him. The blood was still trailing down her neck. His rage boiled inside of him, a white-hot fury that demanded he end the son of a bitch who’d dared to hurt her. Jaw locking, he forced his stare back on the man before him. “How,” Bowen snapped. “How did you take them all?”
“Wandered away,” Curtis rasped. But as he spoke, his shoulders straightened. His slightly pointed chin lifted. The guy was proud, Bowen realized. Proud and he wanted to brag about what he’d done. “The stream rose too high, and they wanted an...easier path.” He licked his busted lips. “I told them one...told them I would help, share supplies.”
“And, what, as soon as you were safely away, as soon as you had them where no one else could hear them scream, you attacked?”
“Put something in the coffee...” Curtis’s wrecked lips twisted. His eyes gleamed. “Brought ’em here. Said it was shelter. Gave ’em coffee and when they woke up...” He laughed. “That was when the f-fun began.”
Macey’s hand rose, and she pulled at his wrist.
“Stop it, bitch,” he said, his words croaking out. The knife sliced deeper into her.
“Put the fucking weapon down!” Bowen shouted. “Or I will shoot you right here.”
Curtis still wore that sadistic smile on his face. “I know...how you agents work. You can’t let...one of your own...get hurt.”
Macey was very much his. The truth of that settled into Bowen’s bones.
“So you drop your weapon,” Curtis ordered in his weak, broken voice. “And you...tell the ranger outside that I want transportation. I want an ATV. I want out of here...or the pretty lady is going to be bleeding a whole lot more.”
Bowen opened his mouth to reply.
“That’s not happening,” Macey said, her voice calm. Quiet. “You’re not getting away. Bowen is the best shot at the Bureau. He can shoot you between the eyes right now, and he’d never so much as come close to my skin.”
She sounded so very certain. She was also lying. Macey was the best shot, not him.
Curtis’s attention flew back to Bowen and his eyes widened in alarm.
“I’m giving you to three,” Bowen warned him. “One, two—”
Curtis’s hold on Macey eased, just a bit. “No, no, you bast—”
“Three,” Macey said. She drove her elbow back into Curtis’s midsection. He grunted and the knife sliced at her, but she was whirling and she punched him hard in the face. Then Macey was free. She ran toward Bowen and he grabbed her arm, jerking her close with his left hand even as his right still held the gun.
Curtis let out a weak scream and lunged at them, the knife swiping down.
Three.
Bowen fired. The bullet blasted straight into Curtis’s heart. His mouth dropped in surprise, and he looked down at his chest. Curtis even shook his head, as if this couldn’t be happening.
You were a dead man the minute you put the knife to her throat.
The knife fell from Curtis’s hand. His knees gave way and he hit the floor. Then he was trying to put his hands over his heart, trying to stop that frantic blood flow as he toppled to the dirty floor.
Macey ran toward him. The little prick had been trying to kill her moments before but now she was putting her hands on his chest. Applying pressure. Being the doctor that she’d always be...and trying to save the confessed killer.
“Talk to me!” Macey thundered at him. “You were talking plenty a few minutes ago—tell me about the man who took you, tell me—”
His bloody hand reached up to touch her face. Blood smeared across her cheek.
Bowen stood behind her, his gun ready to fire again.
But he saw the life leave Curtis’s eyes.
The man’s hand fell back to the floor. His eyes—
Nothing is there now.
They closed.
* * *
NIGHT HAD FALLEN, but the old cabin in the woods was illuminated by what seemed like a thousand lights. The place was swarming with cops, feds, crime scene techs and even EMTs.
Cadaver dogs barked, still on the scene, though they’d done their work hours ago.
Bowen stood behind the cabin, his hands crossed over his chest and his eyes on the graves. They’d already dug up four bodies. Four skeletons, because that was pretty much all that had been left of the missing. But there were more graves out there. Curtis Zale had buried his victims right behind the cabin.
A cadaver dog whined.
He said more than ten. They’d found thirteen victims so far. They’d gotten an expert to come out—Dr. Amelia Lang—a forensic geophysicist from the University of Tennessee who’d brought ground penetrating radar. As soon as the cadaver dogs had pawed at the earth, marking their spot, she’d used her equipment.
And they’d found the dead.
“This is...this is the most I’ve ever found,” Dr. Lang said, her voice soft and sad. Bowen glanced to the left and saw that she was also staring at the graves. Her long hair was pulled back but tendrils had escaped to blow in the breeze. “How long was he doing this?”
“Several years.” At first, he’d thought that Curtis had only been hunting for the last two years, but to know the time frame for certain, they’d have to figure out who the other three missing—dead—victims were. Maybe there would be dental records that could provide a match for them. Or DNA that—
“I heard you shot him.” She turned to look up at him. She was small, probably only around five feet tall, so her head tipped back as she met his stare.
“Yes.” He was going to kill Macey.
I could have aimed for his leg. I could have blown the bastard’s knee out. But I didn’t. “I killed him,” Bowen said flatly.
“Did he say anything, before he died? About why—”
Bowen gave a rough laugh. “There wasn’t a why. But he was bragging. Telling us about how easy it was to make the kills.”
Dr. Lang drove her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “You work with serials all the time, right?”
Too much of the time, but it was a job he’d chosen. He inclined his head in response, but his gaze passed over her shoulder and toward the cabin. Where was Macey?
“Why do you think he did it? Why do they all do it?”
“Every monster has a different story.” He looked back at the graves. “Sometimes they were hurt when they were younger. Their minds get bent. Twisted. Sometimes they were just always twisted.”
Dr. Lang took a step back. “Born bad.”
“Something like that. I’ve seen killers who just like the pain they give others. They get off on the torture because they’re wired wrong.” He could be using fancier terms, but screw it. He’d killed a man that day. Macey had been hurt. He was long past the point of politeness. “And I’ve seen killers strike because they were abused so much as kids that they don’t understand right and wrong any longer. They’re in pain and they want others to suffer, too.”
“What about the ones who have no empathy at all?”
He considered that. “Those are the most dangerous ones. When you can’t feel, there’s nothing to hold you back.”
Dr. Lang tucked her hair behind her ear. “I see what the monsters leave behind. That’s what I find. And that’s what scares me.”
There was plenty to be scared of out in the world. Plenty that most people never saw, but because of his job, Bowen had an up-close view of it day in and day out.
He’d surrendered his gun to the local FBI agents after the shooting. There were always procedures to follow after an agent-involved fatality. But he’d fucking hated giving up that gun.
The other perp is still out there. The guy who took Curtis and kept him in that cabin is still running loose.
It was a good thing Bowen had a backup weapon. He didn’t intend to be caught unaware.
And where was Macey? His hands had fisted at his sides. “Excuse me,” he said to Dr. Lang. “I need to find my partner.”
“Oh, right, yeah, I think I saw her with the ranger a few minutes ago.” She pointed to the right. “They were over there.”
He nodded and then he was stalking off to the right. After Curtis had died, things had moved fucking fast. Backup had flown in on a chopper, the scene had been swarmed and Macey—she hadn’t spoken to him.
He rounded the corner of the cabin and saw her standing near an ATV. As Dr. Lang had said, Zack was at her side. Bowen’s steps became faster as he closed in. She turned at his approach, and he swore that she tensed.
Bowen lifted his hand and curled his fingers very carefully under her chin.
Hands off... The warning whispered through his mind.
Fuck that.
He tilted her head back so that he could better study the white bandage on her neck. “Does it hurt?”
She took a step away from him.
Bowen’s hand fell to his side and fisted once more.
“It’s only a scratch,” she said softly. “I’ve had worse.”
His gaze flew to hers. I don’t like thinking of that, baby. I don’t like remembering that this is the second time a twisted killer has put his knife on you.
He didn’t like that shit at all.
“You shot him,” Zack said.
Slowly, Bowen’s head turned so that he stared at the other man.
“I’ve never seen...” Zack blew out a hard breath. “I’ve never seen someone kill before.”
“Curtis Zale was a killer,” Bowen said. “There’s a line of bodies behind the cabin to prove that fact. And he held a knife to my partner’s throat. What did you expect me to do?”
Zack shook his head. “I—”
Macey moved again, only this time, she put herself right beside Bowen. Her arm brushed against his. “Bowen was acting in self-defense. Curtis Zale was coming at us with the knife. He wasn’t going to stop. If he’d been able to do so, he would have killed me, killed Bowen, and then...then he would have come after you, Zack.”
Zack ran a hand over his face. “Guess you two deal with this shit every day, huh?”
“We deal with killers every day,” Macey said while Bowen remained silent. “And it doesn’t get easier.” She glanced at Bowen from the corner of her eye. “Sometimes, you have to make the hard decisions. You have to make decisions that rip you apart.”
Someone called out for the ranger. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, but before he left, the guy paused and squeezed Macey’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Zack’s voice had deepened, taken on a personal note. “I didn’t like seeing him with that knife at your throat.”
Like that moment had been a fucking cakewalk for Bowen. He clenched his teeth and bit back the angry retort he wanted to throw at Zack. Bowen remained silent until the ranger had walked away.
Then...he focused on Macey. His breath expelled in a soft rush. Her eyes were on him, her body still close. “Does it hurt?” His fingers skimmed along her throat.
Macey shivered. “I told you, it’s barely a scratch.”
He stepped even closer to her. “The ranger isn’t the only one who didn’t like that bastard having his knife at your throat.” His hand was still against her throat.
Hands off. Once more, that warning slipped through his head. But, just like before, he ignored it. He wanted his hands on her.
“Bowen, there are a lot of eyes here,” she cautioned him. “They’re watching us.”
“No, they’re looking at a crime scene. Thirteen dead, Mace. Thirteen.” All killed by that little prick who’d been in the cabin.
“I shouldn’t have seen a victim.” Now her voice was subdued. “That was what I wanted to see. If I’d been more careful—”
“We both saw the same thing.” She wasn’t going to carry that guilt, not when he’d been the one to pull the trigger. “The guy was good at making people see things. How else did he get all those hikers to trust him?” To trust him, then to die. “I’m the one who left you alone in there with him.”
“I thought he was getting water out of his bag.” She stepped away, damn it, and ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t realize he was going for a weapon, not until it was too late.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Because I was involved in a fatal shooting, you know I’m about to get benched.”
“No, you don’t—”
“Protocol.” He smiled, but he knew it was mocking. “There always has to be an investigation. You know the drill. You’ll be working in the field with someone else, probably Tucker, and I’ll be playing bench.”
“The perp contacted you, Bowen. You’re in this thing, and I don’t think you’ll be able to step back. Protocol or not.”
He didn’t want to step back. If anything, he wanted to step closer to her and hold her as tight as he could. But Bowen didn’t move toward her. He locked his muscles down and he stared at her, drinking her in. She’s alive. She’s safe.
But this was the second time, the second fucking time, that she’d come close to dying on his watch. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? Saving us both?”
“For not doing a better job of keeping you safe.”
Macey shook her head. “Don’t give me that line of bull, Bowen. You’re the reason we’re both walking around right now. And you’re the reason Curtis won’t ever hurt anyone else.”
His lashes flickered. “The perp found him first.” He rocked back on his heels and considered the scene around him. “He found them all first. We’re dragging behind him, and the guy knows it.”
“Bowen—”
“Thirteen men died, and we didn’t even realize a serial was hunting here. Curtis Zale had the perfect killing grounds up here. But someone, this perp—he figured out what was happening. He found Curtis Zale.” And that just begged the question... “Who the hell will he find next?”
* * *
WHEN THEY FINALLY got back to town, Bowen and Macey stopped by the police station. A weary-eyed Henry Harwell stood on the front steps, staring into the night. When he saw them, he motioned them forward. Captain Harwell had been out at the crime scene, but the guy had been running around like mad. They hadn’t exactly had time for a chat.
Harwell took them back to his office and shut the door. “You were right.”
Macey sat in one of the chairs near the captain’s desk. Bowen stood. “Right about what, exactly?” Bowen asked the guy.
“A serial was hunting here. Right under my nose. And I did nothing.” His face was pale. “Now I have to live with that shit. I didn’t know.”
“Serials can often go undetected,” Macey murmured. Dark shadows were under her beautiful eyes. “Especially the organized ones. Curtis Zale had a very distinct MO, and a very specialized hunting ground. He planned his attacks. There was never a reason to suspect foul play. Just that—”
“That amateur hikers got lost on a trail.” Harwell’s smile was humorless. “I should have investigated more. I should have seen this.”
“You aren’t the only one,” Bowen muttered. He was still wondering just how the perp had found Curtis. The guy’s knowledge of profiling was damn good. He’s showing us the killers he’s found. The ones we’ve missed. He’s showing us that he’s the better hunter.
Bowen’s phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket, frowning. He figured it would be a call from Samantha Dark, telling him to take a back seat in this investigation because of his involvement in the shooting.
But Samantha wasn’t calling him. It was the same number that had called him before. A number routed from within the police station. His gaze shot to Macey. “It’s him.” In the next breath, he growled, “Search this fucking station... The call is from the same number.” They’d thought the number had just been routed through the station before, a trick, but they couldn’t overlook any possibility.
His fingers slid over the screen and he tapped to receive the call. “Murphy—”
“I beat you to him.” It was the same robotic voice as before.
“The guy had been there for days—of course, you fucking beat us.”
The captain had rushed out of the office, no doubt going to get his staff to search the building, but when Macey moved to follow him, Bowen’s hand flew out and curled around her arm. Stay, he mouthed to her. He wanted her to hear exactly what the guy had to say.
“You stacked the deck,” Bowen continued grimly. The FBI was monitoring his phone. After the last call, he’d made sure they would be keeping tabs on his callers. The longer he kept the guy on the phone, the better. The captain can search the building and the FBI can wade through your tech tricks to find you. “You had Curtis Zale all along. Trapped up in that cabin, hungry, dehydrated...”
The perp’s laughter came again. “I thought that was fair, considering what he’d done to his victims. I mean, you know he starved them for days, right? Denied them food, made them piss themselves. Until they were so desperate at the end that they were ready to slit their own throats.” He paused. “Not that they did, Curtis was the one to use his knife on them. He told me all about it...when I had him tied up in the cabin.”
“You could have just called the police and told them about the guy.”
“Not my fault the police were too blind to see what was happening. The dead are on them. On the inept captain who couldn’t get shit done.”
Bowen forced his teeth to unclench. “You keep calling me—why not just tell me what’s happening—”
“You liked killing him, didn’t you?” the distorted voice demanded. “Come on, it’s me. You can be honest with me.” More laughter. “Was it just like old times for you?”
Bowen’s hand fell away from Macey’s arm.
“Bet you loved pulling that trigger. I’ve got to know...was it a head shot? No, no, I’m guessing heart. You shot that bastard right in the heart, didn’t you?”
Macey was texting on her phone. Contacting Samantha? The others at the FBI so they could give them the trace?
“Did it feel good, seeing him die in front of you? Did it make you feel...like the monster I know you are?”
Macey’s head whipped up. Her eyes locked on Bowen.
He stared straight at her. What does she see when she looks at me? “I don’t like your games,” he snarled.
“No, what you don’t like is that I’m better at profiling than you are.” Even though the voice was robotic, smugness still rang through those words. “Daniel was ‘the Doctor,’ Patrick was ‘the Pyro’ and...dumbass Curtis didn’t have a fun name, but I think I deserve one, don’t you? How about you tell the press to call me ‘The Profiler’? Because that’s what I fucking am.”
“No, you’re a killer,” Macey said, stepping forward. “You’re a man who enjoys the terror he causes, but you want to justify what you’re doing. You want to make your murders right so you’re targeting the people you think are dangerous, expendable, you—”
“I wasn’t the one who murdered Curtis. In fact, I fed him. I gave him water. I even kept him tied up so he wouldn’t hurt anyone. What the fuck more did you want from me? For me to put a red bow on his forehead?” There was a crackle of static and what sounded like...was that a train horn in the distance? There were no train tracks near the station. “I’m guessing he pissed you off, huh, Bowen? What did he do? Did he use that knife of his on your pretty partner?”
Macey’s eyes had narrowed. Had she heard that train, too?
“Not the first time a knife has cut into her skin,” the caller mused. “Won’t be the last, either.”
Bowen nearly crushed the damn phone. “You aren’t threatening her.”
Laughter.
And then—
The line went dead.
The door flew open. “Searched...searched the whole station,” Harwell panted. His chest rose and fell as he sucked in deep breaths. “Had my men...span out. He’s not here.”
Bowen hadn’t really thought he was, but he’d still needed that checked.
Macey had her phone at her ear. “The FBI is tracking him... They say...” She listened for a moment. Then her lips thinned. “He’s tapped into the phone lines here, but they caught him this time... He isn’t here. Routing his call, pinging towers, jumping all over. He’s—” Her eyes widened as she listened. “Got him! Five miles away. They have the address. Come on!”
And then they were racing out of the office and out of the police station. Bowen jumped into the SUV with Macey while Harwell and two of his men rushed into their patrol cars. Macey gave him directions and Bowen hauled ass to get to the scene. And as he approached...he saw the train tracks.
You bastard. You think you’re so smart, don’t you?
“Here,” Macey said. “Stop here!”
He slammed on the brakes and jumped out. In the distance, he could see the light from the train as it chugged away. They were at an old building, a closed gas station that appeared to have been boarded up for years. Bowen and Macey pulled out flashlights as they began to search the scene. And there, right next to the filling pump, he found the phone on the ground.
He picked it up and ice filled his veins. There was a picture on that phone’s screen.
The picture was of Macey.
Not the first time a knife has cut into her skin. Won’t be the last, either.