Cold Fear (23 page)

“Smells great. Thanks.” He shook his head as if clearing out his earlier mood. “You wanna come in and share?”

“No thanks. I already ate with Kit.” She dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out a small bag of rice. She tucked it into his suit jacket pocket because his hands were full. She and Kit were getting on for a change and she planned to take full advantage.

“I take it ASAC Frazer”—
God, I don’t know the guy’s first name
—“should have told you about your friend?” It must be the agent he’d told her about earlier.

Randall grimaced. “I guess he’s keeping a confidence, but she’s the one who called me in on this—I’ve known her for years. You’d think he’d…” He shook his head again. “Doesn’t matter. I’m whining.”

“He must have his reasons. Maybe your friend asked him to keep it to himself?” Lucas Randall seemed like a heck of a nice guy—exactly the sort of man she should be dating if she ever really wanted to find herself a man to have a relationship with. Why couldn’t his eyes intrigue her, his smile?

She glanced behind him and saw a large white board set up against one wall. She couldn’t see what was on it, but the reality of what these men were doing here hit home. She took a step back. “Anyway, I better get home to Kit. She’s hit the eating phase of depression, so I put her to work making cookie dough.”

“Thanks for the food. Oh, hang on—” He grabbed some keys off the sideboard. “Kit’s car is parked around the side of the cottage. Frazer won’t be back for hours tonight, if at all, but I’ll leave him some food—the bastard.” He grinned to soften the insult.

The three small throwaway words “if at all” caused a twinge of panic to surge inside her. It reminded her their time here was temporary. Very temporary. Izzy wanted to ask where Frazer was, but it was none of her business.

“Do me a favor and keep those doors and windows tightly locked tonight.” Randall’s dark brown eyes ran over the bulge of her gun she wore beneath her jacket. “Keep that thing close.”

His words brought on a fresh wave of unease. “Is there something you haven’t told me?” she asked.

He shook his head, but she suddenly didn’t believe him. It seemed that not telling people everything they needed to know was an FBI habit—although she couldn’t exactly claim innocence in that department. She said goodbye and headed home.

How long would it be before someone came to her door and told her they’d found her father’s body buried at Parson’s Point? Not long enough, that was for damn sure.

Chapter Fourteen

F
OR THE MILLIONTH
time he looked at the photograph on his cell phone and wondered why it affected him so much.

He’d seen hundreds if not thousands more graphic images. Usually the woman was naked. Pussy and tits on full display as she bent over, sucking off some guy’s cock. This image was tame by comparison. The girl wore a short skirt, but no underwear or skin was visible. There were no shoes on her stocking-clad feet. Her hair was tied up into a loose ponytail on top of her head.

The image was almost innocent if you discounted the look of bliss on the strained mouth of the lucky bastard getting blown.

Despite knowing who the girl was, the photo made him as hard as stone every time he looked at the damn thing and that was despite jacking off so often his dick was sore. He shifted uncomfortably in the seat of the white van.

He slunk lower in his seat as the girl he was after finally came out of her house. She lived on Roanoke. She had dark hair and finely plucked brows. She began jogging and he started the engine and drove past her, about half a mile to the parking lot of a green space where, according to her social media posts, she ran early in the morning on a regular basis.

It was a Saturday, but it was quiet.

He waited until he saw her approaching in the side mirror. He got out and opened the side door of the van. A little dog shot out, trailing a lead behind him.

“Topper. Dammit, Topper!” he cried at the dog.

The girl smiled and grabbed the end of the leash as the ball of fur ran around her legs excitedly. She picked up the dog in her arms and came towards him, holding out the mutt.

“He’s adorable.” She laughed and closed her eyes as the dog licked her face.

He slammed her full force in the face, his fist catching her jaw and knocking her to the ground like a wrecking ball. Her hands flew wide, and she dropped the terrier who scampered away, yipping. He scooped up the girl and threw her inside the van, climbing in behind her and slamming the door shut. He knelt on her back and stuffed a gag in her mouth, pulling it tight. She tried to buck him off, but he outweighed her by a good hundred pounds. He pulled both hands behind her back and bound them with duct tape. Then he grabbed one ankle, then the other, hogtied her until her feet and hands almost met in the middle of her back.

She rolled around, but she couldn’t go anywhere. Her face was distorted in fear and agony, snot and blood smeared over her cheeks.

She wasn’t looking so tough now. Little bitch.

He took her phone off a clip at her belt. Removed the battery. He had plans for this one. Intended to take his time with her. Get a little payback. She deserved it for messing with someone he cared about. He climbed over the front seat and started the van, reversing out of the space. The little dog he’d found wandering around the streets earlier that morning ran into the park with the leash dragging behind him. It had all gone down without a hitch. Piece of cake.

Chapter Fifteen

F
RAZER AND
H
ANRAHAN
surrendered their weapons and submitted to a thorough search before they walked through the first in a series of metal doors and sally ports. When Frazer had visited a Supermax facility in Colorado on Christmas Eve, he hadn’t expected to be back behind bars again quite so soon. They followed the guard who’d been assigned to take them to the interview room. This place was older than the Supermax facility, smaller, dirtier, and noisier. It stank of unwashed bodies and blocked drains. Of hundreds of men locked up in a confined space. It had less sophisticated security than the Supermax, but no one was escaping without a full-scale military assault on the complex—or a cunning plan.

Protesters both for and against the death penalty were already gathering not far from the main entrance, carrying placards and banners. It happened whenever there was an execution but the warden would be watching for any hint of trouble.

Frazer had gotten the phone call he’d been expecting after he’d spoken to Isadora in the parking lot of the police station. Ferris Denker had requested an interview with Hanrahan. Just as well—Frazer had been within an inch of doing something stupid with the sexy doctor next-door. Instead, he’d put some distance between them and had driven from the Outer Banks overnight, catching a couple hours sleep in a motel before picking up Hanrahan at Columbia Metropolitan Airport en route. The reunion had been stilted, and Hanrahan had been quiet on the drive down, rereading his notes on the case, deep in thought.

Now he asked, “Who takes the lead?”

“You do. I’ll jump in when I need to,” said Frazer. Hanrahan didn’t need any pointers. Frazer had learned everything he knew about interviewing serial killers from this man. Memories from that West Virginian wood tried to crowd into his mind, bringing with it the familiar sense of betrayal but this time Frazer ignored it. They’d both made mistakes. He didn’t excuse what Hanrahan had done, the same way he didn’t excuse his own actions. But he wasn’t about to reveal his own sins and end up on death row like these predators—more importantly he wasn’t about to expose people he cared about, or destroy an institution he believed in. They kept their silence out of loyalty to one another and the BAU—and the knowledge that when they did their jobs right, they saved innocent lives.

Being angry with Hanrahan was hypocritical, and served no purpose.

“I want him to feel important, important enough to warrant one of the best BAU personnel coming out of retirement to talk to him.”

Hanrahan flinched.

“You were the best, Art.” Frazer spoke quietly. He paused. Now was the time to let it go. “What you did went against every ideal you’d taught me, but it’s done now. Over.” It wasn’t an apology, but the other man seemed to understand it was a truce of sorts.

Hanrahan sent him a look that spoke volumes. “I made you compromise yourself and I know what that costs.”

“I made my own choices. I always do,” Frazer said bluntly. He strove for perfection and that’s what he demanded in others.

Hanrahan stopped their forward progress. “I’ve helped put away some evil human beings, Linc, but the greatest achievement of my life was pulling you out of that room in Ohio—not just because I rescued a kid, but because of all the good you’ve done in your career. All the people
you’ve
saved.”

The memory of that long ago night was locked up tight inside Frazer’s brain. It didn’t get out much. “Your second greatest achievement was putting a bullet in the man who killed my parents.” And who’d held him captive for five long days. “If you hadn’t, I’d have ended up in a place like this because I would have hunted him down and I
would
have killed him. Make of that what you will.” Remnants of the rage-filled fifteen-year-old wanted to leak through but he held him tightly in check. He always did.

“It makes you human.”

“Not good enough,” Frazer snapped.

“I made you…” Hanrahan’s voice caught. The words could never be uttered out loud. “I know I screwed up last year. If I could go back and fix it, I would. But you made the right choice.”

“There was no
choice
.” The anger escaped briefly. Frazer indicated the other man move ahead of him. “But I don’t lose sleep over it. I don’t lose sleep over any of the monsters who are gone from this earth, so let’s make sure Denker joins their ranks. And let’s see if we can get his partner before anyone else has to die.”

They reached a room with another steel door. The guard opened it and waved them inside. Hanrahan went first. Frazer followed, giving an uncertain smile to the man sitting chained behind a table that was bolted to the floor. Frazer scraped his chair back as he sat and made a big show of arranging the file folders he’d brought with him as if he were unsure where he’d put everything he needed.

“Agent Hanrahan. Good to see you. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a little tied up.” Denker’s smile creased the skin around his eyes as he raised his shackled arms. “You’re looking well. Retirement must suit you.”

So the guy followed the news—most serial killers did if it pertained to their cases or their lives.

“Retirement does suit me. I earned it.” Hanrahan dropped heavily into his seat and leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh. “I hear you’ve been doing well, Ferris. Warden told me you earned your theology degree?”

Ferris nodded. “Decided I better find out more about Heaven and Hell if I was going to be visiting soon.”
Heaven
? He had to be kidding. “Do you believe in the power of repentance, Art?”

“Well.” Hanrahan ran his tongue slowly around his teeth before answering. “It’s easy for someone to say they repent, Ferris. I think you actually have to believe it to make it count.”

A tight grin slashed Denker’s lips across his face. Hanrahan had testified in court that Denker was incapable of experiencing human emotions such as empathy or regret. He saw his victims, all things really, as means to his personal gratification. “So you don’t think my repentance will mean much to a Christian God? You think I’m going to Hell?”

“I think we’re all going to Hell, Ferris,” Hanrahan said with a tired grimace.

Denker’s eyes narrowed. “Some sooner than others.”

Frazer could only hope.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” Hanrahan ran his eyes around the room as if bored.
Stop wasting my time. Tell me something interesting.

Denker ignored Hanrahan and turned his attention to Frazer. “Who’s this kid?”

Frazer was well aware he looked a good decade younger than he actually was. He used it to an advantage. He held out his hand awkwardly across the table, forcing himself to grasp the man’s clammy fingers even though he was chained. “Lincoln Frazer.” He wasn’t about to admit being higher up the totem pole than Hanrahan. He wanted to stay in the background and observe, for now.

Denker squinted as if searching through memories. “Name sounds familiar.”

Frazer smiled, pretending to be pleased the guy had heard of him. “I took over from SSA Hanrahan when he retired. I’m glad that you agreed to meet with us before you, er…hmm.” Frazer coughed. As if they’d been the one to request this meeting, not the other way around. “I was, er, hoping to ask you a few questions to use in my criminal psychology lectures.”

Denker looked both flattered and irritated. He ignored Frazer—because as egotistical as Denker was, he was on a mission and that mission was saving his own ass. He didn’t think Frazer could get him what he needed. His mistake.

“Talk to the governor, Art. Get the death penalty quashed and I’ll even mark assignments for aspiring Feds.” He nodded toward Frazer like he was a mook. As if they needed him to be experts on aberrant behavior when the guy was a textbook predator: narcissistic, calculating, manipulative. No empathy, no remorse, no conscience.

Frazer already knew what made Ferris Denker tick. Having women helpless and at his mercy. Causing pain until he ejaculated from the pure sadistic thrill of it. Denker thought that the fact he tortured and killed to classical music made him a more sophisticated killer. Frazer didn’t care about the soundtrack, he just wanted justice for the victims, and maybe a little payback.

Hanrahan shook his head sadly. “You know I don’t have that sort of power, Ferris.” He opened his hands wide. “The judge made the decision and the appeals process is finished. Time to pay your dues.”

Denker’s gaze shifted between them before finally settling on his own fingers which he stroked over one another in a way that made the hair on Frazer’s neck stand taut. “What if there were other crimes?”