Chapter 27 #2
“Exactly.” Darvis’s expression was grim.
“You’re the first person to receive the shell and survive.
Which tells us two things. First, his pattern is deteriorating.
He’s escalating, becoming more reckless.
The gaps between victims are shortening.
One each summer initially, then three in two years, then you only three weeks after the last.” She paused.
“Second, he’s obsessed with you specifically.
The surveillance photos we found show meticulous documentation of your movements over several weeks. ”
Agent Reid swiped to a new image. A photo of Walter Lehman, the man I’d met at his property, who’d offered to help us search.
Who’d shown up at Island Adventures. “Walter James Lehman. Age fifty-two. Former park ranger with extensive knowledge of coastal trail systems. Prior arrests for stalking in Virginia, assault in Maryland, charges dropped due to insufficient evidence. He’s been on our radar for years, but we could never build a solid case. Until now.”
“Where is he?” I asked.
“We don’t know.” Darvis’s admission hung in the air.
“He hasn’t returned home. No indication of where he went.
We have roadblocks on every bridge and ferry route off the island.
State police have checkpoints on major highways.
Coast Guard is monitoring waterways. Every law enforcement agency in the Carolinas has his photo and vehicle description. ”
“And?” Sloane asked.
“And he’s vanished.” Agent Reid’s frustration was evident.
“The VW bus hasn’t been spotted since it left the ranger station.
No hits on traffic cameras, toll booths, nothing.
Either he’s holed up somewhere we haven’t checked, or he ditched the vehicle and is traveling on foot or using another mode of transportation. ”
“Our profiler has two theories,” Darvis continued.
“Theory one: Lehman knows we’ve identified him and he’s running.
He’ll abandon this hunting ground and start over somewhere new, which is consistent with his pattern of moving between states.
Theory two—” She looked directly at Sloane.
“He views you as unfinished business. The one who got away. And he won’t leave until he’s completed what he started. ”
“Which theory do you believe?” I asked.
“Honestly? I think he’s still here.” Darvis leaned forward. “He’s invested too much time, too many resources. The surveillance photos show obsessive behavior. Men like Lehman don’t just walk away from their targets. They escalate until they’re caught or they succeed.”
Sloane’s breathing had gone shallow. I pulled her closer.
“What we found at his property suggests he’s been planning something,” Reid added. “Recent purchases of rope, zip ties, plastic sheeting. A cooler with ice packs. Supplies consistent with abduction and transport of a victim.”
The implication made my blood run cold.
“Which brings us to why we’re here,” Darvis said.
She studied us both for a moment, something calculating in her expression.
“Mr. Hawthorne, your service record is impressive. Force Recon, multiple deployments, specialized training in close protection and high-value target security. You’ve done excellent work keeping Ms. Mercer safe so far. ”
I dipped my chin in acknowledgment, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“As you might suspect, this is now a federal case. Sheriff Sullivan will remain involved in an advisory capacity, as he knows this island and the local networks. But we have jurisdiction, resources, and nearly a decade of investigation into Walter Lehman’s patterns.
” She paused. “We’d like to propose a collaborative operation. ”
“What kind of operation?” Sloane asked, though I already knew where this was going.
“We set up surveillance at your residence. FBI agents in unmarked vehicles, monitoring equipment, the works. You continue your normal routine as much as possible. If Lehman is still in the area and fixated on you, he’ll make a move. When he does, we’ll be ready.”
“They want to use you as bait,” I said flatly.
“We want to catch a serial killer before he kills again,” Darvis corrected. “And yes, that involves some risk. But you’d have the full protection of the FBI. Round-the-clock surveillance. Immediate tactical response. And you, Mr. Hawthorne, along with your team.”
“No.” I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not.”
Sloane looked at me, surprised. “Knox—”
“I said no. We’re not dangling you out there hoping this psychopath takes the bait.” I turned to Darvis. “Find another way.”
“There may not be another way,” Reid said. “Every hour he’s free is another hour he could be planning, preparing. Or he could already be targeting someone new. Another hiker. Another woman who fits his victim profile.”
The guilt play. I’d seen it before. But I wouldn’t sacrifice Sloane’s safety to catch Lehman, no matter how many theoretical future victims there might be.
“Sheriff Sullivan said you’d resist this idea,” Darvis said. “I respect that. You’re protecting someone you care about. But Ms. Mercer deserves to have all the information before making a decision.” She turned to Sloane. “This is ultimately your choice.”
Sloane was quiet for a long moment. “What would it involve? Specifically.”
“Don’t,” I warned.
But she ignored me, her attention fixed on Darvis.
“You’d maintain your normal routine as much as possible,” Darvis explained.
“Go to work, run errands, but always with protection. We’d have agents stationed around your property, monitoring all access points.
Any movement toward you, any approach by Lehman, we’d have multiple response teams ready to move in within seconds. ”
“How long would this last?”
“Until we catch him. Could be days, could be weeks.” Darvis’s expression softened slightly. “I won’t lie to you, Ms. Mercer. There is risk involved. But we’d be using that risk to bring a serial killer to justice. To prevent him from hurting anyone else.”
“I need to think about it,” Sloane said.
“Of course. Take tonight. We’d like your answer by tomorrow.” Darvis stood, Reid following her lead. “In the meantime, rest assured that we are doing everything we can to find him.”
She pulled out two business cards, handing one to each of us. “My direct line. You see anything, hear anything, think of anything, call me immediately. Day or night.”
Darvis moved toward the door, Reid followed.
I locked up behind them.
Afterward, Sloane and I stood in the living room, the weight of everything settling over us.
“You’re not doing it,” I said. “The bait operation. You’re not.”
She looked up at me, batting tear-filled eyes.
“Don’t,” I pleaded.
“Seven women are dead.” She sniffled, cheeks red and fighting to maintain her composure.
“Seven families have been destroyed. And there could be more we don’t even know about.
If there’s a chance—any chance at all—that I can help stop him from doing this to someone else…
I have to take it. It’s the only right thing to do. ”
“It’s not your responsibility,” I tried.
Sloane shook her head. “It’s the right thing to do.”
I pulled her into my arms, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I can’t lose you. I can’t watch you put yourself in danger and hope the FBI’s fast enough, good enough, lucky enough to stop him before he gets to you.”
“You won’t lose me.”
“You can’t promise that.”
She pulled back to look at me, and the emotions I’d been fighting since I’d first received a call about Mom’s heart attack rose to the surface in a geyser.
I closed my eyes, fighting tears and resting my forehead against hers. She was right to do this. I knew. But every protective instinct I had screamed at me to put her over my shoulder and run.