It was time the public knew what was going on in Prince William County and also what Fox’s so-called heroic act had brought her.
He placed the call, and it rang to voicemail. He hung up immediately. He’d try again in a few minutes. What kind of journalist wasn’t sitting by their phone, regardless of the hour?
More anger whirled through him, his leg bouncing wildly.
Now what?
He’d consider how to get even with the detective, while staying focused on his mission. Should he kill her or toy with her?
He took his laptop and went into the farmhouse. There was no sign of his mother. She must have been puttering around the place somewhere, but he was happy for the solitude right now. Though that wasn’t always the case. He used to be a people person. He preferred team sports to solitary ones. The deer hunts his father took him on were some of the most horrible days of his childhood. There was no bonding, just his father’s desire to groom his son into a skilled archer, which had failed—though he was good at the gutting and skinning of the animal.
But when it came to baseball, he was part of a team
. He became so good at the sport that he’d received a college baseball scholarship. Not that the gift had led anywhere. He was still invisible to the people who should have loved him the most. His grades suffered, and so did his game. No baseball scout wanted him.
Even if he’d taken up bronc riding like his mother had wanted, that probably wouldn’t have been enough for her to really notice him. He was invisible because of her.
He sniffled and clenched his jaw. She could do nothing wrong—even when she did. But enough of that! He was finally taking hold of the reins of his life and seizing control. No wonder his mother was proud of him now and finally paying attention.
He made himself a coffee and set his laptop on the kitchen table as he waited for it to brew. He also took out his phone and tried that journalist again.
“Hello. Reyes here.”
Fraser had answered, and the shock of it rendered him momentarily mute.
“Hello?” Fraser repeated.
“Hi.” The one word scraped from his throat.
“Who is this?”
He felt on the spot and panicked. “I know something you need to know.”
“Let’s start with names. Yours would be?”
“No names, but I think there might be a serial killer in Prince William County.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, then, “What makes you say that?” There was hesitation and trepidation in Fraser’s voice.
He tried to suppress his amusement. He didn’t want his smile to travel the line. “My friend’s friend was murdered.”
“Keep talking.”
And that’s what he did. He told the journalist probably more than he should have. He mentioned the severed tongue, but surely Fox’s friend would have noted that little touch, so it wasn’t a far stretch that she’d, in turn, tell another friend. That’s why he went with “friend” not “neighbor.”
When he’d finished with the reporter, his coffee was cold, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He retrieved his cup and sat with it at the kitchen table.
His spirit felt lighter now, and there was a grace to his steps. To think he hadn’t been too sure he could murder a person at first, but it had come so naturally to him. In fact, he wished he’d started killing sooner. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that. All he could control was the future.
He’d read that when you were doing something purposeful to your soul, people and circumstances lined up for you and everything progressed smoothly. He was finally experiencing the truth of that.
He cracked his knuckles and got to work on his keyboard. It was time to select his next victim.
Twenty-Five
Amanda had left Becky’s around one in the morning. So much for getting a good night’s sleep. Brandon’s warning kept repeating in her head, along with his conviction that they were very likely looking for a serial killer. There was no room for emotion. She needed to remain grounded and detached. At the same time, she couldn’t dismiss the way things were looking and the fact there had been at least one active serial killer in the area before. Trent’s bullet scars were a testament to that.
She was at Central now in front of her computer, a black coffee within easy reach of her left hand. The clock on the wall told her it was just approaching eight o’clock, and she had been there for an hour already. It was Saturday morning, so there weren’t too many other people milling about, and the room felt peaceful. She’d texted Trent to meet her at the station when he got the message.