A gun blasted.
Peter’s body jerked, like a marionette who’d just had his string yanked hard, and he stumbled back. The gun was still in his hand.
But only for a moment...
The gun fell to the floor. Then Peter fell.
Bowen ran toward him. Jonah rushed to the left. Jonah kicked the gun away, and Bowen tried to find the wound as the strobe light flashed.
“Left side,” Macey said quietly. “That’s where I aimed because I didn’t want to kill him.”
And Bowen found the wound. He put pressure on it, and Peter screamed, “No! No! I won’t go to jail!”
“Yes,” Bowen told him grimly. “You fucking will.”
* * *
THE POWER WAS back on at the museum—back on everywhere. Apparently, the power had been shut down to all the rooms, every room except the one that had been home to the skull and its hate nails.
Peter Carter had been taken away in an ambulance—one complete with an armed police guard. Macey and Jonah had been grilled about the shooting—and she knew the FBI brass would want official statements from her soon. Another officer-involved shooting. Only this time, the perp wasn’t dead.
Because she’d made sure of it.
Lights flooded the area, and Macey stared at the destruction that had been left in the business office on the second floor. “Think you can save anything from those computers?” she asked as she motioned toward the wreckage.
“You’d be surprised by just how much damage one of the machines can take,” Jonah muttered back. “But I can’t make any promises, not yet.”
“Do your best.” She turned away and headed for the door. But Jonah placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her.
“Who was he talking about?” Jonah asked her. “Who is the mystery woman?”
Macey glanced back at him. “I don’t know yet, but I do know how to find out.”
Jonah’s brows furrowed.
“I’m pretty sure we have her skull,” Macey said softly.
His eyes widened.
“That’s why he panicked. That’s why Peter was trying to get away. We have him dead to rights, and he knew it.” She gave a bitter laugh. “That’s why he wanted death. Because we’re going to have enough proof to lock the guy away for a very long time.”
“I don’t understand...”
Macey parted her lips to respond.
“It was the skull that put things into motion,” Bowen answered before Macey could.
She glanced toward the door and saw him filling the space. His eyes were on her and Jonah.
Jonah’s hand slipped from her shoulder.
“We’re going to need to thoroughly examine the skull we took from this museum,” Macey said. “Because I suspect it’s not some ancient relic like the info card next to the exhibit said. I think it’s the skull of Peter Carter’s victim.” A girlfriend, one who’d been involved with Captain Henry Harwell.
“You’re telling me the guy kept his ex’s skull on exhibit?” Jonah sounded disgusted. He shook his head. “That’s some twisted shit.”
“Some people are twisted,” Macey replied as she pulled down the edge of her sleeve. “Some people just can’t let go.”
“So what...we think Peter Carter is good for the kills? That he offed the girlfriend, then also took out the captain?” A line appeared between Jonah’s brows. “Why everyone else? Did the guy get a taste for killing?”
Macey shook her head. “I don’t think he did kill the others.”
“But the nails...” Jonah began. “He used them on the skull. If that is the dead girlfriend, he used them on her, and our perp has been using that same sick MO with every single kill.”
Yes, he had.
“Get to work on the computers,” Bowen said. “When you make some headway, let us know. Macey and I will be heading to the hospital.”
“I want to check on Dr. McKinley.” He should be out of surgery by now. As for Peter Carter, she knew he’d be staying in the hospital—under guard—for the time being.
She turned and followed Bowen out of the office. The building was teeming with activity, hardly surprising considering everything that had gone down. No strobe light was flashing any longer. In fact, every light in the place was on, and as she walked past the exhibits, the whole scene almost felt surreal.
They slipped down the stairs, past the cops and investigators, and when they were finally outside, Macey wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the crowd that had gathered there. Her gaze swept the scene, curious about the bystanders there.
So many people were avidly watching the scene unfold. Morbid curiosity was in full effect as the police lights flashed. Reporters were there, too. She figured they’d run out of time as far as the news was concerned. But Macey didn’t stop to talk with the reporters. Tucker was handling them, and as they eased past the throng throwing questions at him, Macey heard Tucker say, “The FBI will be issuing a full statement soon. Again, I just want to reassure the public that the FBI has contained this crime scene, and one suspect has been placed under arrest.”
For suspicion of murder. “I need to see that skull,” Macey said as she and Bowen finally cleared the crowd. The identity of that victim was key. They climbed into Tucker’s SUV—she knew Tucker would be hitching a ride back with Jonah.
She sat behind the steering wheel, her gaze darting around the parking lot. There was so much she wanted to do. So much she needed to do.
“You okay?” His deep voice rumbled in the quiet interior of the vehicle.
“Never better.” She reached forward to turn the key.
His hand flew out and curled around her wrist. She could feel his fingertips brush over the scars on her wrist. “I thought we were past the bullshit point.”
Her head turned toward him. “I’m okay, Bowen.”
“He wanted to kill himself.”
“Or he wanted us to kill him.” Because she wasn’t so convinced that he would have pulled the trigger. Peter had waved that gun at them again and again, so desperately, wanting them to fire. “He attacked Jonah. Came right at him. Peter wanted to die. He wanted an out because he didn’t want to spend his life in prison.”
“Too bad, because that’s exactly where he’s heading.”
Right.
His fingers slid from hers.
She turned the key. The vehicle’s engine immediately growled to life.
“You never thought about killing him, did you, Mace?”
She pulled out of the lot. “Our job isn’t to kill the perps. We’re supposed to arrest them. Give the victims justice.” She swallowed and kept her grip tight on the steering wheel as she slowly navigated through the bumper-to-bumper traffic in downtown Gatlinburg. “Every bit of evidence we have points to this guy as being our perp. McKinley’s computer—Jonah traced the hack back to the museum. The fact that all of the victims had nails in them—just like that skull...” Her breath blew out. “Jonah is right—it does fit the MO. Peter is the right age, he’s a local, so he knows the area. He had a personal vendetta against Henry Harwell. So much about him being the killer makes sense.”
He shifted in his seat. “But there are things that still don’t add up.”
She kept her breath nice and easy. Her fingers wanted to tremble and that was why she had a death grip on the steering wheel. A shooting was never easy, and she kept seeing that moment again and again in her mind. She’d have reports to complete on the shooting, but Macey didn’t think she’d be pulled off fieldwork. Not now—there was too much at stake. Things were moving too fast.
Bowen should have been completely benched after the Zale shooting, yet he’d been right in the thick of things with her, and she’d been grateful to have him there.
She always felt better when Bowen was closer. Safer. Stronger.
She’d made the decision to wound Peter, not kill him. But what if that had been the wrong decision? What if he’d fired back at her? Or at Bowen?
“Why go after Haddox?” Bowen
wondered. “After Remus? If Peter is our perp, why would he go after such big game?”
“We’ll be asking him that question,” Macey said as she finally pulled free of the traffic and headed toward the giant, gaping tunnel that had been carved right through the mountain itself. The SUV shot into that tunnel. “We’ve got him in custody. He’s not going anywhere. We’ll find out the truth about him.”
She risked a glance to her right and found Bowen staring straight at her. She shivered.
“You were supposed to stay outside,” Macey said.
“Fuck that. I heard the gunshot blast. You were in there.”
He said the words...like I matter. But then, they were partners. Partners mattered. “It’s good to have a partner like you on my side.”
The tension in the vehicle seemed to deepen. “Macey.” Her name was a growl. “I think we need to get a few things straight.”
He sounded angry.
“There’s a pullover right after the tunnel. Park there,” he said.
She knew the spot. There were plenty of places like it in the Smokies. Spots to stop and take pictures. To see the streams. The wildlife.
“Pull over, Macey.”
She eased off the road. She shifted into Park and turned toward him. The light from the dashboard provided a bit of illumination so that she could see his face.
“We’re not just partners.”
Her breath slid out. “Right. Everyone knows now, don’t they? They have to know that we slept together because he was watching—”
His hand curled beneath her chin. “It’s not just sleeping together. Not just fucking. At least, that’s not what it has been to me.”
Her heart slammed into her chest. “Bowen?”
“I’ve wanted you for a long time, Mace.” Her nickname rolled off his tongue and seemed to chase some of the chill from her body. “But I didn’t want to scare you. I know you were hurting.”
Damaged. She stiffened.
“Don’t.” He seemed to bite the word off. “Don’t tense up, not with me. Don’t block me the way you do everyone else. I don’t need your mask or your shield. I need you.”
Macey couldn’t look away from him.
“You’re not my secret. Having you in my bed isn’t something I want to hide from the world. I want you, Macey. I want you at my side. With me. And I didn’t fucking run into that building just because you were my partner. I did it because I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you.”
He leaned toward her.
“I wish I could take all of your pain away, Macey. I wish that I could have been the one to stop Haddox. I wanted to make him pay for what he did to you. I never want you to hurt again, and if I have my way, you won’t.”
She wanted to kiss him. His mouth was close to hers and the adrenaline rode her hard. She wanted to throw her hands around him and hold on tight. Don’t let go. Don’t.
“That’s how I feel,” Bowen rasped. “Now you need to figure out how you feel. The case will end. We’ll go back to our lives. What do you want that to be like?”
He was putting the choice in her hands.
Need and fear clawed within her. “Bowen...”
He kissed her. Her mouth was open and his tongue slid right past her lips. Her hands flew up and locked around his shoulders, holding him as tight as she’d wanted moments before. Holding him as if she would never let go.
There was desperation in the kiss. Passion. Raw need. She wanted to let go—to finally just let all of her emotions go and be with him.
Bowen pulled back. “Your choice, Mace.”
Her breath was coming too fast and hard.
“In the end,” he said, “it’s always going to be about you.”
* * *
THE MURDERING BASTARD wasn’t dead.
The crowd was still thick in front of the museum. People twisting their necks and whispering about the crime that had happened. Or what they thought had occurred.
Peter Carter had been taken away. Not in a body bag.
In a freaking ambulance. He’d been moaning and spouting about his innocence the whole time.
Peter should have been dead. The feds should have gone in there and shot him. The scene had been set. And Peter...the fool would have been armed. He’d found all of the evidence, all of the videos, everything on his computer. The guy should have panicked. He should have attacked.
And then the feds should have taken him out. Every move had been planned perfectly and he’d been promised this ending.
What went wrong? Because something had.
Now Peter Carter was alive. He was in a hospital, not on a slab in the morgue. And that wouldn’t work.
Not at all.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE LIGHTS GLEAMED in the hospital and Bowen’s shoes squeaked as he strode over the freshly polished floor. A nurse glanced up at him and Bowen flashed his badge. “Agents Murphy and Night to see Dr. McKinley.”
The nurse, a man in his early twenties, pointed down the hallway. “He’s in Recovery, but you know he’s not going to be able to really talk now, right?”
Bowen glanced down the hallway and nodded curtly. “Thanks.” He and Macey made their way to Recovery.
“He needs a guard,” Macey said. “After his attack, we can’t be sure the killer won’t come back to finish the job.”
“That’s if the killer isn’t Peter Carter.” Because Peter was also in that hospital. Under guard and in surgery.
They flashed their badges to the staff in the recovery area, and soon they were standing next to McKinley’s bedside. Thick bandages covered his throat, and the doctor who’d accompanied them inside—Dr. Tracy White—leaned over her patient. “Dr. McKinley,” she announced. “You have guests.” She looked up at Bowen, then Macey, her dark gaze stern. “My patient has been through quite an ordeal. I can only allow you to stay with him for a few moments, and I must ask that you do not stress him in any manner.”
“We’re not here to upset the doc,” Bowen said. “We just need some answers.”
McKinley’s head slowly turned toward them. His gaze dipped toward Macey and he mouthed the words, Thank you.
“He isn’t going to be able to talk normally for a few days. Here.” The doctor put a small whiteboard in McKinley’s hand. “He can use this, but keep things simple, okay? He’s going to tire easily.” After giving a brisk nod, Dr. White exited the room.
McKinley’s fingers closed around a marker, and he scrawled a message on the board. “Saved. Me.”
Bowen saw Macey read those words. She gave the ME a weak smile. “I was doing my job.” She paused. “Can you help us understand what happened?”
He nodded and wrote “Try.”
“Thank you.” Macey’s face was pale, and Bowen wanted to get her somewhere and just, hell, fucking protect her from the world.
But that wasn’t the way things worked.
That wasn’t the way Macey worked.
They had a job to do. They’d do it.
“Did you see the man who attacked you?” Macey asked McKinley.
He wrote “Mask.”
“Right.” Macey’s gaze cut to Bowen’s. “He was wearing a ski mask. I saw that, too. I just...” Her stare turned back to the ME. “Where was he? When he attacked you, where was he?”
The machines around him beeped. His body shuddered as he wrote “Behind me.” His words were becoming harder to read. “Stairs.”
“You think he came from the stairwell.” Bowen nodded. That made sense. “He was waiting for you.”
“Dr. McKinley.” Macey squared her shoulders. “I have to ask you some questions, and they’re going to be personal, but they are pertinent to the case.”
The marker shook in his hand.
“We learned that the perp has been watching you,” Bowen told him.
McKinley’s eyes widened.
“He hacked into your webcam, and he was watching you while you worked.” Macey’s voice was soft and sympathetic. ??
?Was there something he might have seen you do? Something that—”
McKinley shook his head.
Macey’s lips pressed together, and then she said, “There was whiskey in your drawer. I know you told me that you’d been sober for ten years, but was that the truth?”
The machines beeped faster.
“We need you to be very honest with us, Dr. McKinley.” Bowen’s gaze was on the ME. “Because this perp? He would have jumped on anything that he thought you did wrong.”
The marker slid across the whiteboard. “Ten years.”
Dr. White came bustling back into the room. “My patient’s vitals are going through the roof! I must insist that you leave.” Her face was set in determined lines.
“Thank you, Dr. McKinley.” Bowen inclined his head to the ME. “You rest now.”
Macey squeezed McKinley’s hand.
They turned to leave.
“Um, wait!” Dr. White called out. “I think he has one more message for you.”
They turned back. McKinley had written again, barely legible. “Ten years since I lost her.” Tears gleamed in his eyes.
Her. The emotion there was so strong. “Your wife?” Bowen guessed.
The marker shook as McKinley wrote “Daughter.”
“I’m sorry,” Macey told him quietly.
McKinley lowered his whiteboard.
“Thank you,” Bowen said again. He and Macey slipped out of the room. As soon as they were out of Recovery and back in the general area of the hospital, Bowen turned to Macey. “We need to find out exactly what happened to his daughter.”
“That will be easy enough. We just need to pull up old records or...” And she already had her phone out, tapping on the screen. “Or we can search the internet. You can find everything there these days.” She scrolled through her search results and sadness flashed on her face. “Shannon McKinley...died at age twenty-one. She was...drinking and driving.”
Hell.
Macey glanced up at him. “Our perp was watching the ME, but maybe it was less about what McKinley was doing. Not about punishment at all for him.” She put the phone back in her pocket and her eyes narrowed in thought. “The skull from the museum had been delivered to the ME’s office. Dr. McKinley was supposed to run tests on it. Maybe that’s what the attack was about. If he’d run his tests, then he would have found out that skull wasn’t some relic—but the skull of a recent crime victim.”