A moment after the red beam appeared, Harper’s voice—cool and authoritative—carried out from somewhere behind Warren. “Hello again, Mr. Wright. I’m going to go ahead and suggest that you don’t move. The rifle isn’t aimed at you right this second, but you see where this is going. But if you think that you can follow some instructions, nod now.”
Warren gave the barest incline of his head.
“Excellent,” said Harper. “We’re off to a good start. The first thing I want you to do is to just go ahead and set that weapon back down. After that, you can step out and put your hands on your head. Disobey me, and I promise I will fire.”
Jaw clamped tightly, Warren did as he’d been directed to do. He was thankful, at least, that he’d gotten his wish of not being immediately shot.
“Go ahead and turn around now, if you like,” Harper told him, full of exaggerated indulgence.
Slowly, Warren pivoted, visually searching out the corrupt detective. He found the other man standing a few feet away, his body cloaked in the shadow cast by the cabin and the silhouette of his oversize gun sitting threateningly on his shoulder.
“Good boy.” Harper punctuated the statement with a laugh. “But we appear to have a bit of a problem here. The girl appears not to be with you.”
Warren smiled. “I feel like I could say the same thing to you. Where’s Glenna Montgomery?”
“I think we both know that she’s not here,” said Harper.
“Let me guess. Priscilla?”
“You’ve been doing your homework.”
“You gonna give me a gold star?”
Harper stepped forward, lowering the weapon just a miniscule amount. “Maybe I would’ve, if you’d brought Ms. Renfrew along like I wanted.”
The other man’s genuine consternation gave Warren a moment of triumph, and he lifted his head a little higher. “I’m afraid you’re only getting me. Oh-so sorry to disappoint you.”
“Disappointment doesn’t quite describe what I’m feeling right now, my friend. I’m afraid we need Ms. Renfrew for our plan to work.”
The words sent a chill through Warren, but he refused to show it. “Whatever it is you think you need her for...you don’t. I’m prepared to take the fall that you want me to take.”
Harper shifted his gun, then gestured to the cabin. “At least we’re on the same page about who’s to blame. Come inside with me. There’s someone you need to properly meet.”
Knowing exactly who that someone was, Warren’s eyes flicked over to the motorcycle for a moment before he forced them back to the other man, who’d already turned his back and started toward the veranda. For a moment, he was tempted to jump the so-called cop. He reined in the urge, though. If Harper was that confident, he probably had a good reason to be. He settled for scowling at the crooked man’s back as he followed him up to the cabin. Once he stepped inside, though, a whole new bucket of anger dumped over him.
In the corner, seated in an overstuffed armchair, was a familiar figure. Wide-shouldered. Long-haired and bearded. He wore jeans and chaps, and a black leather vest over a faded gray T-shirt.
Alexander Galbraith Junior. Abductor and killer of young girls.
The man had aged some. No doubt about that. In fact, he probably had more white in his hair than his years truly called for, and he was far heftier than he’d been twenty-five years earlier. Yet he looked very comfortable in his current spot. Utterly at ease. So much so that it now took almost all of Warren’s willpower to keep still. His palms were clammy, and he had an unusual urge to simply start swinging his fists. Maybe he would’ve lunged forward despite the odds of it not working out in his favor, if not for the words the biker spoke in greeting.
“Welcome home,” he said.
Warren blinked. The man’s presence was unnerving enough. The statement threw him for a true loop.
Welcome home.
“What the hell does that mean?” he growled at the murderous biker.
“I guess what it means is that my detective friend here hasn’t caught you up yet, on what we have planned for you.” Alexander smiled a dark smile. “This—” he swept a hand through the space “—is your hideaway. Your own little home away from home for the last twenty-five years. Where you go to relive the past, which is a necessity, because your current circumstances prevent you from existing as you truly desire. And of course, this is also where you’ve kept your tokens.” His teeth glinted. “Not to mention the bodies.”
Warren’s horror grew with each word. He was sure—completely—that the little story that Alexander had just recounted was true. Except, of course, for that fact that it didn’t belong to Warren. It belonged to him. Alexander had used the cabin as a place to relive his crimes.
A physical revulsion overtook Warren. Sickness didn’t just churn in his stomach; it filled his entire body. Loathing seeped from his pores. He very nearly bent over to retch. The walls were too close together, and the smell in the cabin was suddenly cloying.
Before he could stop himself, Warren rounded on Harper. “How do you live with yourself?” he spat, his voice rough with the disgust that roiled through him. “How do you get up every morning, knowing that you’re helping a murderer get away with it?”
“Money,” the detective replied easily. “A lot of it.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself? There wouldn’t be enough cash in the whole world for me to protect a scumbag like this.”
Harper appeared unmoved. “What would you like to hear, Mr. Wright? Would you feel better if I said that the first time it happened, Lex’s family thought it was an accident? A moment of overzealous anger? That Stephanie just bore the brunt of a scorned lover sent over the edge? What if I said that they doled out a hefty sum to have myself and Tuck make it go away, and that by the time we realized it wasn’t an accident but a...habit...we were all too far gone to turn back?” The other man shook his head. “None of that would change how we got to this point. And nothing I tell you will make you understand, Mr. Wright, or accept it. So let’s just go with my original statement. Every man has his price and his own set of morality. The Galbraiths found mine. What other reason do I need?”
Warren started to answer, but Alexander interjected then. “I think that’s enough about you and your wicked ways, Harper. Where the hell is the damn girl?”
“It appears that our friend here forgot her at home,” the cop replied.
The biker pushed up from his chair. “You promised me she’d be here, too.”
“I know, Lex. And it’ll happen. We’re just going to have to go get her.” The words were spoken in a soothing tone that made Warren feel even sicker.
“Don’t,” he said, the single word snapping out forcefully.
Both men looked at him as if they’d forgotten his presence.
“Don’t,” he said again, a little softer this time. “I already told you...whatever you were planning on using her for, it’s no longer necessary. I contacted the RCMP, and they’re on their way to get her.”
“If you truly called the RCMP, my friend, then you just signed a death warrant for about five people,” Harper told him.
“I took that into account.” Warren itched to pace the room to burn off some nervous energy, but he made himself continue to stand still as he explained. “I made a list of everyone I thought you’d target, and I gave that to the police, too. I told them I had made arrangements to have them all killed if something went wrong.” He paused to make sure that his two-man audience understood that he’d fully implicated himself in the potential murders. “So while we’re on the subject...you might want to call off whoever it is you’ve got watching those five people. They’re probably the ones in danger.”
Harper blinked at him, then yanked his phone from his pocket and strode toward the door, calling over his shoulder as he exited. “Watch him, Lex. If he makes a wrong move, hit him over the head with something hard.”
The biker waited until his cohort had departed, then offered Warren another smile. “Carry on. I’m fascinated.”
Warren gritted his teeth for a second. The lies he’d told the RCMP officer had been acidic, and as soon as he’d formed them, he’d wanted to retract them. In fact, he could still taste the bitterness at being forced to take ownership of the horrific deeds, and it was equally painful to say it all again. He made himself do it anyway. It was all for Jeannie’s sake, and that made it worth it.
“I explained to the nice cop that when Stephanie rejected me, it broke me in some way. I also told him about the other three girls I’d stalked and killed.” He forced the words out. “I said that Jeannette Renfrew didn’t deserve the same fate. That she was good, and she would try to make me look the same. That maybe she even believed it, and for that, I wanted to let her live. I stole your line, actually. I told him that I wasn’t sure I could keep my hands off her, and it would be best to take her somewhere far away.”
When he finished, Alexander laughed. “Not a bad story. And not so far off from what happened in real life. Though you forgot the part where you hated your mother for cheating on your father. It also conveniently lines up with what we have planned for you. Great minds, right?”
Warren’s hands clenched. “I did it because it was the only option I had.”
“Was it, though?” asked the killer, studying him with uncomfortable intensity. “Couldn’t you have just told the police the truth? Why not direct them to those targets and tell them it was me who was the threat.”
“They wouldn’t have believed me.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But why not take the chance?” The scruffy man continued with his unnerving stare. “I think you know why, actually.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Alexander took a step closer.
Warren stood his ground. “No, I don’t. I’m not particularly familiar with the inner workings of a murderer’s mind.”
“But you do know what it’s like to be obsessive. To have some underlying detail festering away underneath, affecting all that you do.”
Warren said nothing. The other man’s words only seemed half directed at him anyway, and his face had taken on a slightly feverish look.
“It’s all-consuming, isn’t it?” Alexander added. “Even when you have every reason to stop. Even if you’ve become a husband and father, and you can see an unselfish aspect of the world for the first time...all it takes is one trigger. Becoming a widower, for example. That would do it, wouldn’t it? And then your son finding out the truth. The dirty family secret...your secret and being swept into your own, personal darkness when you really, truly wished him to have a different life.” He paused then, like he was lost in his own thoughts, before abruptly jerking his head up to meet Warren’s eyes. “You saw me back then. That day when I tried to get Stephanie to take me back. She told me I was too old. Can you believe that? She laughed at me, that little—But you know how she was. Mercurial. I did the world a favor.” He paused again. “But we were speaking about you, weren’t we? Let’s get back to that. I think that the reason there are no cops here, right this second, is because you wish you’d come after me then, and you came here to kill me now. Or at least to try.”
Warren started to argue. He wasn’t a killer. But as he stared into the other man’s eyes, he wondered if a smidgen of the claims were true. Had he avoided telling the police the truth because he wanted to avenge Stephanie himself? Did he have that amount of darkness in him, under his self-righteous claim at simply wanting justice? The thought left him tongue-tied. Which gave Alexander time to speak up again.
“Just so you know... If you had come after me back then, I would’ve killed you, too. But that doesn’t matter now, does it?” The other man still sounded wild and eager and off. “Here. Let me show you something.”
He strode across the room, snatched an item from a shelf, then came back to Warren and held out his hands. Resting in his palms was a small, brightly painted box.
“Look,” Alexander said, flipping the latch and opening the lid.
Warren obliged—it wasn’t like he had a choice—and for a second, he was puzzled by what he saw. Three pieces of jewelry rested against a strip of velvet. Beside those was an empty space. Then he clued in.
The tokens.
That was the word Alexander had used a few minutes earlier. The items in the box were the man’s murderous souvenirs. The kind a serial killer took. And the empty space was where Stephanie’s necklace ought to be.
Alexander snapped the box shut again. “Once Harper puts a spin on it, everyone will believe that it’s all come full circle. Stephanie was your first victim, and your new girlfriend is going to be your last. When she’s dead, Detective Harper will tear onto the scene, catch you just after the fact, and then kill you when you attack him.”
The box and the other man’s words pulled Warren free of his self-doubt. Alexander was wrong. Whoever Warren was—whatever had held him back from living his life all these years—it was an inherent goodness. And as much justice as Stephanie—and Glenna, Elise and Carrie-Lynn, too—deserved, he hadn’t come here to exact revenge for the girl he’d been infatuated with as a teenager. He’d come to protect the woman he loved now. There was nothing selfish or dark about that.
Fueled by that knowledge, Warren readied himself to take action. He lifted his hands and dropped to a crouch. Before he could make a move, though, a thud and a crash from the exterior of the cabin distracted him. It drew Alexander’s attention, too. The other man snagged a weapon from his belt, then charged toward the door.
Warren knew he ought to take advantage of the situation in some way, but without knowing what was going on outside, he wasn’t sure what the best thing to do was. Muttering a curse, he followed the killer to the veranda. And there, he stopped, stunned by what he saw.
Harper was on the ground, blood seeping from his head onto the dirt. The motorcycle was on its side, the handlebars twisted in a way that would render it permanently unrideable. More startling than both those things, though, was the apparent culprit of the destruction. A police car. And Jeannie—barefoot and looking worse for wear—was climbing out of it.
Tears sprang into Jeannette’s eyes as she saw Warren step out of the cabin. Her relief was all-encompassing. Everything else faded away. The fact that she’d just mowed down Harper and trashed a bike were already distant memories. Even the big, leather-clad man—whom she knew had to be Alexander Galbraith Junior—became nothing but a backdrop.
He’s alive. Oh, thank God.
She hadn’t realized until that very second that she’d assumed he’d already be dead. Stifling a sob, she took two steps forward, fully—unreasonably—intent on throwing herself past the biker to get at Warren. But at the last second, she realized what was about to happen. The muzzle was coming up. And it wasn’t aimed at her.
No, no, no!
Without regard for her own safety, Jeannette adjusted her trajectory. And even though Alexander was taller, wider and far more prone to violence than she was, she had surprise on her side. Her hands closed on his waist, and he lost his balance just as he squeezed the trigger. The sound was like a blast of terror. But thankfully, the bullet went wild. Instead of hitting Warren, it struck the overhang of the roof, sending wood particles flying.
Jeannette didn’t have time for triumph. Alexander recovered too quickly. He steadied himself and brought the weapon down again, this time aiming at her. Except now Warren had time to throw himself into the fray. He lifted his foot and drove it into the back of the other man’s knee. The blow earned a holler, and Alexander fell forward, his weapon flying over the railing and landing in the dirt on the other side. Once again, though, he righted himself with remarkable speed.
Snarling, he swung around, leading the motion with a fist. His punch glanced off the side of Warren’s head. It was enough to make Warren stumble, but not quite enough to send him to the ground. So Alexander drew back again. Jeannette wanted to cry out as the second hit came, but she made herself move instead. She turned and tore down the steps, where she grabbed the discarded gun. After a second of fumbling, she had it steady in her hands. But the wrestling match between the two men made it impossible to take proper aim, and after a futile second of trying, Jeannette had to change her plans. She raised the weapon over her head and fired toward the trees. The shot boomed. It also did its job.
Alexander and Warren simultaneously stilled, and Jeannette saw that the biker currently had the upper hand. His fingers were locked in Warren’s hair, while Warren was on his knees. The killer smiled a macabre smirk, blood dripping from one corner of his lips.
“You won’t take the chance that you might hit him,” he said, then started to move again, likely readying to slam Warren’s head straight to the ground.
But then—before Jeannette could even decide whether or not she would take the chance—a startling crack sounded from overhead. Alexander’s head tipped up. His eyes widened. His smile dropped. And so did his body as a bullet-loosened beam fell from the roof and cracked him straight in the head.
Warren sprang into action. Jeannette, on the other hand, was stunned into momentary motionlessness. In a world that she perceived as an underwater blur, Warren rushed over to her, touched her face, then said something she couldn’t quite hear. Next, he procured a rope from somewhere. Swiftly, he bound Alexander’s hands and feet. He moved down the steps, checked Harper’s throat for a pulse and shook his head. Finally, he came back to Jeannette. But when he reached for her, her vision cleared, reality came rushing in, and she pulled away from his touch. He winced as though he’d been struck.
“Jeannie. Please.”
“You left me,” she heard herself whisper.
“I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I can explain. But let’s get you inside, okay? I think you need to sit down, and we need to call the police.”
“You called them already,” she reminded him. “On me. And you don’t get to decide whether or not I need to sit. I don’t need another hit of your stupid, overblown machismo!”
Warren blinked, and Jeannette realized she’d yelled the last bit. But she was still so angry. Still so hurt. And she was crying again. Hard. But this time, when he reached for her, she let herself sink against his chest.
“What if you’d died?” she said. “What then? Whatever explanation you have...could it have made that go away?”
“No.” His voice was soft and rough at the same time. “And the truth is, I’m not that sorry. I mean, I don’t like that you’re mad at me. And I hate that I hurt you. But I’d do it again, Jeannie. The only thing I wanted out of all of this was for you to be safe. Because I love you.”
Jeannette’s breath caught, and her heart jumped. “You...”
He leaned back. “I love you, and I’d put my life on the line for you on any given day.”
“Don’t do that,” she said. “I mean. Love me. Please. But don’t die. It’s not as chivalrous as you think it is.”
A smile tipped up his mouth, and he bent his head down to brush his lips over hers. “Well. That’s debatable. But hopefully it’s an issue that will never come up again.”
“Say it again,” she ordered.
“I love you,” Warren told her.
“I love you, too,” she replied.
Maybe it shouldn’t have been enough to melt her anger and still her ache. Maybe she should’ve fought harder and held out longer. But honestly, she didn’t see the point. As she stared up at Warren, she realized that she could see the rest of her life mapped out on his face. And it was most definitely one that would make her mother proud.