Seleena surfaced and moaned. A terrible hangover, she thought, groggy and queasy. Her head pounded, her eyes throbbed, her throat felt sandpapered, her stomach roiled.
How many drinks had she …
And she remembered.
She shot awake with a jolt, and light ice-picked into her eyes. When she tried to lift her hands to shield them, she felt the bite of restraints.
She let out a wild, crazed scream.
“Boy, you wake up cranky.” Sipping coffee from a mug, Patricia walked into view. “You probably feel pretty rough, and screaming’s just going to make you feel worse. Nobody’s going to hear you, so do yourself a favor.”
“Where are we? Why are you doing this? God, don’t kill me.”
“Where we are is deep in the north woods. I already told you why—I want to tell my story. If I was going to kill you, you’d be dead. Relax.”
She offered a glass with a straw. “Just water. I need you awake and ready to go. Sorry about the needle in the neck, but I wasn’t sure I could trust you. It’s better this way, for both of us.”
Her body quaked as she looked into Patricia’s eyes. Her bladder threatened to release. “You don’t have to do this. I told you I wouldn’t call the police.”
“Yes, I trusted that part. You want the story, so you wouldn’t start off calling the cops. But it’s still better this way.” With a roll of her eyes, Patricia used the straw and sucked down some water. “See? Just H-two-O.”
Desperate, Seleena accepted, drained the glass.
“Can’t make you a macchiato—that’s your coffee drink, right? But I bet you’d like some coffee, get your brain up and running.”
“Yes. Please.”
“Let me lay out some ground rules.”
“First? I’m sorry. I need a bathroom.”
“Understandable, but hold your water, Seleena. You’d better hear the rules first, so we don’t have a spat. I’ll release you, and you use the facilities.” Patricia pointed. “I took the door off. Hey, we’re both girls, right? Then you’ll come back, sit. I’m going to put restraints back on your left hand, your ankles, but I’ll leave your right hand free so you can drink your coffee, eat a yogurt bar—keep up your strength. If you try anything, I’ll start by breaking your fingers. I won’t kill you—we need each other—but I will hurt you.”
“I understand.”
“Great.”
When Patricia pulled out clippers—long, sharp points—Seleena cringed back.
“For cutting the plastic. I’ve got plenty more zip ties.”
She snipped them off, stepped back, took the gun out of her belt holster. “Go on and pee.”
Seleena’s legs wobbled when she pushed to her feet.
“The sedative—you’re just a little shaky yet. Take your time. We’ve got plenty.”
“People will look for me.”
“Maybe. I sent your assistant a text from your phone, letting her know you got a hot tip and you’d be out of town for a day or two. But that may not fly for long.”
“A day or two.” Struggling to take in details—a cabin, she realized, with the shades pulled down. Rough, rustic furniture, no sounds of traffic. No sounds.
“It won’t take us longer than that. Then you’ll have your big story.”
“And you’ll let me go.” Blocking embarrassment, Seleena lifted her skirt, did what she had to do.
“Why wouldn’t I? That’s the deal. I tell you my story, you get it out there. I want it out there. I want people to listen to me.”
“You’re going to turn yourself in?”
“Well, I did lie about that.” Patricia grinned. “And the business about killing myself. But look.”
She gestured.
“I’ve got the tripod, a professional video camera, the lights, the works. Consider this our on-location studio. We’ll sit here. You can ask questions. I’ll talk. I’ll lay it all out. That’s what I want. It’s what you want.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Seleena spotted her purse. Inside her purse was a gun. “I would have kept all this confidential. You don’t have to strap me to the chair.”
“Think about this. Some of what I’m going to tell you is, well, we’ll say graphic. You might get upset, or scared. You might think: Oh no! She’s going to kill me, too, and try to run or pull something. Like, right now you’re wondering if you can get to the cute pink Glock you had in your purse. Then? Ouch. Broken fingers.”
She reached back, drew the gun out from where she’d tucked it into the back of her belt. Held it up.
“So you’d have all pain with no gain. I’m saving you from that.” She smiled, all charm. Then her lips peeled back. “Sit the fuck down, or instead of breaking a finger, I’ll shoot you in the foot with your own girlie gun.”
“I’m going to cooperate.” Keeping her eyes direct, her voice calm, Seleena walked back to the chair. “I want to hear your story.”
“You will.” Patricia holstered her own gun—an all-business Sig—kept the Glock pointed at Seleena. The pink was growing on her.
She picked up some zip ties, tossed them onto Seleena’s lap. “Do your ankles to the legs of the chair. Then your left hand to the left arm.
“We’ll have some coffee, a little bite to eat, and talk about how we’ll set this up. Your makeup’s faded off and smeared, and your hair’s a wreck. But don’t worry, I’ll fix you up. I’m good at hair and makeup, trust me.”
* * *
While Patricia made coffee, Reed dealt with the incident of the paint, calmed the shopkeepers, worked things out with the clumsy painter—barely out of his teens and terrified he’d lose his job or get arrested.
On the walk back with his canine deputy, Barney started to squat on the sidewalk.
“Don’t you do it!” Risking his jeans, Reed grabbed the dog up, quickened his pace. Barney shook, lapped nervously at Reed’s chin.
“You just hold that in. Just hold it.”
He rushed into the station, startling Donna and the human deputies. “I need an evidence bag. Fast!”
Matty leaped up with one. “What is it?”
“Town Ordinance 38-B.”
Matty rolled her eyes as Reed ran back out. “Scoop the poop,” she told Cecil.
Reed set Barney down on the grass behind the station.
“Now you can go.”
Since the dog looked anxious and bewildered, Reed walked him back and forth on the grass.
“She’s pissed. She didn’t kill me, and worse yet, I put a hole in her somewhere. And because of that she had to run. Shot her own grandmother right off her walker. Imagine that.”
Barney sniffed dubiously at the grass.
“So she didn’t inherit that big house. Worth an easy million and change right there. And everything in it? A lot more change. Add frozen bank accounts. She’d already skimmed plenty there, but there was plenty more.
“Yeah, I cost her, and that burns her psycho ass. Psycho,” he repeated, looking across to shops, eateries, some with apartments above them that he knew the owners rented out to summer workers.
“That’s a big part of it. She always got her way before me. Her brother screwed things up, but he’s her brother, and blood’s thicker, right? But before me, she hit all her targets. A hundred percent success rate, and she was just getting started.”
Rolling it around in his head, he stopped walking. “I didn’t just knock down her batting average, right? I cost her a fricking fortune she, in her psycho brain, figured she’d earned. It’s like I stole it from her. And I hurt her. I made her bleed. She’s been breaking down since, that’s what’s happening.”
He thought back, the look on her face when he’d fired at her—the shock and fear. More, he thought, the sound of her voice as she’d screamed at him, and ran.
Insult and tears as much as fury and fear.
“I always knew she’d be pissed, and want another try at me. But sending the card? She wants to make sure I don’t forget her. She wants to make me feel what she felt, that shock, that fear. But that’s a mistake. Once you make a mistake, it’s easier to make the next.”
Barney whined, tugged on the leash.
“It’s the grass or nothing. She mailed that before she left Florida. She mailed it fresh off a kill, feeling full of herself. She’ll be heading north, that’s how I see it. Maybe not all the way back, but coming this way.”
He looked down at the dog. “We’ll be ready for her.”
In answer, and looking apologetic, the dog squatted.
“Now, that’s how it’s done.” When he finished, Reed gave Barney a good rub. “Looks like we both worked things out. That’s a good boy. That’s what I’m talking about. Too bad I can’t teach you to clean up after yourself, but that’s what partners are for.”
Back inside, bag or no bag, he scrubbed his hands, then went out to the bullpen. “Donna, I need you to call Nick and Leon in.”
“What for?”
“Because I need to talk to everybody.”
He went into his office for the file he kept there, just in case. He took out Patricia Hobart’s photo.
“Cecil, I need you to make copies of this—the full-color ones.”
“How many?”
“Start with fifty.”
“‘Fifty’?” Cecil blinked. “That’ll take awhile.”
“Then you’d better get started. Donna, the feds are coming in. I know your stand on it, but I’d appreciate if you’d make a pot of fresh coffee when they do.”
“I’ll make an exception. Leon and Nick are on their way.”
“Good. You take calls as they come in, but anything that isn’t urgent waits for a response until after the briefing.”
He sat down across from Matty. “Give me your opinion on the summer deputies. On who can handle more trouble than fender benders and spilled paint.”
“You’ve read their files, you’ve talked to some of them.”
“I have, and did, and I’ve got my opinion. Now I want yours.”
She frowned, but she gave it. He nodded, then stood as Leon came in.
“We got a problem, boss?”
“Not yet. Take a seat, Leon.” He went to take one of the photos Cecil had run off, and as Nick came in, pinned it to the main board. “Have a seat, Nick. Cecil, that’s enough for now. Finish it after the briefing. I want everybody to take a good look at this picture. You’ll all have copies, and we’re going to distribute some around the village, to the rental agencies, to the ferry personnel. This is Patricia Hobart, age twenty-eight. So far she’s killed ten people, that we know of. Add an attempted on me.”
Though he figured they knew the history, at least most of the particulars, he ran through it anyway. He wanted it fresh, and he wanted them to hear it from him.
“She sent me this today.”
Out of his file, he took an evidence bag containing the card, the envelope, the lock of hair. “I’ll be turning this over to the FBI when they get here.”
“Bullshit on that,” Matty grumbled. “They’ve been after her for damn near a year, and they’ve got nothing.”
“We don’t know what they have, or how close they’ve come, because they’re not telling. That’s how it works.” He set the file aside, opened another. “This is my file—our file—with a copy of the card, the envelope, and a couple strands of the hair I’m going to have run. I’ve got contacts. We’re going to cooperate fully with the FBI, but that doesn’t mean we sit on our hands.
“She’ll come here sooner or later,” he continued. “Simone Knox was in that mall, too. She’s another target, and as the first nine-one-one caller, I believe a prime one. As of today, we’re going to start regular patrols by CiCi’s house. We’re going to sit on the dock, watch who gets off the ferry. I’m going to bring two of the summer deputies on now to help with that.”
“She uses disguises,” Matty said.
“She does, and she’s good at it. So get that photo of her in your head. Don’t let yourself be thrown off by hair color, hairstyle, eye color, glasses, or subtle changes to facial structure, body type. She’ll be alone. She’ll need to rent a place, take some time to study the routines. She’ll be armed, and she’s damn sure dangerous. I need islanders warned, and for you to make it absolutely clear they are not to approach, not to confront. If she goes into the market for supplies, they ring her up, wish her a good day, then they contact us. She isn’t looking to hurt anyone but me and Simone, but that won’t stop her if she’s cornered.
“It’s an island,” he added. “When she comes, she’s boxed in. It’s our island. We know it better than she does. She’s patient. She may come next week, or she may wait another two years.”
But he didn’t think she’d wait long. He didn’t think she could.
“None of us can get complacent, because she will come.”
He stopped as the door opened, and Xavier walked in—with a female colleague.
“Donna, I’d sure appreciate that coffee.”
“Sure thing, Chief.” She gave Xavier the evil eye as she went to the break room.
“Agents.” Reed gestured to his office.
* * *
The female agent wore a black suit, white shirt, practical shoes. Reed judged her as an athletic early forties with dark brown hair cut short—practical like the shoes—and minimal makeup on an attractive face with serious brown eyes.
Reed figured she probably ranked as much of an asshole as Xavier. Until she smiled at the dog.
“Isn’t he sweet?”
“He’s shy around people,” Reed explained as Barney burrowed under his desk. “Somebody dumped him on the island—after abusing him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. My sister rescued a mixed breed under similar circumstances. She’s the best dog in the world now.”
“We’re not here to exchange dog stories.”
The woman sent Xavier a short stare, then held out her hand to Reed. “Special Agent Tonya Jacoby, Chief.”
“Thanks for coming.” Since he liked her a great deal better than Xavier already, he offered her the evidence bag. “It came in this morning’s mail.”
Jacoby snapped on gloves, unsealed the bag. “Your photos came through clear,” she began.
“And this contact, the threat therein, makes it only more imperative that you back off.”
Reed barely flicked a glance at Xavier. “Since that’s not going to happen, and there’s no point in going over the same ground as yesterday, let’s try this: I’ve briefed my deputies.”
“The last thing we need is a bunch of armed yahoos shooting at shadows.”
Reed got slowly to his feet. Jacoby started to speak, but he beat her to it. “You want to take potshots at me, you go ahead. But you watch what you say about my officers. You’ve been invited here today. You can be uninvited just as easy.”
“This is an FBI investigation.”
“Special Agent Xavier, why don’t you take a walk?” Jacoby’s stare turned longer, harder. “Take a walk.”
He strode out—and once again slammed the station door behind him.
“Are you in charge now?” Reed asked her.
“As a matter of fact. I was brought in on this investigation just last week. He’s not happy about that, which may account for his behavior yesterday. I caught the drift of it from his report. I’ll apologize.”
“No need.”
Donna came in with coffee—a pot, mugs, the fixings on a tray. He didn’t know they had a tray.
“Thanks, Donna.”
“Yes, thanks.” Jacoby added a dollop of milk to her coffee, sat. “Let’s talk.”
He spent thirty minutes with her and, when they shook hands again, felt better about things.
After she left, he finished the briefing with his team, took questions, answered.
“Special Agent Jacoby, now the SAC on the Hobart investigation—”
“Did they can that dick?” Leon asked.
“He’s still on the investigation, but no longer the Special Agent in Charge.”
“At least somebody in the FBI’s not a total idiot,” Matty decided.
“Since Jacoby didn’t strike me as any kind of idiot, I’m going to say there’s more than one. She informed me they’re following up a lead in Tennessee. Memphis. If that pans out, we may be able to put this to bed. But until we do, I want those patrols, and an eye on the ferry. My partner and I will be in rotation.”
“‘Partner’?” Matty asked.
Reed patted the dog’s head. “Deputy Barney. He’s one of us now.”
* * *
In the cabin, with her laptop streaming Fox News in case anything broke she needed to know, Patricia redid Seleena’s makeup.
“You take care of your skin,” she said as she applied foundation. “Me, too. My mother let herself go. I mean hag time, especially after they killed JJ. But even before, she didn’t fix herself up. I wouldn’t’ve blamed the old man for screwing around on her or giving her a smack now and then, but he was such an asshole.
“I’m going to use a neutral palette on your eyes. Classy, professional. Close them.”
Engage, Seleena ordered herself. Connect. “Did he hit you, too?”
“Barely noticed me, so he couldn’t be bothered. I got fat—that’s her fault, too. Always bribing me with candy and cookies, and letting me eat bags of chips. He called me ‘Tub O Lard,’ ‘Tubbo’ for short.”
“That’s cruel.”
“Didn’t I say he was an asshole? I got bullied in school, did you know that?”
She had to draw back before she messed up her work. Seleena’s eyes popped open.
“But I’m getting ahead of myself. Close your eyes, keep them closed until I tell you otherwise.”
She closed her eyes, kept them closed. Listened. She heard the crazy, oh God, she heard it. And the bitterness, and worse. God, worse, the cold dispassion when she talked about doing her mother a favor by killing her.
“They— The police classified that as an accident.”
“Because I’m just that good, girl. Loopy, whiny old bitch made it easy, but you have to be good. Open your eyes.”
Seleena opened them, tried to mask the fear.
“Oh yeah, I’m good. Close again. You know, I learned all about makeup and hair, skin care, all of it, on the Internet. YouTube because my mother taught me nothing about nothing. I’ve got an IQ of a hundred and sixty-four, and I sure didn’t get it from her or dear old dad. Open,” she said, beginning to brush and blend liner on the bottom of Seleena’s eyes. “You’re used to having your makeup done.”
“Yes.”
“I do my own. I do everything myself because I’m smart. JJ wasn’t stupid, but he wasn’t very smart, either. I used to do some of his homework and assignments for him, even after those asshole parents of ours tore us apart. They shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, they shouldn’t have. That was cruel, too, and selfish.”
“You’re damn right! JJ’s the one who taught me how to shoot because the old man couldn’t be bothered with me. Look down while I do your lashes. Not that much!”
“Sorry.”
“He was good with guns, but I was better there, too. He didn’t mind. JJ was proud of me. He loved me. He was the only one who did. And they killed him.”
“You must miss him.”
“He’s dead, what’s the point? He knew I was smart, but he didn’t listen to me, went off half-cocked. Get it? Guns, half-cocked.”
Trying to read the eyes boring into hers, Seleena let her lips curve, just a little. “That’s a good one.”
“I can be funny when I want to be. I don’t get to talk to people much, and never as myself. I have to talk to fuckheads when I’m stalking a target, but that’s not me. I’m on the inside then, and only show the outside they expect. You’re lucky, because you get to see inside.”
“It’s been hard for you, to keep yourself inside.”
“I had to do it for years, goddamn years in that mausoleum with those dried-up, whiny grandparents. ‘Oh, I’ll do that, Gram. Don’t worry about that, Grandpa, I’ll clean it up.’ They just wouldn’t die and leave me alone. Nobody would’ve put up with their shit as long as I did. The eyes look good.”
She studied her kit, chose a blush, a brush.
“They said terrible things about JJ, especially after he was dead. Terrible things, and I had to hold myself back from just slicing their throats. Maybe he wasn’t very smart, maybe he didn’t listen to me, but they shouldn’t have said those terrible things about him.”
“Their own flesh and blood,” Seleena said.
“They said he was sick, defective, even evil. Well, they paid for it, didn’t they? Not enough, but they paid. He just didn’t listen to me, that’s what happened.”
“You tried to stop him.”
Patricia eased back, studied the blush, approved. “We’ll polish that off,” she said and reached for translucent loose powder.
“I would’ve stopped him if I’d known he’d upped the time line. I still had some details to work out. And what does he do, he hits in July, when too many people are on vacation or whatever. It was supposed to be December, holiday crush. He’d have taken out twice as many. More, and I’d have worked out the escape route by then.”
“You would have?”
Patricia tipped her head from side to side, lifted Seleena’s with fingertips under the chin. “You look good. Classy professional, as promised. Want a cold drink?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
She rose, walked over to the kitchen. “I’ve got Diet Coke, water, V8 Splash.”
“The Diet Coke would be great, thanks. A little caffeine boost before we start recording.”
“Good idea.” She uncapped the bottle, poured some over ice in plastic cups. “Now, what were we talking about?”
She came back, handed Seleena the cup. “Right. JJ. Haven’t I been telling you he wasn’t really that smart? You don’t think he and those two idiot friends of his came up with all that? DownEast was my idea, my plan, and it would’ve worked if they’d waited for me to tweak the details.”
“You … planned the attack?”
“Thought it up, planned it out, stole Grandpa Shit-for-Brains’ credit card long enough to order the vests, the helmets.” She tapped a finger to her temple. “I let them give JJ credit as the mastermind up till now. We’re going to change that, you and I. Anyway.”
She lifted her own cup, sipped. “You’re set, except for lips. I’ll do them right before we start. I’m going to do my makeup now, and change into my on-camera wardrobe. It’ll take a little while. I want to look good, then we’ll get this party started. You think of some good questions, Seleena. I’m counting on you.”