Out Of Control (30 page)

She
loved her work. Her accounting degree was like an invisible medal she wore
proudly, having worked two jobs to pay for her schooling and graduating with
honors. When Manny Sandoval hired her to work for him she thought she’d won the
brass ring. Two years now, and things just kept getting better.

Not
so with her personal life. Maybe she was just too picky. Maybe, like Stacy
said, she should find some nice guy and settle down.

And
who knew? Maybe she would, but not until the monster on the loose was caught.
Until then, she could hardly think of anything else.

When
she pulled into her parking space behind Manny’s little building, she saw that
she was the first to arrive. No other cars in the lot yet. Good. She liked
having the first few moments of the workday to herself. She could organize
things before the routine took over.

As
she was locking her car, a truck pulled up behind her. She looked up and smiled
at the man sitting behind the wheel.

“Hi,
Gaby. You the first one here?”

“Looks
that way. Do you need something?”

He
got out of his truck and came around to where she was standing. “Manny said he
left an envelope for me on the receptionist’s desk. As long as I was around, I
thought I’d pick it up. Okay if I come in and get it?”

“Oh,
sure. Come on in.”

But
as she turned toward the back door, an arm banded around her waist and a heavy
hand slapped a foul-smelling cloth over her face. As she lost consciousness,
all she could think was how stupid she’d been to think she was safe anywhere.

****

Cole
met Tate very early for a quick breakfast, grateful his uncle didn’t mind
hauling his ass into town practically at sunup so Cole could unload on him. He
ran Dana’s theories past him and Tate just listened, stirring his coffee. When
Cole finished, he leaned back in the booth, waiting for Tate’s response.

“I’m
not saying she’s right,” his uncle said. “But in case she is, she could be a
target, too. The wisest and safest thing she can do is get the hell out of here
as fast as possible.”

Cole
snorted. “Don’t you think I know that? But I’d have more luck moving a tank.”

“You
want to move a tank?” John Garrett slid into the booth next to Tate, holding
his mug of coffee.

“He
just wants to find a way to get Dana Moretti out of town.”

“Oh,
well, good luck with that. She’s one stubborn woman.”

That
was the most productive statement to come out of the meeting.

When
Cole reached his office, he made a call to get the mess at Dana’s house taken
care of. He was working his way through his first cup of Grace’s poison,
sorting reports into a folder for the FBI, when Grace buzzed him.

“Your
visitor’s here,” she told him.

“He’s
not a visitor, Grace.” He bit back his impatience. “He’s here to help us. Send
him on back.”

Scott
Clayton was so far from what he expected that Cole could only gawk at him.
Instead of the dark suit, white shirt, and tie that everyone considered the FBI
uniform, the man wore jeans, a chambray shirt, and a pair of
comfortable-looking and well-worn boots. He looked to be about Cole’s age.

When
he caught the look on Cole’s face, he burst out laughing. “I think you’ve been
watching too many movies, Sheriff,” he said, obviously guessing at the cause
for Cole’s reaction. “I thought I’d make people less uncomfortable if I ditched
the button-down duds.” He reached into his breast pocket to lift something out.
“But I do have the regulation sunglasses, so I’m not completely out of uniform.”

Cole
felt an embarrassing flush creep across his cheekbones. “Sorry. I was just
expecting…well…”

“No
problem.” Scott flapped a hand in the air. “They say clothes make the man. I
hope these make me a little easier to be around. Anyway, I grew up on the edge
of the Hill Country, so this is almost like home for me.” Then his face lost
all trace of humor. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got, and we’ll get
started.”

Cole
slid a folder across the desk as Scott lowered himself into one of the chairs.

“Autopsy
and crime scene reports, although in both cases the victims were actually
killed elsewhere. I’ve also included all the interviews we’ve conducted.”

“Great.
You should know I spent some time training with the Behavioral Analysis Unit at
Quantico. It’s one of the reasons Clark sent me. I can get a first assessment
of the unsub and fill in some blanks while Quantico works the full magic.”

“That’s
good news.” The thread of apprehension wrapped around his guts began to unwind.
Maybe they could fast forward on this a little bit before another body turned
up. “The quicker we get a handle on this guy, the faster we can identify him.”

“Give
me a few minutes to look this stuff over.” Scott rested the ankle of one booted
foot on the opposite knee, getting comfortable in the chair. “I don’t suppose
you’ve got any coffee around this place. I was at the office at six this
morning to talk to my boss before heading out here.”

“You
drink Grace’s coffee at your own risk,” Cole warned. “But if you’re willing to
chance it, I’ll get you some while you take a look at what’s in that folder.”

“I
gather you drink it and you’re still alive,” he joked. “So yes, that’ll be
fine. One sugar, no cream. Thanks.”

In
the break room, the deputies still in the office were all over him.

“What’s
he like?” Andi whispered, as if the man was standing right near them. “Do you
like him? Is he an asshole?”

“Is
he here to kick our butts?” someone else asked.

“I’ve
spent all of five minutes with him,” Cole said as he fixed the coffee. “Hardly
enough time to make a judgment. But he seems like an okay guy. Anyway, he’s not
here to be either our friend or our enemy. He’s here to help us catch a killer.”

“Give
the sheriff a chance to assess the situation, guys.” Gaylen had come into the
room. “Anyway, don’t you all have assignments?”

“I’ll
meet with everyone at shift change, how’s that?” Cole asked them. “If I need
you before then, Grace will get you on the radio.”

Gaylen
leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee. “I’ve got everyone on regular
duty until we know what Mr. FBI wants. That okay with you?”

Cole
nodded. “That’s good. Let me get my bearings with this guy. Then I’d like you
to sit in with us.”

Gaylen
gave him a penetrating look. “Thanks, Cole.”

That
was all he said, but for Cole that and the look spoke volumes. Whatever had
stood between him and Gaylen Kleist for the past three years—if anything—was
gone and a new bond was forged.

Scott
Clayton was still reading reports when Cole set the mug of coffee in front of
him.

“Your
people do a good job,” he said without looking up. “I’m impressed.”

Cole
relaxed a fraction. “Thanks. They’ll be pleased to hear that.”

“What
would be the best time for me to meet with everyone?”

“Shift
change would be best. I already gave them a heads up.” Cole sat back down in
his chair. “I’d like to include my senior deputy as much as possible when you
and I talk.”

Scott
looked up at him and grinned. “Competition or cooperation?”

Cole
lifted one corner of his mouth. “Cooperation. Hard won.”

“Good
enough.”

The
phone on Cole’s desk buzzed again. “Yes, Grace.”

“Nita
Sanchez is here. Do you want her to wait?”

“No.
Send her in. Her timing’s great.” He hung up the phone and looked at Scott. “My
coroner’s here with the final autopsy report on the latest victim. I thought
you’d like to hear it firsthand.”

“Thanks.”
He closed the folder and stood up as the door opened.

Cole
made the introductions. Nita had the same first reaction Cole did. She blinked
then studied the FBI agent warily.

“I
put my suit in storage,” the agent joked.

“He’s
not here to crucify you, Nita. Like I told you last night, I put in the call
for help.”

Although
she supported his decision like everyone else in the office, he knew she was
waiting to see how it shook down. Settling into her chair, she opened the large
envelope in her hand.

“Why
don’t I just take it from the top?” She looked from one man to the other. “Stop
me any time you have any questions.”

Cole
nodded. “Go ahead.”

He
noted that while Scott Clayton kept his face deliberately impassive, the shock
at the brutality Nita related was evident in his eyes. He was the first to say
something when she was finished.

“This
is more than an abduction, rape, and murder syndrome.” His voice was cold and
hard, and all business. It was impossible to miss the controlled fury behind it
as he outlined his perception of the killer. “People who do this are not
hitting on all cylinders to begin with, but this guy has some very serious
mental problems.”

“Do
you think it’s someone who’s been treated by a doctor?” Nita asked. “Maybe has
a history of mental illness?”

“Possible,
but not likely. It’s more logical that he’s someone you see every day, someone
you’d sit down to dinner with or attend a community event with.”

“Jesus.”
The word hissed through Cole’s teeth. This was exactly what Dana had said. “You
know how scary that is?”

Scott
nodded. “I do. Because this is the most dangerous kind of predator to pinpoint.
I see a lot of controlled rage in these acts, probably of long standing, and an
almost pathological desire to cause pain. This isn’t about sexual assault. This
is about control. It’s about inflicting as much torture as possible. His
gratification is coming from the suffering of the victim, not the sexual act
itself.”

“Are
you sure?” Cole had to hear it confirmed for his own mind to accept it.

“I
think he’s right,” Nita said before Scott could answer. “The things the killer
does are not about pleasure, his or theirs. It’s about pain for pain’s sake.”

“Right.”
Scott looked to Cole. “And that’s what gets him off. He probably keeps them
awake so he can see the terror in their eyes as he abuses them.”

Cole
ran a hand down his face in an attempt to wipe away the filth that suddenly
seemed to cling to his skin. “It’s hard to believe someone I maybe see every
day is capable of doing these kinds of things.”

“We’ve
all said that,” Nita murmured.

Scott
nodded. “These two crimes occurred close together, too. Something’s driving
him. Almost as if he has a deadline. Does that mean anything to you? Is there
anything different going on around here that might be a catalyst?”

Nita
and Cole exchanged a look, and Cole cleared his throat.

“Dana
Moretti, the true crime novelist, is in town doing research on an old case. She’s
been here about a week. Maybe a little more.”

Scott
lifted an eyebrow. “Moretti? I’ve read a couple of her books. One of my buddies
in the Tampa office worked with her on one of the cases she wrote about.”

“What
did he say about her?” Nita was perched on the edge of her chair, every line in
her body screaming her skepticism about the woman.

“Actually,
he had a lot of very good comments. Said she’s bright, has good ideas and the
mind of a researcher. She knew when to step forward and when to stay out of the
way.”

Cole
relaxed fractionally. “She has a theory,” he began, watching Nita carefully for
her reaction.

“And?”
Scott prompted.

“She’s
researching a crime spree from twenty-five years ago.”

Scott’s
eyes narrowed. “How bad and was the bureau involved?”

Cole
shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Pretty bad. And no, your agency wasn’t called
in, but I’m not sure why.” He looked at Nita’s impassive face again then back
at Scott. “For about eighteen months someone was abducting little girls between
the ages of five and seven years. He brutally raped each one of them, then
killed them.”

“How
many?” Scott asked.

“How
many?”

“Yes.
How many children in all?”

Cole
fiddled with the folder on his desk. He knew he was about to get jumped on. “Eleven.
No, twelve. There was one who survived.”

Nita’s
eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline. “I didn’t know there was a survivor.”

“No
one’s really discussed it since then. He kidnapped a pair of sisters. One was
killed, the other survived, but barely. After the funeral, the parents picked
up and moved away.”

“I
know this was a long time before you came on the scene, Sheriff,” Scott began.

“Cole.
I don’t think we need formality here.”

“Good
enough. I know this wasn’t your load to carry, but would you have any idea why
the Bureau wasn’t contacted? Kidnapping is a federal offense. And even if that wasn’t
the case, we
are
the experts on serial killers.”