Chapter 27
Knox
Forty minutes later, Nash’s text came through while I watched forensics techs photograph evidence at the ranger station. I stepped away from the controlled chaos, pulling up the full message.
Got judge to sign warrant. Searching Lehman’s property now. No sign of him. Vehicle still at large. FBI coordinating multi-agency search. State police setting up roadblocks on major routes off island.
“What’ve you got?” Colton appeared at my side, Maggie trailing close behind.
“Warrant came through. Nash’s team is searching Walter’s property right now.” I forwarded the information to Archer, then scrolled through an attached file of Lehman’s criminal history. “Bastard’s been doing this for years right under their noses.”
“And now they’ve got him,” Colton said.
I looked toward the access road, half expecting that blue-and-white van to be there, lurking. Knowing it wouldn’t be. “He knows we were here. Knows we found his camp. He’s running.”
My phone rang. Nash.
“Tell me you’ve got him,” I said, answering.
“Property search came up empty. We found a workshop out back with maps, notes, some surveillance equipment. Enough to support the warrant, but Lehman himself is in the wind.”
I cursed under my breath. “Where the hell is he?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.
FBI brought in a profiler, and state police have units canvassing every campground, motel, and known associate within a hundred-mile radius.
We’ve got his photo distributed to law enforcement agencies throughout the Carolinas.
Coast Guard’s watching the waterways in case he tries to leave by boat. ”
“And?”
“And now we wait.” Nash’s frustration bled through the line. “He has to turn up eventually. Has to land somewhere. But guys like this make plans for evasion. They have bolt-holes. Safe houses. Places they can disappear to when things get hot.”
Twenty feet away, Sloane spoke with a deputy, sunlight catching copper highlights in her hair. The bruises on her throat had faded to yellow-green, but I could still see the outline of his fingers. Could still hear her screaming in the darkness.
“If he’s on the run, will she be safe now?” I asked quietly.
“FBI profiler thinks so. Says now that we’ve identified him, found his camp, he’ll cut his losses and run. Start over somewhere new.”
“You believe that?”
Nash was quiet for a moment. “I want to. But I wouldn’t leave her side until his arrest, if I was you.”
I watched Sloane smile at something the deputy said, watched her tuck hair behind her ear in that unconscious gesture I’d memorized. I would protect her against anyone and anything with my last breath.
“What do you need from me?” I asked.
“Keep doing what you’re doing. Stay close to Sloane. The FBI wants to set up a protective detail at her house, turn it into a surveillance operation in case he comes back.”
“Absolutely not.” My voice came out harder than I intended. “They’re not using her as bait.”
“I told them the same thing. But they’re insistent. They want this guy, Knox. And they think she’s the key.”
I ground my teeth. There wasn’t much we could do to stop the FBI, but I didn’t have to like it, and I could make sure they knew. “Let them try.”
Colton raised an eyebrow at my tone, but I didn’t care. There was nothing professional about what I felt for Sloane anymore, and nothing tactical about my overwhelming need to keep her safe.
“For now,” Nash said. “We’ll keep searching. Deputies are canvassing the island. FBI’s going through his property with forensics. State police have checkpoints on every bridge and ferry route. He will land somewhere, and we’ll be there to take him in when he does.”
“Until then, what? Her life stays in limbo? Constantly wondering if he’s watching? Planning his next attack on her?”
“It’s what we’ve got.” Nash paused. “Federal agents will likely swing by her place tonight to interview her. They’ll want to interview all of you, eventually. Can you handle that?”
Colton and Maggie mumbled their agreements.
I looked at Sloane. She’d finished with the deputy and was walking toward me, concern in her green eyes.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’ll handle it.”
“Good. We will get him, Knox. It’s just a matter of time.”
I ended the call as Sloane reached my side.
“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately.
“They searched Walter’s property. He’s not there. They haven’t found him yet.”
Her face went pale. “So he’s out there somewhere. Watching.”
“Hopefully he’s halfway to the state line by now.” I cringed, and she gave me a look, calling me out on my bullshit.
“You don’t want that.”
She was right.
“I want him caught, but I also want him as far away from you as possible.”
Sloane folded her arms and chewed her bottom lip. Fear flickered across her features a moment before she buried it. This woman had been through hell, and she was still standing here. Still fighting.
“FBI wants to interview you. Get your statement. They’ll swing by the house later. Are you up for that?”
She frowned. “Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice.”
She sighed. “Then yes. I’m up for it. The sooner they have everything they need, the sooner they can find Walter.
” She looked toward the ranger station, where crime scene techs were still documenting every inch.
“He left so much evidence here. He has to have made mistakes. Something that’ll lead them to him. ”
“They’ll find him,” I said, pulling her into my arms. “Every law enforcement official in the state is looking. He can’t hide forever.”
But even as I said it, doubt crept in. Because Walter Lehman had been hunting for years. And he’d never been caught.
Silence settled between Sloane and me hours later, thick with everything we weren’t saying.
Outside, evening shadows stretched long across the sound.
Inside, tension hummed through my body. Partly from constant vigilance, partly from Sloane’s proximity, mostly from the growing certainty that I’d passed the point of pretending I wasn’t falling hard and fast for this woman.
And rage that somewhere beyond these walls, a very dangerous man intended her harm.
Archer and Colton had set up a perimeter patrol rotation.
Maggie had gone home after Nash assured her a protective detail wasn’t necessary.
Walter’s obsession centered on his chosen targets, and Maggie hadn’t appeared in any of the surveillance photos.
Nash had told her not to leave unless necessary, to stay with their parents as much as possible, and to check in regularly.
Colton had volunteered to swing by her place at the end of his shifts outside Sloane’s house, which had earned him a stern look from Nash and taunting laughter from Archer.
I’d left them to sort that out and taken Sloane home to process another day of awful discoveries.
We’d just settled into the living room with coffee when headlights swept across the windows. Sloane was on her feet with me in an instant.
“Stay here.”
“Knox—”
“Stay here,” I repeated, moving to the window. A black SUV pulled into the driveway. Federal plates. Two people emerged, both in dark suits, moving with the confident authority of law enforcement.
A woman in her forties with sharp eyes and graying hair pulled back in a severe bun. A younger man, maybe early thirties, with the kind of alert posture that screamed military background.
The doorbell rang.
The woman held up a badge as I approached the door, visible through the glass. “Special Agent Victoria Darvis, FBI. This is Special Agent Shawn Reid. We need to speak with Sloane Mercer regarding an ongoing federal investigation.”
I opened the door and stepped aside, revealing Sloane in the living room doorway.
“And you are?” Agent Darvis asked.
“Private security.”
Something flickered in her expression. “Major Knox Hawthorne. US Marine Corps. Twelve years with an impressive service history. Sheriff Sullivan speaks highly of you.” She tucked her badge away. “I’d say Ms. Mercer’s in good hands.” Her gaze moved from me to Sloane.
“Please, come in.” Sloane motioned toward the living room.
I locked the door, checked the scene outside for any sign of Lehman’s van, then followed the agents inside.
“How can I help you?” Sloane asked.
Agent Darvis stood near an armchair while Agent Reid took a slow lap around the room, noting the security cameras, the defensive positioning of furniture, the clear sight lines I’d established. “You’ve upgraded security recently. Smart move. You’re going to need it.”
“That’s not reassuring,” Sloane said.
“It’s not meant to be. This is a serious situation, Ms. Mercer.” Agent Darvis gestured to the furniture. “May we sit?”
“Of course.”
Sloane and I returned to the couch. The agents took chairs facing us. Agent Reid pulled out a tablet while Darvis leaned forward, her expression grave.
“We executed a search warrant on Walter Lehman’s property this afternoon,” Agent Darvis began.
“What we found confirms what you discovered at the ranger station. Surveillance equipment. Maps annotated with hiking trails and points of interest. A workshop containing materials used to develop photographs.” She paused.
“And evidence connecting him to at least seven homicides spanning four states over nine years.”
My arm tightened around Sloane. Seven victims.
“The missing hikers,” Sloane whispered.
“They were three of his victims, yes.” Agent Reid turned his tablet, showing photos of women in their twenties and thirties.
Below each photo was an image of a scotch bonnet shell.
“But there are four others. Katherine Morrison in Maryland. Angela Murphy in South Carolina. Both hikers, both found buried near remote trails. Two more in Virginia—Jennifer Walsh and Maria Santos.”
“These are crime scene photos,” Agent Darvis continued. “In every case, a scotch bonnet shell was found either on the victim’s body or at the site where they disappeared. It’s his signature. His calling card.”
Sloane’s hand trembled in mine. “The shell he left at my house.”