Chapter Two
Near Austin, Texas
Twenty Years Later….
“Detective Chastain, they got it open.”
River Chastain looked up from the map he’d spread open on the back cargo area of the unit’s Chevy Tahoe and focused on the young officer who hurried toward him. Not even ten-thirty in the morning and massive dark patches lined the pits of the rookie’s uniform shirt. The temperature might be unseasonably warm for March, but then tracking a serial killer through Hill Country, Texas, was enough to make anybody sweat.
“They think the Valentine Killer might still be inside, too.” The officer glanced down at the map. “Wait, you don’t think he might’ve gotten out, had a back door or something, do you?”
“Possible.” River ground his teeth at the likelihood the murdering son of a bitch might have escaped…again.
The guy snagged a bottle of water, downed half of it, and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “They cleared enough rock from the cave entrance to get in. So, I’m guessing we’ll all know real soon.”
“Tell them I’m on my way.”
“Yes, sir.” The kid jogged back up the hill.
River pulled out his cell phone and punched autodial. After half a dozen rings, voicemail picked up.
“Damn it, Kent. Where are you?” He stared at the hive of activity at the cave entrance. A paramedic wheeled a gurney uphill over rocks and rubble. “We’re about to apprehend this asshole. Jones tracked him to a cave a hundred miles northwest of Austin and, well…damn it. Jones is dead. He didn’t wait for backup. Triggered a tripwire the bastard had rigged and was blown to bits. They’re loading what’s left of him now. It’s a mess.”
He paused to wipe a hand over his forehead and through his hair, lugging sweat with it. “You better have one helluvan excuse for not being here. Captain’s been asking, and I can’t cover much longer.” He slammed the Tahoe doors closed. “Just get your ass out here.”
After ending the call, he shoved the cell into his pocket and stalked to the rear of the vehicle. He’d had a knot in his stomach since the first victim had been discovered, and with each successive murder, the gnarl had drawn even tighter. A little over five hours earlier, his cell had rung, the caller informing him the Valentine Killer had been tracked to a cave in Hill Country. Even before he’d finished writing down the location, his gut had twisted back on itself like a snake eating its own damn tail.
He shook his head. Such a strong negative reaction made no sense. The murder and madness plaguing Austin for the last eighteen months was about to end. But for some reason his teeth remained on edge.
“Chastain.” Captain Suarez ambled toward him. “You ready?”
“Right there, Cap.” River grabbed two water bottles from the cooler and strode toward the heavy-set man in his late fifties with skin the color of a hand-rolled Maduro cigar.
“Garner’s heading up SWAT. He’s checked the entrance, and he and the team are ready to move inside.” He took the offered bottle and opened it. “We follow right behind.”
“Like white on rice, sir.” He fell in step alongside his captain.
As they headed up the hill, he pulled his Smith & Wesson .40 cal, checked the magazine, and snugged it back into his shoulder holster—a routine he’d performed since cadet days.
They paused, allowing the gurney to pass as it bounced and rocked by in the opposite direction. A body bag lay on top, the remains of Jones’ broken corpse inside. River’s chest tightened, his gaze sliding over the heavy black plastic, the gleaming zipper. Jones had been a good man.
“Damn good man,” Suarez’s growled. “El cabrón in that cave is going to pay.”
River grunted in agreement. One of their own had fallen prey to the serial killer. Jones deserved more than a closed casket ceremony, grieving widow, and a funeral home packed with blue. So yeah, the bastard would pay.
“How’s it look?” the captain asked one of the SWAT guys.
“ROV’s almost finished.” The man tapped his finger on the computer’s screen. The laptop perched on the square folding table displayed what the Remote Observation Vehicle saw inside. Several black wires snaked from the SWAT vantage point into the cave. “Haven’t encountered any further resistance.”
“Alpha Team.” Another SWAT member waited to the right of the cave entrance while six men dressed in black fatigues, Kevlar vests, and ballistic helmets assembled around him.
“That’s Garner, the team lead.” Captain Suarez moved closer.
“Okay,” Garner said. “ROV’s been in and out. First thing found was a wire running from inside the cave. Traced it to a generator dug into the side of the hill about forty feet away. From that we’ve confirmed the place is rigged for light. Course, when the bomb blew, so did the connection. Unfortunately, we can’t wait for repairs. There might be a vic who needs us inside.
“Although the ROV’s cleared the entrance, it doesn’t mean this asshole hasn’t hidden other surprises. So watch your step. Approximately ten yards in, the cave opens up, higher ceiling, more room.” Garner turned toward the cave entrance, his expression somber. “ROV didn’t spot any bodies, so the guy may have had a back door and be long gone.” He looked back at the men. “But we’re hoping the explosion cornered him. If that’s the case, he’ll be waiting for us. Stay focused, stay alert, stay alive. Questions?”
Silence.
“Good.” Garner slapped his hands together. “Rios, you’re on lights. Toblin, you take point. Captain Suarez and….”
“Detective Chastain,” the captain supplied.
“Captain Suarez and Detective Chastain have hunted the Valentine Killer for quite a while. Don’t let them down. After they gear up, we’ll head in.”
River shrugged on a Kevlar vest and communications gear while the Alpha Team checked their stubby MP5s. Each member performed the same ritual—safety, magazine loaded and secured in place, first round chambered, laser sights on. The deft movements of their weapons reminded him of a well-rehearsed orchestra.
Someone shoved a black cap emblazoned with the letters SWAT into his hands. He pulled his hat low over his eyes, switched on his flashlight, and fell into line at the cave entrance.
He scrambled over rocks into darkness, his senses on high alert. His gut knotted tighter. Something wasn’t right. “How long is the entry tunnel?”
“About ten yards,” the lead SWAT guy replied.
Thirty feet and an awkward squeeze. Not too far. Hunched over, he shuffled behind Suarez, flashlight in one hand, Smith & Wesson in the other.
A few yards inside, an inescapable wave of stench washed over him. The distinctive scents of acidic fertilizer and cooked human flesh assaulted him. His stomach convulsed. Gagging, he brought his arm up over his nose and breathed through his mouth. It helped, but not much. He guessed by the interrupted cadence of Captain Suarez’s steps in front of him he’d suffered the same reaction.
The scent intensified deeper inside the cave. River tried not to think about Jones’ last moments. The deafening explosion. The fire. The massive rocks crushing him, stealing his breath.
Gritting his teeth, he kept moving forward. He would do his job and catch the asshole who’d slaughtered eight girls—probably nine since Mindy Carter was missing. The high-profile trial would be fast-tracked, and the jury would serve justice. The Valentine Killer would be sentenced to death, and in the great state of Texas, that meant lethal injection.
River frowned. Hell, the needle’s too painless. After nine girls and Officer Jones, the bastard deserves to fry. Slowly.
The tunnel opened up. Fine granite dust hung in the air, muting the flashlight beams. Red streaks from the SWAT team’s laser sights crisscrossed the area while they checked for potential threats.
“All clear.” Toblin’s voice echoed inside the cave as well as through River’s earpiece.
“Affirmative,” Garner replied from outside the cave. “Hey, Rios thinks he’s got the wiring done. Prepare for lights in three, two….”
Small orbs flashed to life, illuminating the cavern.
“We’ve got light,” Toblin reported.
“Holy mother of….” One of the Alpha team members stumbled back a step. He crossed himself and gripped his weapon, his knuckles whitening.
Hundreds of symbols painted in what seemed to be blood—hell, he’d followed this guy long enough, River knew it was blood—covered the granite walls of the large cavern. The curls and exaggerated jagged points of the signs appeared satanic in nature.
River tilted his face up, and his neck hair stood on end. The ceiling had been painstakingly chiseled smooth, and sketched in the center was a huge circle with a star in the middle—a pentagram surrounded by more symbols and numbers. The thing was at least six feet in diameter, maybe more. All drawn in blood. Right over their heads.
“Steady, boys,” Toblin warned. “Stay alert.”
“Sick sonovabitch,” another guy murmured.
A cold sweat settled like dew on River’s skin. His stomach churned, spitting acid.
“What is it?” Captain Suarez craned his neck.
River turned his flashlight on and illuminated the center of the star.
Suarez pointed at the dark-red symbol. “That’s the drawing he leaves.”
“I know.”
“Garner, Toblin,” Suarez spoke into the headset, his words carrying to the whole team. “We’ve found the Valentine Killer’s lair.”
“Sir, there’s another room,” a team member interjected before Garner or Toblin could respond.
Toblin’s head snapped toward the man, his eyes sharp and assessing. “What?”
“In the dark, it looked like a jag in the wall, sir. But when the lights came on….”
Ice-cold apprehension swallowed the room. Weapons came up, and eyes narrowed. At Toblin’s signal, the team moved into lineup, their feet whispering over the sandy floor. River positioned himself near the far wall, giving them room to do their job.
Like a panther stalking prey, Toblin crept into the next room, silent, deadly. The rest of Alpha team imitated his movements. River sensed the well-trained energy flowing between them. One mind. One goal. Take down the bad guy.
Four Alphas slipped into the adjacent area without a single shot fired.
“Clear,” Toblin said over the headset.
River brought up the rear, last to enter the new region. The smell of blood and death curled around him, embraced and pulled him forward. Carnage on a nearby table drew his attention. His jaw clenched. Mindy Carter lay amid torn clothing and blood, her skin pale as summer moonlight. Even without checking for a pulse, he knew she’d bled out.
He forced his attention elsewhere, focusing on the remaining surroundings. He would get to Mindy in proper time.
The room was similar in size to the previous one, with a sandy floor and walls covered in symbols and numbers. A comparable blood-etched pentagram loomed overhead on the chiseled ceiling as well. However, this one had breaks in the circle. Five small gaps, perhaps each an inch in length.
So, is that supposed to let something in…or let something out?
“Chastain.” Suarez joined him.
He tore his gaze from the drawing. “Sir?”
“We got him.” The captain pointed across the room where several Alpha members had gathered around a body on the floor.
“What?” A dose of adrenaline dumped into his veins, and his heart rate skyrocketed.
“Shockwaves from the explosion caved in his escape route.” He gestured to the other side of the room where huge rocks blocked a small tunnel. “El cabrón tried to make a run for it but got bludgeoned. Bled out.”
The serial killer River and his partner, Kent, had hunted for eighteen months lay facedown, dead on the sandy floor of an indistinguishable cave in the vast land of Hill Country. He found it difficult to believe the nightmare had at last come to an end—and in such a dissatisfying manner. No more cryptic messages for the department to decipher. No notes, which at first glance appeared as blatant taunts but when studied, often held clues to his next victim’s location. To say the Valentine Killer had been smart would be an understatement. River stared at the body on the floor and grimaced. It was hard to imagine the guy would get caught by one of his own traps.
An Alpha ran his hands around the corpse, probably checking for wires or pressure switches. River removed a small digital camera from his pants pocket and held it up for Toblin to see. At the Alpha’s nod, he snapped a dozen pictures, documenting the scene before they flipped the body.
Blood stained the killer’s sweatshirt. He had to have known his injuries were severe, and he wouldn’t make it out alive. Yet, he’d managed to pull his hoodie up over his head and yank the strings tight, forming a circle exposing just his nose and mouth. Yeah, a useless attempt to hide your identity, asshole.
In a few minutes, the Valentine Killer’s face would be revealed, and with a little research, they’d put a name to the psycho.
“Initial check is good,” the Alpha reported. “No strings, but that doesn’t mean it’s free and clear. Could be he lay on something.”
Toblin nodded. “Evac.”
The Alpha tied a nylon rope around the killer’s arm and followed them out of the room.
“Garner,” Toblin called over the headset. “We’re about to flip the body. Might be some noise.”
“Affirmative,” the team leader answered.
Toblin signaled, and the Alpha yanked the rope. When no deafening explosion occurred, he leaned into the room.
“Grenade!”
Crouching amid the SWAT members, River threw his arms over his head for protection. Thoughts of how the granite ceiling would crush the life out of him as it had Jones flooded his brain.
Silence.
Toblin rose and entered the room. A moment later, he pronounced it clear, and everyone swarmed back inside.
River’s gaze descended to the grenade in the sand. A bomb had laid beneath the killer, waiting to rain death on whoever found the body. But something had gone wrong.
The SWAT point retrieved the explosive device and held it up. “Idiot forgot to pull the pin.”
Two guys let out a chuff of nerve-laden laughter. Close to bleeding out and lying at death’s door, the killer’s final attempt at murder had flubbed, lowering his status from enigmatic to subhuman. The Valentine Killer was a threat no more.
“I don’t think he ever meant to pull it,” River mumbled.
“What’s that?” Toblin asked.
“This guy was deep into the details, which is what made him so difficult to catch. Believe me, if he’d wanted an explosion, there would’ve been one.” He leaned over the body and studied the partially hidden face. “No, he never meant to pull the pin. He wanted us to find him, to discover his identity, and share it with the world. He just wanted to make sure we knew he could have pulled the pin.”
“What’s this?” Captain Suarez knelt. Careful not to touch the second object the killer’s body had concealed, he brushed away sand, exposing an eight-inch double-edged blade. “A knife?”
Toblin grimaced. “Pretty fancy for a cold-blooded psychopath.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s called an athame. It’s a ceremonial knife used in ritual killings.” River glanced at Suarez, whose eyebrows rose, and added, “Which we already knew this guy was into. And look, carved into the handle is his symbol. I’m sure when the blade is tested, it will reveal several victims’ DNA.”
“Can we get CIU and the coroner in here?” Toblin asked.
“Yeah.” Captain Suarez circled his finger in the air. “Photo everything, bag and tag.”
Toblin called, and several minutes later a man and woman entered, wearing protective eyewear and carrying two large cases. Their hip badges announced they worked for the Austin Criminal Investigations Unit.
With the initial photographs taken and evidence gathered, the CIU guy reached down to remove the Valentine Killer’s blood-encrusted hood. Anticipation in the room became palpable. With all eyes riveted on his nimble fingers, he unlaced the string and enlarged the hole, gradually exposing the killer’s identity.
River’s nails bit into his palms while he waited to see the face of the man he and Kent had hunted for over a year. The man who’d wreaked havoc on Austin, Texas, terrifying its citizens. But as the hood was drawn back, one of the SWAT guys stepped in front of him, blocking his view.
“No!” Captain Suarez let out a string of what sounded like Mexican curse words. “I don’t believe this.”
Alarmed, River pushed around the guy who’d moved in front of him and viewed the Valentine Killer for the first time. River blinked, sure what he saw was some sort of trick. A play of light. Something. Anything. But not—
“Chastain.” Captain Suarez’s voice was hoarse, his eyes wide and filled with something River had never seen—shock. “Did you…?”
“No, Captain. Absolutely not.” River shook his head, his focus locked on the killer’s face. “I had absolutely no idea.”
Suarez’s attention shifted to the coroner and his assistant who had just arrived. “Bag and tag the cabrón. Get him out of my sight.”
“Captain—”
He grabbed River’s shoulder, steered him to the edge of the room. “Detective Chastain,” he growled. “Are you telling me you had no knowledge of the Valentine Killer’s true identity?”
“Yes, sir.” River’s gaze drifted past his captain to the body on the floor. Nearby, the coroner opened a body bag in preparation for removal of the serial killer’s remains.
“So, you expect me to believe you really had no clue?” Suarez’s words drew his attention. His dark eyes drilled into River, demanding the truth. “No inkling. Not even a hint since the very beginning eighteen months ago that the psycho bastard you hunted was the guy you worked with every damn day? The guy sitting at the desk right next to you?”
“Yes, sir.” River’s stomach rolled, threatened to erupt his half-digested breakfast. “I-I had no idea.”
River laid his hand against the wall. Kent? He was the Valentine Killer? My partner of five years?
They’d been on stakeouts together, gone fishing, the occasional ball game. When River’s wife left him, they’d gotten stinking drunk. They were partners, so he’d shared everything with Kent. That’s what partners did.
I trusted him, didn’t hold anything back. The realization crashed down on him, an anvil falling from the sky.
“Oh, shit.” His gaze slid back to Kent’s body while the ripping sound of the metal zipper opening the black plastic body bag filled the chamber.
“What?” Suarez demanded, his eyes hawkish. “If you know something, Chastain, you best tell me now. Everything.”
River curled his fingers against the granite wall, the coarse rock digging into his skin. A drop of cold sweat trailed down the back of his neck. This wasn’t good. “Captain, he was my partner.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“That’s how the Valentine Killer always stayed one step ahead.” River sliced his hand through the air, gesturing toward the body. “He knew our next move. Hell, he helped plan our next move.”
Kent’s body was lifted from the sandy floor to set inside the bag, the seasoned coroner taking the feet and the younger assistant hefting the shoulders.
“Eighteen months, Chastain.” The captain shook his head.
“I know but—”
The body slipped from the assistant’s fingertips and slammed to the cavern floor.
“Damn it, Jamie,” the coroner snapped. “You said you had him. You can’t drop—”
The kid’s eyes rolled back in his head, the whites flashing flags of surrender. He stiffened and jerked as though jolted by electricity. Rigid, he toppled backward, a heavy thud reverberating through the cave.
“Jamie!” The coroner released Kent’s feet and rushed to his assistant’s side, skidding the last foot across the sandy floor on his knees.
Instinct moved River two steps closer to the kid before a powerful hand gripped his shoulder, stopping him.
“Let the professionals handle it,” Suarez said in a hushed yet authoritative tone.
Tobin and the woman from Austin CIU knelt beside the unconscious assistant.
“He just went stiff and dropped,” the coroner explained.
The SWAT point held Jamie’s wrist. “His pulse is racing, his breathing shallow.”
“Did he complain about the heat?” The CIU woman pushed the sides of her shoulder-length black hair behind her ears. She ran a hand over Jamie’s face and neck. “Drink enough water?”
“He was fine.” The coroner stared at his young assistant. “We each had a bottle on the way here.”
She pulled back one of Jamie’s eyelids and flashed her pin light, repeating the process on the other eye. “Responsive.”
“He’s a newbie, still learning the ropes,” the coroner offered. “This is only his second, no, third time out in the field.”
“Wait.” After opening the top portion of the kit she’d brought, she removed a small cylindrical tube, turned back to the kid, and waved it beneath his nose.
A moment later, he jerked and coughed. His face contorted, drawing down against the odor of the smelling salts.
“He’s back,” the coroner announced, relief in his voice. “What happened to you?”
“I-I don’t know.” Jamie looked around the room, eyes wide and searching. “I don’t remember.”
“Hate to tell you,” the dark-haired investigator said to the coroner while she snapped her case closed, “but your newbie took a nosedive.”
“He fainted?” The older guy’s brows lifted, and he turned back to his assistant. “You fainted?”
“I-I’m sorry. I’ve never done that before.”
“Hey.” The coroner rose and rounded toward Toblin. “Think you could help me get this body zipped?”
The point guy glanced at the pale-faced kid and shrugged. “Sure.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Jamie asked.
“Get your ass to the truck.” The coroner’s growled words propelled the newbie to his feet and out of the cave. “I can’t believe I got stuck with a fainter,” he mumbled and shook his head.
River’s jaw tightened in response to the old guy’s frustration. Everyone had an off day. Everyone made mistakes when they started out.
“Detective Chastain.”
Suarez’s commanding tone brought River around. He noticed the captain’s raised and knitted brow, his tightly drawn mouth—whatever he had to say wouldn’t be pleasant.
“River,” he said, regret tingeing his tone. “You’re on suspension pending an investigation as to the role you may have played in the murders committed by Kent Rowton, the Valentine Killer.”
River had heard highly stressful situations disoriented a person. Some even claimed the room spun. He’d never experienced it firsthand.
Until now.
“I, um….” His head felt like a martini glass, and someone had swirled the vodka and vermouth. To steady himself, he laid his hand against the granite wall again, the roughness scraping his palm. Solid. Real. “I…. You think I had something to do with…you think I was involved with those murders?”
Suarez held his hand out. “I need your badge and gun.”
Yeah, those were words he’d never thought he’d hear.