The Agent's Redemption (Special Agents At The Altar 4) (5 page)

“Why?” she asked.

“You’re being watched.”

She peered out the window. The sun was beginning to set, setting the window aglow with a yellow glare. She couldn’t see anything but the yellow shimmer in the trees and across the grass. If someone was out there, she couldn’t see them. Were the reporters staked out there somewhere? Waiting to ambush her when she left for work in the morning?

“I know,” she murmured. Those damn reporters.

They’d been relentless during the investigation into Lexi’s case. They had followed her everywhere. And even after the case had gone cold, they’d checked in with her from time to time—wanting to interview her. Wanting to dredge up the tragedy and her pain...

“You don’t know,” the person said. “You don’t know...”

She shivered at the ominous tone. “What don’t I know?”

“That you’re in danger.”

The line clicked with the same finality with which the door had closed behind Jared. Then the dial tone peeled out.

Her hand trembling, she turned off the cordless and put it back down on the table beside the couch.

Why would she be in danger?

The serial killer only went after brides-to-be. She was not engaged. She wasn’t even seeing anyone.

She was safe. Wasn’t she?

Chapter Five

The silver car. The blood-soaked lace spilling out of the open trunk. Jared flashed back six years ago to finding Lexi’s car. Unfortunately, Becca had been with him when they’d come across the abandoned silver Chevrolet.

There had been no body but so much blood...

Now there was a body...

No matter how many victims he had seen over the years, horror and dread still clutched at his heart. How could a human do this to another human? How could they act so viciously and subject another person to so much pain and cruelty?

He shuddered. And he wasn’t the only one.

Special Agent Dalton Reyes’s usually tanned complexion had gone ashen, and he shook slightly as he stepped back from the trunk. “That could have been Elizabeth...”

Dalton had recently found a woman in the trunk of a stolen car he’d run off the road. Fortunately, that woman hadn’t been dead—just so injured that she had lost her memory.

“It wasn’t,” Jared said. “She’s alive.” And she had recovered her memory, as well.

Dalton expelled a ragged breath of relief. “She’s alive, and she’s amazing. I can’t believe she agreed to marry me.”

Jared glanced back over his shoulder and groaned. He’d taken a Bureau helicopter from the closest police post to Becca’s house; that was how he’d made such good time—arriving while the sun was still up. How the hell had the media already gotten wind of their finding a crime scene?

News station vans rolled into the middle of the Indiana wheat field, kicking up dust that shimmered in the setting sun. Jared gestured at the local police officers. “Keep them back. I don’t want any pictures of this scene leaking out.”

Before he’d had time to notify the family. He turned back to the trunk. The victim’s face was swollen and bruised but identifiable. It was Amy Wilcox. She stared up at him through open, glazed brown eyes; he only imagined the accusation in her gaze. The blame for not catching this killer before he’d killed again—before he’d killed her.

I’m sorry, Amy...

He’d kept apologizing to Becca, too. But now he knew why she’d been so reluctant to accept his apologies— because she owed him a bigger one.

Alex was his son.

His head began to pound, and he flinched. But he pushed the thoughts back. He couldn’t afford to be distracted now. He’d deal later with the shock and anger that was rolling through him like those vans through the wheat field.

Now he had to get to Amy Wilcox’s family—before the media did. But he wouldn’t do that until he’d made certain that the coroner removed her body from the scene without the media getting any photos of her.

Where the hell was the coroner?

Was he or she lost? The media had no trouble finding the field.

“Did you hear me?” Dalton asked.

If the other agent had been talking, Jared hadn’t heard him. Despite his best intentions, he was distracted—too damn distracted.

Becca had always distracted him but never more so than now—when he’d learned they had made a child together. He had a son...

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. He’d been doing a lot of apologizing tonight. “What did you say?”

“Elizabeth agreed to marry me!” He slapped Jared’s back. “I’m getting married—thanks to you!”

“Me?” He was shocked—not shocked like he’d been when Becca had told him he was Alex’s dad. But he was surprised that Dalton would give him any gratitude for getting hit over the head.

Dalton grinned. His color was back now. And if a guy could glow, Dalton was glowing. “Elizabeth and I feel like you’re part of the reason we’re getting married. If you’d been the jerk I thought you were going to be and took the case from me, I wouldn’t have fallen for Elizabeth. That’s why I want you to be my best man.”

“So you want me to be your best man because I’m not a jerk?” Jared shook his head. “I’m not so sure you’re right about that. If I’d really thought that the Butcher was after Elizabeth, I would have taken the case.” But he’d never really believed that the serial killer had grabbed Elizabeth—because she’d lived.

“You would have been right to take the case, then,” Dalton agreed with a quick, regretful glance in the trunk. “So will you do it? Will you be my best man?”

“How can you think about that now?” Jared wondered.

Dalton glanced in the trunk again and shuddered. “I know my timing stinks, but I don’t want to wait to marry Elizabeth.”

“Do you see this?” Jared asked.

“Of course I see it.”

“It’s a message,” Jared said. “He’s mad that someone tried to blame the attempts on Elizabeth’s life on him. He’s making it clear what is his work and that women don’t survive when he abducts them.”

“He’s a sick SOB,” Dalton agreed. “But you know that.”

“I know that he might try to get Elizabeth now—to prove that she wouldn’t have survived if he’d actually grabbed her. You shouldn’t get married now.”

Dalton sighed. “You’ve never been in love, have you?”

Jared sucked in a sharp breath as if his friend had slugged him.

And Dalton apologized. “I’m sorry. I almost forgot about that first victim’s sister...”

Jared had never been able to forget her. And now he never would. But he didn’t want to talk about Becca. “I know you love Elizabeth, so you should want to keep her safe.”

Dalton said, “I will keep her safe. And so will you. You’re going to stop him.”

“I’ve been trying for six years,” he reminded his friend. “I haven’t been successful yet.” He hadn’t even been able to establish a profile of the killer until the second victim. Since Lexi’s body hadn’t been found, he hadn’t known exactly how this killer killed until then.

“You will be,” Dalton said with absolute confidence.

The arrival of the coroner’s van saved Jared from a reply. Six years ago he’d been confident he would stop this killer—like he’d stopped so many others before and after him. Now he wasn’t so sure. But still, when he notified Amy’s parents and fiancé, he found himself making them the same promise that he’d made Becca.

He would get this guy. For them. For Amy. For all those other victims. For Lexi. And, even though she had denied him six years of his son’s life, for Becca. Maybe most of all for Becca.

He would stop this killer if it was the last thing he ever did.

* * *

R
EBECCA
HADN
’
T
MEANT
to turn the television back on after Jared left. She really didn’t want to see the news—not when she was sure that Jared had rushed out because a body had been found. Amy Wilcox’s body.

The camera zoomed in on the open trunk of a silver car—and the blood-stained wedding gown spilling out of it. The scene in that fallow cornfield, so much like the one she and Jared had come upon, knocked her back six years. There had been so much blood...

But on the television screen, it wasn’t just a dress that had been found, like it had been with Lexi. Moments later another camera followed a gurney on which lay a black plastic bag—a body zipped inside it—to the coroner’s van.

The young woman had known Lexi—had been her friend. And now both women were dead. Gone. Forever.

Was Jared forever gone? Or would he be back? He’d only been gone a few hours.

But he had been so shocked when he left. So betrayed.

He’d apologized for thinking that Alex could have been his, for thinking that she could have kept a secret like that. He had given her too much credit, and now she was the one who owed him the apology. So many apologies for all the years she’d kept him from their son.

She couldn’t call him, though—even if she hadn’t thrown away his phone number all those years ago. He was in the middle of what was now another murder investigation. He had a family to notify.

A killer to find...

Would he find him now? Would he look where she had been pointing him? Where Lexi had pointed her?

Had Harris known Amy Wilcox, too?

She turned off the television, shutting off the blond-haired man she realized now was Kyle Smith. Over the years he had hounded her more relentlessly than the others—wanting that follow-up interview, wanting to open up all her pain again. But he hadn’t been interested in just Lexi. He’d wanted Rebecca to talk about FBI profiler Special Agent Bell, too. Like Jared, he hadn’t wanted to talk about the real killer, either. Harris Mowery hadn’t been newsworthy to him.

Maybe she could find what the FBI profiler and investigative reporter had failed to find—evidence leading to the real killer. She reached for the plastic tub of Lexi’s photos and letters and journals and dragged it across the floor to the couch where she sat.

Rebecca had been so busy taking notes during class and studying that she’d had no time for journaling. But Lexi had written every night—sometimes just a short paragraph or sometimes pages. Remembering the date on the photo Jared had showed her, Rebecca reached for that year—the year that Lexi had disappeared. The journal cover was neon green with yellow and orange stripes. It was bright and happy like Lexi had always seemed. But inside those pages was another story—a dark story. This was the journal in which Rebecca had found those photos—of the battered and bruised Lexi.

Jared had been right: it was too great a coincidence that the women had been photographed together the month that Lexi had disappeared—especially when that woman later disappeared like Lexi had.

She had looked through this journal earlier when Jared had been there—after he had looked at it and determined that there was no mention of Amy Wilcox. The photos had distracted and angered her then. Now she focused on what Lexi had written. While there was no mention of Amy, Lexi had written several references to meeting someone she had nicknamed Root Beer. Amy’s initials were the name brand of a popular root beer.

Could it be?

It was something Lexi would have done—something cute and funny. But they hadn’t met that way. Lexi had met Root Beer at a support group for battered women.

Harris had been battering Lexi. Who had been battering Amy? From the news reports, Rebecca knew Amy’s age; she was younger than Lexi. She must have only been in high school when she’d gone to those meetings.

So whoever had abused her was probably no longer in her life. From Lexi’s comments, it was clear that Root Beer had impressed her with strength and wisdom beyond her years. Amy had actually been supportive to Lexi.

Could Harris have known?

Her pulse quickened as she skimmed over a passage. Then she read it again, aloud.

“Ran into Root Beer when I was out with Harris at the mall. She told him that she’d heard a lot of wonderful things about Harry. She said it, though, in such a way that he knew she had heard nothing wonderful about him. And he hates being called Harry. He got so mad at her sassiness that I thought he was going to hit her. But he controlled his temper until we got home and hit me instead. Root Beer saw the bruises at the next meeting and cried. It’s not her fault, though. It’s not even Harris’s fault anymore. It’s my fault for staying. But I’m even more afraid of what he’ll do if I leave...”

That must have been why Harris had killed her—because she’d found the courage to leave him. Had he decided to kill Amy because he thought Lexi might have gotten some of that courage from the younger girl? But, in keeping with the other killings, he’d had to wait until Amy had gotten engaged—until she was ready to begin a happy new adventure.

Tears stung Rebecca’s eyes. She blinked and wrinkled her nose, trying to hold back her tears. She had cried so many tears over the past six years. For Lexi. For herself. And for all the other victims.

Despite her efforts, she couldn’t hold back her tears. Amy deserved them. But was she crying them for Amy? Or was she crying them for herself—out of guilt over not telling Jared he had a son?

She had spent the past six years trying to justify her action, or inaction, to herself. But there was no justification. Jared had deserved to know the truth and so had Alex. She had been so selfish, keeping her son—her amazing, intelligent, sweet son—all to herself.

Jared might never forgive her. Would Alex? Earlier she’d been confident that she could make it up to him. But she had spent the past six years trying to be both his mother and his father. And she’d failed.

She wasn’t the male role model her son craved. She’d dated over the past six years, but she hadn’t brought many of the dates around Alex. She hadn’t wanted her son to get attached to any of them—because she hadn’t been able to get attached herself.

None of them had been Jared, who was too smart. Too cocky. Too oblivious to her feelings...

Why hadn’t she been able to get completely over him? She doubted he had thought that often of her over the past six years. But then she’d had Alex—precocious, brilliant Alex—to constantly remind her of Jared.

Heat flushed her face, and she quickly brushed away her tears—as if embarrassed that she’d been caught crying. She glanced to the hallway leading to the bedrooms and bath, but Alex wasn’t standing there. He hadn’t awakened.

She was alone.

Wasn’t she?

Her skin prickled with awareness—of someone’s gaze on her.

You’re being watched...

After that ominous call, she had closed the curtains. But with the lights on in the living room, someone could probably see through the thin fabric. Someone could be out there—watching her.

Goose bumps rose along her arms, and she shivered. Not
could
be. Someone was definitely out there— watching her through the curtains. Why?

You’re in danger...

And if she was in danger, so was Alex. After that call earlier, maybe she should have done more than close the curtains. Maybe she should have called the police.

And tell them what? That she got an ominous phone call? They couldn’t investigate every prank call. And there had been no obvious threat made.

It had been more of a warning.

You’re in danger...

Maybe she had let that call get to her—like Jared had thought he’d let the reporter get to him. Maybe that call had put her on edge, and she was only imagining that someone was watching her.