CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
By the time Selena turned onto the county road, her hands were already too tight on the wheel.
Donna Murphy’s voice had not left her. Nolan Pruitt. Not Elias. Not the man on the stage with the perfect cadence and the polished smile. The quiet one behind the keyboard. The one nobody would have noticed.
She’d been trying to get a hold of Connor. But no luck. She grabbed her phone again at the next stop sign and called Connor once more.
It rang.
And rang.
No answer.
“Come on,” she muttered.
Voicemail.
Selena ended the call before the beep, hit redial, and kept driving.
The road blurred past in strips of pale concrete, low fence wire, and leafless trees leaning over drainage ditches.
Her pulse had not slowed since she walked out of the rehab center.
If Connor picked up now, she could tell him everything in under thirty seconds.
Nolan. Donna. Pregnancy. Miscarriage. The first death.
Then killing women he thought were like Donna. The whole ugly logic of it.
The line rang out again.
Still nothing.
She tried the radio again next.
“Connor, come in.”
Static answered.
“Connor, respond.”
Nothing.
A chill moved through her, thin and precise.
“Selena, is everything okay?” Cheryl’s voice came through the radio from dispatch loud and clear.
“Cheryl, have you heard from Connor?”
A pause. Papers shifting on Cheryl’s desk.
“No. Not since he headed out.”
Selena took the next curve too fast and corrected. “Where did he go?”
Another rustle. Cheryl had probably turned toward the day log.
“He was working interviews, last I knew. He’s probably sleeping in his car.”
Then, faintly away from the phone, Cheryl said, “Good Lord, Arnold, you look exhausted.”
Selena sat up straighter. “Ask Arnold where Connor is.”
There was a muffled exchange. Then Cheryl came back on.
“Hang on.”
The line changed hands.
“Agent Raven?” Arnold sounded wrung out and winded, like he had just come in from the road.
“Arnold, where’s Connor?”
“He was heading to the Rest and Be Thankful Motel to question one of Elias Croft’s employees.”
Selena’s mouth went dry. “Who?”
“Uh…” Paper rustled. “I think it was a guy in the band. Pruitt.”
The name hit like a fist. Jesus… Arnold, Pruitt is the killer!”
“What!? You sure?” Arnold came back.
“Yes! We’ve got to get to Connor and warn him if he’s not there already!”
Arnold’s voice sharpened at once. “Cheryl’s trying him. Hold on.”
Selena heard him say something away from the phone, then Cheryl’s muffled, frantic reply. A second later Arnold came back.
“He’s not answering!”
Something deep in Selena’s gut dropped.
“Get to the motel as fast as you can. Call in extra units. I’m not far. Do you know the room number?”
“No, sorry, Connor called ahead to ask the motel.”
“Get moving, Arnold!”
Silence on the other end for half a heartbeat.
Then Arnold said, “On it!”
Selena floored the accelerator.
The engine whined. The speedometer climbed. Trees and mailboxes and open pasture started slipping by too fast to register as separate things. She drove one-handed for a few seconds, using the other to snatch the radio up again.
“Connor, if you can hear me, answer now.”
Static hissed back.
No voice.
No curse.
No irritated demand to know why she was screaming into the radio.
Nothing.
That was what frightened her. The thought of something terrible happening to Connor sparked something inside of her. An ember she had long thought extinguished. The thought of him ending up like one of the victims turned her stomach with worry.
She hit the motel turnoff harder than she should have. Tires spit dust. The Rest and Be Thankful sign flashed by in peeling blue paint and buzzing neon. Selena jammed the car into the lot, braked hard, and the nose dipped so sharply her shoulder belt locked for a second across her chest.
Rows of faded blue doors.
Two work trucks.
A soda machine humming under the awning.
No idea which room Pruitt was in.
“Damn it.”
The front office sat twenty yards away with lace curtains and a hanging plastic CLOSED sign. She ran over and banged on the door. No reply.
Her gaze swept the lot and landed on his SUV.
Parked near the far end.
Close to Rooms 8–12.
Good enough. She’d start there.
She drew her gun, held it low alongside her leg, and moved fast along the concrete walkway, boots thudding in clipped beats.
Room 8.
Curtains open. TV on inside. A woman looking at her strangely.
Room 9. Empty.
Room 10. A family.
Door shut. No sign of Connor.
By the time she reached Room 11, her pulse was loud enough to feel in her jaw.
She tried the knob first.
Locked.
Selena stepped back and drove her heel into the door just above the handle.
Wood cracked. The latch held. The door opened and an elderly man stood there. “What the hell?”
Selena took out her badge and said, “Get back inside.” Which he did. Fast.
Room 12 sat directly beside Connor’s SUV.
Her stomach turned over once, hard.
She reached for the handle.
Locked.
No noise inside. Or maybe too much blood in her ears to hear any.
Selena hit the door with her shoulder first. Pain shot down her arm. The frame groaned and held.
“Connor!” she shouted.
Nothing.
She drove her heel into the lock. Once. Twice. On the third strike the jamb cracked but still refused to give. She had lost herself to the fear of loss.
From inside the room came a dull thud. Then movement. Fast.
Every nerve in Selena’s body lit up.
She kicked again and the door gave at last, swinging inward half-crooked on the damaged frame. She stepped forward, not thinking.
At the exact same instant a gunshot blasted.
Selena threw herself sideways off the line of the doorway. The shot cracked the air so hard it seemed to flatten the whole world for a second. Splinters exploded from the wall next to her as the round punched through plaster where her head had been a fraction earlier.
She hit the concrete walkway outside the room on one hip, teeth snapping together. Pain flared bright. The gun stayed in her hand. She looked kept her eyes on the doorway.
From somewhere inside the room a man moved.
Not Connor.
Lighter on his feet. Quick. Panicked.
Selena rolled hard toward the motel railing as another shape crossed the doorway’s shadow and the room beyond broke into noise. A lamp crashing. Someone breathing harshly. Fabric scraping over carpet.
She came up on one knee with her weapon raised, eyes fixed on the ruined doorway, heart hammering so hard it almost blurred her sight.
Inside Room 12, something shifted again.
And Selena knew she only had seconds to react.