The White Carnation (16 page)

He ran his hand through his hair.
I need a haircut.

He and Faye had arrived about three hours ago. Night had fallen, and the dark clouds hovering over the mountains promised rain, possibly snow, at the higher altitudes. The seven-hour drive from Boston with a stop for dinner had exhausted her. She'd barely been able to get undressed and crawl into bed. He'd made himself comfortable on the couch with the pillow and sleeping bag he'd found in the downstairs closet. He'd tried to sleep, but his mind wouldn't settle.

After agreeing to come with him, Faye had been silent throughout the journey, and that worried him. Dr. Chong had warned him her emotions would be close to the surface and that angry outbursts were as common as crying jags, but the stoic silence unnerved him. There was no knowing the amount of damage the drugs and the discovery of what had happened to her could do to her psyche, especially in someone like Faye, who prided herself on always being in control. Since he usually needed to feel in charge, that aspect of her personality and his had often set them at loggerheads. She might be putting up a brave front, but she needed time to heal, time to come to terms with her loss, and four days missing out of your life was a hell of a loss.

They'd stopped in Albany to get more clothes—something a little warmer for the cool, late-spring nights. They'd bought groceries, and he'd added a bottle of Irish whiskey, some beer, and a couple of bottles of the wine he knew she liked. The doctor had said the whiskey couldn't hurt. Anything else they needed, they could pick up in Wilmington or Lake Placid. The resort town was only a half hour away. They should be safe here.

As far as everyone was concerned, Faye had taken a turn for the worse and had been moved to a private room—one without the glass wall. There was a mole in the investigation, and that changed everything. Other than the doctor, Clark was the only one who knew the truth about their location, and he'd rerouted contact with them through Langley, Virginia. While the CIA and the FBI didn't work together on a regular basis, they did on federal crimes, and since kidnapping was a federal crime, if the Harvester had Mary as they suspected, as well as three children, then the CIA was happy to assist in whatever way they could.

Undercover FBI agents had replaced Cambridge PD at the hospital, lying in wait to see who took an interest in Faye's condition. She'd accused him of using her to bait a trap. In a way, he had, but instead of her in the bed, there were one hundred pounds of ballistic gel wearing a brown wig. He hoped to catch a rat, most likely one of his own men, but who? And more importantly, why?

Rob had left his cell phone plugged in at the hospital, so if anyone was monitoring its GPS, that's where they'd think he was. He'd picked up a pay-as-you-go disposable one to stay in touch until they'd gotten here. Dr. Chong's place was equipped with a private-number landline and Internet service. The BAU's amazing computer technologist had copied him on everything to date and would continue to do so, ensuring no one would be the wiser. Right now, it looked as if the leak was at Boston PD, and Rob felt he couldn't trust anyone there with the truth. Clark would have Amos review every shred of evidence at the morgue to make sure nothing else had gone missing or been changed.

The sound of Faye's footsteps brought him out of his reverie. She stepped up beside him. The wind had increased, and it was cooler than it had been mere minutes earlier.

“Hey, you should be asleep.”

“The thunder woke me. It's incredible, isn't it?” she asked as the sky glowed brightly once more. “But it scares the daylights out of me. Mother Nature can be beautiful, but she can be so destructive.” A fork of lightning split the darkness, and she started. Wrapping her arms around herself, she smiled up at him. “I'm a little skittish tonight. I've got spots in front of my eyes as if a hundred flashbulbs have gone off.”

The pitter-patter of rain striking the cabin's metal roof started, gentle, rhythmic at first. Suddenly, a gust of wind, so strong it forced the white birch trees to the ground, tore through the clearing, bringing with it heavier rain. They rushed into the house, closing the doors behind them.

The room was dark, and when Rob fumbled for the light switch, nothing happened. Within seconds, the storm arrived in all its intensity. The pounding rain on the roof and the windows deafened him. Forked lightning lit up the sky, and thunder shook the wooden structure.

“It's almost midnight. You should get back to bed. I know it's loud, but there are earplugs on the dresser. We're safe here. There isn't anything to worry about.”

He pushed back the hair that had fallen across her face. He was conflicted. On the one hand, he wanted to treat her like every other victim and witness he'd ever put into protective custody; on the other, he wished he could take her into his arms and hold her until the storm passed, hold her the way he used to do, but he doubted she'd welcome that. There had been moments in the hospital when he thought they'd lost her, when her pressure had dropped so low, even Dr. Chong hadn't been able to keep the concern from her face. But Faye was a fighter.
Never show weakness.
She could be terrified, but no one would know it. They'd been together almost a year before she'd admitted her fears: clowns and lightning. Two things she just couldn't trust.

“You're shivering. You'll catch cold after everything your body's been through these last few days. I don't want you to get sick.”

A flash of lightning brought midday into the room, and he saw the uncertainty on her face. She'd always disliked electrical storms, more so after she'd written that story about the forest fire upstate that had killed six campers, but tonight, he felt there was more to it. There was a monster out there stalking her, a predator who wouldn't give up easily.

“Come on. I'll take you back upstairs.”

Rob reached for her hand and led the way across the room. The cabin was designed with one great room downstairs, complete with a huge stone fireplace on the east wall. The south wall was a floor-to-ceiling window, and the lightning continued to brighten the room with every flash. The bedroom was in a loft reached by a spiral staircase in the far corner of the room. Rob mounted the steps and emerged into the bedroom. The king-sized bed dominated the room.

“Get some rest. I'll keep you safe, Faye. I promise nothing will happen to you while I'm around. I'll be downstairs if you need me.”

“Stay, please.”

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Why not? You slept in my room at the hospital. I just need to know there's someone near.”

She reminded him of a kicked puppy. How much pain was a person supposed to handle before cracking? Faye was tough, but …

“I'll get undressed,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the thunder and the hammering rain. “I can't hold you with my gun on, and you know I can't sleep in jeans.”

He moved around to the other side, removed his holster, and placed the gun on the table beside the bed. With fingers that shook, he unbuttoned his shirt, removed it, and then took off his jeans and socks. He lifted the duvet and got into bed.

As always, Faye wore an oversized New York Yankees shirt. When they'd been together, he'd laughed at her choice of “sexy” nightwear but had contributed at least three shirts to the cause.

“Come here,” he said, knowing he might regret his offer.

Faye turned toward him, and he pulled her into his arms the way he'd done countless times before. He felt his body stir as it recognized her shape and scent and forced his lustful thoughts away from what they'd shared once in what seemed like another lifetime. What Faye needed tonight was to feel safe. What he needed didn't matter.

Faye buried her face in his shoulder, the heat of her skin searing his. “I'm sorry to be such a baby,” she said huskily. “I don't know why I'm so emotional. In the car, all I could think of was how I was going to get even with the bastard for what he's done to me, and now, here, in the dark, with the storm raging, I'm seeing boogeymen in every corner. Damn drugs have made me stupid.”

Chuckling, he moved her slightly, making them both more comfortable. “Not stupid. Never stupid. If you want to try them, the earplugs will help.”

“No, this is fine. I'm sure I'll be my old bitchy self by morning.”

He knew she was crying by the moisture on his chest and her gentle quaking, but there was nothing else he could do for her other than hold her. With his right hand, he rubbed her back lightly. He could smell the strawberries in her hair, just as he had Saturday morning. They lay cuddled together as the storm raged around them. Gradually, her quivering ceased, and he felt and heard the even tempo of her breathing and knew she'd fallen asleep. He pulled her more tightly to him and continued to rub her back.

He and Clark had spoken on the phone earlier after they'd arrived. The team was working on Rob's theory, trying to piece it together, but it seemed to have more holes in it than Swiss cheese. Everything hinged on the idea that the Harvester stalked, drugged, and raped his victims, and then came back for them before the babies were born. Pierce had been particularly obnoxious about the suggestion, thought Rob was nuts, his mind unhinged by his proximity to the “bitch who'd dumped him”—the man was lucky he was still able to chew his food.

While Rob couldn't connect Mary or Faye to the Harvester other than through the vague resemblance they bore to the other victims, the fact Faye had been drugged and raped weighed heavily on his side. A lot of police work was conjecture, trying to put the evidence together so that it made sense, but he didn't have evidence—four murders, maybe five or six—and they didn't have a lead, let alone an iota of proof.

Meredith Howard didn't fit the victimology. A widowed student, she'd wanted her child with a passion. Liz Howard, the cousin, on the other hand, worked at a software firm and attended classes part-time. She might have fit the profile. Mary, Faye, and the other three women were almost indistinguishable from one another—career women living alone, none of whom had recently mentioned wanting a family. Speaking with friends and colleagues had added new information to the case.

While only one of the victims had been openly gay, each woman had been stunned and distraught when they discovered they were pregnant, but none of them had even considered an abortion. Why? Tracy Volt had apparently thought her child was a gift from God, but the others? Mira said scopolamine stopped memories from forming, but could the Harvester be giving them something else to make them open to suggestion that they were content with the pregnancies? It was the only thing that made sense.

Yesterday, the forensic teams had confirmed Mary's place had been cleaned using the same ammonia-based cleaner as the other victims. On a hunch, Clark had teams go back over the other apartments, still locked up tight because of the investigation, and he'd been dismayed to find someone had been inside. It looked as if microscopic cameras had been removed from a number of spots, proving the women had been under surveillance—all except Meredith, but then that apartment had been vacant seven months before she'd moved in. The BAU chief was having forensic teams go over the homes of the missing women Faye had mentioned as potential victims. Rob hadn't told Faye, but the forensic team had found the cameras still in place in her apartment. How would she feel knowing she'd been the object of this sick bastard's peep show? And for how long?

If this guy found a way into their apartments and gave them scopolamine, he could take his time, watch them, learn their cycle, and find out when they were most fertile. He could continue his surveillance, discover if the seeds he'd planted had taken hold, and then pick them up in the last trimester. But something had changed with Meredith, and once Rob knew what, maybe these pieces would fit together, too.

If the DNA they'd recovered from Faye didn't match the paternal DNA from the Harvester's other victims, all he had was a stalker who felt guilty for hurting her. It was like one of those 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzles where half the pieces looked alike, but he couldn't find two that fit together.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, leaving behind a deeper darkness, as his eyes fought to adjust to the sudden change. Faye moved slightly and shivered. He pulled the quilt up higher. “Shush.” He kissed her gently on the head. “I've got you, Faye. You're safe.”

“The clown ... Don't let the clown get me, please … The flower …”

He rocked her in his arms. Nightmares were a common aftereffect of scopolamine poisoning. “The clown's gone, Faye. He can never hurt you. Go back to sleep, baby. You're safe.”

Faye awoke to the sounds of morning birds filling the air and sunshine pouring into the loft. Even the occasional caw of a crow wasn't unpleasant after last night's noisy storm. She yawned. During the night, loud crashes of thunder had disturbed her and roused her twice. The first time, panic had threatened to engulf her until she realized where she was. The steady beat of Rob's heart and his comforting, familiar scent had soothed her back to sleep.

A faceless, nameless monster stalked her, and the fear that brought with it wouldn't leave her alone. She'd dreamed, but as often happened, she barely remembered it, and what she did recollect was bizarre and made no sense—not that nightmares ever did. The second time she'd awakened, tense and terrified, she'd lain there, mollified by Rob being just inches away, and listened to the rain until exhaustion overtook her again.

She nestled into the bed and specifically the hard male beside her. At the moment, she was lying with her back to him, spooned protectively in his arms. What had become of the tough, independent woman she'd been? This timid, frightened woman wasn't who she wanted to be. Dr. Chong had said she couldn't escape the fear, that it was a natural by-product of what had happened to her. The rape and the possibility of an ensuing pregnancy were only a small part of it. She had no memories of the attack to relive as others had, nor was the perpetrator someone she knew as was the case with most date-rape victims. No, her paralyzing fear was that this monster could come back and do it again.