Into the Night(40)

He stared straight at her. What does she see when she looks at me? “I don’t like your games,” he snarled.

“No, what you don’t like is that I’m better at profiling than you are.” Even though the voice was robotic, smugness still rang through those words. “Daniel was ‘the Doctor,’ Patrick was ‘the Pyro’ and...dumbass Curtis didn’t have a fun name, but I think I deserve one, don’t you? How about you tell the press to call me ‘The Profiler’? Because that’s what I fucking am.”

“No, you’re a killer,” Macey said, stepping forward. “You’re a man who enjoys the terror he causes, but you want to justify what you’re doing. You want to make your murders right so you’re targeting the people you think are dangerous, expendable, you—”

“I wasn’t the one who murdered Curtis. In fact, I fed him. I gave him water. I even kept him tied up so he wouldn’t hurt anyone. What the fuck more did you want from me? For me to put a red bow on his forehead?” There was a crackle of static and what sounded like...was that a train horn in the distance? There were no train tracks near the station. “I’m guessing he pissed you off, huh, Bowen? What did he do? Did he use that knife of his on your pretty partner?”

Macey’s eyes had narrowed. Had she heard that train, too?

“Not the first time a knife has cut into her skin,” the caller mused. “Won’t be the last, either.”

Bowen nearly crushed the damn phone. “You aren’t threatening her.”

Laughter.

And then—

The line went dead.

The door flew open. “Searched...searched the whole station,” Harwell panted. His chest rose and fell as he sucked in deep breaths. “Had my men...span out. He’s not here.”

Bowen hadn’t really thought he was, but he’d still needed that checked.

Macey had her phone at her ear. “The FBI is tracking him... They say...” She listened for a moment. Then her lips thinned. “He’s tapped into the phone lines here, but they caught him this time... He isn’t here. Routing his call, pinging towers, jumping all over. He’s—” Her eyes widened as she listened. “Got him! Five miles away. They have the address. Come on!”

And then they were racing out of the office and out of the police station. Bowen jumped into the SUV with Macey while Harwell and two of his men rushed into their patrol cars. Macey gave him directions and Bowen hauled ass to get to the scene. And as he approached...he saw the train tracks.

You bastard. You think you’re so smart, don’t you?

“Here,” Macey said. “Stop here!”

He slammed on the brakes and jumped out. In the distance, he could see the light from the train as it chugged away. They were at an old building, a closed gas station that appeared to have been boarded up for years. Bowen and Macey pulled out flashlights as they began to search the scene. And there, right next to the filling pump, he found the phone on the ground.

He picked it up and ice filled his veins. There was a picture on that phone’s screen.

The picture was of Macey.

Not the first time a knife has cut into her skin. Won’t be the last, either.





CHAPTER NINE

MACEY STARED OUT at the night. She was back in her rented cabin, back in the loft, and the place was snug and warm, but she couldn’t seem to shake the chill from her bones.

She’d showered. Changed. Gotten the blood off her skin. When she’d put her hands on Curtis’s chest, his blood had pumped between her fingers so fast. She’d known she couldn’t save him, but she’d still tried.

She always had to try.

She skirted around the pool table and her hand lightly pushed a few of the balls. They rolled across the table and she watched them, oddly soothed by their movements. Bowen was downstairs. Sleeping?

Maybe. He’d been silent when they came back to the cabin, but she’d felt his fury all around her. The picture...the picture of her had sent him into a cold rage. It had been a picture taken recently—taken of her when she’d been coming out of the ME’s office in North Carolina.

The perp had been watching her there. She had the feeling that he’d been watching them for a very long time.

There had been other pictures on the phone. Shots of her and Bowen arriving in Hiddlewood. Images of Daniel...after he’d been killed. Photos of the ME in North Carolina, Sofia Lopez. Shots of Sheriff Burt Morris.

The perp had been watching them all. Keeping close tabs on their investigation.

Another component that made him an organized killer. Killers of his type often liked to get up close to the investigation; sometimes, they would even try to insert themselves into the investigation. They’d go back to the scene of the crime, hang around the police station, lurking in the shadows...

Exactly what he’s doing.

Macey heard the groan of the stairs and her shoulders tensed. A faint creak came a moment later and then she saw Bowen’s head at the top of the stairs.

So he hadn’t just gone to sleep.

He’d come to her.

It’s night now. We’re alone. Does he remember the deal?

She turned toward him, letting the back of her body brush against the pool table. The ball slipped from her hand and rolled across the table.

Bowen had showered, too, and his hair was still wet. He wore a pair of jogging pants that hung low on his hips. He paused at the top of the stairs and his gaze seemed to drink her in. The lights were on in the loft, burning so brightly, because maybe...maybe she’d had enough darkness for that day.