Deadly Fear (Deadly #1)(51)

“I’m getting the techs to use the satellites to try and track the GPS in the phone now.”

He’d trash the phone. She had no doubt of that. “I want to know every call this number has made.” There’d been no hits on Laura’s cell. The bastard had just called her, no one else.

“They can’t find a link…” Kim’s tight voice. “It’s not online. No echoes, no triangulation… the damn thing is gone.”

And the FBI’s tracking equipment was state of the art. They could use their satellites to track a cell within fifty feet of its location in just moments. She exhaled slowly. Dammit. “Keep trying, and if you find anything, let me know.” She ended the call and glanced down at her watch. Time was running out. “We’ve got to hurry.”

“Why, Monica, what’s happening?” Luke demanded. “What did Sam say?”

“Our killer took some souvenirs from his crimes.” She knew her smile wouldn’t be pretty. “He’s using the vics’ phones to taunt us.” Asshole. But he’d just had to make sure she knew…

He was still hunting.


Samantha Kennedy stepped off the plane. Not the fancy, private one usually reserved for the SSD. Ramirez had taken it because there was a serial rapist on the hunt in Bloomington, Indiana.

The FBI had pull, though, and she’d gotten a seat on the first flight down to Mississippi. She hadn’t been able to fly in straight to Jasper. She’d had to go via Gulfport, one of the bigger airports in the state. Now she’d have a long drive ahead of her.

She hefted her carry-on over her shoulder, glancing around. Okay, Hyde had woken her up with his order to fly down here. He’d assured her that someone would be there to meet her at the airport. Maybe it would be Monica or that sexy new agent who made her blush way too much and—

“Ms. Kennedy?”

She pushed her glasses back a bit on her nose and turned to the right. A crowd was in her way, folks milling past as they hurried to get their luggage. But behind the bodies, she caught sight of a deputy’s brown uniform with a gleaming silver star. Ah, my ride. She hadn’t seen the guy’s face yet, not with all those people blocking her. If only I had about four more inches. But being short—well, she’d learned to deal with it.

“Samantha Kennedy?” he called again.

Sam hurried toward him. “Yep, that’s me.” She didn’t get out on many field assignments. Hyde liked to keep her chained to her computer. But since Sheriff Davis believed their serial killer had been eliminated, Hyde thought it was safe to send her out. Finally. She’d been trained for this job, and for months, she’d wanted to prove that she could handle herself. She was an FBI agent, just like Monica and Kenton. She could do the job. Time to show her boss that fact.

The deputy bent down, his hat shielding his face, and reached for her bag.

“Aw, thanks, I really appreciate—”

He stumbled against her, apparently tripping on the luggage. “You okay?” His arms wrapped around her. Too tight.

Something pricked her. A sharp jab, right near her neck. Sam blinked and then staggered a bit.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, pulling her close. “I’ve got you.”

She tried to open her sagging eyelids. Tried to see him. “Something… wrong…” The words came out slurred because her tongue was thick and awkward in her mouth.

“No, Samantha.” A whisper in her ear. “Everything’s just fine.”

They were walking. His arms were around her. Heavy and hard. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t see. Was something wrong with her glasses? No, no, her glasses were gone, and everything seemed too blurry.

“Yeah, baby, I missed you, too…” His voice. Too loud. Why would he say that? What—

Her knees buckled. He lifted her. Put her—what? When had they gotten to the parking lot? Because she could feel a car seat under her legs. A door slammed.

She fumbled, trying to find the door handle. She needed to get out. Something was wrong. She was sick.

He hit her. Actually punched her in the face. “Stay with me, bitch.” And fear bloomed beneath the enveloping fog that had started to numb her mind and body.

She caught the flash of teeth. A big grin. “You’re gonna help me,” he said.

She tried to shake her head. Weapon… she needed to find—

“Poor little Sam.” An engine cranked. No, no, he was taking her away! And her eyes wouldn’t stay open.

“L-let… g-go…” was all she could manage. The words should have been a scream. But her whisper came out as a tangle of words.

He was whistling now. The tune was so clear and loud, echoing in her head.

Then, right before the darkness claimed her, she heard him say, “Tell me, agent, is there anything that scares you?”

You do.


“Davis, you can’t go on the air now!” Monica paced in front of the dead body, her hands clenched. “The serial is still out there! This guy,” she pointed toward the sheet. “He’s another victim.”

The ME’s lair was quickly filling up with victims. And Luke hated coming in there with the dead.

“Jeremy Jones has never been a victim a day in his life.” The sheriff’s foot tapped on the tile. “Not one day.”