Into the Night(8)

They’d traveled down an old, winding graveled drive to get to the place. And now...

The sheriff appeared in the doorway. His grizzled face was grim and the star on his chest gleamed dully in the light. When he saw her, he tensed a bit, and then his gaze slid behind her to Bowen.

“FBI Special Agents...Night and Murphy, right?” he said. He offered his hand to them. “I’m Sheriff Burt Morris.”

Macey shook his hand. She could feel his calluses beneath her touch. His shake was strong, but not too hard.

He briskly shook hands with Bowen, then said, “I never seen anything like this in all my whole life.” A Southern twang slipped in and out of his words. “And before I retired up here, I worked homicide in Atlanta. But this... Jesus H. Christ. How does someone decide to do this to another human being?”

Daniel’s motivations were still shrouded in mystery. Macey still didn’t know exactly why he’d one day switched from saving victims to killing them.

Morris ran a hand over his face. “You two are the ones who study these guys, right? Take a look and tell me how a person could do that shit. Tell me how. Tell me why.”

Macey squared her shoulders and hurried inside. Her gaze swept over the small living room, and she saw what looked like some kind of makeshift medical office. There were rows and rows of medicine bottles, some medical instruments, even an exam chair.

Was he practicing off the grid? Setting up a practice out here, out of his damn home? A practice and a torture parlor—all in the same place.

“Bedroom,” Morris said from behind her, his voice cracking a bit. “Go in there, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She could smell the odor coming from that room. The distinct scents of blood and death weren’t easy to miss.

The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet. She lifted her chin as she entered the room, squared her shoulders and prepared to find another woman, cut, tortured but—

The Doctor.

Macey took two steps inside the bedroom before she froze.

There was blood. There was so much blood. It was on the ceiling. On the walls. The victim had been restrained, but not on top of an operating room table, as was Haddox’s MO. Instead, the victim in that back bedroom had been tied to the four-poster bed. Thick ropes were around the victim’s wrists and ankles.

There were wounds on the victim’s arms. Long slashes from wrists to elbows. There were deep cuts on the victim’s face. On the torso. Horrible, deep abrasions. But...

“That’s fucking him, isn’t it?” Bowen’s whisper. His breath blew lightly against her ear and she could only nod.

They weren’t looking at a female victim. They were staring at a male who’d been horrifically tortured before death.

And Macey knew the victim in that bed. The man who’d been murdered...the man who had been a helpless victim, who’d known pain and anguish in his last moments.

That man was the notorious Doctor.

She was staring at Daniel Haddox. The killer she’d been so desperate to find was right in front of her. Only...

Someone else found him first. And that someone had made absolutely certain that Daniel would never kill again.

Goose bumps rose to cover Macey’s skin, and she couldn’t look away from the dead man on the bed.





CHAPTER TWO

SHE STOOD IN front of the motel room door. Door number seven at a small, no-tell-motel-type place. The paint on the door was chipped. The light to her right kept flickering, and Macey knew she should turn around and walk away. Her room was right next door. She was in room number eight. She should go back inside number eight, shut her door and stay in for the night. That was what she should do.

But Macey knew that she wasn’t going to leave. She couldn’t. So she lifted her hand and she banged against that door. Lucky seven. As if anything had been lucky. The night air was brisk, sending a chill over her skin as she waited, and a moment later—

The door opened. Bowen stood there, his hair slightly mussed and a five o’clock shadow on his jaw. “Macey? Has something happened?” His dark gaze darted over her shoulder. “Did the sheriff learn anything new?”

“Not yet.” She’d been at the crime scene for hours, unable to tear herself away, and Bowen had been right with her. They’d made sure there were no slipups at the scene. The Doctor was dead, apparently killed within the past twelve hours judging by the body’s lividity. His victims finally had justice.

So why doesn’t it feel that way?

“May I come in?” she asked when Bowen continued to stand in the doorway.

He blinked and stepped back. “Right, yes, of course.” He motioned for her to come into his room. Like the room next door, her room, the place was small but clean. Clean enough, anyway. Two double beds were in the motel room, and a nightstand was situated between them.

She stared at the nearest bed for a moment.

“Uh, Macey? You all right?”

No, I am far from all right. “I thought we’d put him in jail. I thought we’d catch him and we’d lock him up. He’d go to court, the judge would find him guilty and Daniel would never hurt anyone again.” Because he’d be locked away for the rest of his life. Caged.

Silence. The kind that stretched too long.

She looked back over her shoulder and found Bowen’s dark gaze on her. His blond hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it and faint stubble covered his hard jaw.