Hide and Seek (Criminal Profiler #1)(61)

Her grip on her gun eased and the sounds outside faded. She felt herself drifting. Once, her eyes snapped open, but then they quickly drifted closed. Just five minutes. Five minutes to rest her eyes and give the ibuprofen a chance to work.

In the distance a young girl called out to her. She didn’t recognize the voice.

“Who is it?” she asked.

Silence.

Her fingers brushed the grip of her weapon. “Who is it?” This time she was on guard and in no mood to play guessing games.

“I need your help.”

The voice was a soft whisper but loud enough now for her to make out the words.

“I need your help. I’m lost.”

“Who are you?” Macy asked.

“It’s dark and black and I’m afraid.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who you are.” Macy’s training kicked in, and she began ticking through her list of priorities. Identify subject. Ascertain danger.

“Help me.”

Ahead, Macy saw the outline of a woman. Long hair brushed the edges of broad shoulders. Macy moved toward the woman, but no matter how many steps she took, she couldn’t seem to reach her.

“Identify yourself,” Macy said.

The thump of Macy’s heart filled the silence, and she was about to repeat her request when the woman whispered, “I used to be Cindy Shaw.”

In the distance a ringing yanked Macy out of the haze.

Her eyes popped open and she sat up, her hand on her weapon as she looked around the room. The chain on the lock was in place. The phone rang as traffic rumbled by the motel outside.

She sat still, and her heart rate settled as she glanced toward the red digital letters of the bedside clock: 9:01 p.m. She had been asleep for only twenty minutes.

“You know what, Cindy? If you want my damn help, you’re going to have to do better than screwing with my sleep.”

She fished her phone from her pocket. “Special Agent Macy Crow.”

“It’s Nevada. We found Debbie Roberson.”

Macy rubbed her forehead, trying to clear her head. In her other dreams, she’d had conversations with her father, brother, and one with her adoptive mother. They’d all been people she’d known, and each could be explained away by old memories being rechanneled in a brain that was still rewiring itself. But whatever she’d just experienced had been different.

She cleared her throat. “Is she dead?”

“According to Deputy Bennett, she’s alive and well and at the station right now. Want a ride?”

She’d been wrong about Debbie. Was she also wrong about Cindy Shaw? Jesus. Her thoughts used to be so linear. She never had crazy dreams. She followed hard evidence and not feelings. “I’ll be out front in fifteen minutes.”



Ninth graders didn’t mix with senior football players, but Matt had his chance to run with the big dogs. He sat in the back seat of Tyler Wyatt’s new red truck, sandwiched between the meaty shoulders of Doug and Benny Piper. Deke Donovan rode shotgun in the front seat next to Tyler.

The headlights of Tyler’s truck cut across the Wyatt barn’s aged wood and the yellow crime scene tape floating in a breeze. Excitement glowed from Tyler’s eyes when he glanced into the rearview mirror and caught Matt’s expression. “You sure you want to do this?”

Matt puffed his chest, trying to forget the promise he’d made to his mother. “Sure, why not?”

“Aren’t you afraid of what your mommy will say if you get caught?”

Matt wasn’t stupid. He knew Tyler and the boys saw him as their Get Out of Jail Free card. If they got caught trespassing at the Wyatt barn and nosing around a crime scene, they were counting on his mom going easy on them.

“I’m not afraid.” That was a lie. He was nervous. But he wanted to prove to the guys they didn’t need to keep him at arm’s distance because of his mother.

“Then let’s go inside,” Tyler said.

A cold wind chilled his skin when he got out of the truck. The lights of the truck shining behind them, the five boys walked toward the barn. Tyler ripped off the crime scene tape, balled it into a loose knot, and tossed it aside.

Inside the barn, the headlights illuminated the dismantled shaft. For a moment none of the boys spoke as they took in the scene. “I popped Amy Meadow’s cherry here,” Tyler said. “And to think Tobi was watching us the whole time. Maybe I should tell Amy. Be fun to see her expression.”

As the other boys laughed, Matt chuckled, too, but he felt no joy. Being here didn’t feel right.

Tyler picked up a loose board and whacked it hard against the shaft. The brittle wood split up the center, and a large section fell to the dirt floor. He handed the board to Matt. “Now it’s your turn.”

Matt took the stick and cocked it like a baseball batter.

“Go on, hit it,” Tyler said.

“It feels kind of wrong,” Matt said.

“Wrong? What’s wrong about it?” Tyler asked.

“I don’t know. A girl died here.”

“It’s not like you’re hurting her, unless maybe you’re afraid her ghost is going to get you.”

The other boys goaded Matt until finally he swung and hit the shaft. Another large section of wood splintered and fell into the dust.