I volunteered to drive to the hotel, and Luke didn’t fight me on it. He was fast asleep by the time we made it down the street. The nearest Hampton Inn was ten minutes from the restaurant and fifteen from the Richmond field office. We checked in and went our separate ways. As the hours passed, all the agents on our team filed in at different times, looking dead on their feet. The parking lot downstairs looked like a used car lot that specialized in late-model Crown Victorias and SUVs. It was the safest hotel in Virginia.
The first thing I did upon checking in was change into a pair of comfy black slacks two sizes too big and a gauzy red and white peasant shirt. Then I let my hair free from its severe captivity. I felt infinitely better. Since I wasn’t tired, I watched a delightfully stupid movie about aliens taking over the world, then read for a while. I soon lost interest, so I pulled out my remaining finals to grade. Surprisingly, they took only an hour, with another hour for tabulating final grades. When I was done, it was past ten. I’d managed to kill four hours without even trying. Carol should have been up by then. I hadn’t called her since I’d left. She was not going to be pleased. I picked up the phone and dialed her at home. It rang three times before she picked up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Carol. It’s Iris.”
“Hello,” she said cheerfully, her voice going up an octave. “I was beginning to worry!”
“I know. I’m sorry I haven’t called. It’s just been really crazy.”
“Are you still in Richmond?”
“How’d you know where I was?”
“I saw you on the news! You’re all over it. I’ve gotten a hundred calls this morning from everyone asking about you.”
Great. “The local news picked it up already?”
“Yeah! Roger just about had a hissy fit over the phone. He said, ‘How can she go off like that without any warning?’ ”
“He’s not my father. I’m not even sure he’s my boss anymore.”
“That’s what I said, but he’s pissed you haven’t turned in your grades yet.”
I scoffed. “You’d think he’d give me a break. I am trying to catch a man who’s killed four, maybe five, women.”
“Not Roger. ‘She has a commitment to this university,’ he said. I wanted to pop him one.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at that thought. He wouldn’t stand a chance. “I’m all done. I’ve already entered the grades in the system. How’s Gus?”
“Great. We go over twice a day and feed him and the cats. You have a whole army of them over there!”
“So you have uncovered my secret world domination plan,” I said in a bad James Bond villain impression. “You must be destroyed.”
She chuckled. “How’s the redhead? Did you smack him for bringing you on the news?”
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“You’re defending him?” She was irritated now. “Now that wacko knows you’re there. He knows what ya look like.”
“Carol, he’s blown town by now, and even if he hasn’t, I’m surrounded by big, beefy men carrying guns. Nothing is gonna happen to me.”
“It better not.” We left it at that. “Oh, by the way, I cleaned up your house a little. I was afraid of ants getting in.”
“Excuse me. I like living in squalor.”
“You still do, don’t worry,” she assured me in that sweet Southern voice. “There’s just a lot less empty bottles and dirty clothes now.”
“You’re the best, Carol.”
“Well, I love ya, darlin’,” she said with a scoff. “That’s what family does. We help each other out.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, you are surely welcome. Listen, I gotta go—we’re late for Pat’s doctor’s appointment. He has to get S-H-O-T-S.”
“Oh, lord. Have fun,” I said with a chuckle.
“ ’Bye.”
I’d used the last of the coffee in my room, so I went downstairs to ask for more. It was gonna be a nine-cup kind of day. I could tell already. “Hi. Can I have another packet of coffee grounds, please?”
The front-desk attendant reached under the counter and pulled out the coffee and piece of paper. “This came for your friend,” he told me as he handed me both. It was the sketch. “That looks like my cousin,” he said.
“Really? Has he taken any trips to Baltimore or Washington lately?”
“He’s in prison for tax fraud.”
“Hell of an alibi. Thanks.”
I didn’t even look at the fax. I just ran to the elevator and back into my room. I sat down on the bed and took a deep breath. The face of the enemy. I turned the piece of paper over and looked at the black-and-white sketch. The Yankees cap covered most of his forehead and hair. Half of his face was covered with aviator sunglasses, so everything above the nose was hidden. His nose was straight but not too long, and there were no bumps or scars. His cheekbones were high and started right below the sunglasses. His lips were thin, but the lower one was a little fuller. His jaw was almost feminine; there were no right angles, just gentle slopes toward a gentle chin.
So, this was him. He looked like my mailman.
Luke was two rooms down, and I hated to wake him up from his much-needed sleep, but this couldn’t wait. I knocked on the door. Nobody responded. I knocked again. That time he answered, still half asleep.
And half naked.
My jaw actually dropped. He was wearing only green silk boxers that hung loose around his hips. I wanted to turn away, but it was like a train wreck. It may scar you for life, but you just had to look. So I admired the view. His arms were well muscled and the definition of masculine. His chest was the same, with large pectoral muscles. It was smooth, too, with only a tiny trail of orange that started at his flat stomach and went down into no-man’s-land. His long legs, the color of freshly cut marble, didn’t have a trace of fat on them, only toned muscles. He looked like Michelangelo had carved him.
My stomach fluttered and a warm sensation prickled through me, giving me goose bumps. I felt like I’d just stepped into a hot tub. Every inch of me was warm and tingling, including…oh. It took all my self-control—every speck of it—not to take the two steps toward him and mash my lips against his. I was blushing. I was actually surprised I wasn’t panting like a dog.
Luke must have read my mind because he turned as red as his hair. He quickly moved behind the open door so only one arm and his head peeked out.
“I’m sor-sor-sorry to wake you,” I stammered, finally able to turn away. “The sketch came in.” Still looking down the long hallway, I handed it to him. He snatched it out of my hand.
“Thank you,” he said quickly. The phone began to ring in the room behind him.
“I’m gonna…” I pointed to my own room.
He nodded and shut the door. I fell against the wall, unsure if my legs would hold me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I did this a few more times, breathing in the air and breathing out the lust. My body began to ease up a little, and the butterflies flew away. I opened my eyes and let out the final breath. Okay, that was very strange. I’d always had a relatively normal sex drive, but I’d never felt anything like that. Not even when I saw him naked two years before. I chalked it up to not getting any, not even a kiss, for two years. Yeah, that’s what it was.
Luke’s door swung open again, bringing me out of my head. He’d put on a white undershirt, thank God, and looked surprised to see me. “Why are you still out here?”
“I, uh, wanted to see who was on the phone,” I lied through my teeth.
He seemed to accept it. “It was Agent Dell over at Cumberland State Forest. They think they’ve found where he took her. The chopper’s waiting for us.”
That news was a jolt of adrenaline. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll get ready.” I ran to my room. Before my door even closed, I stripped off my peasant shirt and stuffed it into the suitcase. I rooted around the bag and found my emerald-green cotton top and black slacks, complete with dress jacket. I was out the door a minute later.
Clarkson was waiting in the lobby, trying to adjust his tie. I walked over to him and swatted his hands away without a word. I straightened it with a smile. “There,” I said, patting the knot. “Now you look professional.”
“I had the clothes sitting by the bed,” he said. “I knew this would happen.”
Luke, Jones, Roth sporting a scowl for me, Liu, and Martinez filed down the stairs and into the lobby within a second, all wearing the same rumpled suits from the night before. Be prepared, motto for Girl Scouts and FBI alike. Without a word or glance, Luke led the pack past Clarkson and me out the double doors into the parking lot. Clarkson and I followed a few steps behind. Each of the men jumped into his requisitioned SUV and peeled out of the parking lot, lights flashing and sirens shrieking.
I sat next to Luke on the passenger’s side, slipping and sliding as he turned corners with breakneck speed. I gripped the armrest, but it still didn’t stop me from bumping my head on the glass a few times.
“Do they have a time of death yet?” I asked.
“All I know is that a body was found in Cumberland. A male.”
“Our UNSUB?” I asked.
“No, a park ranger. He was shot.”
Luke maneuvered the car around a Porsche, but this time my shoulder stopped my head from getting bashed. God was punishing me for my impure thoughts, I just knew it. “Then why are they calling us?”
“They also found a pile of women’s clothes and a purse with Audrey’s ID.”
“Shit,” I murmured. “She wasn’t tied to the shore?”
“No,” he answered, speeding through a red light. “So he could still have her. Hostage Rescue is on standby.”
“Are they dragging the river? She could have gotten loose.”
“State police just got there twenty minutes ago,” he said. “Everything’s on its way.”
We pulled into the underground parking garage of the Richmond field office right in front of the elevator doors. Our entourage arrived a second later, jumping out of the cars before the engines even turned off. The elevator door opened without us even having to press a button.
The small space was filled with the musk of men. They all had a good six inches on me, so I felt like the Lilliputians from Gulliver’s Travels must have when Gulliver washed up onto their island. If Carol were there she would have said I was the luckiest gal on the East Coast having six tall, handsome, if not staunch men around me all day. All the men, except Clarkson and Roth, looked good enough to work the runways. Liu with his jet-black hair, wide slanted brown eyes, and creamy light brown skin. Martinez with his chocolate eyes and Latin vibe. Jones with his hay-blond hair, high cheekbones, and cerulean eyes. And then there was Luke…I peered over at him and the fluttering returned for a second. His soft orange hair was still untamed by mousse; not enough time to apply it, I guess. I wanted to…shit. Stop, I ordered myself. Two years and I hadn’t even looked at a man in that way, and the second I saw one in silk boxers I suddenly became a nympho.
Mercifully, the elevator doors opened, and I was immediately pushed back by the force of the wind pressing against me. We rushed to the waiting helicopter as best we could, lowering our heads the entire way so as not to be decapitated by the metal blades. Luke jumped into the front seat next to the pilot, picking up a file on the seat before sitting down. The rest of us clambered into the back. I put on my heavy headphones with a microphone attached to the front. It did little to drown out the noise, but it was better than nothing. The helicopter took off into the sky.
We ascended, and within a minute the Richmond office was totally out of sight. I gazed out the window down to the houses below. They were no bigger than dimes, with cars the size of ants parked along the streets.
“We should be there in about ten minutes,” Luke reported through the microphone.
He turned around and handed Liu, who sat next to me, a piece of paper. I looked over and saw it was the sketch. Liu glanced at it and then handed it to Clarkson, who passed it again.
“He looks like my mailman,” Clarkson commented.
“Mine too,” I chuckled.
“Enough jokes, people,” Luke snapped. “We have a dead park ranger and a missing woman—the time for jokes is over.”
“We were just pointing out that this man looks like half the men in America,” I explained.
“Well, one of those men is responsible for these deaths,” Roth said snidely.
“You’re right,” I said. “I apologize.”
I was in a helicopter filled with men without a sense of humor among them.
Luke turned back to us. “We have our warrant. It’s on the way to the scene now.”
Good; the case was officially ours now. No more sucking up to the state police.
Within minutes the residential areas and interstates were replaced with bright blooms of green as far as the eye could see, one overlapping the other. Cumberland State Forest was over sixteen thousand acres big, the largest in Virginia. Inside those acres were thirty miles of multi-use trails, and what made it perfect for our guy, four lakes and one river, the Willis. From up there, the river looked like a black string with an occasional patch of white cutting through the trees. I paid close attention to the river, hoping I could spot Audrey, but I didn’t. Soon there would be half a dozen helicopters flying the length of the river with Search and Rescue workers gazing down with binoculars. It would be a minor miracle if we found her.
We began our descent into Cumberland just as I was beginning to enjoy the ride. In the distance, I saw red and blue lights encompassing a lone slab of black concrete surrounded by tall trees. The people, the size of Gabriel’s action figures, walked in and out of the thick woods down a brown dirt path. The helicopter set down in the middle of the black lot. We climbed out and ran toward the path, where a man with pale blond hair wearing an official FBI windbreaker waited. A former Marine, by the look of his crew cut and permanently downturned mouth. When the last passenger was clear, the helicopter took off.
“Special Agent Hudson, I’m Agent Dell. Right this way sir,” he said, gesturing down the path. He turned and led us into the woods, past a sign that read Willis River Trail.
If that was a set trail, owned and operated by the state with taxes, I would have wanted my money back. I could barely see the dirt underneath all the dead roots, wood, and large, jagged rocks. High heels were not a good choice for a walk in the woods. The entire place was surrounded by heavy foliage. It felt very claustrophobic, as if the trees were inching toward you, ready to devour you completely. I hated the woods. We twisted and turned for almost half a mile, ducking branches and pushing leaves out of our way. It dawned on me that not twelve hours ago the killer was touching the very things I was now, walking those very steps. Creepy thought.
“Has CSI dusted these branches yet?” I asked.
“Both CSI and the medical examiner should be here any minute,” Dell said.
“When they get here they should check for prints and hair,” I suggested. “Maybe some of his hair got caught in the brush.”
“Good idea,” Luke said.
As we walked closer and closer to our destination, I began to hear the faint trickling of water, which grew louder as I continued down the path. No matter where you are, all rivers make the same lyrical sound. Just when I thought my ankles were about to give way—fucking heels—we came to a large clearing with grass and patches of dirt. The Willis River stood about seventy feet away. The sun shone down on the river, making the flowing water look like there were diamonds twinkling on the surface, just like the river at home. The tranquility was disrupted as a helicopter flew overhead in search of the body. I didn’t think a single one of us expected to find her alive anymore. Not a one.
To my right was a dark green Jeep with the driver’s-side door open and the headlights still on. I could see two small holes dead center in the plastic sheet that served as a window. A man remained prostrate on the grass next to the car. Our dead park ranger lay on his back with his left arm resting above his head. Two red blossoms of blood stained his jacket, right on the upper chest. His jaw was opened slightly, almost as if he were trying to speak. At the time of his death, he probably was. Something along the lines of “Don’t kill me,” or “Help.”
A woman about forty with shoulder-length auburn hair wearing a dark blue windbreaker with State Police written in yellow letters straddled the body, getting a picture of the dead man’s surprised face. When we reached her, she turned and stood up.
Luke whipped out his badge. “Special Agent Luke Hudson, FBI. Is this the victim?”
“Ranger Bruce McIntyre, ten-year veteran of the park service,” the officer said.
The dead man was about my age, with light brown hair that fell straight down his forehead and skin that was like worn leather from all the hours he’d spent in the sun. My eyes jumped to the gold wedding band wrapped around his left ring finger. Great. His brown eyes stared blankly at the sky above. His pupils had contracted, leaving only two tiny pinpoints of black in the gold and brown pools, which meant he’d been there at least seven hours. Put time of death around four thirty A.M.
“He drove in on them,” I said to nobody in particular. “Wrong place at the wrong time.”
The woman, whose badge read S.A. Linda Gaines, gestured toward the clearing to our left. “You guys should see this.”
We followed her toward the other side of the clearing, roughly thirty feet from the car. Two men, wearing the same windbreakers as hers and sporting cameras, were taking pictures of the ground. At first, I couldn’t see what was so fascinating, but as I got closer I realized what I was looking at. Grass, about an inch long, was bent in the shape of a human body. I could make out a rounded head, a torso, and two thin lines that must have been where her legs were. To the left of the outline of the torso was a large brown stain.
A photographer lay on his stomach with his camera deep in the grass, clicking away next to the dried blood. He stood up to take more pictures from a different angle. The other man was walking around the outline, clickity-clicking away as well.
“Are there three holes?” I asked the second photographer.
“Yes,” he said. “The first one is approximately seven feet from the top of the outline.” He walked over to the yellow marker showing the position of the hole, then to the bottom of the outline with the other two evidence markers. “The lower ones are three feet away from each other.”
“She was spread-eagled,” I said. “Hands tied up above her head, legs spread to allow for easy access.”
What must it have been like for her? The terror. Her mind still in a fog from the drugs, and then she woke up and realized what was happening to her. He was probably naked by then, looming over her. She would have begun to scream and cry. I bet he loved that. He hadn’t laid a hand on her and already she was in pain. And that’s what it was all about for him: her pain, his gratification.
“Where are her clothes?” I asked.
The man pointed to the large pine tree to his right. Yet another photographer was taking pictures, this one also on his stomach. I walked over to him and saw the pile of black and lavender clothes.
The man looked up as I approached. “He dumped them in the river,” the photographer reported, “but they were caught up in some twigs. We got them all.”
“Can I move them?” I asked.
He took one more picture and stood, before pulling out a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and handing them to me. “Be my guest.”
I took the gloves, slapping them on. The smell of rubber and talcum powder sure took me back. I picked up the piece of clothing, which was actually in two pieces, on the top of the pile. The long-sleeved lavender silk dress shirt had been cut perfectly in half. The front buttons, a row of tiny pearls, were completely undone. He’d unbuttoned them slowly one by one, probably telling her what was about to come. The back of the shirt had a straight, near perfect cut from the collar all the way down to the bottom. He must have turned her over for that. I noticed there were no stray strands sticking out of the edges of the cut, no tears, either. It had to have been the scalpel. He cut the shirt like he would open someone in surgery. A fine cut.
I set down the half shirt on the ground for the photographer. With the other half of the shirt, I took note of the sleeve. It was cut as finely as the back, from the cuff to the tiny buttonholes. He could just slip the shirt off without untying her, but by using the scalpel and not scissors he could threaten her with it, ratchet up the fear. A scalpel was a hell of a lot scarier than a pair of scissors any day of the week. It was designed to cut flesh, and everyone knew it. Maximum fear achieved.
I set down the shirt with its other half. The next item was her black skirt, which was now just a long piece of black rayon fabric. I held it up to me, and it hung about mid-thigh. I was three inches taller than she was, so it would just reach her knees, being a respectable length for business. Like the shirt, the skirt had a precise cut right down the middle. The man should have been a tailor.
The bra was next. White cotton with the front between the two underwires cut from top to bottom. The straps as well. The bra went right beside the skirt. Finally, I picked up the underwear, the same white cotton as the bra. This had to have been the most terrifying part for Audrey. The thin swatch of cotton was the only thing separating her from what was inevitably going to happen. The last barrier between the illusion of safety and the harsh reality of life. The cuts were at the seams, one on the right and one on the left. All he had to do was yank, and bye-bye undies. I set the panties down next to the bra.
Her purse remained. It was about the size of a paperback book, barely big enough to hold a wallet and keys. I unzipped it and found the wallet and keys. I took out the wallet, black leather to match the purse, and unbuttoned it. She had about thirty dollars in cash and two credit cards. I pulled out the license and sure enough, it read Audrey Fiona Burke. Her brown hair was shorter here, an inch shy of her shoulders. If her hair had been that short now would he still have chosen her? Probably not. He liked their hair long. Funny how something so simple could mean the difference between life and death.
I returned to Luke, who was alone with the two photographers, hunched over, examining the outline of the body and telling the photographers where to shoot. He glanced up at me as I approached. Clarkson came up behind me at the same time.
“We found some footprints in the grass,” Clarkson reported. “They have the same indentations as before.”
Luke stood up from his uncomfortable position. “Make sure we get plaster casts.”
“The clothes were cut like before,” I said. “He cut the shirt three times, the skirt once, bra three times, and underwear twice, most likely with a scalpel. He left the shoes and purse intact; nothing was missing.”
“I have a question,” Clarkson said to me. “Why didn’t he take the clothes off before he tied her up? It would have been a lot easier.”
“To show her he has the power,” I explained. “By slowly cutting off her clothes with a sharp instrument, it prolongs the fear. She’s powerless to stop him, which fuels her fear, thus fueling his excitement. He feeds off her pain like a vampire, and what could be more frightening than a psychopath cutting off your panties while you’re tied up?”
“God, this guy is sick,” Clarkson muttered.
“That’s why we have to get him off the streets,” Luke said. “Clarkson, go up and wait for the ME. Bring him down here the second he gets here.”
“Yes, sir.” Clarkson hopped to, walking quickly up the path into the woods.
Luke looked at me. “Do you think he still has her?” he asked, voice low.
“I seriously doubt it. She’s somewhere downriver.”
“How does the ranger fit in?”
I walked over to the stained red ground and kneeled down. “Judging from the blood, he did get around to cutting out her heart. The ranger either came in when he was doing it or a little after when he was cleaning up. My guess is right after, and that’s why she isn’t tied up to the shore. He knew the ranger would be missed and couldn’t take the chance.”
“The unexpected intrusion could have unnerved him enough to make mistakes,” Luke said.
I stood up, wanting to get away from the bloodstain. “Possible.”
Luke turned back toward the ranger’s Jeep. “He’s a good shot,” Luke said. “He hit him from thirty feet away center mast both times. He has weapons training.”
“I told you he’s probably a hunter,” I reminded him. “They can hit a deer from fifty feet away if they’re experienced enough.”
“This guy is really impressive, I have to admit,” Luke said, shaking his head. “I’m getting less and less optimistic here. I have the worst feeling we’re never going to catch him.”
“Bite your tongue!” I snapped. “Of course we’ll catch him. He’s only human. We all make mistakes, even him. We’ll get him—I know it.”
“When did you become such an optimist?” he asked with a touch of warmth.
“I’m not optimistic,” I corrected, “I’m stubborn. I’ll catch this freak or die trying.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Yeah,” I scoffed.
Jones, who’d just materialized out of thin air, tapped Luke on the shoulder.
“They found her, sir.”