Authors: Rachel Lee
Cade repeated her question into the phone. “He doesn’t think so, DeeJay.”
“Okay.” She took one of the photos and turned it so that she was looking at it almost end on. Then she saw it and her heart slammed.
“My God!”
“Wait one,” Cade said into the phone. Then he turned to her. “What?”
“He looked at his vics from above. Were there any deer stands up there? Did anyone look for any sign that someone had been up in the trees?”
Cade spoke into the mouthpiece again and, a moment later, answered her. “They assumed the signs of climbing were a result of hanging the net. Evidence of some deer stands, but there was nothing and the signs were old.”
As they would be, years after he’d moved on. She nodded. “Maybe. Maybe.” But the more she looked at the photos from the end, and nearly upside down, the more convinced she became. Her heart was hammering. Useless information, probably. But then again.
“Call you back,” Cade said and hung up. “Tell me, DeeJay.”
“See how I’m holding these?” She pushed some his way. “You try it. He may sometimes have viewed his trophies from below but I think most of the time he liked to look at them from above. Do you see it? That’s one big spiderweb.”
* * *
Night settled in. They’d closed the curtains against the stormy world, not that there was anything to see out there. Night or not, the blowing snow caught any available light, fracturing and reflecting it until the darkness seemed almost bright. Cade took over the task of making dinner, broiling some chicken breasts to add to the precut greens they’d bought, tossing in some ripe olives, slicing red onions.
A spiderweb. She was right. Whether they’d be able to do anything with that, he didn’t know. She was still absorbing the photos, but now that he’d looked at them from her perspective, he couldn’t see it any other way.
A damn spiderweb. What did that mean about their killer? He ran in mental circles, trying to find something.
“He wrapped the bodies the way a spider does,” DeeJay said from the table. “Plastic in lieu of silk. But now this damn display makes sense. Does this guy think he’s some kind of spider?”
“I’m asking myself the same question. Do you like grated Parmesan in your salad?”
“I like anything in my salad.”
He was stumped, as stumped as he’d ever been. “What could the connection be? Nobody knows how a spider thinks. If it thinks. For Pete’s sake,
what
is he thinking?” And that was what they needed to get to.
“I don’t know.” She fell quiet for a while.
He checked the chicken breasts, and turned them. Good smells had begun to fill the room, making the blizzard outside seem a little farther away.
“If he’s doing the same thing now,” she said after a bit, “then he needs to be doing it somewhere he can look down on them. That means a big building, unless he’s back in the woods.”
“Plenty of big barns out there, some of them big enough to have even a third floor. We can’t check them all.”
“Of course not. I’m thinking out loud.”
“Even if he’s not back in the woods, it doesn’t have to be a barn. There are some old silos out there to this day. Hell, he could do it inside a house somehow.”
“I know.”
He pulled the chicken out of the oven and turned off the broiler. They needed to cool down some before he cut them and tossed them in with the rest of the salad, so he rejoined her at the table.
“I wonder,” he said, “if looking at them from above makes him feel more powerful somehow.”
She lifted her gaze from the photos. “Power? You think that’s behind this?”
“At least to some extent. Power, madness, and some kind of ritual I can’t begin to imagine yet. But then I can’t imagine him thinking of himself as a spider.”
“I think I can. Not exactly, of course. But maybe he sees himself as casting a web, taking whatever comes to him. Snaring it.”
“But his last one certainly wasn’t just a target of opportunity. He had to puncture the dad’s tire.”
“So we think. But how did he know that kid was going to be waiting for a ride?”
He froze for a moment. “Everyone assumes...you’re right. No one knows, everyone is assuming. The two things seem linked, but maybe they’re not.”
“Coincidences happen.” She ran her fingers through her black hair, tousling it even more. He hoped she didn’t realize that right now she had a bad case of bed head. He thought it was cute.
Quickly he yanked himself back from that cliff.
“He’s clearly organized,” he said, forcing himself back to the task at hand. “He leaves no traces. No trail. Organized killers usually stalk their victims. Hunt them until the moment comes.”
“And not every serial killer is all one but not the other. He’s a risk taker. We agreed on that much. Coming back here after five years and resuming his pattern was a huge risk. One he didn’t have to take. We’ve got a few dozen serial killers running around the country right now. If they keep moving, we don’t catch them.”
“So why come back?” Cade answered his own question. “Because there’s business of some kind here for him. Something he needs to finish, to take care of, something that’s eating at him about this place.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “Or it may be a huge act of stupidity. Hanging those bodies in the woods could be read as risk taking, because somebody could have stumbled on them, or him when he was there, or it could have been stupidity driven by his compulsion.”
“God,” he said, “give me an ordinary murder any day.” Rising, he went to dice the chicken. The knife fell on the cutting board with more force than necessary. “Can I be frank?”
“Please do.”
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw she had come to refill her coffee.
“Want some?” she asked.
Apparently they’d gotten past the point of worrying about whether it was sexist to pour coffee. He let a moment of amusement pass through him, but it didn’t do much to lift his mood.
“Frank?” she reminded him.
“This is the kind of case I never wanted to work. I’ve seen awful, terrible crimes in my day, but one like this? No clues, having to try to get into some sick head and become proactive...not my thing.”
“I’m there with you,” she replied. “What’s Gage’s number?”
“Hit the redial button. We haven’t called anyone else.”
But then she didn’t call. “Bad time. What’s he gonna do about it, anyway? He’s sure as hell not going to call the grieving father in the middle of a blizzard to ask him questions on the phone. I wouldn’t.”
“Neither would I.” He scraped the diced chicken into the salad bowl and used a couple of big spoons to toss it. “It won’t make any difference to wait.”
“No.”
He figured they both knew the missing kid was already dead. None of the earlier victims had been tortured for long periods. Whatever this guy needed, he didn’t need it to go on for lengthy periods. So the boy was already gone, and a day wouldn’t make any difference to him. And the killer was as pinned by this storm as anyone, so even if he wanted to accelerate his crimes, he couldn’t right now.
For now everyone, living or dead, was safe beneath a deepening blanket of snow.
Chapter 7
A
s the evening deepened, the storm continued unabated, weakening not even a little bit. From time to time, one of them would go to a window to peer out but could see almost nothing. DeeJay settled on one end of the sofa, wrapping herself in a blanket against the drafts, breaths of the storm reaching inside, sinuously twisting around despite the laboring heat.
“Times I wish I had a TV,” Cade remarked. “I’d like some info on the storm. How cold it is, how long it’s going to last.”
“We could ask Gage.”
“Sure, ask the sheriff to be the local weatherman for me.”
She laughed quietly. “Bet he wouldn’t mind.”
“Better if I could get a connection on my cell phone.”
She couldn’t, either. Either the snow was blocking the signal or the tower had gone down in the wind. Either way, they were snow locked and dependent on a landline.
She picked up her tablet again, but that hadn’t changed, either. No wireless connection since late afternoon.
“Bad,” she said, stating the obvious.
“I’ll call Gage,” Cade decided. “He’s probably busy as hell with people who have real problems, though. Maybe Dispatch can tell me something.”
She watched him head toward the kitchen but felt very little interest in what the storm was doing. The night shut them down as much as the storm had. Their predator was in his cave, wherever that was, and thus not doing anything that might leave a clue for them.
Not that they were doing so well with clues. The spiderweb idea haunted her, though, and even as she tried to think of something else it kept stalking the edges of her mind. Some kind of information or message lay there, but she couldn’t pick it out. Couldn’t imagine how it revealed anything about their killer’s psyche.
These killers almost always took trophies of some kind. Usually smaller ones, but the idea was the same: they could relive the experience, refresh it in their minds, enjoy once again whatever it was they got from their kills. Like a photographic memento, but apparently much stronger.
So what was with the spider connection? Did he feel like a spider? Or did he admire spiders? Why imitate one? She kept feeling that was a key, possibly a key that would help them either pinpoint this guy or figure out a way to draw him out.
As profilers, they were supposed to be proactive, thinking one step ahead of their subject, finding ways to get him to screw up or ways to locate him. Right now looking for spiderwebs was useless.
And that assumed she was even right about what she thought she saw in the netting and the way he wrapped his victims.
Dang, she wished she could let it rest, but she had a stubborn mind, and once it got onto something, it didn’t want to let go.
Cade returned. “Cell comms are down in most of the county. Police wireless is down. Roads are blocked in every direction, and with all this blowing, the plows aren’t making a dent. Even satellite communications are spotty, Velma said. The whole damn place is in lockdown.”
“I guess so.”
He sat across from her, resting his elbows on his jean-clad knees and clasping his hands. “I can almost smell the burning rubber. You’re still thinking.”
“Yeah. And I’m beginning to wonder if I saw something that wasn’t there. I may be going down a blind alley and wasting time.”
“The problem isn’t a blind alley. We’ll go down lots of those. It’s inevitable. The problem is that we don’t know what it tells us about our killer. He built an unusual display. Everyone’s pretty much agreed on that. I think your description of a spiderweb is the best, but it’s not telling us anything except that he may prefer to view his victims from above when he can. And what does that say?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“Yet.” The correction was quiet. “Stick with it. I am. It’s the best explanation I’ve heard yet for a guy who is breaking some of the usual paradigms for his sort.”
“Well, we assume he is. This is just too weird.”
“This acceleration thing. He’s accelerated hugely compared to five years ago. Maybe it’s not just the result of a pent-up need. What if he’s been hunting elsewhere all this time? There’s nothing in the file to indicate one way or another. I assumed it was because there were no similar crimes, but maybe...”
Their eyes locked, and for once when they did she noticed something besides how amazing his eyes were.
“Hell,” he said, and rose, striding back to the kitchen. After a moment she followed him. She didn’t have to hear much before she realized he was talking to the FBI at Quantico. Tugging the blanket tight around her shoulders, she forced herself to wait while he described what they had to someone on the other end.
Lew
, he mouthed to her as he listened.
She remembered Lew Boulard. He’d been one of her teachers at Quantico, and she’d always thought him amazingly levelheaded. Nor was he overrun by ego, which she thought too many profilers were. He didn’t let anything get in the way of clear thinking.
“Thanks, Lew,” Cade said finally. “Let me know. Yeah, this is the best number right now. A snowstorm has shut down everything that isn’t hardwired.”
He hung up. “Lew was working late. He’s gonna start a database search for us. Victim type, missing persons reports, et cetera. He said it’ll take a while, maybe until morning.”
“I wish we could fax him the photos.”
“Maybe tomorrow if he needs them.”
DeeJay looked down, her mind still racing in circles. Then something popped out. “Spiders don’t all hunt, do they? I mean, I know some do, but most rely on a web and patience. Victims come to them.”
She looked up and found Cade staring at her. “Holy hell,” he said. “They come to him.”
“But how?”
He threw up a hand. “Think about it, DeeJay. You were right when you said we were assuming the flat tire was linked to that last boy’s disappearance. That was a leap we shouldn’t have made. Like you said, coincidences happen. How, you asked, could the killer know that boy was going to be waiting for a ride? But if a spider weaves a web, the food comes to him, gets stuck and can’t escape.”
Her heart started hammering. She let the blanket slide from her shoulders and rose to start pacing. “So he could be luring them somehow. Just like a spider. Then when they get too close, he’s got them. It’s possible. There sure as hell is no one left to talk about it.”
“Exactly. So assume for argument’s sake that he gains their confidence. I’m sure kids around here are given the same stranger warnings they get everywhere else. Besides, he was in this county once before, so he may not be a stranger. That’s been a question from the outset. A stranger would stick out around here.”
“Right,” she agreed. “So they either know him or meet him under circumstances that create trust of some kind. The kind of trust that might get them into a vehicle with him or to his house, wherever that is. So he flattens a tire, tells the last boy that his dad is broken down and he’s going to give him a ride instead.”
“And the kid isn’t afraid of him. Doesn’t even find it strange. Ergo, our victims know him from somewhere.”
“That was a possibility from the outset,” she reminded him as she extended her pacing from the small kitchen to the living room. Soon Cade was pacing right along with her.
“Of course it was. We discussed it. It’s been a premise all along—that it had to be someone local. But the spider thing... It’s not a snatch and grab, DeeJay. That’s why no one ever sees anything. These kids are going willingly.”
She nodded, halting midstride. Cade bumped into her.
“Sorry,” he said.
She hardly heard him. “This kid must have mentioned to him that his dad was driving him home that afternoon. How else would our spider know to be there, and to flatten the dad’s tire? So the boy had a relationship with him.”
Sickened by the images filling her head, images of a human spider preying on weaker victims, she pivoted sharply and found herself chest to chest with Cade.
Instantly all the air seemed to vanish from the room. She looked into his aquamarine eyes and felt her heart flip. Someone struck a match to her very center, filling her with all the heat of a raging fire.
Where the hell had that come from? She wanted to step back, ignore it, pretend it wasn’t happening, but she remained frozen, imprisoned by the sudden, overwhelming bonds of passion. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong situation. My God, they were working an important case and there was no room for this. Was she losing her mind?
But he didn’t move, either. For an instant he looked startled. He waited a moment, and she was sure he could read her mind. Or her face. Or her entire body.
“DeeJay?” His voice had gown husky, quiet.
She couldn’t have made a sound to save her life. In the airless, heat-filled universe she had just entered, she was trapped by her own needs. Needs denied for far too long.
“I won’t touch you,” he whispered. “Not unless you ask. Won’t go there...”
She understood. His last female partner. But not even understanding could make her back away and release him. Maybe he was uneasy because she had been raped.
But all of that barely bounced across her brain as deeper, more primal impulses held her in thrall. Any question about whether she could turn off her obsession had just been answered by another obsession.
She still couldn’t speak so she raised her arms and pulled him in for a kiss. That, too, had been running around in the back of her mind all day, much as she had tried to ignore it.
And this instant she did it, she knew it was so very right.
* * *
Cade had a million reasons to back away. From the outset he’d successfully ignored his attraction to her. She was prickly and difficult and, mostly, she was female. Danger, as he’d learned in Denver. Except DeeJay didn’t play games like that. He’d already figured it out. If anything, she was too damn honest.
All of that ceased to matter in an instant. Everything he’d been trying to ignore and pretend he wasn’t feeling suddenly burst the bonds he’d placed on himself and exploded into a maelstrom of passion. It was as if banking the fire and ignoring it had made it erupt violently.
He clamped his mouth over hers and kissed her as if he could fuse them in the heat into one being. Then her head tipped back, welcoming him more deeply, as hungry as he for what was to come.
Finesse flew out the door. He would never after remember how they had stripped, only that four hands had worked wildly at pulling away layers of clothing as if they were in a race against time.
Naked, his mouth still clinging to hers, breaking only for gasps of breath, he lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the bed.
Rough, ready and impatient. He might regret it later, but every movement she made encouraged him. Her hands grasped him, pulled him ever closer, found his stiff member and squeezed a groan out of him.
Dimly he remembered a condom, but just in the nick of time. Together they fumbled it on him, then he dove into her depths, warm and welcoming and delightfully tight. Her legs wound around his hips, pulling him in all the way.
His heartbeat hammered in his ears, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He found enough presence of mind to rise on his elbows and look down at the woman beneath him.
Her face had softened into new contours; her breaths were nearly quick moans. She was already on the way to the moon. To hell with it, he thought, and pumped harder.
A cry escaped her and moments later he jetted into her, an explosion of satisfaction that wiped out the rest of the world.
He collapsed on her, hot and sweaty, and at some level realized they had rutted with less grace than animals in a barnyard.
And he didn’t feel even a tiny bit bad about it.
* * *
The wind still keened. Ice rattled against windows. Cade managed to move enough to cover them with blankets and draw DeeJay into his arms. “Sorry that was so rough and abrupt,” he murmured. His nose was pressed to her hair, and he liked its scent and silkiness.
A small, quiet laugh escaped her. “I needed it,” she said bluntly. “So much. No apologies.”
“Next time—”
But she cut him off. “Shh. I said no apologies.”
So he held her close, wondering at his own behavior, wondering where this would take him and if it would be the biggest mistake possible.
But she didn’t seem in any hurry to roll away. Her fingertips traced his back gently, reawakening urges he thought he’d just satisfied. It had all happened so fast he couldn’t believe it. He’d never made love like that before, had never expected to. Yet she seemed content.
“Sometimes,” she murmured, “when you’re in a foxhole you have to move fast and without thinking.”
“So this was some kind of instinctive thing?”
“Wasn’t it?”
He supposed it was. Lines they couldn’t cross had needed crossing to get here, and he guessed the immediacy and explosiveness had carried them past a whole lot of things that had been inhibiting their desires. Bam! No more lines now, unless they redrew them. He didn’t want to do that.
“No apologies, no regrets,” she said. “Promise.”
He could promise that, he decided. “Agreed.”
“Good.”
She pushed his shoulder until he rolled onto his back, then straddled him, with the blanket hanging from her shoulders. There was almost no light, but he could still make out her breasts hanging over him like an invitation. He waited, though, wanting to see what she would do. Passion had begun to thrum in him again, surprisingly soon. The woman had a hell of an effect on him.
Leaning on one hand, she reached for his and drew it downward, cupping it over her dewy cleft. “Here,” she whispered. “Touch me here.”
So he complied, stroking her lips, finding the moist nub of nerves with a touch that made her arch. The blanket slipped lower. He liked that she was telling him what she wanted.
“Don’t stop,” she said thickly.
No way would he stop. He was enjoying this too much even as his groin began to swell with new needs of his own. Hard, driving needs.
She lowered her head, brushing a kiss on his lips, then, supporting herself with one arm, she reached down and enclosed his erection with her hand. He nearly jerked as electricity jolted through him.