Saturday, October 22, 6:55 a.m.
It was still dark when Nick leashed D-Boy and stepped outside. The scent of burning wood from a fireplace or a woodstove somewhere nearby lingered in the cool morning air. He took his time walking the neighborhood. As night grayed into dawn he noted little or no change from his last visit. Like before most of the lawns needed attention. Three or more vehicles were parked in the yards of the small homes. Like a game of musical chairs, tenants had come and gone, moving back and forth between this neighborhood and other similar ones in the city. Rent and deposits were cheap, background searches were ignored and credit checks were not required. As he’d anticipated, most of the residents appeared to be in bed. It was Saturday, after all.
D-Boy hesitated and stared through the chain-link fence that stretched across the yard where Quintero and his thugs resided. Judging by the empty beer cans and liquor bottles scattered over the porch, there had been one hell of a party last night on this end of the street. Nick doubted the neighbors complained. They were all too afraid of Quintero, which was how he continued to conduct his illegal business without fear of law enforcement.
Nick wondered if Bobbie would ever return to the home she’d shared with her husband. Miles away from this neighborhood, minivans and SUVs filled the garages while professionally manicured lawns showcased the middle-class homes. Bobbie Gentry had been happy there—even if she hadn’t been like the other wives. She was a cop who chased bad guys 24/7 while the others shuttled their offspring to dance class or soccer practice after work. Bobbie’s husband had happily filled in all the blank spots she left behind to protect and serve.
A knot formed in his gut and Nick cursed himself again for being envious of a dead man. It wasn’t so much the man, but the life he’d shared with Bobbie. The chances of Nick having a wife and kid were less than zero. He would never take such a risk even if the opportunity presented itself. He would never put someone he cared for in that position. There were far too many targets on his back. Far too much risk of passing on the evil in his DNA.
Besides, like Bobbie, he was too focused on finding and stopping monsters. On being the hero, some would say. Nick wasn’t a hero. He’d never been a hero. At twenty-one he’d been a self-centered kid who wanted to have fun and still survive college with a passing grade-point average and a marketable job skill. When his world shattered, he’d become an angry jerk who wanted nothing but revenge. Then the regret and sense of responsibility for the forty-two murders committed by his father had descended squarely on his chest. He’d felt the crushing soul-deep guilt for not protecting his mother—for not seeing what his father was. For being a blind, self-centered shit. Reason told him a child couldn’t possibly see through the mask Weller had worn. Still, he’d hated himself for being too young not to see...too naive not to sense the malevolence.
Then he’d grown angry all over again at the realization of what he could not be. He couldn’t be a cop and remaining in the military wasn’t an option for fear he might be in a position one day that required he take a life. How could he risk taking a life and turning into what his father was? Two months ago the sadistic bastard had asked him if he’d “felt it yet”? Nick had wanted to tear off his head and reach down his throat to rip out his heart.
Because he had felt it.
For the first time since he chose the path of hunter, stopping the sadistic serial killer he’d hunted hadn’t fulfilled the ravenous urge inside him. Finding Gaylon Perry, aka the Storyteller, hadn’t been enough. He’d wanted to kill him. He had wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He’d pretended not to feel it. He’d told himself he only wanted to find and stop him. That he wanted to protect Bobbie and any other potential victims.
But it was a lie. He’d yearned to watch Perry die.
His most recent hunt had ended successfully without the overpowering desire to kill his prey. If he was lucky, what happened with the Storyteller was an anomaly. An unexpected reaction related to his feelings for Bobbie.
Yet another reason he should be keeping his distance.
He’d caused enough pain here already. Nick was the reason at least three people were dead and two were missing. Whoever Weller had sent, the son of a bitch had taken those lives to lure Nick back to Montgomery.
He would find the missing women. He would make the bastard who took them pay. The glitch would be in accomplishing his goal while keeping Bobbie safe. Weller clearly understood that she meant something to Nick and he would attempt to use that weakness. Whatever the cost, Nick could not allow that to happen.
D-Boy led the way back home. He didn’t so much as glance at the house where he’d lived two months ago.
“You’re one lucky fellow.”
D-Boy looked up at Nick as if he agreed.
The sun peeked above the trees as he skirted the yard next to Bobbie’s, slipped through the gate and made his way to her back door. Unless his instincts had failed him, there were no eyes on them at this time. But the threat would be close. Using the key Bobbie had given him, he unlocked the door. He listened for a long moment before stepping inside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee told him she was up, but the lack of sound suggested she had returned to her bedroom to prepare for the day.
He tucked the key into his pocket and locked the dead bolt on the inside. Until he was done he would hang on to the spare key. Staying so close was a double-edged sword. His presence drew the danger toward her, yet if he stayed away she was far too vulnerable. Like before, she preferred to ignore any potential threat and charge into the fray.
Bobbie’s instincts were better than average, but she couldn’t conceivably grasp what she was up against when it came to Weller. No matter the case files she read or even the crime scene images she viewed, she couldn’t possibly reconcile what he was with the facade he presented to her. Only firsthand experience could fully expose the kind of evil he was, and few survived that experience.
D-Boy whined, drawing Nick from the troubling thoughts. The animal stared up at him as if he had forgotten something very important. He spotted the large plastic bin on the floor next to the water bowl and empty food bowl.
“Time for breakfast, is it?” He transferred a scoopful of kibbles from the bin to the bowl and D-Boy dug in. He patted the animal on the back. Nick’s craving for caffeine had him finding the right cupboard and retrieving a mug. Before he turned around he felt more than heard Bobbie enter the room. Mug in hand, he turned to face her. “Good morning.”
She grunted. “We’ll see. Tell me why Weller would send someone to lure you to Montgomery and then warn me you were in danger. It seems counterintuitive.”
Nick was so accustomed to seeing her in trousers and a jacket for work, the jeans and T-shirt surprised him. She looked relaxed. His gaze swept over her lean curves. She looked good. When they’d first met, those attractive curves had been subtler, and inside she’d been so shattered that it hurt to look for too long into those pale blue eyes.
“What does he want from you?” she asked when he didn’t answer her first demand. She took the mug from his hand and shoved it under the drip spout of the single-serve coffeemaker. Next she popped a pod into the machine, set it into action and looked to him for the answers he wasn’t ready to share.
“I don’t know what he wants.” He should step away from her. This close the lavender scent of soap on her skin was distracting.
“Does he want revenge?” She passed him the mug of steaming coffee and prepared to brew herself another cup.
“Possibly.” Nick spent little time wondering anything at all about Weller. The sooner he was dead, the better.
“A man who would go to such extremes to get your attention must have a strong motive.” Bobbie held the mug to her lips and blew on the hot liquid inside.
Nick looked away and sipped his coffee. He could close his eyes and draw every line and angle of her face in his mind. “You forget who he is,” he warned, setting his mind back on the subject at hand. “For Weller taking a life is as simple as tossing out an unwanted pair of shoes or flipping a light switch.”
Even as a child he had sensed something was not as it should be with his father. Years later when he’d come home early for spring break and found him in the process of creating art from the bodies of the two men he’d butchered, that same sensation had settled deep in his gut the instant he’d parked in the driveway. Nick had climbed out of the car and entered the house, calling his father’s name in the deafening silence. Then he’d gone to his studio. Painting had been his father’s hobby, his passion. He’d said it soothed his soul. Growing up, whenever they traveled, art museums were always on the agenda.
The art Nick found him creating still haunted him whenever he closed his eyes.
“Have you considered that after all this time he might want you to suffer the same fate you created for him?” She abandoned her coffee, her attention fixed solidly on Nick. “LeDoux said the feds are taking a harder look at you. Maybe Weller is setting you up for a fall. Maybe that’s what this is all about.”
“Maybe.” Nick wasn’t prepared to offer more. Far too much was still unknown and she was already in too deep.
“Why don’t you talk to someone at the FBI or confront Weller?” She went to the fridge and had a look inside.
“The FBI knows who I am and what I do.” He shrugged. “As for Weller, we don’t talk.”
She withdrew two cups of yogurt and offered one to him. He shook his head and she stuck the extra cup back in the fridge and closed the door. “You talked to him back in August.” She prowled in a drawer and found a spoon.
“He told you about my visit?” Nick didn’t know why he was surprised. Weller wanted to make her believe he had his son’s best interests at heart. Whatever his game, it wasn’t about anyone’s interests but his own.
“Nope.” She licked the yogurt off the spoon.
His gaze followed the move.
“You sure you don’t want some?” She pointed at the cup with her spoon.
He shook his head again.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was the source you went to see back then?”
“He was only one of several. Would it have mattered?”
She ate another spoonful of yogurt. “Probably not.”
He concentrated on finishing his coffee. There was more she wanted to ask him. He could feel her anticipation. “Who told you I’d visited him?”
“The guard mentioned it when I was there.” She stared at her spoon to avoid his gaze. “Last night LeDoux said something about you going to see him the last time you were in Montgomery.”
He didn’t doubt one of the prison guards answering a detective’s questions about Weller’s visitors. What he did doubt was LeDoux’s purpose for mentioning Nick’s visit. Is that more of your jealousy talking, Shade? Somehow he had to get this possessiveness he felt toward Bobbie under control.
She lifted her gaze to his once more. “Did Weller begin drawing away from you emotionally after your mother was gone?”
Nick set his coffee cup aside and crossed his arms over his chest. The idea that he’d just made a classic defensive move wasn’t lost on him. “The real question is, was he ever emotionally engaged with me?”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Was he?”
Nick considered the concept for a moment. As much as he didn’t want to think about those years, he understood she wouldn’t let it go. He remembered sitting on his father’s knee and having him say good-night at bedtime. His mother would help Nick ready for bed, but before tucking him in she always took him to his father for a good-night pat on the back. He remembered smiles and nods of approval. Kind words. Patience. Never hugs or kisses, nothing so intimate.
“To a degree, I suppose.” It bothered Nick to admit that he and the bastard had ever connected on any level.
“He may have maintained a certain distance to protect you.”
Anger stirred at her gullibility where the bastard was concerned. Weller was an expert at cloaking himself in what he wanted others to see. “I have no desire to talk about him.”
“Is there any way around talking about him?” She tossed her spoon in the sink and her empty cup in the trash. “He’s the one who issued the warning.”
“Tell me what your team has gathered on the case.” Nick took his mug to the sink and rinsed it out. She could be right. There might be no way to avoid discussing Weller, but he’d had enough for now.
“We’re interviewing the people who were close to or worked with the victims. An Amber Alert was issued for Fern Parker. A missing vulnerable adult alert was issued for Vanessa Olson. We’ve entered both into the NCIC. We have a hotline set up with a full-blown media blitz ongoing. The feds are doing their part. We’re following up on the murder weapon. Dr. Carroll, the new coroner, noted a distinct pattern made by the blade used to open the abdomens of the victims. One of our evidence techs is working on nailing down the specific pattern. It could turn out to be a waste of time, but it’s all we have at the moment.” She massaged her temple as if an ache had started there. “The two abductions are the big sticking points. Why deviate so dramatically from the MOs he chose to reenact?”
Nick had spent a good deal of the night pondering that same question. “Whoever is attempting to get my attention wouldn’t deviate from the original MOs unless he has a point to make.”
“How can you be certain he didn’t just make a mistake? He may have failed to anticipate Fern would be home or that Manning would have company.”
“Weller would never choose a novice. His minion would be very detailed and precise. There would be nothing haphazard or spontaneous about his work. He would know when and where as well as how to strike.”
“Maybe he was in a hurry,” Bobbie countered. “He may have a tight deadline.”
“Weller has waited this long,” Nick argued. “Why rush now? True predators are supremely patient and will wait for the perfect opportunity.”
“Point taken.” Bobbie shook her head in frustration. “I could go back to Weller and demand answers.”
“Do you really believe the FBI will allow you to see him again?” One of Nick’s sources inside the FBI assured him that Weller was on lockdown—no one would be getting in anytime soon. Even if a visit were permitted, he did not want Bobbie anywhere near Weller again.
She set her hands on her hips. “First thing this morning I’ll brief the team on the part I’ve been holding back. Will that be a problem for you?”
Despite her dedication to the job, she had withheld information for him. To protect him. Deep in his chest he felt an ache he had no right to feel. Just keep digging that hole deeper, Shade. He was already in way over his head.
“No,” he said. “It won’t be a problem.”
No matter that he had come to Montgomery because of the murders, he’d wanted to come well before there was a reason. He’d wanted to see her. He wanted...
She abruptly reached into her back pocket and withdrew her cell. “Gentry.”
What he wanted was irrelevant. All he had to do was stay close until this was over. Whoever had come for him would be watching Bobbie, anticipating Nick’s appearance.
He would stay under the radar until he identified the source of the threat. Generally this step would be a fairly simple one...except there was Bobbie. Weller had positioned her squarely between Nick and that threat, handicapping his efforts. Weller was banking on the idea that Bobbie meant a great deal to Nick.
Regrettably for all involved, Weller was right.