Chapter 1
1
CHANDLER
T he low hum and gentle vibrations from the jet’s engines lulled me into a trancelike state, narrowing my focus to the pictures splayed along the table in front of me. The leather groaned, the smooth fabric of my black suit pants sliding easily along the seat as I adjusted to a more comfortable position. This plane was my second home—a very expensive home that wasn’t technically mine.
The FBI had perfected wasting money on frivolous purchases over the years. Not that I would point that out, possibly risking them taking back our team’s jet. Unless it meant they’d finally find the funds to hire another profiler to lessen our workload. But that wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
“Budget cuts” was always their response when we complained that we were spread too thin and couldn’t keep traveling at the drop of a hat to help local law enforcement when the cases were too big, too gruesome—too demented—for them to solve. But a jet to fly us to where we were summoned, sure, that was in the budget.
Fuckers.
Pretty sure flying commercial was more cost-effective.
My muscles protested as I reached back for a quick stretch, the plush headrest molding beneath my fingers as I tightened my grip.
But not nearly as comfortable.
The tense muscles along my spine ached as I arched and twisted one way, then the other. I’d sat in this seat or one of the other twelve too many times over the past year. The solo travel, overtime, and severity of each case was becoming too much. Hell, even my body was protesting at this point. But what would I do? Turn down a case because I needed a lazy weekend, lying naked in bed binge-watching Netflix with enough beer to cause liver damage?
Wouldn’t happen.
I couldn’t live with myself knowing another innocent was now a victim because I needed a vacation. Maybe it was from my upbringing, all those lessons on selflessness and self-sacrifice, but I’d never be that selfish.
Like now.
One of the reasons I sat on the jet, staring at pictures of half a dozen murdered women, instead of at home enjoying the two weeks’ paid time off I had scheduled.
Duty called.
This time I asked for the case that was laid out in gruesome pictures in front of me. My all-female team didn’t argue when I raised my hand. Last year we lost a great agent because she went in alone—the team is stretched so thin we can’t work as a fucking team and protect our own—to profile a repeat abductor in the Smoky Mountains. We found her body months later.
After that tragedy, I swore to myself that I’d do whatever was needed to ensure no one on our team was in the same situation again. Which was why I was back in the air flying across the country instead of a team member. They appreciated my willingness to go, keeping them out of danger. They each had a family at home to think about.
Not me.
A deep groan rumbled in my chest as I released the headrest and relaxed back into the seat. The flimsy photograph wavered when I flipped it over to scrutinize the next picture. Cold, slick glass slipped in my palm as I lifted the half-full beer to my lips and took in every detail of the picture, thinking over all the aspects of the case that I knew up to this point.
Seven bodies within a two-year period.
The seventh victim discarded within three weeks of the previous, a first for this unsub to not keep the victim for months before killing them and disposing of their bodies.
But his timeline escalation was only one reason why a profiler was asked to come down to the small Texas town. When surveying the area where the recent victim was found, additional bodies were discovered as well. Within a ten-mile radius, over a dozen old graves were uncovered. The bones found inside were collected and were currently being analyzed at the Dallas FBI office.
We’d known about the case for a few months. After the fifth victim, the team was contacted for help. Unable to get anyone to Texas at the time, we offered a basic profile based on the evidence to help them narrow down a suspect list.
Thirty-five to forty-five, white, low-level job, weak personality, aggressive toward females.
But they never identified the killer, and the bodies kept coming. Then the most recent victim was discovered. This one came with a message. With the escalated time frame between kills and the message, my boss agreed someone was needed on-site to offer hands-on help to the local authorities.
The phone resting beside the now empty beer bottle rattled against the table, drawing my attention from the gruesome picture.
I smirked at the name that flashed across the screen.
Texas Ranger Alec Bronson.
The other reason I asked to be assigned to this particular case. We handled a case together last year in El Paso and worked well together during the two-week span it took for us to identify the suspect. He was good at his job and a good man, both of which made him a potential friend in my book. If only we didn’t always have to hang out because of a dead body.
But that was the life and job I chose.
Even if it was slowly eating at my own humanity and soul one case at a time.
Thumb to the screen, I gave it a quick swipe to answer the call and immediately hit the Speaker button.
“I’m on the jet racing to save your ass.” Alec’s familiar deep chuckle rumbled through the phone. “Should touch down in Dallas in—” I glanced at my watch. “—forty-five minutes or so. I’ll grab a Suburban and?—”
“I’ll stop you right there. That’s why I’m calling.”
I frowned at the phone, not understanding what he meant. “Okay. Need me to pick up something in Dallas before I head south?”
I could almost see him popping his knuckles as the soft crack of his joints sounded in the background. “No, I meant your choice of transportation. Rent a car. Don’t take a Fed vehicle of any kind. Better yet, to fit in down here, rent a truck.”
I blinked at the phone. “Why?”
“Seriously? Do you know where you’re headed?”
I flipped through the notes on my left. “Orin, Texas. Population 1,432.” Damn, the town was small.
“And do you know where Orin, Texas, is?”
I groaned, massaging my brows with a thumb and forefinger. “Straight down Interstate 35 for an hour or so. Listen, I have Waze if I get lost.”
“I’m not concerned you’ll get lost. The town is sixty miles from Waco. Do you remember what your federal friends did in Waco, oh, thirty years or so ago? I can tell you right now everyone in this town—hell, Texas—remembers. And the locals here won’t take too kindly to a Fed showing up and poking his nose around, especially considering the circumstances.”
I scoffed. “First of all, didn’t you watch the documentary on Netflix? That shit show was ATF’s fault. We just—” I waved my hand searching for the word. “—escalated the tragedy. Second, that was about a cult no one understood, not half a dozen brutally assaulted and murdered women.”
“Guessing you haven’t done your research on the area, then.”
A wave of guilt washed over me. Shit. What had I missed? “I was getting to that after looking over all the pictures you sent.”
“Well, I’ll catch you up, because that’s the kind of friend I am.” I huffed out a laugh. Lifting the beer bottle, I sighed, setting it back down when I remembered it was already empty. “There’s a community out here, The Church. It’s about a thousand or so families all living within a fenced-in area. It’s all very similar to The Branch Dividians in the way they keep to themselves and stay protected under the ‘freedom of religion’ banner.”
“What does that have to do with the case and me coming to town?” I asked.
“Well, that’s a little more to explain and best left for tomorrow. Let’s meet tomorrow at the local diner, nine o’clock. I’ll explain everything then.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” I grumbled. I hated not having the full picture. If I didn’t, then there would be more victims, more deaths.
“That this case is a fucking mess. An absolute fucking mess that I’ve spent the last seven months attempting to wrangle while managing other issues in my territory. That’s why I need you down here, but having you come to town will also escalate things, and quickly. Between the local authorities being butt hurt that I’ve called in federal help, the locals not wanting an outsider knowing their business, and then The Church, who will lock the fuck down if they think you’re here for them. This is a delicate situation. We need to ease you into the case, not have you show up in a black Escalade with federal plates wearing your ‘Look at me, I’m special’ FBI jacket.”
I smirked at that. He made fun of that jacket daily during the last case.
Then something he said, the way he said it, clicked for me.
“You keep saying ‘here.’ Are you there already?” The iPad case slid easily across the smooth table as I pulled it close and flipped the cover. I typed in the cult’s name and the town into the search bar and hit Enter. Clearly I had zero clue what I was about to walk into, and that was dangerous for me and the case.
“Yeah, I’m here, unfortunately. And I plan on sticking around until we catch this bastard. You know why I asked for you to come down instead of another phone conference, right?”
“He’s escalating,” I murmured as I swiped through The Church’s webpage. Of course they had a webpage. What self-respecting cult didn’t have one to constantly recruit for new members? Fucking internet made it easier for the manipulative assholes to target their victims. “I feel like you’re leaving more than this cult out, Alec. What aren’t you telling me? You know I hate being unprepared.”
“It’s too much to cover on the phone. Tomorrow morning, nine at the diner. There’s someone I want you to meet before we head to the police station and announce your arrival. As soon as that happens, the whole town will know.”
“Meet someone?” My ears perked up at that. I paused my scrolling and stared at the phone. “As in a suspect?”
There was a long pause. I leaned closer to the phone, growing anxious for his answer.
“No, not a suspect.”
“A victim?” There was no masking the hope in my voice. If we had a living victim, someone who could offer any characteristics about the unsub, then we could solve the case in record time, saving more women from a horrible fate, and get me home to my Netflix binge party for one.
“Not a victim like you’re thinking.”
I groaned. “Spit it out, Bronson,” I snapped. “I’m fucking tired and now have to figure out how in the hell someone rents a damn car from the airport.” The last few words were more of a grumble from annoyance from the truth in my words. How long had it been since I had to rent a car on my own?
“Download the damn Budget Rental Car app, you lazy ass. And what I mean is… well… you’ll find out tomorrow.”
I grunted a goodbye, knowing full well he wouldn’t give me any more information until we met, and tapped the red circle with a knuckle, ending the call. Reaching down, I dug through the side pocket of my go bag, feeling around until a hard plastic edge scraped against my fingertips. Tugging the foil-covered gum packet free, I popped two hard white pieces from their encasing and tossed both into my mouth. Jaw working, I inhaled the burst of peppermint, letting the intense smell burn the back of my throat as I gazed at the picture of the recent victim.
Shallow grave. Naked body covered in welts, cuts, and lashes like the other victims. Multiple stab wounds across the chest and sides. But those marks weren’t what held my focus as I worked the gum, swiping it from one side of my mouth to the other. No, I couldn’t look away from the two words carved into the sunken stomach that stretched from one protruding hip bone to the other.
Come home.
Those words struck my curiosity, urging two questions to circle on a loop.
Who did the unsub want to come home, and where was home?
One thing was for certain: if this case had anything to do with The Church, we were fucked. There wouldn’t be a single judge in Texas who would sign a warrant to search the cult’s premises unless I had hard evidence. But even then it might be a long shot.
I shook my head, dislodging the thoughts. No need to get ahead of myself.
Land, rent a car, and meet Alec at nine tomorrow morning. Once I was on the ground, working the case, and could submerge myself into the situation, the clues always found a way to rise to the top.
The plane tipped, causing the bottle to slide an inch to the left as we circled. I glanced out the window as we dipped below the clouds, the ground now dancing with lights from downtown Dallas and the surrounding suburbs. Knowing we’d be landing soon, I grabbed my phone to search for a car rental app when an incoming text had me tapping that instead.
I smiled at the picture that appeared on the screen. Alta’s wide smile was genuine, her eyes wet. A small snort caught in my throat at Cas Mathews smiling as much as that bastard could beside her. Snow covered every inch of the background. I flipped to the message, my cheeks aching with the full grin that spread as I read the words.
She said yes.
“Good for you, Mathews,” I said to the screen as I typed out a sarcastic but just as congratulatory reply.
A quick tap on the picture had it filling the screen once again. The phone clattered to the table, their smiling faces staring back up at me. So genuine. Happy. Two broken people who found themselves whole through the other. I was happy for them, I really was. But then what was the growing unease in my gut as I continued to stare at the picture of my happy friends? If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was akin to jealousy.
I was lying to myself saying I didn’t know why I felt the way I did, the two conflicting emotions. I was a profiler, for fuck’s sake. Jealousy was the emotion, but the cause wasn’t my friends and their happiness. No, it was more than that, so deep rooted that I didn’t want to acknowledge the truth. Because if I did, then my fear would be real.
But at this point in my life, how could it not be true? I was thirty-eight years old. That was a long time to search for someone who understood the fucked-up side of me, to understand my brokenness and come up empty-handed. There had been women, lots of women, but none who understood what I needed and why. None who wanted to understand.
“Fuck,” I groaned and scrubbed at my face. “I just need to get laid. That’s all.”
Yeah, that was it.
That was all I needed.