“The plan makes sense,” she argued.
“What plan?” he demanded. “You don’t have a plan.”
“Nicholas, calm down.”
“Pete, we’re talking about putting my best friend’s little sister into a situation—”
“Maybe you should stop thinking of me as Tommy’s sister,” she suggested. “And start thinking like an agent. This is a golden opportunity.”
“Using you as bait.” He was repeating Pete’s statement, but unlike his superior, his voice wasn’t calm. Nick’s bordered on a roar.
“Will you please lower your voice? I don’t want Tommy to hear about this until we’ve made a decision.”
Nick glared at her and began to pace around the room. Laurant was depending on Pete now to become her ally because, as bad as Nick was taking her plan, she knew her brother’s reaction was going to be ten times worse.
She knew she had to convince Pete. “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life hiding. We both know you wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Nick and Tommy. With all the work you have to do, you couldn’t possibly drop everything and go running every time you heard about a threat. Isn’t that right?”
“Unfortunately, there aren’t enough of us to handle the load these days,” he admitted.
“Your time’s valuable, and so I thought that maybe we could speed up this man’s agenda.”
She could have sworn she saw a speculative gleam appear in the doctor’s eyes.
“What are you proposing?”
“Let’s make him crazy.”
Nick had paused in his pacing and was staring at her with an incredulous look on his face. “He’s already crazy,” he told her. “And so are you if you think Tommy and I are going to let you put yourself in the middle of his playground. Hell no, Laurant. It isn’t going to happen.”
She turned back to Pete. “What would do it? What would push him over the edge? How could we make him so angry he’ll get careless?”
“Having listened to the tape, I can tell you that this unsub has quite an ego, and it’s important to him that the world believe he’s intelligent. It would infuriate him if he heard any criticism at all. If you were to discuss him openly in town, if you were to tell everyone about this fool of a man, then I believe he would speed things up. He’d want to get to you quickly just to shut you up. Mock him, and you’ll incite him.”
“What else could I do?”
“Make him jealous,” he said. “If he thought you were romantically and intimately involved with another man, then he would view that as a betrayal.”
She nodded. “I could make him jealous. I know I could. Remember what he said on the tape? How Millicent betrayed him by flirting with other men, and he had to punish her? I could flirt with every man in town.”
Pete shook his head. “I believe it would be more effective if there was just one man, and the unsub believed you loved him.”
She waited for him to continue. Pete began to drum his fingers on the table while he considered the possibilities.
“He mentioned Nick by name. He dared Tommy to get the FBI involved, so it’s apparent he wants to play his game with us.” Pete rubbed his jaw. “Let’s play into his hand until we see where it leads.”
“What does that mean?”
“Let him think he’s calling the shots,” Pete explained. “I wonder how he would feel if he thought his confession brought you and Nick together romantically. His carefully thought-out game would backfire, and he’d certainly feel like a fool. It’s an interesting idea.” He nodded and added, “You and Nick should behave like a couple in love. That should push the unsub right over the edge.” Pete qualified his suggestion when he said, “If he is what he says he is.”
“Nick . . . ,” she began.
“There’s no way he’s going to buy it,” Nick said. “He brings us together and we fall in love overnight? I’m telling you, Pete, it won’t work.”
“We don’t care if he believes it or not,” Pete patiently explained. “The goal is to taunt him and his little game. If you and Laurant act like lovers, he’ll believe you’re mocking him. He won’t like it one little bit. I guarantee it.”
Nick shook his head. “No. It’s too risky.”
“You’re not being reasonable,” Laurant protested.
“
I’m
not being reasonable? You don’t have a clue what these creeps are capable of . . . not a clue.”
“But you know what they can do,” she pointed out. “And you could make it safe for me.”
Bracing his hands on the tabletop, he leaned forward and shook his head. “You aren’t making an informed decision because you don’t know what you’re up against. There’s no such thing as a fail-safe plan. Isn’t that right, Pete? Remember the Haynes case? Why don’t you tell her about that fail-safe plan.”
Pete paused to consider how much he was going to tell Laurant before beginning.
“Before I started working for the FBI, men like Haynes were called psychopaths, and he certainly was that all right. Nowadays Haynes would be called an organized killer—as opposed to disorganized. He was meticulous in his preparation and planning, and he was highly intelligent. He always targeted a stranger, stalked her for months until he was very familiar with her habits. He would never have contacted her though or warn her the way this unsub has warned you,” he thought to add. “And when he was finally ready, he lured the woman he’d chosen to a secluded area where no one would hear her scream. Like a lot of organized killers, Haynes enjoyed prolonging her agony as long as possible—it heightened his own pleasure, you see, and after he killed her, he always hid the body. That’s an important difference between an organized and disorganized killer,” he explained. “Most disorganized killers leave the body in plain sight, and often they’ll leave the weapon they used as well.
“Haynes did keep souvenirs, however . . . most of them do, so that he could relive the fantasy, but also so that he would have a reminder that he had fooled everyone, especially the authorities. If it weren’t for his wife contacting us, I believe Clay Haynes could have gone on killing for years and years before he disintegrated. He was that clever.
“They set a trap to snare him. His wife had found the souvenirs in an old trunk, and she wanted to help us. She was terrified of her husband and for good reason, but she was determined to put him behind bars. Clay traveled during the week. He was a pharmaceutical rep, but he always returned home on Friday afternoon. They thought they had time, so they let Mrs. Haynes pack before they moved her to a safe house. An agent was with her and a couple of others were staked out front.
“Clay surprised everyone by coming home early. During interrogation he told us he went in through the basement, and he knew at first glance that someone else had touched his trophies. He came up behind the agent in the living room and killed him and then turned his wrath on his wife. When the agent in the house didn’t answer the phone, the others rushed inside, but it was too late by then. Clay had done quite a job on her.”
“He butchered her,” Nick said. “And she sure as hell didn’t die quick.”
Laurant closed her eyes. She didn’t want to hear any more details.
“Were you on that case?”
Pete answered. “Nick was a brand-new recruit. He had completed his training to work in my section, but at that time he was also working with the serial crime unit under a very capable man named Wolcott. Wolcott took Nick along to the crime scene.”
Laurant saw the bleakness in Nick’s eyes and felt a crushing tightness in her chest.
“I saw what that psychopath did to his wife and the agent,” Nick said. “And all the while he was killing the man inside and carving on her, there were agents outside waiting for him. Don’t you wonder what must have been going through her mind knowing that help was that close? I still think about it,” he admitted. “It proved too much for Wolcott to handle. He resigned the next day.”
“Haynes got away, but he was apprehended the following week,” Pete interjected.
“A week and a day too late for anyone to help his wife,” Nick said. “Things can go wrong and best-laid plans—”
“I understand the risks,” she said. “This man who’s stalking me, he’s organized, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“If he’s so clever and so organized, couldn’t he go on killing for years?”
“Some do.”
“Then how can either one of you believe we have any other choice? The woman he’s hunting now . . . she’s someone’s daughter, or mother, or sister. We have to do this.”
“Hell,” Nick muttered. “Have you thought about Tommy’s reaction? What’s he going to say when you tell him about this half-cocked plan of yours?”
“Actually, I thought you might want to tell him about it. You could explain it much better than I could.”
“No, I won’t do it.”
Pete was watching Nick closely. “Interesting,” he remarked quietly.
Nick misinterpreted the comment. “You can’t possibly think her idea has merit. It’s crazy.”
“No, I think your reaction is interesting. I’ve already told you how I feel about your involvement in this, Nick. You’re too close to it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m on vacation. I can do what I want.”
Pete rolled his eyes and then tried to force his agent to be logical. “Laurant’s right about one thing. You need to start thinking like an agent. This is a golden opportunity.”
She knew then she had her ally. “Will you talk to my brother?”
“You’re going to have to get Nick’s cooperation first.”
“That isn’t going to happen,” Nick assured her.
The phone rang, jarring her. Relieved by the interruption, she hurried to answer it.
“Three rings, Laurant. Let it ring three times before you pick up,” Pete cautioned.
She didn’t understand why Pete wanted her to wait, but she nodded agreement as she continued on into the hallway. There was a small alcove, an indentation really, on the opposite side of the steps. A Queen Anne table just fit inside the recess. A black desk phone was resting on top of a pair of phone books, and there were a pad and a pen beside it.
Nick stepped out into the hall as Laurant picked up the receiver.
“Our Lady of Mercy,” she said as she reached for the pen. “May I help you?”
She heard the giggling, and then a little boy’s voice asked, “Is your refrigerator running?”
She knew the joke and decided to go along. “Why, yes it is.”
Another spurt of laughter followed, and then another voice shouted, “Then you better go catch it.”
Laughter rang through the phone as Laurant hung up. Nick was watching from the doorway.
“Kids playing phone games,” she explained.
The phone rang again. As she waited for the third ring to end, she said to Nick, “I guess I shouldn’t have encouraged him. I’ll be firmer this time.”
“Our Lady of Mercy. May I help you?”
“Laurant.” Her name was said on a low sigh.
“Yes?”
The voice on the other end of the line began to sing a bastardized version of “Buffalo Gal.”
“Green-eyed girl won’t you come out and play, come out and play, come out and play. Green-eyed girl won’t you come out and play . . . Like my singing, Laurant?”
“Who is this?” As she asked the question, she whirled around and looked at Nick.
“A heartbreaker,” the voice taunted. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to break your pretty little heart. Are you scared?”
“No, I’m not,” she lied.
She cringed when she heard his laughter. It stopped as suddenly as it had begun and then he whispered, “Do you want to hear another song?”
She didn’t answer. Nick was rushing toward her; she could hear sounds coming from upstairs, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Pete watching her from the dining room, yet she was frozen by the voice on the phone. She was gripping the receiver so tightly in her hand that Nick had to use considerable force to pull it away and listen with her.
It dawned on her then that someone was taping or tracing the call, and that was why Pete had told her to let it ring three times. She should keep him talking as long as possible she thought, but oh God, the sound of his voice made her want to throw up.
“Is the song as stupid as the one you just sang?” she asked.
“Oh, no, no, this one’s sure to please. It’s so pure and . . . original. Listen close now.”
She heard a click, and then a woman’s bloodcurdling screams. It was the most horrific sound she had ever heard. If Nick hadn’t been holding her up, she would have dropped to the floor as the tortured screams pierced her ear. They were almost inhuman and seemed to go on forever. Then, Laurant heard another click, and the screaming stopped.
“Aren’t you going to tell me to leave her alone? I have, you know. I’ve left her in a grave, even put a little stone on top so I’d remember where she is if I ever want to dig her up again. I do that sometimes, you know. I like to see what they’ve become. This one was a poor substitute for you, Laurant. Are you ready to play yet?”
Bile was rising to her throat. She could taste it.
“Play what?” she asked, trying her best to sound bored with him and with the conversation.
“Hide-and-seek. You hide and I seek. That’s how the game is played.”
“I’m not playing any games with you.”