Blind: Killer Instincts (23 page)

“Excuse me, Emma Ration?” A woman in a royal blue suit approached their table, one of those news microphones in hand and a camera man following her. “I’m from KOCO and we wanted to ask you a few questions about the TBKiller. Do you have a moment?”

Emma’s eyes widened, and she glanced at him.

Shit.

Jacob slid out of the booth and put himself between Emma and the camera.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Ration will not be answering any questions at this time,” he said.

“How do you feel about a copycat murderer, Ms. Ration?” The persistent reporter tried to lean around him.

“Emma, go to the Jeep.” He shoved his keys at her, hating that for a few brief moments she’d be alone.

“We want to ask a few questions.” The reporter tried to follow Emma when she darted around the crew, bolting for the door, but a pair of patrol officers were there to cut them off.

Jacob blew out a relieved breath and circled around the tables of staring patrons. Bet they didn’t expect a side of drama with their morning coffee.

“Emma,” he called out. She hadn’t yet made it to the doors. A pair of men in sports coats had stopped her, and one had a recorder in her face. “Fuck me,” he grumbled and dug out his badge.

“I’m not answering any of your fucking questions,” Emma snapped at the men.

Jacob flashed his badge and grabbed Emma by the elbow. “Excuse us, gentlemen.”

The badge distracted them for the half-second they needed to side-step them and get out the door. He was incredibly glad he’d managed a close parking spot.

“This isn’t fair.” Emma flopped into the passenger seat as he buckled his seat belt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect that.”

“No, I wanted coffee. And food.”

He chuckled as he reversed out of the spot.

“That I can fix.”

Jacob pulled out his phone and did a quick search for the IHOP while he drove around behind the building. The hostess picked up after two rings, and once he’d given her a short explanation, was assured their meals could be boxed up and brought out the back.

“What now?” Emma asked. “Is it too late to drive to Colorado now?”

“Nope, but I think it’s time we pitched our theories to the FBI.”

“Do you think they’ll listen to us?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

He hoped they could figure the puzzle out before TBKiller struck for what might be the last time.

M

ax’s fingers dripped with blood. If he had his choice, he’d savor this moment. There was nothing like the warm, sticky sensation of it between his palms, but the time for savoring his kills was gone. He needed to move, now. Time was of the essence. But first, he had to get the others. Those souls he’d saved from living the pattern over again. He couldn’t split without them.

The sun rose slowly on the horizon, bathing it in a pale, gray light. His time was growing short. He couldn’t hide this body, so he’d have to leave it and get out before anyone noticed.

The man shouldn’t have come out to check the noise. Then Max wouldn’t have had to kill him. He’d at least gouged the man’s eyes out. Now there would be nothing to carry forward into the next life, and no way the spirit would recognize him.

It was a necessity. He didn’t like to destroy the previous lives the eyes would carry with them, but it couldn’t be helped. When he was reborn, he couldn’t have someone coming after him for a crime he’d committed in this life.

He wiped his fingers on the man’s shirt. Time to get home.

Usually Max parked several blocks away from the house, but since he needed to move so much stuff he’d made do with one street over. It wasn’t ideal, but it would be okay. No one suspected him yet.

He stuck to the shadows, going from yard to yard until he reached the end of the street. His lonely little house sat all by itself. An oasis. But not for long.

For several moments he watched the brick facade. No change. No disturbance. His haven was still there.

He peered up and down the road, but there was no one out yet. It was safe for the moment, so he struck out across the street, hands in his pockets, trying for casual.

The skin between his shoulder blades began to crawl, and a heavy sense of foreboding settled in his stomach. He stood on the sidewalk and stared at the house. The front windows were covered with plastic, but he could see in through the kitchen at this angle. The mirrors caught the morning light and reflected through the house.

A shadow passed through the light. The movement was slow, or his light-dazzled eyes might have missed it.

Someone was in his haven.

He turned and walked away from the house, his pulse pounding.

There was only one person who could have found him so fast.

Black Widow.

His body went cold and then hot, goosebumps breaking out all over his arms. The only reason she’d be in Oklahoma City was to kill him. He’d known she’d come for him, but he hoped to have more time. To be able to finish what he’d started. There was a way to make up for last night. He could do it. But not with her here.

There’d been whispers, when he’d joined the club, that she’d killed one of their members. He’d watched several others disappear since. He had no doubt she’d kill him for breaking her precious rules.

He had to finish his mission before she killed him. Or before he killed her. He could skip the next few targets. There was really only one that mattered. Two that he wanted. And wasn’t it his luck those two had taken up together?

Jacob held the door for Emma.

“Are you sure we should be here?” she asked for the third time. She’d squirmed in her seat the second he’d said they were taking their theories to the FBI.

“Yes. It’ll be fine.”

“But you’re off the case.”

“I am. But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped thinking about it.” He carried the box that now contained the precious folders of lists they’d compiled.

After signing her in, he escorted her back to his department, which appeared more like a busy call center than the orderly detective unit he was used to.

“Payton, what are you doing here?” Mullins sipped from a cup of coffee, looking worse for having probably not slept in at least a day.

“We’ve got some ideas. Where is everyone?” He glanced around for the other agents.

“Aren’t you supposed to be guarding her?” Mullins thumbed at Emma.

“’Her’ is standing right here. Do you want to hear the ideas or not?”

“Lady’s got some fire in her. Go in the war room. I’ll grab Brooks.” Mullins chuckled.

Jacob led Emma into the conference room. Days ago, he’d had a table and two boards. Now, there were pages taped to walls and several rolling boards arranged in a time line with the TBK details below and the TBKiller copies above.

“Wow, this makes me look like the minor league.” Emma went to the first board and examined the TBK notes.

He couldn’t help but notice she completely ignored the TBKilling line.

“Payton. Ms. Ration.” Brooks led Mullins and his partner into the room. “Didn’t expect to see either of you here today.”

“Thanks for giving us a few minutes, Agent.” Jacob shook the man’s hand.

“Forgive me if I ask you to get to the point.” Brooks crossed his arms over his chest while the other two agents took seats.

“No, not at all.” Jacob cleared his throat. “I had a theory from the very beginning that was a gut feeling. I couldn’t prove it, so I didn’t come out and say it, but I was certain these murders were somehow connected to Emma and perhaps myself. To our knowledge, I was the first person to receive letters. We don’t know when Harold or Laura got theirs, but we do know when Emma received her first letter. I think a copycat would find value in including Emma in their plans.”

“Really? You’re just now springing this on me?” Brooks shook his head, his face going a little red.

“I wasn’t certain, and you didn’t have time to listen to me. I didn’t put it together until you laid out the victim’s connections to Emma, which you withheld from me.” That still burned. The agents hadn’t told anyone they were bringing Emma in to interrogate her. “I’m guessing everyone except your agents knew until you accused Emma to her face. How was I supposed to know that was the direction you were going if you aren’t sharing information? I couldn’t. After last night’s botched murder, I think my theory is solid. Emma factors into the killer’s plans, and if he’s disrupted now, he might accelerate and come after her next instead of waiting.”

Brooks’ glare was enough to make Jacob rethink his word choice, though he still would have said exactly what he thought. Brooks shook his head a little and leaned forward, gaze still pinned on Jacob.

“You should have come to me before this and made me listen. You do good work, Detective. But you’re a one-man team. You don’t play well with others, and that’s a problem for any department or team like mine.”

Wasn’t the agent listening?

Emma’s hand wrapped around his fist, her fingers feathering over his knuckles.

“Okay guys, why don’t we take a deep breath.” She did as she asked them. “We all want the same thing, so why don’t we calm down?”

Jacob glanced at Emma. “I thought it was strange when you had met the first victim, but when Brooks pointed out the connection with Laura, and then Amanda and Derrick were killed, that’s what got me thinking. Last night Emma and I compiled lists of traits, common knowledge things about every TBK victim. Show them.”

“Tell them about the other list.” Emma set the box on the table and began unpacking their proof.

“Other list?” Brooks prompted.

“If my theory about the copycat is valid, that means he’s someone Emma has come into contact with. A real fanatic about killers. Now, she meets with people on occasion to talk about the history of TBK. She’s about the most proficient expert on the subject, apart from a few scholars. Last night we went back through her emails and made a list of everyone who has contacted her about TBK.”

“I don’t meet with creepadoodles.” Emma shook her head.

“Creepadoodles?” Mullins laughed.

“Hush,” Brooks said to his agent. “Go on.”

“Most of the people I’ve met with are teachers, psychologists, or family members. Good people. But some struck me as creepy. We made lists and broke them down. People I met with divided into their relationship to the killer, either victim’s family, professional, or curious lookie-lou. Then there’s another list of people who creeped me out. We also compiled a list of everyone I rejected.”

“We spent some time looking these people up,” Jacob interjected. Social media was pretty damn helpful for telling you about someone’s habits. “I think we have a small pool of suspects for you.”

“Show me.” Brooks held out his hand.

Emma handed it over then wiped her hands on her jeans. “There’s four. Three are people I turned down, but when we looked them up there is substantial activity on their social media sites to indicate a serial killer fascination.”

“And the fourth?”

“The fourth is a teenage kid I met with. I thought he was doing a homework assignment, but he was a total creeper. Followed me around, made threats. Eventually I had to slap a restraining order on him.”

“Which is he?” Brooks flashed the list at her.

“This one.” She tapped the last name on the list. “Max Fischer.”

Black Widow paced through the house.

Patience was a virtue she exercised more often than most people, but after hours of waiting, it was wearing thin. Where was Max?

Something was wrong. By all accounts, Max killed near midnight. His whole ritual took maybe an hour to three, depending on the bodies. Granted, he’d only done a few trial runs before committing to his plan. There were always variances, but not this many.

She went to the front windows and pulled aside enough plastic to peer out.

The sun was up. Cars came and went. Blue and red lights flashed a street over.

Fuck.

She headed for the back door, but the mini-fridge caught her eye.

Max would want his trophies. But if she was found carrying them, there wouldn’t be a good enough excuse to get her off the hook. She’d have to leave them and track Max some other way. God, he was a royal fuck up.

She left the door open. It didn’t matter now, someone would go door to door soon and they would discover his hidey-hole. She peered up and down the street. Since the house was all by itself, it stuck out like a sore thumb. If she went for the sidewalk, anyone driving by would take notice of her.

It was now or never. Her time was running out.

Black Widow walked calmly to the sidewalk, then began jogging as if she did this every day. The small pack bounced on her shoulders, but she couldn’t leave her kit behind. Her prints were all over it.

She jogged down the street, crossing when she ran out of sidewalk and continued toward the lights.

Several cop cars and an ambulance sat outside of one of the cookie-cutter homes while neighbors clustered outside in their robes and slippers. She jogged right up to a group of neighbors and stopped, breathing harder than was necessary.

“Hey, what’s going on?” she asked.

The woman closest to her appeared to be near tears. “It was Mike Robinson. His wife found him dead in the backyard. They said his eyes were gone.” She covered her face and muttered through her fingers, “Do you think it’s that killer?”

Black Widow gasped, feigning horror. “No.”

The woman nodded.

“Oh my God. I need to go check in on my grandmother. I’m so sorry.”

“No, go, go!” The woman shooed her away.

Black Widow jogged off with haste. Not too fast, she didn’t want to draw any undue attention, but the inbound black SUVs didn’t speak well for Max. She had to find him before the FBI did.

Emma paced the length of the entry to the police station. The FBI had rushed out in a hurry, save for the red-headed agent that gave Emma the creeps. The woman was like a robot.

It was all too much to take in. She couldn’t think too hard about the very real possibility she’d set this all in motion years ago. Max had been nineteen when she filed the restraining order. That was nearly five years ago. Someone at the FBI had gathered up a lot of information about Max in a few minutes, and it made the kid out to be even creepier. Emma hadn’t even heard it all. The agents had shut her out almost as soon as the details started rolling in.