Into the Night (Killer Instinct 3)

And they’d found the dead.

“This is...this is the most I’ve ever found,” Dr. Lang said, her voice soft and sad. Bowen glanced to the left and saw that she was also staring at the graves. Her long hair was pulled back but tendrils had escaped to blow in the breeze. “How long was he doing this?”

“Several years.” At first, he’d thought that Curtis had only been hunting for the last two years, but to know the time frame for certain, they’d have to figure out who the other three missing—dead—victims were. Maybe there would be dental records that could provide a match for them. Or DNA that—

“I heard you shot him.” She turned to look up at him. She was small, probably only around five feet tall, so her head tipped back as she met his stare.

“Yes.” He was going to kill Macey.

I could have aimed for his leg. I could have blown the bastard’s knee out. But I didn’t. “I killed him,” Bowen said flatly.

“Did he say anything, before he died? About why—”

Bowen gave a rough laugh. “There wasn’t a why. But he was bragging. Telling us about how easy it was to make the kills.”

Dr. Lang drove her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “You work with serials all the time, right?”

Too much of the time, but it was a job he’d chosen. He inclined his head in response, but his gaze passed over her shoulder and toward the cabin. Where was Macey?

“Why do you think he did it? Why do they all do it?”

“Every monster has a different story.” He looked back at the graves. “Sometimes they were hurt when they were younger. Their minds get bent. Twisted. Sometimes they were just always twisted.”

Dr. Lang took a step back. “Born bad.”

“Something like that. I’ve seen killers who just like the pain they give others. They get off on the torture because they’re wired wrong.” He could be using fancier terms, but screw it. He’d killed a man that day. Macey had been hurt. He was long past the point of politeness. “And I’ve seen killers strike because they were abused so much as kids that they don’t understand right and wrong any longer. They’re in pain and they want others to suffer, too.”

“What about the ones who have no empathy at all?”

He considered that. “Those are the most dangerous ones. When you can’t feel, there’s nothing to hold you back.”

Dr. Lang tucked her hair behind her ear. “I see what the monsters leave behind. That’s what I find. And that’s what scares me.”

There was plenty to be scared of out in the world. Plenty that most people never saw, but because of his job, Bowen had an up-close view of it day in and day out.

He’d surrendered his gun to the local FBI agents after the shooting. There were always procedures to follow after an agent-involved fatality. But he’d fucking hated giving up that gun.

The other perp is still out there. The guy who took Curtis and kept him in that cabin is still running loose.

It was a good thing Bowen had a backup weapon. He didn’t intend to be caught unaware.

And where was Macey? His hands had fisted at his sides. “Excuse me,” he said to Dr. Lang. “I need to find my partner.”

“Oh, right, yeah, I think I saw her with the ranger a few minutes ago.” She pointed to the right. “They were over there.”

He nodded and then he was stalking off to the right. After Curtis had died, things had moved fucking fast. Backup had flown in on a chopper, the scene had been swarmed and Macey—she hadn’t spoken to him.

He rounded the corner of the cabin and saw her standing near an ATV. As Dr. Lang had said, Zack was at her side. Bowen’s steps became faster as he closed in. She turned at his approach, and he swore that she tensed.

Bowen lifted his hand and curled his fingers very carefully under her chin.

Hands off... The warning whispered through his mind.

Fuck that.

He tilted her head back so that he could better study the white bandage on her neck. “Does it hurt?”

She took a step away from him.

Bowen’s hand fell to his side and fisted once more.

“It’s only a scratch,” she said softly. “I’ve had worse.”

His gaze flew to hers. I don’t like thinking of that, baby. I don’t like remembering that this is the second time a twisted killer has put his knife on you.

He didn’t like that shit at all.

“You shot him,” Zack said.

Slowly, Bowen’s head turned so that he stared at the other man.

“I’ve never seen...” Zack blew out a hard breath. “I’ve never seen someone kill before.”

“Curtis Zale was a killer,” Bowen said. “There’s a line of bodies behind the cabin to prove that fact. And he held a knife to my partner’s throat. What did you expect me to do?”

Zack shook his head. “I—”

Macey moved again, only this time, she put herself right beside Bowen. Her arm brushed against his. “Bowen was acting in self-defense. Curtis Zale was coming at us with the knife. He wasn’t going to stop. If he’d been able to do so, he would have killed me, killed Bowen, and then...then he would have come after you, Zack.”

Zack ran a hand over his face. “Guess you two deal with this shit every day, huh?”

“We deal with killers every day,” Macey said while Bowen remained silent. “And it doesn’t get easier.” She glanced at Bowen from the corner of her eye. “Sometimes, you have to make the hard decisions. You have to make decisions that rip you apart.”

Someone called out for the ranger. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, but before he left, the guy paused and squeezed Macey’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Zack’s voice had deepened, taken on a personal note. “I didn’t like seeing him with that knife at your throat.”

Like that moment had been a fucking cakewalk for Bowen. He clenched his teeth and bit back the angry retort he wanted to throw at Zack. Bowen remained silent until the ranger had walked away.

Then...he focused on Macey. His breath expelled in a soft rush. Her eyes were on him, her body still close. “Does it hurt?” His fingers skimmed along her throat.

Macey shivered. “I told you, it’s barely a scratch.”

He stepped even closer to her. “The ranger isn’t the only one who didn’t like that bastard having his knife at your throat.” His hand was still against her throat.

Hands off. Once more, that warning slipped through his head. But, just like before, he ignored it. He wanted his hands on her.

“Bowen, there are a lot of eyes here,” she cautioned him. “They’re watching us.”

“No, they’re looking at a crime scene. Thirteen dead, Mace. Thirteen.” All killed by that little prick who’d been in the cabin.

“I shouldn’t have seen a victim.” Now her voice was subdued. “That was what I wanted to see. If I’d been more careful—”

“We both saw the same thing.” She wasn’t going to carry that guilt, not when he’d been the one to pull the trigger. “The guy was good at making people see things. How else did he get all those hikers to trust him?” To trust him, then to die. “I’m the one who left you alone in there with him.”

“I thought he was getting water out of his bag.” She stepped away, damn it, and ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t realize he was going for a weapon, not until it was too late.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Because I was involved in a fatal shooting, you know I’m about to get benched.”

“No, you don’t—”

“Protocol.” He smiled, but he knew it was mocking. “There always has to be an investigation. You know the drill. You’ll be working in the field with someone else, probably Tucker, and I’ll be playing bench.”

“The perp contacted you, Bowen. You’re in this thing, and I don’t think you’ll be able to step back. Protocol or not.”

He didn’t want to step back. If anything, he wanted to step closer to her and hold her as tight as he could. But

Bowen didn’t move toward her. He locked his muscles down and he stared at her, drinking her in. She’s alive. She’s safe.

But this was the second time, the second fucking time, that she’d come close to dying on his watch. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Saving us both?”

“For not doing a better job of keeping you safe.”

Macey shook her head. “Don’t give me that line of bull, Bowen. You’re the reason we’re both walking around right now. And you’re the reason Curtis won’t ever hurt anyone else.”

His lashes flickered. “The perp found him first.” He rocked back on his heels and considered the scene around him. “He found them all first. We’re dragging behind him, and the guy knows it.”

“Bowen—”

“Thirteen men died, and we didn’t even realize a serial was hunting here. Curtis Zale had the perfect killing grounds up here. But someone, this perp—he figured out what was happening. He found Curtis Zale.” And that just begged the question... “Who the hell will he find next?”

* * *

WHEN THEY FINALLY got back to town, Bowen and Macey stopped by the police station. A weary-eyed Henry Harwell stood on the front steps, staring into the night. When he saw them, he motioned them forward. Captain Harwell had been out at the crime scene, but the guy had been running around like mad. They hadn’t exactly had time for a chat.

Harwell took them back to his office and shut the door. “You were right.”

Macey sat in one of the chairs near the captain’s desk. Bowen stood. “Right about what, exactly?” Bowen asked the guy.

“A serial was hunting here. Right under my nose. And I did nothing.” His face was pale. “Now I have to live with that shit. I didn’t know.”

“Serials can often go undetected,” Macey murmured. Dark shadows were under her beautiful eyes. “Especially the organized ones. Curtis Zale had a very distinct MO, and a very specialized hunting ground. He planned his attacks. There was never a reason to suspect foul play. Just that—”

“That amateur hikers got lost on a trail.” Harwell’s smile was humorless. “I should have investigated more. I should have seen this.”

“You aren’t the only one,” Bowen muttered. He was still wondering just how the perp had found Curtis. The guy’s knowledge of profiling was damn good. He’s showing us the killers he’s found. The ones we’ve missed. He’s showing us that he’s the better hunter.

Bowen’s phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket, frowning. He figured it would be a call from Samantha Dark, telling him to take a back seat in this investigation because of his involvement in the shooting.

But Samantha wasn’t calling him. It was the same number that had called him before. A number routed from within the police station. His gaze shot to Macey. “It’s him.” In the next breath, he growled, “Search this fucking station... The call is from the same number.” They’d thought the number had just been routed through the station before, a trick, but they couldn’t overlook any possibility.

His fingers slid over the screen and he tapped to receive the call. “Murphy—”

“I beat you to him.” It was the same robotic voice as before.

“The guy had been there for days—of course, you fucking beat us.”

The captain had rushed out of the office, no doubt going to get his staff to search the building, but when Macey moved to follow him, Bowen’s hand flew out and curled around her arm. Stay, he mouthed to her. He wanted her to hear exactly what the guy had to say.

“You stacked the deck,” Bowen continued grimly. The FBI was monitoring his phone. After the last call, he’d made sure they would be keeping tabs on his callers. The longer he kept the guy on the phone, the better. The captain can search the building and the FBI can wade through your tech tricks to find you. “You had Curtis Zale all along. Trapped up in that cabin, hungry, dehydrated...”

The perp’s laughter came again. “I thought that was fair, considering what he’d done to his victims. I mean, you know he starved them for days, right? Denied them food, made them piss themselves. Until they were so desperate at the end that they were ready to slit their own throats.” He paused. “Not that they did, Curtis was the one to use his knife on them. He told me all about it...when I had him tied up in the cabin.”

“You could have just called the police and told them about the guy.”

“Not my fault the police were too blind to see what was happening. The dead are on them. On the inept captain who couldn’t get shit done.”

Bowen forced his teeth to unclench. “You keep calling me—why not just tell me what’s happening—”

“You liked killing him, didn’t you?” the distorted voice demanded. “Come on, it’s me. You can be honest with me.” More laughter. “Was it just like old times for you?”

Bowen’s hand fell away from Macey’s arm.

“Bet you loved pulling that trigger. I’ve got to know...was it a head shot? No, no, I’m guessing heart. You shot that bastard right in the heart, didn’t you?”

Macey was texting on her phone. Contacting Samantha? The others at the FBI so they could give them the trace?

“Did it feel good, seeing him die in front of you? Did it make you feel...like the monster I know you are?”

Macey’s head whipped up. Her eyes locked on Bowen.

He stared straight at her. What does she see when she looks at me? “I don’t like your games,” he snarled.

“No, what you don’t like is that I’m better at profiling than you are.” Even though the voice was robotic, smugness still rang through those words. “Daniel was ‘the Doctor,’ Patrick was ‘the Pyro’ and...dumbass Curtis didn’t have a fun name, but I think I deserve one, don’t you? How about you tell the press to call me ‘The Profiler’? Because that’s what I fucking am.”

“No, you’re a killer,” Macey said, stepping forward. “You’re a man who enjoys the terror he causes, but you want to justify what you’re doing. You want to make your murders right so you’re targeting the people you think are dangerous, expendable, you—”

“I wasn’t the one who murdered Curtis. In fact, I fed him. I gave him water. I even kept him tied up so he wouldn’t hurt anyone. What the fuck more did you want from me? For me to put a red bow on his forehead?” There was a crackle of static and what sounded like...was that a train horn in the distance? There were no train tracks near the station. “I’m guessing he pissed you off, huh, Bowen? What did he do? Did he use that knife of his on your pretty partner?”

Macey’s eyes had narrowed. Had she heard that train, too?

“Not the first time a knife has cut into her skin,” the caller mused. “Won’t be the last, either.”

Bowen nearly crushed the damn phone. “You aren’t threatening her.”

Laughter.

And then—

The line went dead.

The door flew open. “Searched...searched the whole station,” Harwell panted. His chest rose and fell as he sucked in deep breaths. “Had my men...span out. He’s not here.”

Bowen hadn’t really thought he was, but he’d still needed that checked.

Macey had her phone at her ear. “The FBI is tracking him... They say...” She listened for a moment. Then her lips thinned. “He’s tapped into the phone lines here, but they caught him this time... He isn’t here. Routing his call, pinging towers, jumping all over. He’s—” Her eyes widened as she listened. “Got him! Five miles away. They have the address. Come on!”

And then they were racing out of the office and out of the police station. Bowen jumped into the SUV with Macey while Harwell and two of his men rushed into their patrol cars. Macey gave him directions and Bowen hauled ass to get to the scene. And as he approached...he saw the train tracks.

You bastard. You think you’re so smart, don’t you?

“Here,” Macey said. “Stop here!”

He slammed on the brakes and jumped out. In the distance, he could see the light from the train as

it chugged away. They were at an old building, a closed gas station that appeared to have been boarded up for years. Bowen and Macey pulled out flashlights as they began to search the scene. And there, right next to the filling pump, he found the phone on the ground.

He picked it up and ice filled his veins. There was a picture on that phone’s screen.

The picture was of Macey.

Not the first time a knife has cut into her skin. Won’t be the last, either.

CHAPTER NINE

MACEY STARED OUT at the night. She was back in her rented cabin, back in the loft, and the place was snug and warm, but she couldn’t seem to shake the chill from her bones.

She’d showered. Changed. Gotten the blood off her skin. When she’d put her hands on Curtis’s chest, his blood had pumped between her fingers so fast. She’d known she couldn’t save him, but she’d still tried.

She always had to try.

She skirted around the pool table and her hand lightly pushed a few of the balls. They rolled across the table and she watched them, oddly soothed by their movements. Bowen was downstairs. Sleeping?

Maybe. He’d been silent when they came back to the cabin, but she’d felt his fury all around her. The picture...the picture of her had sent him into a cold rage. It had been a picture taken recently—taken of her when she’d been coming out of the ME’s office in North Carolina.

The perp had been watching her there. She had the feeling that he’d been watching them for a very long time.

There had been other pictures on the phone. Shots of her and Bowen arriving in Hiddlewood. Images of Daniel...after he’d been killed. Photos of the ME in North Carolina, Sofia Lopez. Shots of Sheriff Burt Morris.

The perp had been watching them all. Keeping close tabs on their investigation.

Another component that made him an organized killer. Killers of his type often liked to get up close to the investigation; sometimes, they would even try to insert themselves into the investigation. They’d go back to the scene of the crime, hang around the police station, lurking in the shadows...