Samantha’s fingers tapped on the table. “How can you be so sure you’ve found him?”
Macey fumbled a bit and hit her laptop. Immediately, her files projected onto the screen to the right. “This victim was discovered twenty-four hours ago.” Her words came a little too fast, so she sucked in another breath, trying to slow herself down. “A victim who is currently in the Hiddlewood ME’s office. The autopsy hasn’t even begun, but the medical examiner was struck by what she felt was a ritualistic pattern on the victim.” She licked her lips. “Look at the victim’s arms. The slices, from wrist to elbow. The Doctor always made those marks first on his victims. Those are his test wounds. He makes them to be sure his victims can feel the pain of their injuries, but still not fight him.”
Silence. Macey clasped her hands together. “We got lucky on this one because we have a medical examiner who pays close attention to detail—and who seems very familiar with the work of Daniel Haddox. Dr. Sofia Lopez sent those files to the FBI, and I’ve got...I’ve got a friend here who knew what I’ve been looking for in terms of victim pathology.” When she’d seen those wounds, Macey had known she’d found the bastard who’d tormented her. “I think the man who killed this victim is Daniel Haddox, and I think we need to get a team up to Hiddlewood right away.”
Tucker leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he stared at the screen. “You think this perp will kill again? You’re so sure we’re not dealing with some copycat who just heard about Daniel Haddox’s crimes and thought he could imitate the murders?” Tucker pressed.
No, she wasn’t sure. How could she be? “I think we need to get up there.” Her hands twisted in front of her. She wasn’t supposed to let cases get personal, Macey knew that, but...how could this case not be personal? Haddox had marked her, literally. He’d changed her whole life. She’d left medicine. She’d joined the FBI. She’d hunted killers because...
Because deep down, I’m always hunting him. The one who got away. The one I have to stop.
Samantha stared at her in silence for a moment. A far-too-long moment. Macey realized she was holding her breath. And then—
“Get on a plane and get up there,” Samantha directed curtly. Then she pointed to Bowen. “You, too, Bowen. I want you and Macey working together on this one. Get up there, take a look at the crime scene, and...” Her gaze cut back to Macey. “You work with the ME. If Daniel Haddox really committed this homicide, then you’ll know. You know his work better than anyone.”
Because she still carried his “work” on her body. And in her mind. In the dark chambers that she fought so hard to keep closed.
But now I’ve found you, Daniel. You won’t get away again.
Tucker rose and came around the table toward her as she fumbled with her laptop. “Macey...” His voice was pitched low so that only she could hear him. “Are you sure you want to be the one going after him? Believe me on this...sometimes confronting the demons from your past doesn’t free you. It just pulls you deeper into the darkness.”
Her hands stilled on her laptop. She looked into Tucker’s eyes and saw the sympathy that filled his stare. If anyone would know about darkness, it would be Tucker. She lifted her chin, hoping she looked confident. “I want to put this particular darkness in a cell and make sure he never gets out.”
He nodded, but the heaviness never left his expression. “If you and Bowen hit trouble, call in the rest of the team, got it? We always watch out for each other.”
Yes, they did.
She put her laptop into her bag. Tucker filed out of the room, but Samantha lingered near the doorway. Bowen wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Macey figured that he must have slipped away while she was talking to Tucker. Clutching her bag, she headed toward Samantha.
“How many victims do you think he’s claimed?” Samantha’s voice was quiet as she asked the question that haunted Macey.
Every single night...when she wondered where Daniel was...when she wondered if he had another patient trapped on his table. How many? “We know he killed five patients before he took me.” They’d found their remains in that hospital, hidden behind a makeshift wall in the basement. Daniel had made his own crypt for those poor people. He’d killed them, and then he’d sealed them away.
“He’s been missing for several years,” Macey continued. Her heart drummed too fast in her chest.
“And serial killers don’t just stop, not cold turkey.” Samantha tilted her head as she studied Macey. “He might have experienced a cooling-off period, but he wouldn’t have been able to give up committing the murders. He would have needed the rush that he got when he took a life.”
How many victims? “I don’t know how many,” Macey whispered. And, because she trusted Samantha, because Samantha was more than just her boss—she was her friend—Macey said, “I’m afraid to find out.”
Because every one of those victims would be on her. After all, Macey was the one who hadn’t stopped him. She’d run away from him, so terrified, and when she’d fled, he’d escaped.
And lived to kill another day.
Samantha’s hand rose and she squeezed Macey’s shoulder. “You didn’t hurt those people—none of those people.”
“I ran away.” She licked her lips.
“You survived. You were a victim then. That’s what you were supposed to do—survive.”
She wasn’t a victim any longer. “I’m an FBI agent now.”
“Yes.” Samantha held her gaze. “And he won’t get away again.”
No, he damn well wouldn’t.
After a quick planning talk with Samantha, Macey slipped into the hallway and hurried toward her small office. As always, their floor was busy, a hum of activity, and she could hear the rise and fall of voices in the background. She kept her head down and soon she was in her office, shutting the door behind her—
“I would have helped you.”
Macey sucked in a sharp breath. Bowen stood next to the sole window in the small room, his gaze on the city below. His hands were clasped behind his back, and she could see the bulk of his weapon and holster beneath the suit jacket he wore.
She put her laptop down on the desk. “Samantha said we should be ready to fly in an hour. She’s giving us the FBI’s jet to use—”
He turned toward her. “Do you trust me, Mace?”
Mace. That was the nickname he’d adopted for her, and half the time, she wasn’t even sure that he realized he was changing her name. But...it was softer when he said “Mace” and not “Macey.” For some reason, she usually felt good when he used that nickname.
She didn’t feel good right then. Do you trust me? Was that a trick question? She frowned at him. “You’re my partner. I have to trust you.” Or else they’d both be screwed. She was supposed to watch his back, and he was supposed to watch hers. It was pretty much the only way the FBI worked.
He crossed his arms over his chest as he considered her. “I have to ask... What will happen if you come face-to-face with Daniel Haddox?”
She stared up at him, but for a moment, she didn’t see Bowen. She saw Daniel. Smiling. His eyes gleaming. And a scalpel in his hand. The scalpel was covered in her blood.
Bowen’s square jaw hardened. “We’re on this team because Samantha thinks our connections to killers give us special insight into serial crimes. We’re not here because we’re trying to follow our own personal agendas.”
Hurt, she took a step back. “My agenda?” Anger hummed in her blood and, just that fast, she didn’t see Daniel any longer. She just saw Bowen. Bowen with his handsome face, his dark eyes, his strong jaw—a jaw that was currently clenched. Bowen with his broad shoulders and his athletic build. Bowen...the guy she’d thought would understand, more than anyone else, exactly why she had to do this. “You’re the man who hunted a serial and killed him. You’re the one who went out for your own justice, not me.”
He looked away
from her. “There are things you don’t know...”
Because Bowen wasn’t exactly the sharing sort. That was fine, neither was she. “I’m not going up there to kill him.”
Now he turned his stare back on her.
“Isn’t that what this whole trust talk is about?” She tugged on her right sleeve, making sure it was perfectly in place, as always. She didn’t like for anyone to see her scars. When people saw them, they tended to just—stare. And stare. And then to look at her with sympathy or horror. “You want to know what my plans are? Do you want to know if I’m going up there so that I can exact some vengeance on the man who tried to kill me?” Her words hung in the air between them.
He was supposed to say something.
He didn’t.
Damn it. He did want to know all that.
“Samantha trusts me.” So maybe she emphasized trust a bit too much there. “You should, too. I’m going up there to stop a killer. I’m not going to Hiddlewood so that I can become one.”
He took a step closer to her. “Is that what you think I am? Do you look at me and see a killer?”
She thought she’d lost control of the conversation. Total control. She smoothed a hand over her hair. “No, look...we need to get packed, okay? There’s a lot of work to do and not a lot of time. I’ll just—I’ll see you on the jet.” Macey backed away from him.
She started checking her desk, grabbing any notes she needed and trying to look anywhere but at Bowen as she heard him pace toward the door.
But he didn’t leave her office. At her door, he stilled. She knew because she’d snuck a quick glance at him. He filled her doorway, his broad back tense, and his hands on the door frame. He didn’t look back at her as he said, “I hate that he hurt you.”
Join the club. I hate that he got away. I hate that he’s killed someone else. Maybe a whole lot of people. I hate it so much that it makes me sick.
“You aren’t the only one who has been looking for him,” Bowen rasped. “You think I haven’t been searching for the bastard, too?”
Surprise rocked through her. “Samantha assigned you to his case?” Sometimes they did look into the colder cases but—
“No.” He’d finally glanced over his shoulder. “This has nothing to do with Samantha or the rest of the team. It’s about you. He hurt you. And I want him to pay. So I’ve been looking for the bastard. I’ve been hunting him.” His lips curved in a humorless smile. “You just found him first.”
Unease slithered through her. Macey stopped searching through her desk. “Bowen?”
“He won’t hurt you again. I’ll make sure of that. Like I was trying to tell you before, you should trust me. I’ll always watch your back.”
Then he was gone. And she was left staring at the door.
* * *
BOWEN MURPHY HAD one weakness in this world, and that weakness was named Macey Night. The beautiful, brilliant and very, very untouchable Macey Night.
He watched her now as she headed down the flight of stairs that led to the medical examiner’s office in Hiddlewood. Their flight to North Carolina had been brief—and quiet. Macey wasn’t the kind of person who filled the air with idle chitchat. Macey was intense, Macey was focused...and Macey had been driving him insane for years.
Ever since he’d first walked into the FBI’s DC office and seen her.
He’d heard her story before he met her. The woman who’d escaped from the infamous Doctor, the MD who’d walked away from her medical career so that she could catch violent criminals. Macey came in a small package, she barely skimmed over five feet three inches, but the woman was pure power. She was dead-on with her gun, and when it came to crime scenes, she always seemed to find details that others overlooked.
And as for the bodies...
No one gets the dead like she does.
They’d reached the end of the stairs. Macey looked back up at him, brushing her hair over her shoulders. Her red hair was straight and fell in a blunt cut that framed her delicate face perfectly. Her gaze drifted to him, and that gaze was as unnerving as always. And not because she had two different-colored eyes—something he found oddly sexy—because it was her. Because he often felt as if Macey could see straight into him.
A bad thing. Because inside? He was dark and twisted.
“Dr. Lopez is supposed to have the victim ready for us. I just need to get a look at the vic’s wounds, and then we can go forward from there.”
By going forward, he hoped that meant a fast trip to the crime scene. He wanted to get hunting. Because even if the perp wasn’t Daniel Haddox, that meant they still had a killer out there. One that needed to be stopped before anyone else was hurt.
Macey adjusted her sleeves, a move he’d seen her do dozens of times, and Bowen’s hand flew out, wrapping around her wrist. “You don’t need to hide.”
He felt her pulse jump beneath his fingers.
“Your scars don’t matter, Mace,” he continued, staring into her eyes. “Forget about them.”
“I can’t.” He saw a crack in her mask. A glimpse at the pain she always carried on her own. “They remind me that I let him get away. That I didn’t stop him.”
Fuck that. “You were a victim who escaped a sadistic bastard.” And his fingers slid under her right sleeve. He felt the faint line of raised skin there. “The only thing these scars should do is tell you how strong you are.”
Her lips parted. She stared up at him and he was leaning in toward her. Too close. He should back away. He should let her go. But her sweet scent—Macey always smelled like lavender—had wrapped around him. He didn’t want to back away. He wanted to get closer.
The door opened down the hallway. “Dr. Night?” a feminine voice called.
Macey pulled her wrist from his grip. “Yes, I’m Special Agent Night.” She nodded toward Bowen. “And this is my partner, Special Agent Bowen Murphy.”
The woman hurried forward as she offered her hand first to Macey, then to Bowen. “Sofia Lopez.” She wore a white lab coat and her dark hair was pulled into a bun at the base of her neck. Dr. Lopez was young, probably close to thirty, and her dark gaze was steady. “I’m so glad that you both came down here. As soon as I saw the body...those marks on the arms—” her gaze slid right back to Macey “—I immediately thought of you.”
Bowen tensed.
But Dr. Lopez shook her head. “That sounded wrong. Let me try again.” She offered Macey a weak smile of apology. “I remembered your story. A few years ago, it was splashed all over the news. I always follow the big crime stories. I’m something of a crime buff. But with my job, guess that makes sense, huh?”
Very few stories had been as big as Daniel Haddox’s gory tale. The public had an unquenchable appetite for darkness. At least, that was how it seemed to Bowen. And the handsome doctor who’d been slicing up his patients? Hell, three movies had been made about him.
Dr. Lopez cleared her throat. “The wounds you received on your arms were very specific, and when it was revealed that Dr. Haddox marked all of his victims that way—”
“Why don’t you show us this victim?” Bowen cut in. Macey looked uncomfortable and she was back to tugging at her sleeve.
“This victim, right!” Dr. Lopez said. She spun on her heel. “I have her waiting on my table.”
Bowen followed the ME and Macey into the exam room. As soon as he stepped inside, the smell hit him like a punch. He hated the odor that he always found waiting within the labs of coroners or medical examiners. Bleach, bodies, hell.
But he approached the exam area determinedly, his gaze sweeping over the woman on the table. The woman had pale blond hair, delicate features and appeared to be in her early twenties. “Do we have an ID for the vic yet?”
“Yes.” The ME pulled up a chart. “The crime team actually recovered her driver’s license at the scene. She’s Gale Collins, twenty-two,
a college student at the University of North Carolina.”
“Where was she found?” Bowen asked.
The ME’s lips pulled down. “She was...she was dumped in town. Literally. Her body was just tossed behind one of the motels. She wasn’t killed there,” Dr. Lopez added quickly. “Not enough blood at the scene. Someone just wanted to get rid of her body.”
Macey’s brows furrowed. “That wasn’t part of Daniel’s MO. He didn’t give up his prey.”
No, the sick prick had sealed them in the walls of his hospital. But since the guy didn’t have a hospital any longer, maybe he’d had no choice.
“Based on the body decomp and lividity, I think our vic was killed within the last forty-eight hours.” The ME blew out a quick breath. “I’ll be able to narrow down that time frame with more testing.”
“Were there any signs that she’d recently had surgery?” Macey asked quietly as she pulled on a pair of gloves. Bowen stood back. Macey was the one who worked on the bodies. He had a rule about the dead—he gave them justice, but he didn’t examine them. Hell, no, that wasn’t his department. So Bowen locked his arms over his chest and watched her work.
“Nothing that I could detect with a preliminary exam,” Dr. Lopez replied.
Macey pulled back the sheet and her eyes narrowed.
Bowen blew out a hard breath. The Doctor made a mess of her. Anger tightened his body. The son of a bitch sure seemed to like hurting women.
Macey’s fingers trembled around the sheet. “Well, here, at least, he stuck to his pattern.”
A sick, sadistic pattern.
“He hurt her for a very long time,” Macey added softly. She cleared her throat. “I’m assuming you’ve already started the blood work to find out what mix of drugs he gave to the victim?” Her fingers slid toward the victim’s wrist. “The bruising here is consistent with straps being used to secure the patient. He locked the straps very tightly.” She swallowed. “Probably because he wanted to be sure that he never made the same mistake again with a victim.”