Into the Night(20)

This is the place. Bowen flashed another quick signal to Macey. He’d go in first, and he knew she’d cover him. Bowen pulled the flashlight from his pocket even as he silently counted down. Three, two, one...

He went in fast, crouching low. He kept the flashlight above his gun as he swept the room, sending out the light to check the corners and the darkness, and he heard the faint rustle of Macey’s footsteps behind him. The scent of gasoline was even stronger inside the cabin. He glanced down and saw that the floors were...

“Wet,” Macey whispered.

Not from water, though, not based on that smell. Someone had soaked the place with gasoline.

Fuck. That was Patrick’s MO. He’d always poured gasoline all over the places where he kept his victims. On the floor, on the walls, on the furniture.

“Stay alert, Mace,” he rasped. She wouldn’t need the warning, of course, but, shit, he had to give it. This scene had nightmare written all over it. Bowen followed that trail, snaking down the narrow hallway and then turning right into a room at the back—

His light swept inside and fell on the slouched figure of the man in the chair. The guy’s head hung forward and Bowen could easily see the blood that dripped from his wounds. “Patrick,” Bowen said even as he rushed forward. His hand immediately went to the man’s throat.

Blood. Blood every-freaking-where. They’d arrived too late. Patrick was dead.

A rough exhalation escaped from Bowen as he stared at the man’s body. Jesus Christ. Burns covered him. His skin—what remained on his arms—was red and raw with oozing blisters. Blood had spilled down his shirt because the bastard’s throat had been cut. And the wounds in his head...

Bowen’s light slid over them. Patrick’s head was shaved, just like in Lydia’s picture, but there were two distinct wounds on his forehead. At first, Bowen thought those might be bullet wounds.

“Nails,” Macey said, and there was horror in her voice. “Just like with Daniel.”

Damn it. The press didn’t know about the nails. Their team had been careful not to leak that information. And for this guy to use them on Patrick Remus...

Same perp. We are absolutely looking at the same man who took out Daniel Haddox.

Shit, shit. It was—

Whoosh. He heard the sound and his blood iced. That whoosh of air was low and long and the very cabin itself seemed to tremble around them. He looked down at that stain of wet gasoline on the floor. It was a trail that led right to the dead man.

Patrick’s body was fucking soaked in gasoline. Dripping with it.

So when he heard that whoosh, Bowen didn’t stop to think. He just reacted. He grabbed Macey’s hand and he yanked her with him as they ran toward the window in the back of the room.

The fire was coming. The perp who’d killed Patrick? He’d set a trap for Bowen and Macey. He was burning the cabin down, sending the flames running through the whole place.

He was going to bury his victims in the flames—just like Patrick had done. His victims... Patrick. Macey. Me.

This SOB wants to take out FBI agents.

The window wouldn’t open. The damn thing had been nailed shut.

Organized killer. Planning, always two steps ahead...

Since the window wouldn’t open, Bowen just broke the glass. It shot outward as he used his gun to knock out more chunks. He could feel the flames heating the air, and Bowen was afraid the whole cabin would go down at any moment. Get Macey out. Get her to safety. Take care of Macey first.

He pushed her toward the window. “Go!” Smoke was already thick in the room. The flames—Shit, they are everywhere!

She coughed as she jumped through the window. He started to follow her, but Bowen glanced back.

The flames were destroying Patrick Remus.

“Bowen!” Macey shouted.

And those flames were coming for him.

He followed Macey through the broken window. There had been too much gasoline in that cabin. Too much. They ran together, rushing toward their vehicle, racing away from the scene—

The explosion seemed to rock the whole mountain. The blast’s impact came flying at Bowen. The force of it sent him surging into the air. He grabbed for Macey, trying to hold her tight and shield her. They hadn’t moved fast enough. They hadn’t gotten away in time.

I’m sorry, Macey.

Then he slammed into the ground.

*

HE COULD ALMOST understand why Patrick Remus had used fire. The flames were quite beautiful. And very, very powerful.

From the woods, he watched as the cabin exploded. The windows blew out, sending glass shards everywhere. Chunks of the roof flew into the sky. Burning wood littered the ground. And those flames just kept raging, destroying everything in sight.

The FBI agents had arrived and they’d done exactly what he wanted. They’d gone into the cabin. They’d stepped right into his trap.

And he’d sent the fire after them. Fire to consume Patrick. Fire to teach the agents a lesson.

No one is above my justice. The agents thought they were so good at hunting killers. Knowing them, from the inside out.

They knew nothing. He was the one with the answers. He was the one who could see the killers. And now, thanks to the work he’d done, everyone would be seeing him.

He backed away, knowing that he couldn’t linger. The agents had gotten out. He’d watched their frantic race to safety. Their escape hadn’t upset him. After all, it was what he’d wanted. He hadn’t intended for them to die in that cabin, but he had wanted to teach them a lesson. Maybe they’d have a few scars to help them remember this night.