Hide and Seek (Criminal Profiler #1)(92)

Her head rattling with pain, she looked up into the masked face of her captor. Carefully, he removed his gloves, tugging each finger free. He set the gloves aside and carefully traced the hollow of her neck with his index finger. She flinched. Memories of lying on her back in a cold field and struggling to breathe came back to her.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

Think like a cop. Focus on the facts. One day I will be a witness to this. I will survive.

Eyes, blue. Skin, Caucasian. Midthirties, maybe older. Fit. One hundred ninety to two hundred pounds. His nails were clean, neatly trimmed, and his hands free of calluses.

She inhaled, noting the perspiration scent of a man.

He wrapped his hands slowly around her neck, rubbing the underside of her jaw with his thumb. Slowly, he tightened his grip, twisting his hands. “One, two, three.”

Black jeans. Dark hoodie. Athletic shoes.

As his count grew higher, she struggled to pull air into her lungs as she tightened the muscles in her neck. This must have been what drowning felt like. Her brain fogged, and her gaze grew hazy as she gasped for air.

“I like a challenge. So brave, little Brooke. Just like the last time.”

The reference to the past was not lost on her, even though she was desperate to breathe. A gurgling sound rose up in her chest, and her lungs burned. Panic rushed her. She did not want to die. She still had so much left to do. She had a son to raise.

She stared at him until her gaze completely dimmed and she felt herself falling into the blackness. Her heartbeat thundered, slowed, and then stopped altogether.

Suddenly, the panic was gone. Her mind floated upward above her body and his reach.

Her next sensation was crushing pain in her chest. She drew in a deep, painful breath and awoke to find his face hovering inches above hers.

He’d brought her back from death.

“Not yet, Brooke,” he said softly. “Don’t leave me just yet. You’re a strong one. We can do this again and again.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Thursday, November 21, 9:00 p.m.

“No cowboy shit.”

Andy’s words replayed in Macy’s head as she stared into the reporter’s camera and microphone.

Macy reminded herself that Bennett had been missing fifteen hours, and if she were still alive, her life expectancy wouldn’t be long.

When Sullivan beckoned Nevada back to the office, she made her decision to act. She knew this was the kind of move that would not win her a place on the profiler’s team in Quantico. This move was going to find her permanently chained to an FBI department housed in a basement somewhere in Podunk, America. Of course, all this was assuming she still had a job.

“Special Agent Crow, do you have an update?” Stuart asked.

“Can you broadcast live if I have an announcement?” Macy asked.

“I can.”

“Perfect. Let me know when you’re ready.”

He raised his phone and turned on a social media live application. He nodded and then introduced her.

“Deputy Brooke Bennett was taken from her home last night. I believe her abduction is directly linked to Tobi Turner’s murder, the three rapes that occurred in Deep Run in the summer of 2004, and the disappearance of Cindy Shaw that same year.” She held up the sketch Spencer had made. “We are currently searching for a white male in his midthirties. He uses red rope to bind his victims, and when he is capable, he resorts to sexual assault. Though he is wearing a mask, there might be something familiar about the man’s eyes. One woman just came forward after hearing our last news conference, and I’m hoping there are more individuals out there who may know something about this man. If you have a neighbor or colleague who fits this description and you’ve noticed unusual behavior, contact the Deep Run sheriff’s office immediately.” She paused and focused on the camera. “I’ve done a profile of this individual. He thinks of himself as weak and inferior to other males and has a desperate need to prove he can win. He is most likely impotent and uses violence to compensate for his shortcomings.”

“Agent Crow, do you have any leads on his identity?”

“Several,” she said. “And we’re receiving more by the hour.”

Challenging this killer openly was the kind of action that would get his attention. With luck, he’d shift his focus from Bennett to her.

She answered several more questions and then turned back toward the station. Nevada was standing outside the door.

And he looked pissed.



He saw Macy Crow’s interview minutes after it aired. At first he was amused. Who did she think she was? Years had passed, and he’d never been caught. Did she think she’d show up in town and just catch him?

But there was something in her voice that grated on his nerves and forced him to watch it again. And again. The more he watched the replay, the angrier he got.

“Shit, she is just baiting you,” he said to himself. “Don’t fall for it. All the cops have is a lame sketch.”

“He thinks of himself as weak and inferior.”

Macy’s words echoed in his head.

He was not inferior. He could beat her anytime, anywhere.

“Dumb bitch.” She thought she was going to catch him. She thought she was in control. But he was in control.

He had the power!