Zack glanced back at her. “Even though it’s not as well used, the Bullhead Trail is easily marked, too. Even amateur hikers should have known to stick to it.”
“But what if it was late...darkness falls fast here. They could have turned toward the Bullhead Trail and gotten lost.” Excitement pulsed through her. “Show us the way, okay?” Because every instinct that she had was screaming at her.
Zack cast a quick glance toward Bowen.
“Show us the way,” Bowen said.
So they diverted paths. They went deeper into the woods and then...she saw a cabin’s roof, barely visible over the trees. If it hadn’t been so late into the fall season, she probably wouldn’t have seen it. But many of the leaves had fallen off the trees, and in the distance, she could just make out the slanting roof of a cabin. “Bowen!” Her voice sharpened. They were at least a mile from the cabin, maybe two. It was far away, but the thinning trees had enabled her to see it as soon as they shifted to the other trail.
He immediately followed her gaze. “Who owns that cabin?”
“No one,” Zack answered slowly. “It’s an old abandoned place. No one is in there.” He paced closer to Macey and pointed at the area. “Every now and then, hikers will take shelter there for a night or so. It’s not an official campground because the place really should be torn down. The wood is rotting and the forest is trying to reclaim the cabin, but...we had cutbacks so we haven’t gotten around to demolishing it.” He gave a low whistle. “But we should get going. That cabin is—”
“It’s in our killer’s operation zone.” Tension had tightened Macey’s body. “It’s a prime spot for him to set up his base.” She pinned Zack with a hard glance. “Are there any other cabins in a two-mile radius of this location?”
“No, just that one.” He rubbed his chin. “But I mean, you can’t seriously think—what? That some guy has been killing in that place?” He laughed, but it was a nervous sound.
“I want to see that cabin.” She glanced up at the sky. They had time to make it.
“This is what happens.” Now Zack sounded sad. “There is no trail that leads to that place, not anymore. People get urges to see things. They go off the trail. They get lost when night sneaks up on them.”
She braced her legs. Every instinct she possessed screamed for her to get to that cabin. It’s in his kill zone. We could have found his safe place. A place where he might have left evidence behind. “Today we’re searching the cabin.” Tomorrow, at first light, they could start out and head up to Mount LeConte.
“Have it your way.” Zack pulled out his radio and made a quick call in to base. “Let’s go.”
* * *
THE BASTARD IN the ski mask had left him again.
Curtis could feel his stomach cramping. The food was sitting heavy on him... Food. The guy had given him food, so that had to mean he wasn’t planning on killing Curtis. It had to mean that. So he just had to stay alive longer. Just had to escape...
His gaze strayed to his pack. Still fucking out of reach. But...
I feel stronger.
He began to tug on his ropes once more. And maybe it was his imagination, but Curtis could have sworn the ropes were starting to feel...looser.
I’m going to get out of here. Then I’ll find you, you fucking bastard. I will hurt you so badly. I will make you pay.
As soon as he was free. That prick in the mask—He’d picked the wrong man to mess with. Curtis Zale wasn’t anyone’s bitch. He didn’t give up easily and he wouldn’t die easily.
He had too many plans.
There were too many things that he wanted to do with his life.
And dying isn’t one of those things.
* * *
“TOLD YOU,” ZACK said as they drew to a stop right outside the cabin. They’d hiked for an hour and the sun had slid across the sky. “It’s abandoned.”
The place sure looked that way. The windows were boarded up, vines snaked up the sides of the cabin and the slanting walls looked as if they might fall in any moment.
“Can’t usually even see this place, not in the spring and summer. The trees cover it too completely. Most folks will pass by and never even know it’s here.” Zack strode toward the door. “Could have been some historic spot, but there isn’t any funding to repair it. No funding to repair it, and no funding to destroy it. So the place sits.”
Macey cast a quick glance at Bowen. He was near the front door, just steps away from Zack.
“Mind stepping aside, Ranger?” Bowen drawled. He’d dropped his pack. Macey did the same.
Zack blinked, but then he stepped aside.
“Thanks.” Bowen reached for the door. There wasn’t a handle there, no lock, nothing. He shoved against the door and it opened with a long creak of sound.
“See?” Zack announced. “I told you, the place is completely empty—”
“Help me!” A desperate, choked cry. One that had come from inside the cabin. Instantly, Bowen was springing forward, and Macey was right on his heels. She grabbed her gun from her holster even as she shoved Zack out of her way. She bounded into the cabin after Bowen, her gaze sweeping the scene for signs of a threat but...
No threat. Just a victim. She saw the man tied to the chair, heaving and struggling desperately. As she watched him, his mouth opened and closed, but only a hoarse whisper escaped when she knew he was trying to scream. A backpack lay on the floor a few feet from him.
“Help...” the bound man managed again. Macey rushed to his side. Bowen was checking the rest of the small cabin, and she knew he was searching for the perp.
“It’s okay,” Macey told the man tied to the chair. “I’m FBI Agent Macey Night. You’re going to be all right.”
“Promise?” A desperate rasp.
She grabbed for the ropes around his wrists. The ropes were soaked with blood and she saw the deep cuts on his wrists where the ropes had sliced into him as he struggled to break free.
“Oh, shit!” Zack cried out. He stood just inside the doorway.
“Get back!” Macey yelled. This was a crime scene. They couldn’t afford to contaminate any evidence, and for all she knew, the killer could be hiding in that ramshackle cabin.
Or he could be outside, watching. Just like before, at the other cabin.
Zack started to retreat.
“Stay near the door!” Macey shouted. “Get cover, okay?”
“Cover?” Then Zack seemed to understand because he looked over his shoulder and immediately crouched.
She yanked at the ropes. Damn it, they weren’t coming loose.
“Clear,” Bowen barked as he came back into the narrow room. “No one else is in the cabin.” He hurried to her side and he pulled a knife from his boot. He sliced right through the ropes at the guy’s wrists, and the man in the chair let out a weak cry.
“Circulation has to come back,” Macey said, understanding exactly what he was going through. “It’s going to be painful at first, but it won’t last.”
Bowen slid to the front of the chair. He started to cut through the ropes that bound the man’s ankles, then he paused.
“Bowen?” Macey prompted.
He looked up at her. “The chair was nailed to the floor. And there are... Hell, one of the nails...no, two of them—”
“Are in me,” the guy rasped. “In...my feet... Help...”
Oh, God. “Get him loose,” Macey demanded. Then she was there, helping Bowen, working hard to free the man who’d been bound. And nailed to the floor.
“He took me.” The man’s voice was a broken whisper. “I—I was hiking... He took me. H-hit me... Why did he h-hit me? Wh-why did he hurt me?”
She looked up at him just as Bowen pried the guy loose. The ropes were cut and the nails... They’re still in him, but he can move. They’d pried the long nails from the wooden floor. “We’re going to get you medical attention.” She turned her head toward Bowen. She moved closer to him, and her lips feathered over his ear as she warned, “The killer c
ould be watching, just like last time. We need to get backup out here and we need to search the woods.”
“You read my fucking mind, Mace.” He pulled out his phone, but then swore. “No service.”
“Go outside.” She nodded toward a watchful—and still crouching—Zack. “Use his radio or see if you can get service. I’ll stay with the victim.”
Bowen’s gaze swung back to the man in the chair. The man who was clutching his stomach and crying. “How long were you here?” Bowen demanded.
The guy shuddered. His lips were raw and blistered. His face too pale. His pupils were pinpricks and sweat covered his body. “Wh-what day is...it?”
“Thursday.”
The man’s eyes closed. “Left...for my hike...on Sunday.”
He’d been trapped here for that long? Macey curled her hand around Bowen’s. “Get him help. I’ll stay with him.” She was the doctor. She could check his vitals, make sure he didn’t do anything to hurt himself.
“S-starved...me... No f-food... B-barely any...w-water...”
“Go,” Macey said to Bowen.
He slipped away. She rose, moving to press her fingers to the man’s throat. His pulse was thready. “What’s your name?”
“C-Curtis...”
That was the name Zack had given them...the guy who fit their profile. The man who’d gone out on the trail that the killer loved.
She put her gun on the floor, making sure to keep it within easy access, and she knelt in front of him. “Did you see the man who did this to you?”
Curtis shook his head, but then his bloody hand lifted and he pointed to his bag. “F-food...in there. Water...”
When she’d run into the cabin, she’d left her pack outside. She had extra water—water that this man desperately needed.
Before she could speak, Curtis lurched up. He stumbled toward his pack even as she grabbed for him. “Curtis, no, you’ll hurt yourself!” The nails were still in his feet, near his ankles, and his blood dripped onto the floor.
“Water...” Such a desperate plea.
She helped him toward the backpack. He fell, sinking to his knees, and then he was reaching his trembling hands inside the bag. She saw the water bottle, several of them, and his shaking fingers hovered over those bottles.
But then his hand shoved deeper into the bag and when his fingers came up, he was clutching a knife. A knife that he drove straight at her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“BOWEN!” MACEY’S FRANTIC shout reached him just as Bowen and Zack managed to contact the ranger station. There was still no damn cell signal, but Zack’s radio had worked to connect.
At her cry, Bowen whirled back toward the cabin. His heart raced in his chest and adrenaline pounded in his blood as he raced for the open door. His gun was gripped tightly in his hand.
He burst into the cabin but then Bowen froze. Froze.
The guy who’d been bound—the victim who had been so desperate—stood behind Macey. And the jerk had a knife at her throat. Bowen could see a trickle of blood sliding down her neck.
“Let her go,” Bowen snarled. “She’s FBI. She’s here to help you.” You dumb son of a bitch.
But the man shook his head. “No...” His voice was still that broken whisper, and Bowen had to strain to hear him. “She’s gonna...lock me up.”
“We’re not the bad guys,” Bowen said. He didn’t let his gaze stray to Macey’s face. Not then—he couldn’t. He had to focus on the man who held her. A man who’d been pushed too far. A man who—
“I am,” the guy rasped.
I am. A cold chill slid over Bowen’s skin. He stared into the “victim’s” eyes...and he didn’t see fear staring back at him. He saw rage. Hate.
And he realized just what had happened.
The bastard on the phone... The perp did beat us. He beat us again. He said there was another serial out here. And I think I’m looking at him.
Bowen and Macey had been told that another killer was hunting in the area, but when they’d gone into the cabin, he’d thought they were looking at a victim. The man had been tied, dehydrated, held captive, tortured...
“He did to you,” Bowen said quietly, “what you did to the others.”
Curtis flinched. “Fucking SOB. I’m gonna...find him. I’m gonna kill him.”
Bowen took a step toward him.
“Don’t!” And Curtis jerked Macey closer to himself. “I will slit her throat from ear to ear.” The threat was low and whispery, but Bowen heard it. His whole focus was on the man who held Macey. “Not my first kill...so don’t think I’ll...hesitate.”
Bowen’s weapon was aimed at the bastard’s head. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a clear shot. Macey was too close. One move of her head to the left, and the bullet would hit her. And Curtis kept jerking her, so there was no way Bowen could take that risk.
I also can’t let him kill her. “Ten,” he said, throwing out the number.
Curtis squinted at him.
“Is that how many people you’ve killed, Curtis? Ten people? Ten hikers who never made it out of these mountains.”
Curtis laughed, a rusty, weak sound. “A few more than that...”
“How?” Bowen asked. He wanted the guy to keep talking. If he kept talking, Curtis would be focusing on Bowen and not Macey. If he kept talking, Curtis’s hold on Macey might ease. Bowen knew Macey would be waiting for her chance to escape. As soon as the guy’s hold weakened, she’d act. Bowen had to give her that opportunity.
Helplessly, Bowen’s gaze jerked to her face. Her eyes were wide, emotionless and locked on him. The blood was still trailing down her neck. His rage boiled inside of him, a white-hot fury that demanded he end the son of a bitch who’d dared to hurt her. Jaw locking, he forced his stare back on the man before him. “How,” Bowen snapped. “How did you take them all?”
“Wandered away,” Curtis rasped. But as he spoke, his shoulders straightened. His slightly pointed chin lifted. The guy was proud, Bowen realized. Proud and he wanted to brag about what he’d done. “The stream rose too high, and they wanted an...easier path.” He licked his busted lips. “I told them one...told them I would help, share supplies.”
“And, what, as soon as you were safely away, as soon as you had them where no one else could hear them scream, you attacked?”
“Put something in the coffee...” Curtis’s wrecked lips twisted. His eyes gleamed. “Brought ’em here. Said it was shelter. Gave ’em coffee and when they woke up...” He laughed. “That was when the f-fun began.”
Macey’s hand rose, and she pulled at his wrist.
“Stop it, bitch,” he said, his words croaking out. The knife sliced deeper into her.
“Put the fucking weapon down!” Bowen shouted. “Or I will shoot you right here.”
Curtis still wore that sadistic smile on his face. “I know...how you agents work. You can’t let...one of your own...get hurt.”
Macey was very much his. The truth of that settled into Bowen’s bones.
“So you drop your weapon,” Curtis ordered in his weak, broken voice. “And you...tell the ranger outside that I want transportation. I want an ATV. I want out of here...or the pretty lady is going to be bleeding a whole lot more.”
Bowen opened his mouth to reply.
“That’s not happening,” Macey said, her voice calm. Quiet. “You’re not getting away. Bowen is the best shot at the Bureau. He can shoot you between the eyes right now, and he’d never so much as come close to my skin.”
She sounded so very certain. She was also lying. Macey was the best shot, not him.
Curtis’s attention flew back to Bowen and his eyes widened in alarm.
“I’m giving you to three,” Bowen warned him. “One, two—”
Curtis’s hold on Macey eased, just a bit. “No, no, you bast—”
“Three,” Macey said. She drove her elbow back into Curtis’s midsection. He grunted and the knife sliced at her, but she was whirling and she punched him hard in the face. Then Ma
cey was free. She ran toward Bowen and he grabbed her arm, jerking her close with his left hand even as his right still held the gun.
Curtis let out a weak scream and lunged at them, the knife swiping down.
Three.
Bowen fired. The bullet blasted straight into Curtis’s heart. His mouth dropped in surprise, and he looked down at his chest. Curtis even shook his head, as if this couldn’t be happening.
You were a dead man the minute you put the knife to her throat.
The knife fell from Curtis’s hand. His knees gave way and he hit the floor. Then he was trying to put his hands over his heart, trying to stop that frantic blood flow as he toppled to the dirty floor.
Macey ran toward him. The little prick had been trying to kill her moments before but now she was putting her hands on his chest. Applying pressure. Being the doctor that she’d always be...and trying to save the confessed killer.
“Talk to me!” Macey thundered at him. “You were talking plenty a few minutes ago—tell me about the man who took you, tell me—”
His bloody hand reached up to touch her face. Blood smeared across her cheek.
Bowen stood behind her, his gun ready to fire again.
But he saw the life leave Curtis’s eyes.
The man’s hand fell back to the floor. His eyes—
Nothing is there now.
They closed.
* * *
NIGHT HAD FALLEN, but the old cabin in the woods was illuminated by what seemed like a thousand lights. The place was swarming with cops, feds, crime scene techs and even EMTs.
Cadaver dogs barked, still on the scene, though they’d done their work hours ago.
Bowen stood behind the cabin, his hands crossed over his chest and his eyes on the graves. They’d already dug up four bodies. Four skeletons, because that was pretty much all that had been left of the missing. But there were more graves out there. Curtis Zale had buried his victims right behind the cabin.
A cadaver dog whined.
He said more than ten. They’d found thirteen victims so far. They’d gotten an expert to come out—Dr. Amelia Lang—a forensic geophysicist from the University of Tennessee who’d brought ground penetrating radar. As soon as the cadaver dogs had pawed at the earth, marking their spot, she’d used her equipment.