Into the Night(30)

“Hate nails?” He did a double take and forgot Jonah Loxley for the moment.

“Each nail that you drive into the skull is supposedly a wish for ill luck to befall your enemy. It’s...it’s like a voodoo doll. Every nail is a bad wish. An ill thought.” Her shoulders straightened. “With that skull here in the city, we can’t overlook the connection. We need to see it for ourselves. The killer could have been inspired by it, and that could have made him use the nails as his—”

“Signature.” Yeah, Bowen got exactly where this was going. “So we had a budding serial on our hands, someone who’d learned to track other killers. He wanted to stand out, he needed a signature, and inspiration struck him.”

She nodded. “After our visit into the mountains and our chat with the rangers, I’ll arrange for us to get an after-hours view of the museum. And I’ll have the local FBI agents check out all the employees there.” But she still hesitated and he saw the worry in her eyes.

“What is it?”

Her head cocked to the right as she studied him. “It’s you.”

Now he was the one to close the distance between them. But he didn’t touch her. He wanted his hands on her, but they were working the case. And during the day...hands off.

“He called you, Bowen. And when he spoke to you, he didn’t address you as Agent Murphy. To him, you were Bowen.”

He’d noticed the same thing.

“You’re personal to him.”

“I’m a challenge. The asshole knows about my past.” He forced a shrug. “Nothing to worry about.”

But she touched him. Macey put her soft hand against his chest. “Liar.” She said the word almost as if it were a caress.

He looked down at her hand. He could feel the heat of her touch running straight through him.

“It’s personal,” she said again. “He called you. He taunted you. This guy is pitting himself against you, like a test to see who’s better.”

But better at what? Profiling? Or killing? As a rule, Bowen didn’t talk about his past. It was ugly and twisted because the things he’d done were ugly and twisted. At the time, the media had tried to make it look otherwise, but Bowen knew the truth.

He might lie to other people, but not to himself.

“I don’t like his focus on you.” Her voice had dropped. “He had your personal line, Bowen. He could have been watching you, for a very long time. And last night, that fire...maybe he did want to trap you inside. Maybe he wanted to kill you.”

“You think I’m one of his targets?”

She didn’t answer, but then, with Macey, her silence was an answer. He leaned in close to her. “Don’t worry. I know how to take care of myself.”

Before she could reply, the door swung open. Her hand was still on his chest, and he was still bent far too close to her. Captain Harwell stood in the doorway and surprise flashed on his face.

But Macey hurriedly stepped away from Bowen. “Captain, there have been some developments you need to hear about.”

Hesitant now, Harwell slowly entered the room. “This isn’t going to be news I want to hear, is it?”

Grimly, Bowen shook his head. “It looks like a serial may have been operating in your town.”

“Right, yeah, we know that. That’s the reason you’ve got a task force happening and my office is being swarmed by FBI agents—”

“No,” Bowen cut in, voice flat. “I’m talking about a serial who has been hunting in this area, undetected, for years.” Briefly, he went over his theory and the missing men.

But Harwell started shaking his head halfway through Bowen’s explanation. “No, they’re just lost hikers. It’s tragic, but it happens. We get several missing each year.”

“And that’s why you didn’t notice the killer.” Bowen was certain on this. “That’s why he slipped by undetected for so long. Because hikers do go missing, it happens, like you said. But these ten men...they’re all similar victim types. They stand out because the perp picked them specifically. They’re his targets.”

The captain paled. “You...you’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

His eyes squeezed shut. “The mayor will have a heart attack.”

“Then you’d better get him to a fucking doctor...because we’ve got victims out in those mountains. Ten of them, so far.”

*

HE WAS SO THIRSTY.

Curtis Zale licked his dry, busted lips, but the move did no good. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more than a few sips of water to drink.

Because the bastard is keeping me weak. Giving me just enough to live, but not enough water or food to get stronger.

His hands were tied behind him. His feet were roped to the legs of the chair. Roped and—no, don’t think about it. Not now.

He’d screamed until he was hoarse, but no one had come for him. No one had come to help him. His backpack was just a few feet away. Easy enough to see, but impossible to get. He had a knife in that pack. A knife, food...water. His whole damn life was in that pack.

If he could get to it, he could survive.

The SOB put it just out of my reach. He wanted to taunt me.

How long had it been since Curtis had seen the bastard? One day? Two?