Midnight Fear

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Southwest Washington, D.C.

T
he muffled cry meant the woman was still alive. Reid Novak tightened his grip on the Glock braced in front of him and moved cautiously forward, his eyes searching the shadows of the abandoned factory. Above him, anemic moonlight filtered through grime-streaked windows set in crumbling brick.

Another distorted sob. They were close. His adrenaline soared and he felt his heart pound.

He sensed more than heard his partner’s presence behind him. Although FBI agent Mitch Tierney looked like defensive line material for the Washington Redskins, he possessed a surprising stealthy grace. He moved into Reid’s line of vision, the barrel of his powerful firearm leading his stride.

“Blood splatter,” Mitch noted in a rough whisper. He jerked his jaw downward to point out the trail of drops. “Party’s already started.”

Together they inched to the blackened doorway,
acutely aware of the rotted wood floor beneath them. Reid looked at Mitch in the tide of darkness, a voiceless communication occurring between them. Then he removed his left hand from the Glock and raised three fingers, giving the count.

One. Two. Three.

He turned the corner, Mitch covering him as he burst into the room.

“FBI!” Reid made a sweeping arc with the gun, his eyes straining to find human form. His breath clouded in the biting cold. The cavernous industrial space held the rusty odor of mildew.

“Jesus. There,” Mitch growled.

Faint light from a far window barely illuminated the victim. Her mouth had been covered with duct tape and her hands were bound together as if in prayer. The large knife being pressed against her throat glinted silver. Already, the woman’s white blouse was torn and streaked with blood. Joshua Edward Cahill stood behind her, the planes of his face submerged in shadow. He clutched her against his chest.

“Drop the knife, Joshua.” Reid kept his voice calm, moving closer.

“I’ll cut her throat!”

The woman made a mewling sound as he pressed the knife harder. Her eyes grew large and rolled back in fear. A thin line of crimson appeared on her pale throat. Despite the frigid air, Reid felt a drop of perspiration roll down his back.

“Damn it,” Mitch snapped, lurching forward. Reid halted him.

“Look at me, Joshua.”

“Go away!”

“You know I can’t do that. Step back and let her go.”

“So you can send me to prison? Someone told you wrong, Agent Novak. I’m a
paranoid schizophrenic with poor control of impulsive behavior
.” His derisive tone sounded as if he were quoting from a psychiatrist’s notepad. “I’m not a moron.”

“No one has to die.”

“Right.” Joshua’s voice cracked as he took a step toward the floor-to-ceiling window, dragging his captive with him. She struggled until another nick with the knife made her freeze. Reid knew that three stories below lay the icy Potomac, snaking along the ground like a black ribbon edged in snowdrifts. He stood about ten yards away now, his gun still trained on the shadow that was a U.S. senator’s son.

“We can take you to Dr. Lauderbach,” he bartered. “You trust him, right?”

“Lauderbach’s an asshole.”

As he dipped his head into the wash of moonlight, Joshua’s dark eyes appeared beneath a shock of ebony hair. He glared at Reid and tightened his hold on his hostage. The woman was in her early thirties, blonde, with legs clad in dark tights beneath a plaid skirt. She’d lost one shoe somewhere in her nightmare. Panting, her cheeks puffed in and out behind the gunmetal-gray tape concealing the lower part of her face. Reid looked into
her tear-filled eyes and tried not to look there again. To do so would be to lose his objectivity, something he couldn’t afford.

“So what do you want, Joshua?”

“I want to see my sister! I want to see Caitlyn!”

“We’ll get her for you, man,” Mitch offered, the sagging hardwood planking emitting a groan beneath him. Reid feared his partner might go crashing through to the next floor. “You’re lying—”

Mitch advanced a step. “We’ll send a unit for her. Have her here in fifteen minutes. But you’ve got to give us something. Give us the woman—”

Joshua’s voice rose, steeped in panic. “You step back! I’ll slit her goddamn throat!”

Mitch did as ordered—no easy task, Reid realized. His partner was wired, his big shoulders hunched under the navy Bureau jacket like a cat ready to spring on its prey.

“Caitlyn took my journal, didn’t she?” Joshua cut his gaze to Reid. Betrayal burned in his eyes. “She gave it to you.”

“That doesn’t matter—”

“It does to me!”

Reid tensed as Joshua dragged his captive closer to the window, coming to a stop only when his back met the filthy glass. Where were the sharpshooters? There should be a helicopter overhead by now. The trickle of blood pooled in the collar of the woman’s blouse. Reid’s
mouth went dry. Joshua’s hostility was escalating. They were running out of time.

“Caitlyn gave me the journal,” he acknowledged. “She cares about you. She wants you to get help.”

Hearing this, Joshua’s face crumpled. He sniveled and scrubbed a hand over his eyes but didn’t remove the one that held the knife to the woman’s throat. Reid’s index finger remained poised on the Glock’s trigger. Could he get off a clear shot? The woman made an effective shield. If his bullet missed its mark by even an inch…

Joshua muttered under his breath, his words rippling with vulgarity and promises of violence. In his peripheral vision, Reid saw Mitch closing in again. His partner apparently sensed the same build of energy around them, hinting at the growing doom.

“You said nobody has to die.” Joshua’s dark eyes glittered.

“Nobody does—”

“What if I want to?” He let out a high-pitched sob. “What if I want to end it right now?”

“Joshua…listen to me. Don’t.”

The crack of rotting wood filled the room.

“Fuck!”

Reid saw Mitch fall through, his legs disappearing into the hole that had opened up in the floor. His gun skittered away as his arms flailed to gain purchase on the remaining planks.

Joshua struck. The knife’s cold metal flashed across the pale throat in a fierce move, with Reid’s gun dis
charging a fraction of a second later. He barely noticed the weapon’s kick that flared pain into his wrist. Struck in the shoulder, Joshua fell backward into the window, crashing through it in a burst of shattered glass.

The woman dropped to the floor like a broken doll. Blood rushed from the gash in her throat. Reid landed on his knees beside her, already knowing it was too late. Her body convulsed as he leaned over her, trying to apply pressure to the wound with his hands. Arterial spray covered his jacket. Behind him, Mitch had hauled himself from the splintered wood. He now hung halfway out the window, looking down into the Potomac where Cahill had disappeared. He barked orders over his radio to the team below.

“Find him! Find that little son of a bitch!”

Reid’s attempts to control the bleeding were useless. He looked into the woman’s eyes, all need for objectivity gone. Her fear faded as her gaze became fixed, the pupils dilated. A feeble last rattle of air left her body. He felt her fluttering pulse stop. “No. No!”

Mitch laid a hand on Reid’s shoulder. He shook it off, anger and helplessness choking him. There was no point in CPR. His throat burned. The air around him smelled of gunpowder and blood.

“Carotid’s severed—she’s gone,” Mitch stated, voice flat. “Let it go.”

Reid sat back on his heels, his palms slick with blood. Above them, a helicopter roared over the building, its spotlight searching the river. The gaping hole where the window had been let in a glacial blast of January
wind. He shuddered, the icy air seeping into his chest and making it hard to breathe. Already, he could hear the mechanical crank and rattle inside the ancient elevator shaft, telling him paramedics were on their way. But there was no hurry now. He continued to hold the woman’s still-bound, lifeless hand.

For two weeks, Joshua Cahill had been a suspect in the serial murders case. His father had done everything possible to keep the joint police and FBI investigation away from his son. But in the end, Reid had been right. Whether Senator Braden Cahill was worried about his own reputation or was in serious denial about Joshua’s mental illness was up for speculation.

“Damn near fell through to the next floor.” Mitch had returned to the window to scan the black water. “You think he’s dead?”

“Maybe,” Reid answered softly. “I don’t know.”

He closed his eyes against the scene. Pain bloomed inside his brain, the beginning of another migraine. He’d desperately wanted to end Cahill’s spree at five victims. But tonight, one more woman had been added to the gruesome, senseless list. Should he have taken his chance? Fired in that instant before the weakened floor gave in? Before Joshua had made his choice?

Rising from the floor, he prepared himself for the onslaught of questions that would be launched at him. Questions that would start with SAC Johnston and no doubt travel all the way down from Capitol Hill.