Profile of Retribution: FBI Profiler Romantic Suspense (Profile Series #3) (23 page)

“I want to take off the duct tape from your mouth. We need to talk.” Moving to the head of the bed, he stared down at her. “When I take this off, you cannot scream. Understand? You scream and you’ll be sorry.”

Shaking her head, she watched him as he pulled the duct tape from her mouth. Her lips felt dry, her throat parched, and her voice raspy as she tried to talk. “Please, I need a drink.”

He eyed the bottle of wine. “You won’t get any booze from me, lady. I need you to be able to answer my questions, not pass out on me.”

“No, not the wine. Water.”

“Yeah, I can get you some water. But the duct tape goes back on your mouth until I get back.” Replacing the duct tape, he moved away from the bed, grabbed her flashlight, flipped it on, and left the room. Tisha could hear his footfalls on the steps of the stairs.

Soon he returned with two bottles of water, placing one on a small table near the arm chair. He opened the other, set it down, and then removed the duct tape from her mouth again.

With one gloved hand on the back of her head, he lifted slightly so she could drink from the bottle of water he held. When she signaled she’d had enough, he placed the bottle on the table next to the wine, then sat down in the arm chair and took a swig from his own bottle.

“We’re overdue for a talk, Mrs. Lucas.”

“My husband will be home any minute.”

“Trying to bullshit me is a mistake. Are you sure you want to go there? I followed Mr. Lucas to the airport. He had enough baggage for several days. I called his office and his secretary told me he was at a conference in New Orleans and wouldn’t be back until Monday. He might be coming home tomorrow or the next day. But tonight? No way. Besides, even if he came back, I can take care of his ass with one hand tied behind my back.”

Tisha tried another angle. “The police are watching the house.”

He responded with a bitter laugh. “Well, they’re sure not doing a very good job of it, because I’ve been in your house every night since your hubby left.”

Tisha stiffened. “It wasn’t a nightmare the other night, was it? It really was you standing at the foot of my bed?”

Sneering at her as if she’d just said something brainless, he replied, “It was me.”

“The furniture that was rearranged in the living room and the photographs on the mantel? You did that, too?”

“I can’t take the credit for the idea. Did you know Charles Manson’s minions would break into homes to rearrange furniture or watch people sleeping? Kind of makes your skin crawl, don’t it? I read about it in a magazine. I thought if anyone deserved to have it happen to them, you and your husband did. Did it give you a shock? I thought adding the photographs I found in the basement to your fireplace mantel was a nice touch.”

“You bastard!” she seethed. “I thought I was losing my mind.”

“Join the crowd. I’ve felt like I’m losing mine ever since the police came to my door and told me they’d found my girl’s body at the bottom of a ravine in a creek bed. Slaughtered and then tossed out like garbage. That’s what your sons did to me and the other families. Why should you miss out?”

“Why the photographs?”

“I was down in the basement looking through boxes when I found the fascinating lineup of photographs you have of your sons—kind of a family history. In the early years, there were the boys fishing at a river with their dad, Evan all dressed up in his little league uniform holding a bat at home base, and Devan climbing a tree. Next are the high school photos, with your sons in football uniforms or basketball jerseys. Then there were the pictures with your entire happy family, the all-American dream. But those pictures don’t tell the real story, do they? Where are the ones that tell the story of Evan and Devan slaughtering innocent young women? Where are the photos of the victims? Where are the pictures that tell
that
story?” Glaring at her intently while she held her breath, he paused for just a moment before he continued. “It’s my turn to ask the questions, and I have some interesting ones I’ve been waiting to ask for a long time.”

“Then ask. Let’s get this over with. What do you want to know?”

Chapter Forty-six

Gail

The rain pelting the bill of her hat and soaking her uniform, Gail was working an accident scene when she got Cameron’s call.

“Where are you?”

“Just south of town on U.S. 136, a truck filled with intoxicated teenagers hit a slick spot in the road and ended up in a wooded ravine. Got the kids out and they’re on the way to the hospital. Minor injuries. The tow truck just arrived.”

“Anyone there with you?”

“Yes, sir. Ben’s here. I mean Deputy Deacon.”

“Leave him in charge and head toward the Lucas place to do a wellness check. No lights and siren. I’m heading there now, but you’re closer than I am.”

“No problem, sir.”

“One more thing, if anything looks amiss, call and wait for backup. Understand? I think I know who the Lucas harasser is and if I’m right, he’s violent and could be armed. He may not be in the house. But if he is, don’t confront him.”

Chapter Forty-seven

Questions and Answers

“When did you discover something was wrong with your sons?”

It was a loaded question that lay heavily in the room like thick morning fog. If she answered him honestly and told him she suspected something was off with her sons early on, but her husband didn’t believe her so she did nothing, he was sure to kill them both. She had no choice but to lie.

“There were no signs or warnings that Evan and Devan would abduct and kill all those girls. Don’t you think if we knew they were capable of such atrocities that we would have gotten them help?”

His voice was low and menacing when he responded. “Here’s what I think. You’re lying. Didn’t I warn you about bullshitting me? Don’t insult my intelligence. Now try again. This time with the truth.”

“Okay, there was a time when the boys were still in elementary school and some neighbors accused them of killing their pets. Even though there was a chance it wasn’t my boys, I took them to our family doctor and I talked to our youth pastor at church. They both said, ‘Boys will be boys’ and that the twins seemed perfectly normal.”

“You used the word ‘I’ which tells me that your husband blew you off. He didn’t go with you to the doctor, and he wasn’t with you when you talked to the pastor. A big, important man like Bradley Lucas couldn’t have defective sons, now could he?”

“We were good parents, damn it. Yes, we made mistakes, but we gave our sons a good home with rules and limits. Devan and Evan didn’t commit the murders because of how they were raised. Their actions were in complete opposition to the way they were raised. We thought we were doing everything we could as parents. Our sons were well-behaved at home, got good grades and were both competing for college scholarships. ‘What went wrong?’ Don’t you think I’ve asked myself that question a million times? I don’t know!”

Tisha paused, and when he didn’t say anything, she continued. “You’re sitting there in judgment. Were you such a perfect parent that you didn’t make mistakes?”

“Shut up!” he roared. “How dare you ask that question when you’re the one that gave birth to serial killers! Have you no shame?”

“I feel horrible about what happened. It haunts my days and nights. I can’t even put into words how sorry I am. My heart breaks for families like yours who have to deal with such a horrible thing happening to their daughters, their sisters, mothers, or wives. This didn’t need to happen. I wish I could wave a magic wand and return those poor girls to their families.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re saying anything you can think of to avoid the retribution you and your husband so richly deserve.”

A loud pounding sounded from the floor below, making the man jerk his head toward the noise. Seizing the Sig Sauer from the table, he jumped to his feet.

Chapter Forty-eight

The Intruder

Pulling into the long Lucas driveway, Gail searched the house for signs of life as she inched her way closer. The power was still out in this area, therefore there were no lights on in the house. She’d tried to call the Lucas’ landline from her vehicle on the way, but got no answer. Chances were the phones were dead. Nice night to be out and about. Not.

Once she stopped the cruiser and turned off the ignition, she radioed dispatch with her arrival. There’d been no word from Sgt. Chase, so she texted him with the same information.

Grabbing her flashlight from the passenger seat, she got out of the vehicle and was assaulted by a downpour beating against her hat and uniform, as the rain soaked her skin and seeped into her shoes. With one hand holding her flashlight, the other resting on her weapon, she ran until she reached the shelter of the front porch. Once she got her bearings, she hammered the front door with her fist while calling out Mrs. Lucas’ name. No one came to the door.

She stepped to the edge of the porch and looked up to the second floor windows. Still seeing no signs of life, Gail sloshed through the wet grass to the side of the house, where she aimed her flashlight and noticed the side door to the garage was ajar. Best-case scenario was that wind had blown it open. Worst-case scenario was that an intruder was in the house, and this was where and how he got in.

Pulling a snap on her holster, she rested her hand on her gun as she eased toward the open door. She was only a few feet from the door when she hit a slick patch of mud and her feet flew out from under her, and she landed with a painful thud. A hand on her aching back, she got to her feet and proceeded toward the open door. Finally, Gail reached the open door and pointed her flashlight inside the garage, where a new BMW SUV was parked. Angling the beam of light, she discovered the door leading into the house was wide open.

Gail was going to return to her car to call for backup when something or someone stepped on a branch nearby, making a snapping sound. Whipping her gun out of the holster, she positioned her body toward the noise and shouted, “Shawnee County Sheriff! Don’t move. Stay where you are!”

She then heard a man’s voice. “Gail. It’s me. Bryan Pittman. Don’t shoot.”

Aiming her flashlight at his face, she recognized the county coroner and holstered her weapon. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing out here, Dr. Pittman, but you need to turn and run to my vehicle as fast as you can. There’s may be an intruder inside and I need to call for backup.”

Once inside the vehicle, Gail tossed a small white towel to Bryan, and grabbed one for herself from the back seat. Blotting her face and neck, she put in a call to dispatch for backup, and sent a text to Sgt. Chase, who had still not arrived.

Gail eyed the house, looking for movement. “So what are you doing out here in the middle of the night during the worst storm we’ve had this spring?”

“After I finished up an autopsy using auxiliary power, I was heading home when I saw your vehicle. I’ve been worried about Mrs. Lucas staying here alone, so I check the house on my way home every night. When I saw you were here, I figured something else had happened. That our vandal had struck again.”

Headlights in her rearview mirror appeared at the end of the driveway. Soon she recognized Sgt. Chase getting out of his vehicle.

Cameron and Gail entered the house through the open side door, guns drawn, and their flashlights lighting the way. Bryan was close behind. They’d cleared the first floor and were heading toward the stairs when the lights flickered on and they heard muffled cries coming from the next level.

Gail cleared the second floor rooms while Cameron and Bryan moved toward the master bedroom. Inside they found Tisha Lucas bound to her bed. Cameron and Bryan worked quickly to remove the duct tape from her mouth and cut it from her wrists and ankles.

“Where is he?” Cameron wanted to know.

Rubbing her arms, Tisha said, “He’s gone. Shot down the stairs when he heard the pounding on the front door. He’s got Bradley’s Sig Sauer.”

Cameron moved to the hallway to call dispatch to put out an APB, and Gail found a robe in the bathroom to cover Tisha.

Bryan tried to take Tisha’s pulse, but she scowled at him and yanked her wrist away. “Mrs. Lucas, I’ll call an ambulance. You need to go to the hospital to get checked out.”

Tisha’s voice was emphatic. “Don’t call an ambulance. I’m fine. I’m leaving this house, but I won’t be going to a hospital.” She turned to Cameron and asked, “Is it my decision to press charges or not?”

“Yes. But why do you ask?”

“I’m
not
filing a complaint.”

“You can’t be serious. After all he’s done—”

“You heard me. I’m not filing a complaint. I would have reacted the same way, maybe worse, if the situation were reversed and his daughter had murdered my sons.”

“You don’t know anything about this guy, what he’s done in the past, and what he’s capable of.”

“I know that my sons murdered his daughter for fun.”

“She wasn’t his daughter. His name is Thomas Engle, Sr. and—”

Tisha interrupted. “How do you know his name?”

“I ran his criminal records tonight. Something I should have done at the beginning of the case. I apologize for that.”

“The girl my sons killed was not his daughter?”