Chapter 9 #2
Thanks for an unexpected evening, including listening to me.
I must have sounded like a lunatic. I hope I didn’t ruin whatever you already had planned.
I’ve been thinking about what you said and you’re right.
Hearing about the Python Killer’s upcoming execution brought back too many unwanted memories.
I have every right to be a little jumpy, but no one is stalking me.
Don’t worry. I’m a big girl. I can handle a few nightmares.
Please take care of yourself and know that I’ll be reading your books. Every one of them.
Your fan,
Alexia
My fan?
Who was she kidding?
Huh. Fascinating. She’d blown me off. Sure, I’d had it happen before, but not by someone who’d sought me out. Who was I kidding? I’d never had a single woman hunt me the way Alexia had done with me.
Not only did I feel disappointment, but there was anger mixed in. She certainly had a way of bringing out an array of emotions from deep within.
She’d disappeared. Away from me. After our intense passion. Why was it so difficult for me to believe? The answer was right there in the forefront of my brain.
Because we’d had a connection that neither one of us had felt before. We hadn’t needed to discuss the beautiful if onetime reality. We’d allowed ourselves to fall prey to a sinful indulgence. Why not? We were both adults.
Now she was gone.
I honestly had no idea how I felt about her leaving without having a chance to say goodbye. If I’d gathered anything about her note, it was stated in a way that let me know what we’d shared wouldn’t happen again. Perhaps that was for the best.
Then why the hell didn’t my cock get the memo?
Half laughing, I tossed the note back onto the counter, immediately heading for coffee.
After snagging a pod and pressing the on button, I turned around, trying my best not to glare at the note.
Why was I bothering to keep it? I should just toss it.
We were clear. We weren’t going to see each other again.
Copycats were almost a requirement for high-profile cases. They came out of the woodwork like clockwork, hungering for their fifteen minutes of fame, even if they didn’t achieve their goals by getting their name in the press.
So why was the entire situation bothering me?
With the mug brewed, I grabbed it, ignoring the note and heading into my office. As soon as I hit the space bar, the screen flashed with the items I’d shown her last.
Including Maria Rivera’s photograph.
Doing so had been at her insistence, but I’d easily seen how much the picture horrified her. Taken only two weeks before she’d been kidnapped. The difference in those taken afterwards had been horrifying.
She’d lost weight and her face had been gaunt, but the worst thing had been the horrible lifelessness of her eyes. Dull and flat, as if everything amazing in her life had been stripped away.
She’d rebuilt so much, yet I could still see a haunted feature in her iridescent irises. Much like the flash I’d seen in mine.
People didn’t live through the kind of horror we had without receiving permanent scars. As I stared at the picture, I sipped my coffee. Why in God’s name hadn’t I noticed the resemblance? There was one logical answer. I hadn’t wanted to.
Plain and simple.
And why? Because in my mind I hadn’t done enough to protect her or the others.
Another ten seconds of staring and I couldn’t take it any longer.
I shifted from the photographs to the summary pages I’d put together for the case. Every scrap of information stored on the computer had been all about the book. Or was I lying to myself? At this point, I wasn’t entirely certain. Not that it mattered.
The fucker was going to be dead in a couple of weeks.
It was time for me to let it go. Alexia was right. She was simply having nightmares, which were manifesting into what she’d thought was someone following her.
I’d advised her to change her number and to protect herself. She knew when to contact the police if she had a stalker. She was a big girl. Yeah… I wouldn’t worry. Right.
Right before I clicked off the file, I remembered the original sketch put together by an artist who specialized in using those with special mental skills such as reading minds and seeing visions of crimes. I’d forgotten all about it.
Then I pulled the actual photograph of Samuel Wells, doing a split screen. In color, they allowed for actual comparison that was decent.
The hair color was almost identical. Every feature was remarkably similar and the artist had been going from images drifting into her mind after touching a couple of victims.
Why did I have a feeling something was off or missing?
Everything was just about the same.
With one exception,
The eyes.
I looked more closely, zooming in by two hundred percent.
There it was.
A slight difference. Maybe not enough for anyone to notice or even care about, but in this world, the most subtle differences were important.
There was no doubt in my mind the two pairs of eyes were different.
Because they came from two different but close to being identical men. The thing was, I’d checked and double-checked every database including the dark web to ascertain whether Samuel had any family out in the big, bad world.
I’d found none.
There’d been records of him being born in New York, but his parents were dead and there’d been no siblings.
There hadn’t been a single person who’d care if anything happened to Samuel or if he went to prison.
While he’d lived in an upscale neighborhood with houses lining a pretty little street, not a single person had stepped up and admitted to being his friend.
Not one. His work on the internet as a consultant meant he had little interaction with his coworkers or boss.
That left no one to provide a single alibi or attest to his character. Still, maybe I hadn’t dug deep enough. I’d learned a long time ago during a different case the lengths criminals would go to protect an alternate identity. Very creative methods that defied logical and database capabilities.
Which was why I made a certain phone call.
Chase Barrett was DEA through and through, the kind of law enforcement office who got it done no matter the methods used in the process.
Including skirting the law.
Which Raven Intel did on a regular basis for our missions, but I had yet to be convinced the situation with Samuel Wells rose to the occasion. Whatever Chase discovered would tell the tale.
“Hey, Mav. I saw your ugly mug in the Miami Herald.” Chase laughed. He knew how much I hated publicity, especially having my picture taken and planted in the news.
“I don’t want to hear about it.”
His laugh continued. “Are you calling me to ask about the poker game? I mean since you haven’t been to the last three, we could have decided not to play cards any longer.”
“Yeah, right and pigs fly over a barbeque. I’m calling because I need your help.”
“O-kay. Rare. You have me curious.”
For some reason, I headed toward the window, staring out at the ocean. “You heard Samuel Wells is set for execution?”
“Who hasn’t heard. Closure for you. I’m certain you’re damn happy after all these fucking years.”
I fisted my other hand, trying to ascertain exactly how I felt. “What if he’s innocent?”
He coughed on purpose. “Are you fucking kidding me? He’s guilty as sin. Why would you say that?”
“You won’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
“Alright.” So, I told him everything. Well, not exactly everything. He didn’t need to learn about the passion I’d shared with Alexia.
“Okay, wow. That’s all I can say at this point. I mean, I guess it’s possible, but you were on the case. Evidently, you still are.”
“As much as I want justice served, it’s even worse if an innocent man pays for a heinous crime. I don’t get his involvement, but there’s enough reasonable doubt in my mind I need assurances he’s the killer.”
His shock was evident by the utter silence on the other end of the phone.
“Did I lose you?” I finally asked, returning to the computer system and staring at the face of the killer.
I’d had an instructor at the FBI Academy who’d believed serial killers had distinct personalities, which allowed them to completely blend into any environment.
While his theory wasn’t based in science, he’d believed the killers’ faces and mannerisms were completely different depending on which personality was active.
With a man like Samuel, he could easily disguise himself with simple changes. That’s how nondescript he was. No tattoos. No birthmarks. No scars. Nothing that caused him to stand out as anything different or special.
The instructor had helped me learn the art of delving deeper into evidence, which I believed I’d done all those years ago. But the nagging questions lingered in the back of my mind.
“You’re serious,” Chase finally offered, his tone full of caution.
“I need to know for certain. Can you use your sources to check and ensure he doesn’t have a family? It’s possible he faked his birth certificate out of New York.”
“You honestly think the DNA test results wouldn’t have indicated more than a slight chance there was no match?”
“It did. A point zero four percent chance, but that was deemed by the prosecutor to be acceptable.”
“In most court cases it would be.”
Snorting, I shifted to page two of page twenty-eight of my notes. I’d been thorough before beginning the book. “This wasn’t just any case, but after twelve murder victims, everyone in the country was ready for a conviction. They got one.”
“Wow. You’re really on the fence about this.
Okay, because we are required by an oath we both took to follow the letter of the law.
” He halfheartedly laughed and cleared his throat.
“I’ll run it through every system and even have a chat with some international buddies of mine.
Don’t get your hopes up if that’s what you’re doing. ”
Once again, I flipped to Maria’s photograph, fading out the conversation as I traced her lips and chin with my index finger. “I’m simply trying to keep Alexia safe.”
“Interesting. I hope I get to meet this girl at some point. You should bring her by the poker game tonight.”
“And allow you to get your paws on her? Not a chance in hell. But I will be there. See what you can dig up before then.”
“Oh, no pressure or anything.”
“None at all. I’ll see you then.” As I tossed the phone onto the desk, I had a terrible feeling things were about to get ugly.
Or maybe I should say uglier.
The same nagging had returned that I’d experienced every time when working on a case that took me in a different direction. Had my anger and hatred for the man clouded my judgment?
Groaning, I closed my eyes, rubbing the ache just above the bridge of my nose. The ache had been there for two days and I had a feeling it wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.
Hearing my phone was nothing but another annoyance. I wasn’t entirely ready to push on with my day. “What?” My bark wasn’t necessarily worse than my bite.
“You and I are a lot alike, Agent Callahan. Or now that you’ve retired from your sixty-three-thousand-dollar shit job, would you prefer I call you Maverick?”
What the fuck?
I sat up in my seat, immediately on edge and reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. “Who is this?”
“Come now. You cannot tell me that you no longer recognize my voice. I’d be crushed if that was the case. I was special, even to a decorated agent such as yourself.”
An icy chill drifted through my veins. How the fuck had the asshole gotten my number and how did he know what my salary was all those years ago? “Well, since you know so much about my career, you must be aware I dealt with thousands of people. What makes you so special?”
I moved away from the desk, peering out the set of sliding doors toward the ocean water. There were a few people on the beach, but no one with alarming behavior. I headed toward the front of the house so I could see the driveway.
“As I said, you and I are a lot alike, Maverick. Your books have been thoroughly enjoyable and I must admit you make a formidable adversary. You were back then as well, which is why I was forced to go into hiding. But I’m no longer interested in hiding in plain sight.
You know, I learned a lot from you and that allowed me to become a better person.
” His laugh was casual just like the conversation.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“And a much better killer I might add. I made mistakes.”
“Who have you killed this time?”
“Don’t worry. Nothing so time consuming as when I was the Python Killer.
But I grew bored. I moved on to greener pastures.
So have you. That’s why I think we’re a lot alike.
We knew when to stop. At least for a rest, but your books are…
inspiring. So much so I thought I’d take up the art once again. ”
His voice was exactly as I remembered. The lilt. The lack of accent that was almost too extreme. Clean and succinct words. And the laugh was one I’d never forget.
There was no one out front that I could see. What were the odds the fucker had seen me with Alexia? The timing was far too coincidental.
“Maybe we are alike. We do enjoy the hunt,” I told him. “However, I always catch the bad guys. You simply run away because you can’t handle the heat.”
If this was the killer, I needed him rattled. One aspect of his personality I knew for certain. He wasn’t easily ruffled in the sense that he’d disappear. Instead, he acted on his hungers, which was the only way to bring him into the light.
He was quiet for a few seconds and I checked to see if the phone was still connected.
“You won’t be able to save all of them, Maverick.
Contrary to what others might believe, you’re not a superhero.
In fact, you’re more like me than even before.
This time the hunt will be far more enjoyable. Tick. Tick.”