Hide and Seek (Criminal Profiler #1)(101)

She didn’t respond. He pressed fingertips to her red and scratched throat. There was no pulse, and she wasn’t breathing.

“Hold on for me, Macy,” he said. He could not lose her again. He would not.

As two nurses and a doctor burst into the room, Nevada tipped Macy’s head back, cleared her airway, pressed his mouth over hers, and breathed.



Macy was floating in the pool she had swum in with her father when she was five years old. On that clear day, she had ignored her father’s warning to wait, and she had jumped into the ice-cold water. The instant her head had slipped below the surface, she had kicked her legs, but instead of rising to the surface, she had sunk. She had realized then she’d made a terrible mistake. Sunlight had glistened on the water’s surface above her, and all she could do was watch it slip farther away as she had sunk.

Like then, her body was weightless now. The rigidity had dissipated from her muscles. Her knee didn’t ache. She wasn’t worried about being an agent. She felt good. At peace.

She’d been here before.

And just like before, she knew she didn’t belong here, no matter how serene it felt. She wanted to be back in the sunlight. She wanted to feel the sun on her face, the challenges of life’s struggles, and love.

A hand reached into the water, and if she wanted to live, she would have to fight hard to reach it. She thrashed her legs and arms, determined to rise on her own. As she wrestled her limbs upward, the distant sounds of alarms blaring and Nevada shouting her name greeted her.

Nevada. She wanted life. And she wanted Nevada in that life.

“Clear!”

A jolt of electricity rocketed through her body, snapping through sinew and bone and propelling her upward. She kicked harder and felt her fingers skim the edge of the water. Her heart faltered. Beat once. And then stopped.

“Clear!”

Another shock rocketed through her heart. It beat once. Then twice. And then a steady, calm rhythm. A hand gripped her fingers and pulled her hard, yanking her into the light and the warm sun.

Macy sucked in a breath. Over and over she sucked air into her lungs, until she realized there were no more fingers wrapped around her throat. Her jaw ached and her ribs throbbed, but she was alive.

Nevada gripped her hand as he called her name again. “Macy! Look at me. Look at me.”

Bossy. He sounded so damn bossy.

The defibrillator’s high-pitched sound ramped up again, and she felt someone hovering beside her.

She pried open her eyes and was greeted by the blur of faces hovering over her. Her entire body ached, but she was so happy to be back. She angled her face toward Nevada. When she saw all the worry and relief colliding in his dark eyes, tears burned in her own.

The doctors prodded and poked her. A cold stethoscope pressed against her chest, and someone was thumping the vein in her right arm to start an IV line.

“Macy!”

“I’m back.” Her throat was raw and it hurt to talk. “Where’s Matt?”

“He’s fine. The doctors are with him.”

“He saved me,” she said.

“I know. The kid is amazing,” Nevada said.

The nurse again pressed a stethoscope to her chest and listened to the strong beat of her heart. “Do you know your name?”

“Macy Crow.” Her voice sounded rough and gritty.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” the nurse asked.

She squinted at the fingers inches from her face. “Three.”

A needle pricked her arm, and she felt the cool saline solution roll through the tube and into her vein.

“Let’s get her up,” a doctor shouted.

As she was hefted onto the padded gurney, her blouse lay open, her body exposed to everyone around her. There was nothing like coming back from the dead and then making an entrance.

Nevada shrugged off his jacket and covered her chest. She smiled up at him. As far as she was concerned, she could be in Grand Central Station with a parade of marines marching past.

She was alive.

And that was all that mattered.





EPILOGUE

Two Weeks Later

Macy stood in the living room of the house where Nevada and she had found Bennett. Forensic teams had collected hair, blood and fiber samples, and preliminary evidence that proved Beth Watson had been murdered here.

Crews were also searching the land outside the house. Kevin had coded at the hospital, and though the staff had tried to revive him, he’d died. His death left law enforcement with the task of piecing together his violent spree.

Bruce Shaw’s body had been the first to be discovered. Dumped in a ditch, it had been hastily covered with sticks and brush. The medical examiner had found a single gunshot wound to the head, which had matched Bennett’s testimony detailing the argument between Bruce Shaw and her attacker, as well as the sound of a gunshot.

Kevin and Bruce, as Ms. Beverly had said, were thick as thieves during their high school, college, and graduate school years. Kevin had saved Bruce from the trailer park, and from then on Bruce had been so grateful he’d have done anything for Kevin.

The casts of the tire impressions found at the park matched Kevin’s vehicle, and fingerprint evidence and handwriting analysis proved that Kevin Wyatt was the author of all the notebooks found in the house. Based on the meticulous notes in the journals, police suspected Kevin had stalked nearly one hundred women. The journals provided extensive details on each woman, including work patterns, recreational activities, friends, and lovers. Kevin’s financial records and old credit card receipts proved he had purchased gas in Baltimore and Atlanta on the same days women had disappeared there. Macy suspected he had murdered the women while visiting Bruce, and Bruce had helped him transport some of the bodies out to the country, where they could be buried in secret near the house.