They lived in an affluent suburb, roughly ten minutes from the heart of the city. The porch light was off, leaving the majority of their two-story home in the dark. As they walked up the sidewalk to the porch, Rachel could easily imagine the thought process that whoever answered the door would go through. It was nearly nine o’ clock at night and two FBI agents were knocking at their door. A visit like that was never going to net anything good. It almost made Rachel feel guilty even before they met the parents.

  She took the lead, stepping in front of Jack and knocking on the door. It took a while for anyone to come to the door and when they finally did, Rachel caught a glimpse of a man peeking through one of the top windows, little rectangles of glass high up in the door. The porch light was switched on and then the door opened.

  And just like Rachel had assumed, the moment she showed her badge, the man knew. And the woman that entered the hallway behind him, staring on from a distance, also seemed to know. It never got easier, and Rachel didn’t think she’d ever quite get used to it. But as the Westons allowed them inside and the news of their son’s death was delivered, Rachel found that she was able to still remain professional—to push her emotional reactions to the side. Perhaps, she thought, it was because of her own recent brushes with death and doctor appointments with potentially devastating consequences at the end of them…but she found it a bit easier to deliver the news. Watching the reaction to the news was awful, of course, but she felt almost removed from the situation by understanding just how close death always is, how natural and routine in can often be.

  Of course, she’d never say anything like that to a parent that had just learned their son had been killed. Not only that, but he’d been killed and then placed into a shoddy coffin and buried in a shallow grave. And he hadn’t been the first to receive such treatment.

  Amy Weston seemed to nearly pass out from the heartbreak of the news. She was speechless and in a state of shock for the first ten minutes of their visit. The only thing that seemed to pull her out of it were the anguished cries of her husband—cries that had, within that ten minutes, evolved into rage and coasted back down into something that was almost like a shaky sort of acceptance. Rachel had seen this from time to time, the grief of a parent managing to create a platform for logic and action—a platform that wanted answers and justice.

  As his wife wept silently into his shoulder, Rachel did her best to remain sympathetic but with an eye toward the case at the same time.

  “Before we answer any of your questions or ask you about your son,” she said, “is there anyone we can call that would be of assistance in the next few hours?”

  “Amy’s sister and brother-in-law,” Wayne said. His eyes were already red, and he wore a mask of absolute sadness, but for the time being, he seemed to have his senses about him.

  Jack stepped forward and spoke softly. “If you give me their number, I’ll call them for you.”

  Wayne nodded and grabbed his cellphone from the coffee table in front of the couch. The phone’s facial recognition unlocked it, which was good; his hands were trembling terribly, and Rachel didn’t think he’d be able to even punch in a four-digit passcode. He managed to scroll to the number, pressed Call, and handed the phone to Jack.

  “I won’t pretend to know how hard this is to accept,” Rachel said as Jack walked out of the living room and into the kitchen. She could hear him quietly introducing himself. “But right now,” she went on, “time is of the essence, and I do need to ask some questions.”

  “Of course…” Wayne said. Amy continued to shudder and weep against his shoulder. It was mostly quiet but every now and then she’d let out a moan.

  “First and foremost, do you know of any problems he was having with friends or family? It doesn’t have to be recent…anytime over the past several months, maybe?”

  “I…I don’t think so,” Wayne said. “Peter wasn’t the sort of kid to share everything with us, though. If he was having some sort of issues or arguments with friends or people he worked with, he likely wouldn’t have shared those things with us.”

  “Do you happen to know if he was friends with anyone that worked for Hutchinson Builders? It’s a construction company out of Alexandria that’s recently started work on a condo complex and just broke ground for an addition to the hospital.”

  “Again…we never knew much about his friends.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Rachel asked.

  Here, Wayne Weston’s eyes went wide—perhaps with alarm in that he couldn’t instantly recall the last time he’d seen his son—a son he’d never get to see again. “Um…maybe…a little less than two weeks. We had dinner here, at the house. Played some Rummy.”

  “And did he seem fine then? Anything out of sorts?”

  “I think he was fine. Normal. He…”

  “He destroyed us at Rummy,” Amy Weston said without lifting her head from her husband’s shoulder. “He was happy and laughing and nothing seemed to be bothering him. I just don’t know what could have happened or who would have wanted him d-d…”

  She couldn’t bring herself to say the word: dead.

  At the same time, Jack walked back into the living room. He handed Wayne’s phone back to the man with a bit of caution in his movements. She had to give that much to Jack—while he was usually quick to move on from overly emotional moments, he did have a streak in him that respected the grieving and loss of the people they met with during the course of any given case.

  “They’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” Jack said.

  Wayne nodded and then, for just a second, his eyes seemed clear. Yes, they were still red and streaked with tears, but there was acknowledgement and alertness there.

  “Are there any clues at all?” he asked. “Any idea of who might have done this?”

  “Nothing yet,” Rachel said. “However, after a thorough investigation by the coroner, we can compare the results to what was found in the other bo—”

  Amy Weston let out a deep, anguished wail. Rachel wondered if it had been the word coroner—if that was what drove that final nail of acceptance and understanding home. Hugging her tightly to him, Wayne also began to lose it. And it was then, as both parents clung to one another in their loss, that Rachel understood they’d get no further information from the Westons. Not for a few days, at least.

  Helpless to do anything of substance, Rachel could only sit in the armchair across from the couch, simply being there with them so they would not be alone. But already, she was thinking about Neeley and Hunt, wondering if they were having any more luck than they were.

  ***

  They left the Weston home just as soon as Amy’s sister and her husband arrived. There was an awkward moment of introduction as they left but then Rachel and Jack were back in the car, not quite sure where the night would take them from there. Jack decided to drive in the direction of the police department while Rachel checked in with the other cogs in the case.

  She called Susan Neeley first and wasn’t surprised to find that there just hadn’t been enough time to make any sort of connections. According to Neeley, it would be at least another three or four hours before she had any results, and those would be best guesses and nothing more. It would be as much as six-to-eight hours before any real information was available.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Neeley said on the other line. “Based on the similarities we already have—the weird coffin, the lack of any marks on the body—I’m expecting to find traces of Rohypnol. But I’m sure you understand, I can’t just make that assumption and run with it.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Rachel said. “And what about the timeframe? How long do you think he’d been dead?”

  “My best guess just from the state of deterioration and skin color…maybe two weeks, give or take a day.”

  Rachel considered this, not liking what it meant. They had no idea how long this suspect had been operating. There was no telling how many of these crates were out there. She wondered if they should start looking into missing person’s cases filed within the past month or so. Maybe they could compile a list of potential victims out of that.

  “Thanks, Dr. Neeley,” she said, ending the call.

  “So,” Jack said, I suppose that means we see what we can do about helping Hunt out. We can step in and help question Hutchinson’s workers, right?”

  “At this point, I think it’s about the only thing. I do wonder, though, if it might also be worth looking into recent missing person’s cases. Madeline Young had been reported as missing, and we know Peter Weston’s parents hadn’t seen him for almost two weeks.” As she said this, more ideas came to her, namely how they needed to look deeper into Weston. Maybe the people he worked with or the friends he had would confirm that they hadn’t seen him for several days, giving Rachel and Jack something of a timeline to go by.

  So Jack continued on to the police department. As he did, Rachel allowed her mind a moment to switch gears, to think about her own family and the danger she’d been putting them through lately.

  “Hey, Jack? I’m going to make what I would usually consider a personal call. Try not to read too much into it.”

  “Um…ok. Is this the sort of call you’d usually make in another room so I don’t hear it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Gotcha. So I guess we’re close now. Because you kissed me.” He grinned at her, but she saw the truth and hope lurking in it.

  “Maybe,” she said. “And if you ever want it to happen again, I suggest not mentioning it.”

  He nodded and looked ahead to the highway. Meanwhile, Rachel pulled up Agent Carson’s number on her phone and called him. It rang just twice before he answered. He sounded as if he’d been laughing in the seconds leading up to her call.

  “Hello there, Agent Gift. Everything good?”

  “More or less. This is going to be a fast-paced case and I wanted to check in before things got deeper. Have there been any disturbances or anything out of the ordinary there?”

  “Well, have we called you?” Carson asked in a snarky fashion.

  “No.”

  “Then everything here is fine. Not a single occurrence or even anything that could be considered a maybe.”

  “And have you spoken with the cops watching over my father?”

  “Not to them directly, no. But I did talk to the police chief in charge of them. That was about an hour and a half ago. Everything seems perfectly fine there, too.”

  “And you’re not just placating me?”

  “Not at all. Agent Gift…Rachel, if I may. You have my unequivocal word that you will be called and notified the instant anything out of the ordinary takes place around here. We’ve got it all under control.”

  She believed him. His voice alone made her feel confident and secure.

  “Now,” Carson went on. “Paige is upstairs and in bed, per the house rules. But we both know she’s not asleep yet. Would you like to talk to her and your grandmother?”

  “Yes, I would. Thank you, Agent Carson.”

  As the phone was jostled a bit and she could hear Carson moving through her house—well, actually the safehouse—she realized that the news of all being normal wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been. If things were normal there and in Paducah with her father, then where did that leave Lynch?

  Where the hell was Alex Lynch now, and what was he up to?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Cheap hotel rooms didn’t bother Alex Lynch. Not after spending so much time in prison. Granted, even the walls of his cell had been cleaner than the ones in his current hotel room, but the freedom made this cheap room feel like a luxury apartment.

  He was staying at a Comfort Inn in Mechanicsville, Virginia, roughly thirteen miles away from Rachel’s house. He was quite certain Rachel, her grandmother, and her precious little girl were no longer staying there. He supposed they’d been moved out to a safehouse of some kind. And so far, he had not been able to pinpoint where that might be.

  And honestly, it didn’t matter much.

  After what had happened at her father’s house, he knew this game had to end. The relentless cat and mouse had to stop, even if it meant an end to his fun. By God, it had been fun tormenting Rachel Gift this past month or so. And it had been more than worth the planning and patience it had taken to pull off his escape from prison.

  But now he knew he’d underestimated Rachel. She was not only brave, she was tough. He wasn’t sure what physical malady she was suffering from, but he knew it was there. He’d predicted such a thing several months ago and the look of shock he’d seen in her eyes had been…intoxicating. He supposed it was one of the reasons he was so intent on causing her so much panic and trouble.

  But even that wasn’t stopping her. When he’d lunged at her with his knife after stabbing her father, he’d seen something in her eyes—something filled with rage and almost feral. He’d feared her in that moment, and even more when she’s tossed him into the wall as if he were nothing more than a pillow. But then he’d seen the fear and weakness in her when her daughter had stepped into the room and he’d fled.

  She was human after all…she had weaknesses and soft spots just like anyone.

  The hell of it was that he knew he could never go after her daughter. It had been in his plans at first but then he’d seen just how much protection the FBI had put around her. They’d put that protection in place and then Rachel had gone off to work, to bring in more bad guys and do her part to make the world a better place. And it was there, in that fool’s errand, that she and the insipid bureau had made their mistake.

  He supposed they thought that by going out on cases with her partner, she may lure him out of hiding. After all, it was no secret that at the end of this game, it was Rachel he wanted. They’d been right in all of that. But they’d been wrong in thinking he’d take the bait in such a way. No, he was perfectly fine to wait on her. He needed to attack while she was close, so he could feel the thrill of the hunt and, if he was lucky, get a sense of how badly she was hurting.

  He’d taken her ex-husband. He’d put a scare into her grandmother. He’d nearly taken her father and got a glimpse of her daughter.

  Alex knew he was in her head. And he also knew that he had just enough time for one more attack on her—one more way to hurt her. After that, he’d have to face her. He was perfectly fine with that, despite that feral thing he’d seen in her eyes. He wondered if it was the look of someone with a sickness, someone that knew their life was rapidly approaching its end, so it really didn’t matter how recklessly they acted.

  Alex looked out of the dingy curtains, to the night beyond. Headlights wound up and down I-95 on the other side of the highway. In a while, he’d go out driving. He’d drive to her house, he’d drive by the bureau headquarters to see if her car was there. He’d keep tabs as best as he could and then he’d attack again. Not her grandmother, and not her daughter. Those were out of play now and to go after them would be foolish.

  But he thought he knew where to strike. From what he’d seen and heard, there was a new development, someone that she may miss just as badly as those others.

  Just one more attack and then it would just be Rachel.

  He smiled into the darkness as he grabbed his keys, realizing that he honestly didn’t care how that fight ended. He wanted her dead, of course, but if she were to beat him and he ended up losing his life, that was fine. She would have to live the rest of her life dealing with just how much he’d taken from her. And if that was the case…well, he could die happy.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Rachel had gotten a quick nap sometime between two and four in the morning. She and Jack took shifts, Jack napping first (and for only an hour) while Rachel continued to dig tirelessly into a variety of shaky leads and avenues. When it was her turn to get some rest, she simply walked over to the little hardbacked chair in the corner, used her jacket as a pillow, and leaned against the wall. Sadly, it wasn’t the worst sleeping condition she’d ever endured while on a case.

  She woke up because she was slightly startled when Chief Hunt came into their borrowed office. He was carrying two cups of coffee, which he handed out to Rachel and Jack. He looked tired and worried, but Rachel could also tell that there was an underlying excitement as well.

  “How are things going in here?” Hunt asked.

  “Slow and depressing,” Jack said, taking his coffee. “But this helps, thanks.”

  Stretching her back and tilting her head to get an ache out of her neck, Rachel took her coffee as well. “After speaking to Hutchinson’s men, we started looking into missing person’s cases going back a year, looking through the reports to see if anything at all might line up with what we’re seeing here.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said, turning away from the laptop he’d been using and facing Hunt. “Missing person’s cases, kidnappings, even reports of people that thought they had been drugged—and I have to say, there are some really interesting cases in there. Nothing that fits what we need, but…some interesting reading for your future needs, for sure.”

  “Well, we may have one more thing to look into,” Hunt said. “We got a call from one of the men you guys spoke to earlier. I can’t remember his first name, honestly. Last name was Thompson.”

  “Larry,” Rachel said.

  “Yes, that’s it. He called us back about ten minutes ago. Said he had this nagging feeling in the back of his head that he’d forgotten something. He said it came to him when he was trying to get back to sleep—that one of you had asked about any secondary workers that weren’t really part of Hutchinson’s crew but still came in and out of the worksites. He told you he couldn’t think of anyone, but something did come to him when he got back home. He said there’s a small company that runs dump trucks. These guys sometimes bring gravel or fresh fill dirt for the construction sites at the early stages.”

 

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