Worth Dying For (A Slaughter Creek Novel) (19 page)

The truck bounced over the fucking ruts in the road, and he swerved to avoid a dog that ran out in front of him. No use killing a defenseless animal tonight.

Not when he had better prey.

For a second, he thought he spotted the blue lights of a police car swirling, and he slowed, holding his breath until the car passed.

Thankfully it was just a white car, and it roared on.

The steady drone of the engine ticked over the sound of his own breathing as the truck ate up the miles.

Liz Lucas had security. But security could be breached, especially with the woods backing up to the property. Not everyone knew about the dirt road on that side.

He parked on the far side of the woods, hidden deep in the copse of trees lining the deserted dirt road that used to take miners into the mountain. Now no one used it anymore.

Adrenaline pumping, he dragged the old biddy from the back of the truck and hauled her through the woods. At the edge of the property, a long screened-in porch ran the length of the profiler’s house.

He scanned the backyard before he left the woods, then dragged the body up to the back porch steps. Then he situated her on the stairs, as if she were waiting for Liz to come home.

An animal growled from deep in the woods. Night had fallen, darkness cloaking the woods, reminding him of the long nights he’d spent alone trapped in darkness as a child. Only the sound of the others’ cries had drowned out the silence.

Amelia’s voice, whispering that she was scared.

Don’t worry, darling, he murmured. Soon all our monsters will be dead.

And you and I will never have to be afraid of them again.

Chapter Nineteen

W
hile Rafe searched Mazie’s cabin, Liz dug through her nightstand, searching for a clue as to where the nurse might have gone—some sign that she wasn’t dead. And if she was, where was the body?

But Liz found no family pictures, no travel itinerary, no deeds to any other property.

“She doesn’t seem to have a computer, and I can’t find a purse or cell phone,” Rafe said.

Liz scowled as she removed a folder inside the drawer and flipped it open: several news stories about the sanitarium and the CHIMES project, news of the senator’s and the Commander’s arrests.

Her finger brushed something stiff, and she realized that it was a business card Mazie had jammed between the panels. She tugged it out, her pulse quickening. The business card belonged to Brenda Banks.

“Look at this,” she told Rafe. “I think Brenda may have talked to Mazie.”

Rafe raised a brow. “Maybe that’s where Brenda got the scoop on Blackwood and the project. We suspected she had a source.”

“We need to talk to her,” Liz said. “Maybe she’s heard from Mazie.”

Rafe collected a sample of the blood on the floor and bagged it to send to the lab. “I’ll call Maddison to process this place. Maybe we’ll lift a print and ID who was here.”

Two possibilities sprang to mind. Six was targeting Mazie, as he’d done with Ester Banning and Beaulah Hodge. Or . . . the Commander or one of his men was determined to keep Mazie from revealing any more secrets.

Liz stepped outside to call Brenda while Rafe phoned Maddison. Three rings later, she answered. “Brenda Banks speaking.”

“Brenda, this is Special Agent Liz Lucas.”

“What can I do for you?”

Liz knew reporters guarded their sources, but she hoped Brenda would trust her. “Special Agent Hood and I are at Mazie Paulsen’s cabin. I found your business card and wondered if you know where she is.”

A pregnant pause “No—why would I?”

“Because I think you talked to her about the CHIMES project and the arrest of Blackwood and Senator Stowe.”

A heartbeat passed. “I questioned her because she worked at the hospital.”

“And she was employed at the time of the project?”

“Listen, Liz,” Brenda said. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about this. Whatever Mazie told me was strictly confidential.”

“I understand that,” Liz said. “But I think that something may have happened to Mazie. There are signs of foul play.”

“Oh, God,” Brenda said softly. “And Commander Blackwood is on the loose.”

“Exactly. If she confided about the experiment, she’s probably in danger.” Liz paused. “That is, unless he already found her. We found blood in her bedroom.”

“No one knows that she talked to me,” Brenda said earnestly. “I’ve kept her identity secret.”

“Maybe the Commander is just finishing up with everyone who knew about the experiment. There’s also the possibility that the Dissector found Mazie.”

“Why would he go after her?”

Liz measured her words. “Brenda, this is off the record, so you cannot print any of it, understand?”

“I understand,” Brenda said. “You can trust me, Liz.”

Liz rarely trusted anyone, but Brenda and Nick were together both personally and professionally, so if Nick trusted her, she supposed Brenda was all right. She explained her theory about the unsub killing nursing staff who either hurt him or were involved in the project, but refrained from mentioning J. R. Truitt and Castor.

“What about family?” Liz scavenged through the pictures that lay on the floor, crumpled and torn, their frames shattered. “There’s a picture of a teenage girl and boy in her house. Were they her children?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll see what I can find out,” Brenda said.

Liz ended the call and stepped back inside. Rafe had yanked on latex gloves and was examining a bullet casing that he held between his fingers. “Look what I dug out of the wall by the bed.”

Liz walked over to study it. “Looks like the same caliber as the bullet that killed the senator.”

Rafe dropped it into an evidence bag. “Which means that whoever killed the senator either shot Mazie or has her now.”

When they arrived at Liz’s, after spending all evening processing the scene at Mazie’s house, the sound of dogs barking echoed from the back.

Already jumpy after the earlier break-in, Liz pulled her gun and eased around the side of the building.

Rafe’s senses were instantly on high alert, and he removed his own gun from the holster and followed her. The wind shook the trees, causing rain to drip down.

A German shepherd hovered by the porch, barking at something on the steps. Rafe slowly brought his hand up to stroke the dog’s back, murmuring soft words to quiet him.

Liz came to an abrupt stop. “Oh, my God. There’s a body on my porch.”

Rafe grimaced. Blood stained the dead woman’s face and chin, and her mouth hung open as if she’d been posed. He inched closer, patting the dog to pull him away.

The woman had obviously been murdered, her tongue cut out.

The Dissector had struck again.

And this time he’d left his victim at Liz’s door to flaunt his kill.

Chapter Twenty

L
iz’s stomach rolled at the sight of the blood streaking the woman’s mouth and chin. Her lips had turned a nasty purple, and bruises discolored her face, as if the killer had used some kind of tool to hold her mouth open.

She half expected the body to be Mazie’s, but it wasn’t.

Rafe yanked the dog away and sent it running into the woods as Liz snapped a photo of the victim. “What exactly did you do to our unsub to make him remove your tongue?” she asked the corpse.

Was that man Brian Castor? Had he dumped this woman’s body on her doorstep earlier today because he was pissed they’d questioned him?

Or was this Truitt’s work?

Rafe examined the woman’s hands, arms, and legs for injuries. But other than scrapes and bruises from the ropes the killer had bound her with, she hadn’t sustained any other wounds. The unsub had cut out her tongue for a reason, just as he’d targeted the other victims’ hands and eyes.

“You think she knew something—that the missing tongue is a message that he didn’t want her to talk?”

Liz shook her head. “Some killers do that, but this is different.” The chill of the night washed over her, making her shiver. “It seems like he cut off victim one’s hands because she’d hurt him with them—that’s the reason he beat her with them. Vic two lost her eyes because she must have used them to inflict pain on him. The same with this woman’s tongue.”

“Jesus. What next?” Rafe asked.

“We need to catch him before there is a next.”

Rafe punched Maddison’s number. “I’m calling the crime lab. Guess they’ll be working overtime again.”

Liz studied the woods behind her home. The creek was only a few feet away, bordered by trees. The other two victims had been left near the water, but this body had been left at her door.

To show her that the killer knew he was beating them at the game.

Nick finally had a lead on his father.

He’d worked with tech all day on that damned website for the Commander’s followers. One name stuck out as a possible accomplice to his escape. The crazy woman had professed undying love for his father. The thought made him grind his molars.

But he’d tracked her down, and she was in a wheelchair.

An extremist militant group voiced their support for the experiments. Paranoia about other government secret projects was evident in the posts, and conspiracy theories abounded. Some contributors had military backgrounds and connections.

The mountains were the perfect place for the group’s headquarters—and the perfect place to hide the Commander.

Nick phoned Brenda to check on her, grateful she’d agreed to have dinner with her parents. At one time her father, the mayor, had disapproved of Nick, but they both loved Brenda, and more than anything they wanted to keep her safe. If Brenda knew he’d phoned the mayor to ask him to watch her tonight, she’d be furious.

Love made a man do crazy things.

Gears ground as he climbed the mountain, the switchbacks and ridges leading him into the dark, deserted forests. Storm clouds rumbled again, and the roads were coated with the earlier hail, forcing him to crawl along the narrow road.

His phone buzzed. Carl Mallard, the secretary of defense, again. Damn, the man was putting the heat on him. He punched connect. “Agent Blackwood.”

“Tell me you know where Commander Blackwood is.”

“I think I may have a lead.” Nick explained about the militant group.

“That does sound like just the sort of group he would turn to. Where the hell did you say they meet?”

“They’re in the mountains. I’m on my way there now,” Nick said. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“Good. I’d like something to report to the committee when we meet this week. No one wants a devious man like Blackwood on the loose.”

Nick agreed, and hung up. Pines and oaks swayed in the wind, the branches bending with the weight of the earlier rain, tossing twigs and pine needles across the road. He steered the SUV up a side road. Icy mountain water trickled along the tall stone ridges, running down the embankment. The moon tried to fight its way through the clouds but failed miserably, making the area look even more desolate.

His GPS showed he was a half mile from the group’s base camp, so he slowed, debating whether he should confront the group or slip in and do surveillance.

Surveillance won.

He veered into a space between several trees, cut the engine, and climbed out, grabbing his binoculars and his camera with a telephoto lens. Tucking his gun into his holster, he strode through the woods toward the camp.

The sound of gunfire made him pause. Several gunshots.

What the hell was going on?

Barbed wire fencing surrounded the area, barring curiosity seekers, and
NO TRESPASSING
signs had been tacked up along the fence line in several areas. Nick tried to cut through the fence with a small pair of wire cutters, but the wire was too strong. He hurried back to the SUV and retrieved his military bolt cutters, using them to clip a small section, enough to allow him entry.

Twigs snapped beneath his boots as he inched through the woods. Finally he spotted an old building that looked as if it might have once been some kind of fishing/hunting camp. Three other metal buildings had been erected, and there were campfires spread around the site.

He counted at least four men in military uniforms with assault rifles guarding the camp; there’d be more inside the buildings, he suspected. A group of preteen boys holding weapons and wearing camouflage were lined up, waiting their turn to shoot at makeshift targets.

An obstacle course for physical training had been built to the right. Nick used his night binoculars to peer through the trees. Two men in uniforms were unloading boxes full of semiautomatic weapons and hauling them into one of the metal buildings.

A limb crunched behind him, and suddenly Nick felt a gun barrel at the back of his neck.

“Who the hell are you?” a voice growled. “And what are you doing on private property?”

Nick froze. He knew these men’s mindsets. Violence, taking lives—they considered it their honor to serve their country.

Was the Commander here? Maybe he was actually running this place, training a new wave of boys to kill for him.

They’d probably been taught to do anything to protect the mission.

Killing a federal agent wouldn’t faze them.

Liz took several deep breaths to stem the nausea washing over her. But the darkness drew her in. She was in the killer’s mind, watching him tie the woman down, raise the knife, and carve out her tongue while she struggled to escape.

Next came images of the victim crying for help. The woman had looked into her killer’s eyes and seen only evil there as he ripped out her tongue.

Liz glanced up at her porch, fear slithering through her. She pulled her gun. “I’m checking the house.”

“Wait and let me call for backup,” Rafe said.

“I can’t let him get away again.” Liz climbed the steps, bypassing the body, then reached for the door to the porch. Her alarm had been set, but appeared to have been turned off.

Rafe punched Lieutenant Maddison’s number and asked him to get a team out to the house as he followed her up the steps.

Liz gave the door a gentle push, and it squeaked open.

“You left it unlocked?” Rafe asked.

Liz shook her head. “No. The alarm was set.”

Rafe hissed between his teeth and entered the porch behind her. She surveyed the screened-in area, but saw nothing out of place.

Slowly she inched inside the kitchen, scanning left and right, but nothing looked amiss. Rafe gestured that he’d go left, and she went right, toward her bedroom. Rafe’s footsteps were soft, but she could hear him combing the kitchen and extra room.

Suddenly Liz smelled garlic.

Her heart hammered against her breastbone. Gripping her gun with clammy hands, she fought the churning in her belly and inched into her bedroom, searching the room for signs of an intruder. The chair where she’d tossed her nightgown was empty now.

The killer might have taken it for some perverse reason.

Breathing deeply to calm her fear, she opened the closet door, but her clothes were still hanging as she’d left them, shoes stacked in the bins.

She crossed the room and checked the bathroom, but there was nothing out of place. Makeup on the vanity. Body wash and shampoo in the shower caddy.

Relieved that no one was inside, she turned and walked back into the bedroom—then froze, her throat closing, as she glanced at her pillow.

Another white rose lay in the middle.

Rafe darted to Liz’s room in case the unsub had hidden inside, waiting to ambush her. Déjà vu of nearly losing her to Harlan assaulted him.

If he hadn’t been so damn determined to keep his distance after they crawled into bed together, he would have been with her the night she was abducted, and she never would have been hurt.

He’d never forgive himself for that mistake.

“Liz?”

Her back was to him, but it looked as if she’d stuffed something under her pillow.

“Was someone here?”

She turned around, her face ashen, eyes washed out. Something was terribly wrong. He rushed across the room and wrapped his hands around her arms. “Liz, what is it? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“I think Harlan is alive, that he’s been in my house.”

Rafe’s body tensed to high alert. Not the Dissector . . . Harlan. “Did you see him?”

She shook her head, a heavy sigh escaping. “The smell. Garlic.” She pressed a hand to her face. “Don’t you smell it?”

Rafe frowned, trying to detect the odor. But if there was garlic in the air, it was so subtle he didn’t recognize it. “I’m sorry, no, I . . . I don’t.”

Was this case triggering traumatic memories to the point that she was imagining Harlan’s return?

“The MO of the Dissector fits with the victim outside,” he said, pointing out the obvious.

Liz pulled away from him, her lips pinched in anger.

Then Rafe saw the bottle of pills on her nightstand. Antianxiety medication. The bottle was half empty.

Liz had lied to the chief when she told him she’d stopped taking them.