Once they were back in the hotel room, Brantley found it impossible to sit still.
After they’d scarfed down sausage biscuits and knocked back lukewarm coffee, Brantley showered, dressed, then headed out to the parking lot while Reese finished up in the room.
His brain was going ninety miles a second, trying to process what Reese had theorized. And it made sense. So damn much sense. John Collins was in fact the brother he claimed to have. One person, two separate identities. Which meant—
He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, dialed JJ’s number. She answered on the first ring.
“Police reports,” he blurted. “Did these women file police reports?”
He remembered RT mentioning it, thinking it was worth following up on, but he hadn’t heard back from JJ on it.
“I told you to look at your email,” she blurted.
“JJ, did you find somethin’ or not?”
“Yes. God.” She huffed and he heard typing in the background. “Hold on.”
The call changed to speaker, the clacking of the keyboard getting louder.
“Here it is. And the answer is…”
He could hear her breathing, so he refrained from barking orders at her. He didn’t have time for the dramatics, but he reminded himself that wasn’t JJ’s fault.
“All four reported the same thing, and all out of the same precinct.”
“For?”
“Indecent exposure.”
“What?”
“Yep. How no one ever found this guy, I don’t know. There were numerous reports filed through the months. Not only by these women. Lots of others. Jody Henderson was the last one to file a report.”
“When was this?”
“October twentieth,” she said. “Exactly one month before she disappeared. She went into the station to do it. Said she saw a man during her morning run. He was … well, you can probably figure out what it was he was doing with his thingy hangin’ out.”
Thingy? Brantley shook his head, remained focused. “That’s the same thing Debbie Struthers reported.” He remembered seeing the police report Reese had taken a picture of.
“Correct.”
“And the others filed the same report?”
“They did,” she confirmed. “And get this, the complaints were filed exactly one month to the day before each of them went missing. November seventeenth of last year, then February eighteenth, June nineteenth, and October twentieth. Like I said, there were other reports filed, but not on those same days of the month. We’re thinkin’ he was waiting for reports filed on those days.”
“Well, we now know how they crossed paths with him.” That was something. As well as how he picked his victims.
“Yeah. At the lake. He set them up, then probably stalked them after that.”
“Jody’s husband didn’t mention it,” Baz said, his voice moving closer to the phone as he spoke. “Then again, maybe she didn’t mention it to him. From what he said, Jody was rather independent. Took care of things herself.”
“Maybe she didn’t want him to worry,” JJ mused.
Brantley agreed. And if any of these women had mentioned it to a friend or loved one, he doubted it would raise any red flags. A nuisance was what it was, something they would likely snicker about after the fact because some pervert was spankin’ it in public.
His cell phone beeped an incoming call. He glanced at the screen. Blocked number.
“Hey, JJ. Let me call you back,” he said before switching over. “Yeah. Walker.”
“Brantley Walker, I’ve been very interested in talking to the newest player of my game.”
He didn’t recognize the voice, but it was familiar.
“Game? What game are we playin’?”
“Hide-and-seek, of course. And I’m winning, Brantley Walker. I’m winning. You can’t find me.” The laugh that followed was almost childlike while the voice was deeper, like that of an adult.
“Who is this?”
“You don’t know me, but my brother told me about you. Said you might come looking for me. I think he’s scared of you, but I’m not. I’m not scared. I’m supposed to be careful,” he said in a singsong voice, another childlike giggle following.
“Who’s your brother?”
“Detective Collins.” The enunciation reflected pride. “Detective Johnathan Jacob Collins. Recognize the name?”
Jacob. Jake.
Son of a bitch.
“I recognize it,” he replied. As well as the voice now. “And you are?”
“That’s not important.”
“Where’s your brother now?”
“He’s not here. I didn’t want him here. I told him to go away. To quit being a baby.”
Brantley turned back to look at the hotel as Reese was walking out. The man looked good when he moved. Long and lean, with just the hint of swagger.
“How’m I supposed to refer to you if I don’t know your name?”
“You’re not. What you’re gonna do, Brantley Walker, is take yourself back to where you came from. I don’t want you to play my game anymore.”
“I’m actually lookin’ for someone,” he told the man whose voice belonged to Detective John Collins. The same but different in a way.
“You won’t find your friend here.”
“He’s not a friend,” Brantley clarified. “But I think I’ve already found them.”
“No, you haven’t. Nope. No way. You haven’t found them. I’m too good at this game. You can’t find me. Hide-and-seek, you’re it!”
Brantley ignored the eagerness of the child and spoke to the man. “I need to talk to John.”
“He’s not here. He’s … he’s gone.”
“Where is he?”
“Work.”
That sounded like a lie.
“And when he’s not here, you can’t find me. You’ll never find me. Or my friends.”
Oh, hell. “Who are your friends?”
Reese was staring at him with a questioning expression, so Brantley put the call on speaker.
“You don’t know them. You’ll never know them. They’re my friends. Not yours.” The man’s words were picking up speed, more and more anxiety mixed in. “And if you don’t go home, he’s gonna find out, and he’s gonna hurt them. I don’t wanna hurt them, Brantley Walker, but he does. He wants to hurt them. You have to go away, Brantley Walker.”
“Who’s he? Are you talkin’ about John?”
“No. Not John. He’s nice. I can’t say his name. I can’t. You have to go away, Brantley Walker.”
Brantley knew better than to taunt him. He suspected they were right in their theory. This was Detective Collins’s alter ego, the one he referred to as his brother, Jake. And the alternate personality wasn’t an adult, so he didn’t rationalize like one. More than likely prone to violence when he threw his tantrums and wanted to put the blame on someone else.
“Okay. All right,” he said, placatingly. “I’m not here to hurt you, Jake.”
“Hey! You don’t know my name,” he shouted, his pitch getting higher. “Go home, Brantley Walker. We don’t want you here.”
“Jake, let’s—”
The call ended.
“Was that…?”
Brantley stared at the phone, at the blank screen. “It was.”
“What did he say?” Reese nodded his chin toward the phone. “Before, I mean.”
“He started out soundin’ relatively rational. Called me the newest player in his game. Told me to go home. He mentioned we were playing hide-and-seek.”
“You think he was bein’ literal?”
“Has to be. Based on our conversation and his responses, I think we’re dealin’ with an identity that’s somewhere between eight and ten years old.”
“At that age, games would be fun, right?”
“And they’d be worth winning. But they get old after a while, right? You get tired of playing?”
“Which is why he discards the women after a certain amount of time?”
Brantley honestly had no idea. That was where his mind had been going before that call.
“Maybe John puts a stop to the games,” he mused, “takes over so he can clean up the mess, cover it up as best he can. Then Jake has to find another.”
“But why women? Why not kids?” Not that Reese cared to think that either was more at risk. It pissed him off all the same. Didn’t matter if it was a woman, a child, or anyone else who was vulnerable to a madman.
“Good question. And he said we wouldn’t find him or his friends.”
“His friends?” Reese’s eyebrows lifted. “You think he’s referrin’ to the women he’s kidnapped?”
“I do.” Brantley stared out at the parking lot, surveying their surroundings while he considered their next move. “He’s agitated. Not my intention, but I think he’s scared of what John will do to him. We have to find those women and we have to do it now.”
“It’s probably safe to assume the detective’s not at work,” Reese said as they walked around to get into the SUV.
“Doubtful.”
“Maybe JJ can see where the call came from?”
“Worth a shot. Call her back. Tell her what happened.” He put the key in the ignition, started the engine. “In the meantime, we’re goin’ back to the detective’s house. There’s got to be a clue there somewhere.”
***
While Brantley wound his way through midmorning traffic, Reese called JJ, told her about the phone call.
“I’ll see if I can find a location, but if I’m bein’ honest, it’s gonna be a long shot since it came up blocked.”
“Understood.”
“Where’re you headed now?”
“Back to the detective’s house. Brantley thinks we mighta missed somethin’.”
“I think you did,” said someone in the background.
“Trey?”
“Yep.” His voice came closer to the phone. “Somethin’s been botherin’ me about your initial inspection of the house.”
Figuring this was something Brantley needed to hear, Reese put the call on speaker. “How so?”
“Well, Brantley mentioned one of the bedrooms belonging to the detective, right? Another with only a bed.”
Brantley glanced at Reese, back to the road, answered with, “Yeah. That’s right. So?”
“How big would you say the house was?” Trey asked.
Reese wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but he replied with a rough estimate. “Fifteen, sixteen hundred, maybe.”
“See, that’s the problem. I was able to pull up the tax records on the house. The appraisal shows it to be somewhere close to twenty-five-hundred square feet.”
Brantley’s forehead creased; his eyes remained on the road. “I thought somethin’ was off. The hallway. It cut off in a weird spot. The wall wasn’t straight. Felt like that one wall was in the wrong place for the footprint of the house.”
“You think he’s got some hidden rooms?” Reese asked.
“It’s possible.”
“It shows to be four bedrooms, two baths,” JJ announced. “I’ve got the tax appraisal right here. Two of the bedrooms are on exterior walls, two on the interior. Single bath in a hallway.”
“I only saw one bath,” Brantley announced. “In the master bedroom.”
Reese noticed Brantley had picked up speed.
“We didn’t see those rooms,” Reese noted. “Shit.”
Brantley’s phone rang, buzzing in Reese’s hand. He glanced at the screen. “Holy shit. It’s Collins.”
“Answer it.”
Reese tapped the screen to answer, the call going directly to the speaker.
“Walker,” Brantley barked.
“This is Detective Collins.”
The voice had the same tone and cadence but it sounded more adult-like than the one Reese had heard earlier.
“Where are you, Detective Collins?” Brantley demanded.
“I’m taking care of an issue. I heard you’ve been looking for me.”
“We have. We need to talk to you about the case.”
“What is there to talk about? I think you’ve figured out a few things.”
“We still need to talk,” Brantley snapped. “We’re on our way to your house. Will you be there?”
“Depends.” His breathing was labored, like he was moving something heavy. “How long will it take you?”
Reese glanced at the navigation screen. It showed eighteen minutes to destination.
“An hour,” Brantley lied.
“I’ll be back by then. Just need to drop something off real quick.”
God, please don’t let it be a body.
“See you then,” Brantley said through gritted teeth.
The call disconnected and the SUV lurched forward as Brantley’s foot hit the floor.
“Call JJ.”
Reese wasted no time dialing the number, sending the call to speaker.
“We’re on our way back to the house,” Brantley informed her when she answered. “I need you to contact Special Agent Hillary Jones with the FBI. Tell her our suspicions and let her know we’re headin’ to the house.”
“You think he’s there?” she asked, concerned.
“He will be. And I think I might’ve pissed off our suspect.” Brantley hit the steering wheel. “Son of a bitch.”
“Call her, JJ,” Reese commanded. “Now.”
Reese disconnected the call as they sped down the busy highway, the SUV weaving between slower-moving vehicles. They had to pass the police station, then the lake before they made it to the detective’s neighborhood. Thankfully, Brantley slowed some on the residential streets, but not much. A few minutes later, Brantley hit the brakes, bringing the SUV to a skidding stop in front of the house, blocking the driveway.
“His car’s here. You think that means he is?”
“More than likely.”
“How the fuck did he get here so quickly?” Reese asked, opening the glove box and retrieving his backup weapon that he’d stashed there earlier.
“He knows what we’re doin’,” Brantley ground out, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.
Clearly. And it looked like he was one step ahead, too.
“What’s the plan here?” Reese asked, nodding toward the house.
“We need to locate the women first. Secure them.”
Provided they were inside. Reese prayed like hell they were. “And then?”
Brantley turned toward him, eyes hard and cold. “We’re gonna take this motherfucker down.”
It was times like this when Reese wished he had a weapon with a little more power and range. But his Sig Sauer would have to do for now.
Because he never knew what he was walking into, he checked the weapon, then holstered it. He did the same with his side piece, securing it with an ankle holster before getting out of the SUV. He met Brantley around the front.
“Those comms would come in handy right about now,” Brantley said absently.
Yeah. Yeah, they definitely would. Reese would have to follow up with his brother on that. Since they seemed to continuously get themselves in these situations, it would be good to have a way to communicate with each other and with home base. Sooner rather than later.
“We need to find those hidden rooms,” Brantley said as they approached the house. “If those women are here, that’s where they’ll be.”
“And if they’re not?”
“Then we find them.” Brantley glanced over at him again. “One way or another, we put an end to this, Reese. Today.”
Reese nodded, letting Brantley know he understood.
Stepping up on the porch, Reese sidestepped to peek into the living room while Brantley knocked on the door. It wasn’t surprising no one answered.
“We’re goin’ in,” Brantley told Reese, his words spoken softly.
Pulling his pick set out of his pocket, he passed it over. Brantley went to work on the lock, springing it in probably half the time it had taken Reese, which was saying something. Reese had perfected the art of picking locks. Evidently, Brantley’d mastered it.
Once inside, neither of them spoke. Reese kept his ears alert for any noises. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen, but that was the only noise aside from the heater blowing softly from the air vents in the floor.
Like before, they cleared the house, checking all the rooms to ensure no one was hiding. And like earlier, they found it was clear despite the fact the detective’s car was in the drive this time.
Brantley’s hand signal directed Reese into the kitchen while he went the opposite direction, into the hallway. Between them, there should be two bedrooms and a bath if Trey’s information was accurate. The question was, how did they get in and what was waiting for them behind those walls?
Reese felt along the wall, looking for a secret panel or something that blended. He found nothing, moving in the direction Brantley went. Down the hallway, he continued to scope the walls, the floors. Aside from the ill-constructed wall Brantley had mentioned, he found nothing, so he continued. Through the master bedroom, into the adjoining bath. No sooner did he step into the bathroom than he saw Brantley holding up a hand, motioning him closer.
Brantley was focused on the interior of what looked to be a towel closet.
“These shelves were in place before,” Brantley said softly, pointing to a stack of wooden boards leaning against the cabinet.
Peering into the closet, he saw that it was empty. The perfect place for a hidden doorway.
Sure enough, the wall had been crudely cut so that the Sheetrock could be set aside. On the floor, the chalky substance had been ground into the white linoleum. Had they known what they were looking for earlier, they probably would’ve noticed it.
“If he was in there, that Sheetrock wouldn’t be in place,” Reese noted. “He’d have a hard time puttin’ it in position from that side.”
Brantley looked at him and nodded. “You see if the women are in there. I’m gonna check the rest of the house. Be careful.”
“Always.”
With his Sig in hand, Reese traded places with Brantley, pulling the Sheetrock out of its resting spot, setting it aside. On the other side, there was a thin door fashioned from balsa wood, it looked like. Not sturdy, by any means, but it served its purpose of sealing the space off.
Reese pressed his back to the wall at the side of the door in case Collins was on the other side with a weapon. With one hand, he turned the knob, pushed the door open, then peeked in. On the other side of the door, he was greeted with darkness. The sort that disoriented a person when they were in it for too long. It brought back memories that Reese quickly shoved aside. He would not go there now. He couldn’t.
He retrieved his flashlight from his belt, held it in one hand. Supporting the hand holding his guns, he moved deeper into the space.
Reese was greeted with scurrying sounds, and for a second, he wondered if the detective kept an animal. Or maybe rats.
One more step, more scurrying.
Something tickled his face so he reached up, found that it was a string. He tugged on it and a yellow glow filled the space.
No, those weren’t animals.
They were women.
Holy.
Fuck.