Rebecca walked Macy and Bennett out the door. After Macy gave her a business card, they moved out to the parking lot. The half moon was bright. She checked her watch. Seven thirty.
“I think Tobi’s killer was practicing with the rape victims and he came close to murdering Ms. Kennedy,” Macy said. “He figured it out with Tobi.”
“Yes, he did.” Bennett looked almost resigned. “We have to solve this case.”
“I know.” She studied the deputy. “We both have a lot riding on this.”
Bennett nodded. “We’re in this together.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Macy said.
Bennett shoved out a breath, shaking her head.
The quip was intended to breach the strain always humming between them. But judging by Bennett’s deepening frown, it was going to take a blowtorch to thaw out the deputy’s icy layers.
He was thirstier than he thought and grabbed another beer, drinking until it was drained. Another rim shot and a miss. He scooped up the empty beer can and slammed it into the trash.
“You’re a disappointment,” he said to the semiconscious woman in the corner. “I expected more of a challenge from you. The best wins are earned.”
Air hissed over her lips as he threaded his fingers together and cracked his knuckles.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes twitched, and that was enough for him to know she was still in there. They still had at least one more moment to share.
He squeezed, and her body’s primitive reflexes sent a warning to her muscles, which tensed. He held steady pressure. His erection pulsed. His heartbeat quickened.
Five, six, seven, eight.
Older and wiser, he didn’t want death to come in a quick, heady rush. No more spiking adrenaline to ruin his rhythm.
Nine, ten, eleven.
Her pulse slowed, and a faint gurgling sound rumbled in the back of her throat. Her eyes were barely open. This wasn’t their first dance. And now he completely dominated her. She no longer fought. Cried. Or begged. And oddly, he was as disappointed as he might be after a fine meal ended or a fine glass of good scotch was emptied.
Her mouth opened wide, sucking in air, and reminded him of a beached fish. Slowly her eyes closed completely.
“Open your eyes.” His ripe, breathless excitement sounded adolescent. “I want to see your eyes.”
A tear trickled from the corner of her right eye, but she didn’t look at him. She didn’t respond and her muscles slackened. His fingers ached and his muscles cramped.
Twenty, twenty-one. Beyond forty-five seconds, the brain started to die and drift to a space past fear and terror.
He didn’t want her to cross into the unknown just yet. He wanted to savor his victory. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he rubbed the cramps and sore joints of his hand, trying to remember a time when his body didn’t ache.
He grabbed her upper right arm, savoring the feel of her flesh in his hand. Unable to resist, he sank his teeth into her flesh. He bit hard, tasted her blood in his mouth, but he felt no reaction from her.
“I’ve won, sweetheart. I wanted to keep the game going. I liked the way you cried when you were scared. Sexy as hell.”
As he traced the purple bruises along the column of her white neck, he kissed her still, full, soft lips. “I am a winner.”
Finally, he slowly pulled off his mask. The air felt cool again against his sweaty skin.
The mask had been a necessity in the early days when he hadn’t worked up the courage to kill. But even after he had no longer been afraid to kill, he’d kept the mask because it incited fear.
He walked to a small refrigerator, grabbed a beer, popped the top, and took a long swig. It didn’t quench the bone-deep thirst that had plagued him for as long as he could remember. It was a craving. A need to prove he was a winner.
This death should have taken the edge off his thirst, but it didn’t come close to chasing away the restlessness. A few days ago, he had been ready to explode with the need to prove himself. And he had. He had demonstrated yet again he was on top of the heap.
Yes, he felt more control now, but the calm would not last. It never did. The hunger would soon return, and it would consume him until he was forced to find another woman.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tuesday, November 19, 8:15 p.m.
En route to the police station, Macy searched the Internet for the cologne Beacon and discovered it was widely accessible online as well as at the local mall in Roanoke. She ordered a travel size and asked that it be shipped to the sheriff’s office. Smells could trigger memories, and she was prepared to have all the former victims smell the scent to see if helped them recall details.
When Macy and Bennett pulled into the station’s parking lot, a news van from Channel 9 was parked and waiting. Macy swallowed a curse and kept her gaze forward, wondering if reporters had a secret power drawing them to cops when the timing was at its absolute worst.
“He’s from Roanoke,” Bennett said. “His name is Peter Stuart, and he covered Tobi Turner’s disappearance multiple times over the years. A couple of his stories went national. He’s not had national coverage for several years, and I know he sees this as his ticket back to the top.”
“That kind of ambition is dangerous. I’ve seen guys like him broadcast information before it’s verified.”
Bennett frowned but kept her thoughts to herself.
Macy’s attention was drawn to Stuart’s fit frame, which stretched over six feet tall. A dark suit coupled with trimmed black hair framed an angled face that TV loved and she found uninspiring.
“Deputy Bennett!” Stuart shouted as he jogged across the parking lot, his microphone outstretched like a fishing pole ready to yank up whatever nibbled on its line. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
The deputy squared her shoulders, stopped, and turned. This was an active investigation, but like it or not, they were on display. Macy paused, and neither made a comment as he reached them. Behind him was a man with a camera perched on his shoulder.
“We understand search and rescue has returned, and they have not found Debbie Roberson,” Stuart said.
This was news to them both, but neither gave a hint.
“What do you think happened to Debbie Roberson?” Stuart asked. “Has she been murdered?”
“We’re still investigating the case and do not have a statement at this time,” Bennett said.
“You’ve got to give me something. Search and rescue said nothing,” Stuart said.
Nevada wasn’t the chatty type, so Stuart must have been at the park when Nevada and Ellis exited the trail empty handed.
“As soon as I have information, I will brief you,” she said.
“Tobi Turner has a similar look to Debbie Roberson.”
“What’s your point?”
“Just saying you have females with similar looks. One is dead and the other is missing.”
Bennett stiffened, the faint hint of color rising in her cheeks as she shook her head. “No comment at this time.”
“Are you sure about that, Deputy?” he challenged.
Macy immediately spotted the deputy’s protective posturing. What was it about the reporter that put the deputy on edge?
“What is your name, Special Agent?” Stuart asked.
Normally the FBI stayed in the background on these local investigations. But to turn away from the reporter and the rolling camera would send a bad message to the public. “Special Agent Macy Crow.”
“Do you have a comment?” Stuart asked as he watched Bennett turn and walk toward the station.
“No, sir. When we have an update, we will call a press conference.” Macy caught up to Bennett. Both were silent, each knowing the less said publicly to the media, the better. Whoever was out there was likely watching and taking in everything they were saying.
Once inside the station house, Macy asked, “You know him?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “He’s a loc
al reporter.”
“It’s more than that.”
Bennett faced her. “What are you suggesting?”
“Are you two dating? Do you have any kind of relationship?”
“No.”
Macy noted the faint rush of color in the deputy’s face suggesting there was something between the deputy and the reporter. “Then that leaves a professional relationship. You were the one who told him about the rape kits.”
Bennett stared at Macy with an icy, unreadable expression, which Macy realized now was a defense tactic. The deputy wasn’t trying to be a badass. She was scared.
“News of the untested rape kits made it to Nevada and to the media. How did that happen?”
“I have no idea.”
Though Macy could force the issue now, she didn’t. There was more Bennett wasn’t saying. She could theorize all day about what the deputy was holding back but opted to wait and watch her more closely. Most people eventually tipped their hand in some way.
Bennett typed in the access code, and the door opened. Nevada was waiting for them on the other side. He held a half-empty water bottle and was still dressed in hiking gear that was now muddied and sweat stained.
“Looks like you managed to slip by Mr. Stuart,” Bennett said.