Authors: Alexa Grace
Handing him a dish towel, Carly said firmly, "You heard correctly. I'm seeing him next week."
Dabbing the spilled coffee with the towel, he asked, "Why on earth would you want to visit that sadistic son of a bitch?"
Carly retrieved the coffee pot and refilled his mug. "I received a call from Dr. Richard Anderson this week."
"Who's he?"
"Dr. Anderson is a renowned BAU profiler and researcher. I completed many of his courses while with the FBI," Carly explained. "He said the agents assigned to get information from Ryder about additional victims and dump sites were getting nowhere. Ryder won't talk to them."
"Why you? Why can't the famous profiler and researcher interview Ryder himself?"
"He thinks Ryder may be more apt to talk to me." Carly focused on her plate, toying with her food, moving it back and forth, but not eating it.
"There's something else. What aren't you telling me?" Brody asked, leaning across the table.
"Ryder asked for me. He'll talk if I am the one who interviews him."
"As the guy who loves you and doesn't know what he'd do without you in his life, I can't tell you how much I oppose this idea," Brody began. "You were at the trial and heard his rants. Sweet Jesus, Carly, the man shot you. Ryder hates you because he blames you for his getting caught."
<><><>
Gabe pulled the sheet over Kaitlyn's body to ward off the morning chill. He loved how her body felt pressed against him, her arm across his waist, and one long leg thrown across his thighs. Reveling in the feel of her, he listened to her quiet breathing, knowing she'd fallen asleep. He'd never felt so content, so connected. It scared him to put his heart out there, but he decided she was worth the risk. There was no escaping the fact he was falling hard for Kaitlyn Reece.
Kissing her on the top of her head, he managed to slip out from underneath her without waking her. Finding his boxers on the floor, he slipped them on and went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.
Before long, Kaitlyn appeared in the kitchen, wearing a silky robe. Gabe pulled her into his arms, kissing her hair and neck. "Next time, we go slowly. I want to explore every delicious inch of you."
Her arms wrapped her arms around his waist. "Looking forward to it."
"Would you like me to make you breakfast? I checked your fridge and you have eggs, bread, and maple syrup. Would you like some French toast?"
"Did you hear my stomach growling? I'm famished, but I need to know more about what happened to my sister."
Gabe nodded and opened the refrigerator door to pull out eggs, milk, and bread, along with the maple syrup.
Finding her remote, Kaitlyn flicked on the small flat screen television anchored on her kitchen wall, and the morning news appeared. A local news anchor stood in an alley next to what looked like a local bar. "This is the site where the body of Purdue University co-ed Abby Reece was found yesterday—"
Gabe grabbed the remote from her hand, quickly turning off the TV and the newscast.
"Oh, God, no," Kaitlyn moaned, her voice trembling, tears flooding down her face. "Her body was found in an alley? How did Abby die? Tell me everything. I mean it. Don't leave anything out."
Leading her to the living room, Gabe sat on the couch and pulled her down next to him. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."
"How did she die?"
"Abby was murdered." It pained him to see the misery etched in her face.
"Who would want to kill my sister? I mean, she had her faults. But no one deserves to be killed and dumped in an alley like garbage. Who found her body?"
Gabe paused for just a moment, and then said, "
I
did, Kaitlyn. I found her body."
"You found her body yesterday and didn't tell me?" A mixture of anger and fear filled her blue eyes.
Gabe reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. "I couldn't tell you until she was officially identified by our coroner. I wasn't absolutely sure it was Abby. I didn't want you to suffer needless pain if the body wasn't hers."
"How did
you
happen to find her?"
"I got an email from her killers."
"What the hell is going on?" Kaitlyn jumped to her feet, and began rattling off questions. "Did you say 'killers,' as in more than one? How do you know more than one person killed Abby? Why would they send you an email about killing my sister? How did they know that you even knew her?"
"Starting with your first question, I know more than one person killed her because they signed the email as "Gamers," plural, indicating there is more than one of them. We think there are two of them, and they're playing a sick game with law enforcement."
"Why would they send
you
an email about killing my sister? How did they know that you even knew her?"
"I think they were stalking Abby. Maybe they saw me with her at some point," Gabe began. "The email was more about their contempt for my brother and his detectives, than it was about Abby."
"Why does that not make me feel better? All I know is that the bastards killed my sister and I'll never get the chance to tell her I love her." A single tear slid down her cheek.
Gabe pulled her into his arms, holding her close and stroking her hair. "I'm so sorry this happened, Kaitlyn."
Kaitlyn pushed him away. "Oh my God. My mom! My mom can't hear this on TV. I have to go to her house. She needs me."
"My brother, Cameron, is the detective assigned to the case. He should have told your mom about Abby's death by now."
"I don't want her alone at a time like this. We'll have to plan a funeral." Kaitlyn led Gabe to the door, and then added in a low voice, "This conversation isn't over."
Gabe's cell vibrated and he pulled it from his pocket to read a text from Cameron. "I have to get dressed for an interview. I need to leave for the sheriff's office. I'll call you later."
"Interview?" Kaitlyn asked, as she followed him back to the bedroom and watched him get dressed.
"An Indiana State Police Detective is going to interview me about Abby's murder." As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could yank them right back. If Kaitlyn wasn't suspicious of him before, she would be now.
"Why does a detective want to talk to you about it?"
Gabe paused for a second, and then said, "I'm on a list of suspects."
"Why?"
"I dated Abby. I found her body. Hell, if I was a cop, I'd suspect me, too."
A flicker of doubt crossed her face for a fraction of a second, but Gabe noticed it and said, "Are you wondering if you just made love with a killer?"
"No, of course not," Kaitlyn said, not sounding too convincing, even as she shook her head.
"She was murdered between midnight and two in the morning on Thursday," he explained, watching her intently. "Do you remember what was going on during that time frame?"
"Oh, God. Wednesday was the night you caught me in the Hoosier Bar and Grill. You took me to your office, and then drove me home around two in the morning on Thursday, and we talked in your truck when we got here."
"Since I was with you, it's literally impossible that I could have murdered your sister."
"Oh, Gabe. I am so sorry."
"You were right about what you said before. This conversation isn't over. I'll call you later."
Chapter Six
The small room was lined with plastic storage bins, each labeled with a name. Devan and Evan worked carefully around each one as they scrubbed the floor with bleach.
"After we get the floor done, we'll strip the bed and take the sheets to the Star's Laundromat. With enough bleach and hot water, we should get any trace of Abby Reece's DNA out of them," said Evan.
"Did you learn that from
C.S.I.
or
Forensics Files
?" asked Devan. "Man, you watch too much television."
"You should thank me. What I learn about forensics could keep us safe from Indiana's death penalty. Lethal injection has no appeal for me," Evan replied with a smirk.
"Get a grip. Our ages alone will do that. No chance of the needle until we hit eighteen. Sometimes you can be so dense."
"Who was being dense when he chose to attend the Ryder trial? Who was the dim-wit who knocked Gabriel Chase's laptop out of his arms? Do you think he won't remember the description of who did that?"
"That's enough!" Devan snapped. "It was worth the risk to get extra credit from my English teacher. The bitch was going to fail me. And Chase's laptop was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I couldn't resist."
"Both were needless risks. You were probably the youngest person in the court gallery. Did you really think no one would remember you later?"
"Shut up, you fucking idiot."
"Who was being an idiot when he passed a note to Ryder through his attorney, who can now identify him?"
"I used a hair color spray and wore colored contacts. He will identify a kid with brown hair and brown eyes."
"Why take the risk?"
"I wanted Ryder to know that we admire him, and we're taking up where he left off," said Devan. "Don't worry. He won't know who we are. I signed the note 'Gamers.'"
"Whatever." Evan pushed the mop to clean the last inch of cement flooring. He bumped against one of the clear plastic bins and it tumbled to the floor, spilling its contents.
"Damn it!" He began picking up clothing, shoes and jewelry, stuffing them back into the container.
"Whose container is that?" asked Devan, making no effort to help his brother.
Evan checked the bin's label. "Sharon Maud. Remember her? For a skinny, drug-addicted whore, she sure was a fighter. She almost kicked your ass," Evan said, making a considerable effort not to laugh. His twin was not one to make the object of a joke. His rage was instant, his temper something to be feared.
"Hell, yes, I remember her. She's the one who blackened my eye, and I had to wear Mom's makeup for a week so no one would notice it at school. The bitch got what she deserved."
Evan remembered the beating of Sharon Maud. He'd had to pull his brother off of her dead body, which Devan had beaten beyond recognition. It was an ugly memory he'd like to forget. He preferred his killings to be less-messy, no blood at all, if possible.
To avoid one of his brother's tantrums, Evan changed the subject. "Let's get on your laptop and look for our next girlfriend."
"Girlfriend? Is that what you're calling them? What the fuck have I told you about targets? They're off-limits. If I catch you making puppy eyes at another target, like you did Abby Reece, I'll beat you until you can't stand up."
"Sorry, Devan. Poor choice of words," Evan responded. Eager to redirect his brother's focus, he asked, "Where's your laptop?"
Heading for a couple of folding chairs near the door, Devan sat down on one of them, pulled the portable computer onto his lap, and turned it on.
Evan joined him and watched as the system found a wireless network. Soon they were on Facebook.
"We need a victim who will cause such a county uproar that it will be hard for Sheriff Chase to contain." Devan said.
"I have an idea. Go to Abby Reece's page and pull up her friends."
"What for? We're done with her."
"Humor me. Pull up her friends."
Soon the laptop screen filled with names and photos of Abby's friends. Evan pointed to a photo at the center of the page. "Click on this one."
"I'm looking. So what?" Devan became increasingly frustrated and angry.
"Calm down and really look at her."
"Kaitlyn Reece? Are you fucking kidding me? Who said this game was a family affair? She's Abby's sister, you idiot."
"C'mon. Doesn't she look familiar?"
"Yeah, she resembles her sister but not much. She looks like that actress on
Friends
. What are you getting at?"
"She's the stacked blonde we saw going in and out of Gabriel Chase's office building."
"So what? She may have hired him to look for her sister."
"Yeah, that's possible. But what if they're involved? You know, dating, having sex, and so on. Can you imagine how freaked out he'd be if we snatched another one of his girlfriends? And if he's freaked out, his sheriff and detective brothers would be, too."
Devan leaned back in his chair and gave the idea consideration.
"C'mon. This could be a blast," Evan urged.
"No. The answer is no. Making her a target now doesn't work. We need to kick the game up a notch by targeting someone who's important from Morel. We need to snatch a local woman whose disappearance and murder will set this county on fire, upping the pressure on the sheriff. Let's add some excitement to this game, so we can watch the media go nuts. We can sit back and enjoy every second."
"So why wouldn't Kaitlyn Reece inspire this kind of county hysteria?"
"Because she just wouldn't. Drop it, Evan! Drop it." Devan's scowling face reddened as he searched Facebook. After a couple of minutes, he paused. "What's the name of that beauty queen who's from Morel? Remember how Mother was raving about her?"
"What's so special about a beauty queen?"
"She's the first African-American beauty queen from Shawnee County. I can't believe you don't remember Mother gushing about how pretty and smart she is. According to Mother, she's like the Shawnee County sweetheart of all time."
"If she's so popular, why have I never heard of her? Why can't you even remember her name?" Evan knew better than to push his brother, but couldn't resist.
"Stop being such an ass-hat. I'll remember. Give me a second. I know her name starts with a 'D.'" He sat quietly for a moment, and then nearly jumped out of his chair. "It's Destiny. I know it is. Destiny Cooke." In no time, Devan pulled up Destiny Cooke's Facebook page. "Look at her in this picture wearing her pageant crown. She's perfect."
"Oh, yeah? Read this posting. She's about to get married to an Indiana State Police Trooper. Still think she's perfect?"
"Just adds to the challenge. I love a good challenge, especially when it comes to one of our games."
<><><>
With Dr. Richard Anderson at the wheel, Carly sat quietly, thinking of how she'd approach Jim Ryder to get the most relevant information from him. Anderson turned off U.S. Route 136 and onto a country road that ran through farmland on either side of the road. She had no idea where they were as they headed to the secret location where the FBI was holding Jim Ryder.
Anderson broke the silence. "The Bureau's interest in Jim Ryder is two-fold. First, we want to find out if there are additional victims. If so, where are they buried or discarded? We also want to study him, learn all we can about his personality, his background, and development. When and why did he start killing?"
"What have you discovered so far, Dr. Anderson?"
"Please, call me 'Richard,'" he said, pausing as he passed a slow-moving car. "Ryder's crimes exhibit the stages many serial killers display," he continued. "Fantasy, stalking, abduction, killing, and disposal."
"I agree," said Carly. "The only difference between Ryder and the more infamous serial killers like Bundy and Ridgway is that he did his stalking online."
"Don't forget John Robinson in Kansas, who in the early nineties roamed social networking sites, offering jobs, and a BDSM experience to his victims if they'd join him in Kansas —"
"Victims who were later found in chemical drums at his farm and in a storage facility," Carly interrupted.
"You know the case?"
"Yes, and there
are
similarities between Robinson's and Ryder's killings," Carly admitted, and then changed the subject. "Have you received any valuable information from Ryder about his background?"
"Not directly. He refuses to talk to any of the agents or to me. Once we had a sample of his DNA, we ran it through CODIS and got a hit from a cold case in Francis, Utah, population 919."
"Ryder is connected to a cold case in Utah?" Carly asked with disbelief. She'd tried getting more information about Ryder's background from the deputies who worked with him. But none of them talked to Ryder about anything but day-to-day activities, gossip, etc. "Tell me more about the cold case."
"It seems Ryder's real name is Jim Dawson. He and his sister, Erin, grew up in Francis. It's such a small town, the agent we sent there had no problem getting information from residents who knew them."
"What did he have to do with the cold case?"
"His parents were found dead in their bedrooms from multiple knife wounds. I've seen the crime scene photos, and it was a horrific act. The early responders looked everywhere for Jim and Erin, but they were gone. The detective assigned to the case didn't know if the killer had abducted the two, or if they were the killers."
"What did the agent find out about their childhood?"
"The father was the town drunk, and the mother, a shy, timid woman, didn't work outside the home. Neighbors reported that they heard screaming from the house when the father was drunk and beat the wife and both kids. According to Child Protective Services, nothing is in their records that suggest anyone reported the abuse."
"Neighbors don't want to get involved, so the abuse continues," Carly commented.
"After the parents' murder, the Dawson teens disappeared off the face of the earth. Later, the car Jim Dawson drove was found abandoned in Indiana. With new identities, Jim and Erin Ryder started their new lives in Shawnee County, working odd jobs to support themselves. They both earned GEDs, and Jim eventually graduated from the Police Academy to become a deputy for Shawnee County."
Thirty minutes later, Anderson turned onto a long gravel driveway leading to a farmhouse, a weathered barn, and several huge, arched steel buildings. Doors were open on two of the steel structures. One housed a single engine airplane; another was filled with bales of hay from top-to-bottom. Anderson pulled up and parked in front of the third building, where several agents guarded a door. Carly immediately recognized Brody's SUV parked nearby, and wondered why he hadn't mentioned he'd be here today.