Hide and Seek (Criminal Profiler #1)(25)

“Everyone knew her. She was wild. I heard she ran away. Why?”

“Just piecing together that year.”

Susan opened the front door. “Call me with updates.”

“I promise. We’re going to look around outside.”

“Sure.”

When Nevada and Macy stepped outside, the door had barely closed before the inside locks clicked back into place. Down the steps, she walked around the side of the house to the window of Susan’s old bedroom.

“He could have parked down the street,” Nevada said. “The night she was attacked was a nearly moonless one. If he were wearing black, he’d have been impossible to see. She’s about the same age as Ellis, and she lived with my aunt in a one-story house on a country road very similar to this.”

“He didn’t pick these women at random,” she said. “He chose them because they were vulnerable.”



The knit mask scratched against his face as he walked into his special room. He’d always worn the mask, first as a precaution but now because he knew it amped up the fear factor. He flipped on the lights.

She lay curled in a ball, and for a moment he thought he might have killed her. Strangling her unconscious had been the most effective way to get her quietly into the trunk of her car.

From there, he had driven two miles before he had reached his car. When he had opened the trunk, she had been rousing, but a syringe loaded with sedatives had knocked her out cold.

Transferring her to his car had been easy enough. Then all it had taken was a hard shove to send her car down into a ravine.

“I’m glad we’re going to have this time,” he said. “With you I can be myself. And it feels so good to be who I really am.” At the sound of his voice, she stirred slightly.

Time to play.

After locking the door behind him, he crossed the basement room and knelt beside her. To his relief, her breathing was faint, and when he touched her arm, she moaned softly. He rolled her on her back and jostled her shoulders until her eyes opened. Her expression quickly turned to fear. Good, she was coming around. No fun if she slept through most of his work.

She scrambled out from under him and pressed her back against the wall. “Please.”

He was satisfied with his taste in women. He could really pick them. “Please? Please, what?”

“Let me go,” she whispered. “I won’t tell.”

They all made meaningless promises of silence, loyalty, or acquiescence. How many women had begged him for their life and freedom? Their pleas invigorated him and made him feel strong.

Suddenly, he was impatient with the tired script played out so many times. He grabbed a handful of her dark hair and yanked her forward so that her face was inches from his.

Her breath caught, and her pulse thumped in her throat as tears rolled down her cheeks. The fear burning in her gaze offered him some hope that this could still be rewarding.

His erection throbbed, and a sharp rush of adrenaline cut through his body in the most exciting way. “I shouldn’t have waited so long to do this again. I forgot how much we both will love it.”

“Don’t hurt me.” Her eyes were wide and watery as the hoarse whisper crept over her lips.

He shoved her hard against the floor and was on top of her before she could scamper away. He wrapped his gloved hands around her slender white neck. She tried to pry his grip free, but she was no match.

He slowly squeezed. “It takes sixty seconds to strangle someone to death. It’s all I can do not to climax. One, two, three.”

“No,” she gasped as he kept counting.

“Eight, nine, ten. We’re almost there, sweetheart.”





CHAPTER TEN

Monday, November 18, 7:00 p.m.

Nevada called Jeb Turner and asked if he could visit again and also bring Macy. The man agreed, an iron determination humming under his weary sadness.

As he drove east of town, he noted Macy was alert and taking in the scenery as if committing it to memory. He pulled into another small enclave of homes tucked off a back road east of the interstate.

The yard was neatly trimmed and there was a large oak tree in the front yard, its near-naked branches barely clinging to a few orange and gold leaves. Tied to almost every branch was a yellow ribbon. Some were fresh and bright, some slightly worn, while others were so weathered and frayed they were little more than wispy, colorless strands.

The house was a one-story, white-brick rancher that backed up to a new housing development. The land for the development had been cleared six months ago, and at the time of Tobi’s disappearance, the property had been thickly wooded.

Out of the car, the two walked to the front door, and Nevada rang the bell. Inside, steady footsteps followed, and curtains covering the large picture window to their right flickered. The door opened to a lean, fit man in his late sixties. His face was deeply lined, but his hair was trimmed and his plaid shirt freshly pressed. Jeans and new athletic shoes completed a crisp appearance.

Recognition flickered in the man’s eyes when he saw Nevada. “Mr. Turner, you’ve had a lot to deal with, sir,” Nevada said. “May I introduce Special Agent Macy Crow?”

“I’m Jeb Turner,” he said, extending his hand.

“I am truly sorry for the reason behind our visit,” Macy said.

His nod was subtle; he was clearly trying to keep the pain in check. “Good thing you called before you came. The reporters have been hounding me for an interview, so I’ve stopped answering my door.”