Killman Creek (Stillhouse Lake #2)(18)

But I focus during the long hours that follow as lights flicker on and off inside the cabin, as the TV comes on and switches off. Leave, I beg the man inside, but that doesn’t happen. In my mind, I run through what we’d like to get out of this. A handwritten list of the real names of other Absalom hackers would be nice. Never happen, of course. But I’d settle for online handles, which we might be able to get the FBI to track. Sam’s friend in the Bureau could get us useful information. But at the very least, we’ve identified a suspect for Mike Lustig to grill. That has to count for something.

In the cabin, a radio is playing. Something low and quiet. Jazz, I think. Maybe it’s stereotypical, but I expected thrash metal for a hacker. Coltrane seems out of character, somehow. I only really notice because the music shuts off, and about a minute after, the light goes out in the front window. From where I kneel, I can’t see the side, but I can see the light that’s being cast out over the ground in a golden spray. I see when it, too, cuts out.

Our mark is going to bed. Finally. I check my phone for the time. It’s nearly two in the morning.

Sam is noiselessly rising to his feet, and I try to do the same. I’m athletic and strong, but creeping around in the dark forest isn’t among my particular skill sets. I just try not to do anything obviously stupid. He makes a throat-cutting gesture; he wants to punt this and try again tomorrow. We have to find a time when our man isn’t at home, to avoid any confrontations. I understand why, but it’s so frustrating to be so close and not get answers. Any answers.

You don’t want to hurt anyone, Gwen, I tell myself. That’s my better angels talking. My demons are telling me that I absolutely do, that I want to put a gun to this man’s head and demand to know what right he thinks he has to make my life, and the lives of my innocent children, a living hell. What kind of sick bastard takes the side of a cold-blooded psychopath who tortures and kills innocent young women? And gets paid for it?

I don’t want to leave. I want to go in there and ask. But I know that Sam is right, and I’m fiercely and terribly emotional about all this. I want my ex-husband dead, because every moment he’s out in the world is another moment he’s hurting people. And coming for my kids, and for me.

I force myself to agree with a nod to Sam that, yes, we will break off our approach and come back tomorrow.

A blur of movement catches my eye, and I snap my head to the right, in time to see a small rabbit break cover and race across the open space in front of the cabin. Behind it comes a black cat intent on its prey. Neither of them makes a sound. Life and death, happening right in front of us.

The fleeing rabbit is about a quarter of the way across the clearing when suddenly a light flares on, blindingly bright, aimed to illuminate the entire semicircle at the front of the house. Motion light. I drop back into my crouch, and I can see Sam doing the same. I’m mentally kicking myself for missing the fixture, but it was hard to see until it ignited like a ball of white fire; it’s set far back under the peak of the eaves, and when I raise a hand to try to block the glare, I think I can see that it’s contained behind some kind of wire mesh.

Won’t be easy to reach, disable, or fool.

The rabbit loses the race halfway across the yard. The cat pounces, and the rabbit makes a sound that’s eerily like a scream as it’s seized by the back of the neck. The little shriek cuts off when the cat viciously shakes it, biting down. Good, efficient murderers, cats.

Having killed it, the cat drops the limp bag of fur on the ground, bats it with a paw for a while, then strolls off. Leaves it where it lies.

I think of my ex.

The motion light clicks off again in another thirty seconds after the cat is gone, and I look over at Sam. He seems grim, studying the scene, and finally shakes his head. He’s thinking this cabin is a very bad place. It has an aura of—I don’t know how else to say it—darkness. I can imagine bad things being done here. I can almost feel the ghosts crowding around me. What has this faceless man done? Arden sure seemed terrified of him.

I wonder for the first time if our man is alone in this cabin. Does he share my ex-husband’s tastes? Does he have a captive in there? If we walk away, who else might we leave to suffer?

There is no good answer here. We’re in the wrong, legally; the info we have on this man is thin, and there’s no proof he’s done anything wrong. We’re trespassing. Maybe stalking, since we’ve been watching this place for hours. We still haven’t caught so much as a glimpse of the person who owns the place.

Something’s been nagging at me all this time, and now, suddenly, it goes from a whisper to a shout. He should have looked out.

The security light had flashed on. If he was that paranoid about people approaching, he should have looked out.

I tell myself that maybe he’s distracted, in another room, maybe on the toilet, but that still doesn’t make sense. The cabin isn’t that big. He still would have pulled the curtain, or opened the door and reactivated the security light to check the surroundings.

All those lights, coming on and going off since sunset. And it has a pattern. I see it now as I replay it in my memory.

It’s all on timers. Jesus. There’s nobody in there.

I could be wrong, of course, but I don’t care. Watching that rabbit die, seeing that spray of blood fly in the air as the cat shook it, makes me remember the pictures that this man sent to me, him or one of his slimy little friends. Pictures that dishonor the victims of my husband’s crimes, digitally map the faces of my children onto murder and rape victims, show them posed in degrading and horrible ways. This man is a coward. He hides out here in the wild and torments my family, and I am right here, and I’m not going to walk away without letting him know he’s not safe. Not from me. Not anymore.