Mom had understood more than Dad, but it wouldn’t be simple. Or easy. But the promise to try had filled Eric with fresh hope.

  In order to make the whole lifetime thing a reality, he’d need Bryn to get on board, though, and she had been far from him Friday night. Not wanting kids. Pushing him away on purpose.

  Not showing up this morning.

  And that’s why he was pulling into her driveway.

  No car.

  His nerves were frayed. Where was she?

  Could she be at the therapist? Talking about him. About her newfound idea not to have children.

  Wait.

  Bryn had touched her abdomen when she told Eric she’d been shot. Couldn’t stick around to hear Angela talk about the baby at Sonic.

  Then the change of heart about having kids. Throwing it out there. Testing him.

  He’d failed. Utterly failed. Said the wrong thing.

  Thumping his fist to his brow, he groaned.

  “I don’t know...the one thing I want most...” Words that built a wall between them.

  No. His heart splintered into pieces, sucking the breath from him and bringing unwanted moisture to his eyes. Not for him. For her. For everything she’d lost.

  Stupid! He’d made jokes about Eric and Erica Hales running around. Wanting dozens of children. Bryn had pushed him away to give him some sort of freedom to find love with someone who could provide him children.

  Did she not realize there was no other woman in the entire world for him? That he couldn’t love anyone more? Babies or no babies. Foster or adopted. Didn’t matter.

  The minute she walked through the door, whether home or the office, he was going to tell her. And if he had to strap her to a chair until she believed him, he wasn’t above it.

  God, help her believe the truth.

  His phone rang.

  Bryn’s analyst.

  “Hey, Percy.”

  “Detective. Is Agent Eastman with you?”

  “No. I’ve been looking for her myself. You have news?” Eric snagged a Twizzler, poked it in his mouth and tossed it aside.

  “Well, she asked for Julian Proctor’s surgical schedule. Dates and times.”

  “Why?”

  “She thought he was the one sneaking into her house and rearranging things. He wasn’t, but I went to call her back about something I did find. She’s still not answering.”

  She wasn’t crazy at all. Someone had been sneaking in and she’d discovered it. How? “Did she say how he was getting into her house?”

  “No.”

  Eric had personally checked the door and windows. He paused. Garage windows. He peered inside. Noticed the attic door. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

  “She said the victims had all been stressed and forgetful. So I thought, what do people do when they’re stressed and feeling mentally incapable? They get therapy.”

  Eric snorted. “Yeah, they do.” Including Bryn. He jimmied the window. It was definitely locked now. He put some muscle into the old window. Nothing.

  “Well, I found something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Bridgette Danforth and Cat Weaver both extracted the same amount of cash from private accounts each week. Every Tuesday to be exact.”

  “How much?”

  “Four hundred bucks.”

  “But nothing on Annalise Hemingway or Kendra Kennick?”

  “Well, not Kendra exactly. But her husband also took the same amount of cash out of a private bank account. Every Thursday. Clearly, they didn’t want anyone to know they were seeing a therapist. It’s private, you know.”

  Oh yeah. Bryn had kept it hidden. “Give me Kennick’s number. I’m not where I can get to my notes.”

  Percy rattled off Kyle Kennick’s phone number and Eric called.

  “Mr. Kennick. It’s Detective Hale. I’d like to ask you a personal question. It may help me find your wife’s murderer.”

  “Sure, Detective. Whatever you want.” His weary voice reached across the line.

  “You took out four hundred dollars a week every week. Can you tell me why?”

  Silence hung on the line, then a heavy sigh filled the connection. “I didn’t tell Kendra, but I was seeing a therapist. We were juggling hectic work schedules—she refused to quit her job—parenting, and a marriage which was suffering. I was overwhelmed.”

  “Who did you see?”

  “Dr. Elliot Warner. Downtown.”

  Downtown. Eric’s stomach bottomed out. “What was his advice?”

  “In a roundabout way, he implied Kendra was choking the life out of me and to leave. I didn’t, though.”

  Eric’s temple thumped. “Thanks.” He hung up and called Percy. “Get me everything you have on Dr. Elliot Warner. I need to know if he’s contracted by the FBI. Include his home and work address and any other physical addresses.”

  Fingers racing over a keyboard sounded. “Yes, he’s the FBI therapist.” He rattled off his addresses.

  If she wasn’t at the office or home, she was probably with the killer. And she didn’t even know it. Eric hit the lights and headed for the interstate.

  Whatever it took to get to her.

  * * *

  Wet cold jolted Bryn awake, head pounding, lying on concrete. Forcing her eyes open, she surveyed her surroundings.

  Water gushed from eight metal spigots at the bottom of her enclosure. She rose from the floor, touching the small area behind her ear where Dr. Warner had injected something to knock her out.

  Octagonal plexiglass housed her. About eight feet tall, five feet wide.

  Like a monstrous...fish tank.

  No escape.

  Water covered her ankle deep and steadily rose.

  Trapped. Like a fish.

  Dr. Warner sat in a recliner, kicked back, feet propped up as if he were watching a football game. He wore a headset and a wild gleam in his eyes. “You said you wanted to jump into a tank and swim. Now’s your chance.”

  His echoing voice filtered through the tank. Must be some kind of waterproof speakers embedded. With a thundering heart and blood rushing in her ears, Bryn pressed against the walls, groping for an escape. Nothing but thick, chilled glass.

  This was how he did it. In the basement of his practice, he’d forced his victims into the tank and watched as they died in a watery grave.

  Her pulse spiked as the water rushed midcalf. How long did she have before she was submerged?

  Panic clawed its way through her body.

  No. Stay calm. Find a way out. “How’d you get them in here?” She pounded out of fear, frustration and the need to do something, anything. That’s when she realized her ring on her right finger—the amethyst—was missing. Slamming her hand against the tank, she screamed, “You won’t get away with this.”

  “Don’t touch the glass, Agent Eastman. You’re upsetting me.” He smirked. She skidded a glance to a table against the wall. Bags and bags of fish.

  Dr. Warner followed her gaze and chuckled. “I saved them. Fish are rather resilient. Let’s see if you are.”

  She dropped to her knees, the icy water riding up to her chest. She fumbled with the spigots, trying to cork them with her fingers. Jumping up, she flew to each side of the tank banging. “Someone will find me.”

  “Who? You’ve kept your visits a secret. Like most patients.”

  “Tell me how you did it.” The ME hadn’t found any pinpricks on their necks. She played on his ego. “You must have been slick for Bridgette Danforth to get into your car. To get them all.”

  “Who said I got them in my car? Who’s to say I didn’t have them meet me here, then I drove their cars back to familiar sites? Who’s to say I didn’t touch a thing but the steering wheel. Ms. Kennick’s drive to her work was excruciating. I have long legs.”

  “When I get out of here, I’m going to wipe that smug grin off your face. Count on it.”

  But she’d have to beat through about four inches of plexiglass to do it. Dr. Warner was right. No one knew she was here. She had no way out.

  God, help me out of this tank! Save me! Did You save me in Ohio, only to let me die like this?

  “You’ll do just what they did, when you realize you’re helpless. Hopeless. You’ll scream. Beg and acknowledge that I decide if you live or die.” He inched closer and held her gaze. “How does it feel to know I own your last breath?”

  No, he did not.

  Anger burned in her gut. White-hot. Searing.

  “You’re not God.”

  “I don’t see any God here, Agent Eastman, except me.”

  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you...

  Neither did Bryn, but she believed, felt God’s presence as scripture came to mind. And never did she need it more. Warner might take her life. But he didn’t own her soul. He wasn’t about to get his sadistic satisfaction.

  “I will never scream. I will not beg. And you won’t win.”

  Fury flashed in Warner’s eyes. “You will. Your body will fight for life whether you want it to or not. Proven fact. I’m going to watch you fight and fail.”

  Water had reached her abdomen. She let out a breath.

  Breathe. Relax.

  Holt had been right. Time was too short not to spend it with the one you loved. Eric was smart. Maybe he’d figure it out, but it wouldn’t be in time. Eight minutes was all she could handle underwater. With no extra oxygen and practice rusty, Bryn might only have about five.

  Five minutes felt like five seconds.

  Breathe.

  She inhaled. Exhaled. Deep cleansing breaths, expanding her lungs.

  Closing her eyes, she concentrated.

  “Ask me for your life, Agent Eastman.”

  She stood her ground in the middle of the tank, kept her eyes closed and ignored him.

  “Beg me! I own you.” He smacked the glass with his hands. He was no longer in control. The instability in his voice confirmed it.

  Water reached her neck, and she continued to breathe.

  She ticked the seconds by in her head and prayed.

  Ice water filled to her chin, and took her balance. She opened her eyes, inhaled one long breath and treaded water as it covered her head. No way out.

  A minute passed.

  Bryn forced herself to remain calm. Not think about five minutes from now.

  Dr. Warner was losing his resolve. He paced and cursed as she calmly treaded water, reserving her energy. Enraged, he grabbed at his hair. Bryn wasn’t obeying. Wasn’t dying a torturous death.

  He would not win. He would not.

  Three minutes ticked by. She kept her focus on him. He banged on the glass and she jerked but kept her breath.

  Four minutes.

  Her brain reminded her body she needed oxygen, and her lungs burned; a burst of anxiety rippled in her chest. She hung on.

  Fake it.

  Could she fake drowning? If she gave him what he wanted, he might drain the tank, giving her time to breathe. And to fight.

  But it might not work.

  Through the waters.

  Now or never.

  She jerked in the water, widening her eyes and giving the illusion of panic.

  Dr. Warner paused. His eyes danced with anticipation of her demise. He laughed and clapped his hands, inching closer to the glass. “I told you. You can’t help it, can you?”

  She drove her body to the top of the tank, banging and writhing.

  “You’re going to die, Agent Eastman.”

  Lungs flaming, she released a few bubbles and let the water turn her body over, facing the floor of the tank, limp. Lifeless. She jerked once. Twice. Then relaxed.

  Dr. Warner’s maniacal laughter grated her skin, but she didn’t dare move.

  Seven minutes.

  Eight.

  Can’t. Hold. On.

  Eric...

  * * *

  Weaving in and out of traffic, Eric crushed his foot to the gas pedal. His phone rang, and he put Percy on speaker. “What else do you have, Percy?”

  “Dr. Warner’s originally from Florida. Came from an abusive home. Until his father beat his mother to death and shot himself. Warner went into foster care after that. You know what the foster system can be like. He was passed around due to violent behavior. One family said he was cruel to their daughters. Broke their toys, frightened them while they slept, hid their clothes and games. They sent him back into the system. It escalated at fifteen with his last foster family.”

  Eric gritted his teeth. “What’d he do?”

  “Parents couldn’t prove it, but their four-year-old daughter nearly drowned in the pool. She told her parents Warner tossed her into the deep end and wouldn’t get her out. Knew she couldn’t swim. He didn’t deny it, but didn’t admit it, either. They put him back in the system until he turned eighteen.”

  “Who saved the girl?”

  “A girl who lived next door. Said Warner was just standing there watching.”

  A girl rescuing one of his first victims. That would infuriate him. His hatred of women would have increased. Instead of despising his abusive father, he placed blame on his mother. He would have wanted her to fight for herself, and him, but instead she would have been too weak. Who knew what Elliot Warner had witnessed in that home, under the hands of a madman father?

  “Anything after that?”

  “Can’t connect it exactly, but a psychology professor went missing from Florida State, after giving an internship to a female student instead of Warner. But, again, nothing could be proved, and they never found the body.”

  Eric’s stomach roiled and burned. “Please tell me that’s all.”

  “He’s a member of Edgewood Golf Club.”

  It could have been Warner who’d locked them in the steam room. Not Proctor. If he’d been there at the time. “Can you send me a picture of this guy?”

  “You got it.”

  His phone chimed, and he glanced over.

  Acid shot into his throat.

  The guy sitting with Julian at the golf club. The man who’d left the table. Eric had the wrong guy, and Warner knew it. Let him sit there and interrogate Proctor.

  He’d been right under his nose!

  Eric banged the steering wheel and parked on the street, then shot across the sidewalk to Warner’s office building. He climbed the steps and turned the knob.

  Locked.

  Why would he lock the doors if he was seeing patients?

  The thought of something horrible happening to Bryn sent his elbow to the window, breaking the glass. He climbed inside, tearing the leather sleeve of his jacket.

  Inside, he pulled his weapon and crept across the foyer and down the hall. Water spilled out onto the hardwood. He pushed open the door. Glass covered the floor; tables and chairs had been knocked over.

  Bryn’s purse lay on the desk.

  He called in backup, hung up and moved through the halls to a door that led down a set of stairs into a dank basement. Eric tiptoed down each stair until it opened up into a large room.

  God, please let Bryn be okay. Keep her safe. Help me.

  Sweat snaked down temples and back. His heartbeat pulsed in his ears.

  A huge tank, like an oversize drum cage, with a thick glass door swung open wide met him, water spilling across the concrete floor.

  Inside the tank, Bryn lay limp. Hair sprawled across her face.

  No!

  His legs turned shaky and his chest constricted, but he rushed across the floor, stepped into the tank, and knelt in front of her. “Bryn! Bryn,” he whispered.

  She didn’t move.

  How could he have lost her when he hadn’t had the chance to make her his yet?

  His face flushed, then turned cold.

  Checking her pulse, he willed his own heart to slow down.

  There it was! So faint he almost believed he was imagining it.

  Scuffling from the other side of the room drew his attention.

  Eric jumped to his feet, pointed his weapon and waited for Dr. Warner to come out into the open. He wanted to shoot first, ask questions later.

  Were those sirens in the distance?

  Elliot Warner stepped into the room.

  “Hands over your head. Slow.”

  “Ah, Detective Hale. You’re a tad late.” He chuckled but didn’t resist arrest as Eric read him his rights.

  He thought she was dead. No wonder he didn’t bother to fight. He knew it was over. He must be relishing in destroying what he’d think of as his greatest threat. A female law enforcer.

  But she wasn’t dead. Hurry up, first responders! Eric had no idea how long she’d been under—how much damage had been done. He itched to go to her. To hold her.

  The quiet echo of sirens now screeched.

  “You might like to know, she was brave at first. But in the end, she panicked. Like they all do.”

  Eric balled his fists and reined in his temper.

  Reinforcements barreled into the basement and hauled Warner away.

  Racing to Bryn, he turned her over, brushed her hair from her face. “You brave woman, I love you,” he murmured. His hand trembled against her pale cheek; her lips were tinged blue.

  Thank you, God. For saving her.

  He brushed his lips across Bryn’s forehead, and her eyes flickered open.

  “Eric,” she rasped and coughed. “You are a Jedi.”

  He kissed her hand and chuckled. “About time you admit it.” It was about time she admitted she loved him and wanted to spend her life with him, too.

  Paramedics entered, and he backed away as they checked Bryn’s vitals. Her body shook, and her bottom lip quivered.

 

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