Disarming Detective (21 page)

It would explain how he’d crafted the perfect message to her, too. He’d probably seen the real message from Hank, telling Logan that Fink was in custody.

But right now, the only thing that mattered was that it hadn’t been Logan texting her.

So where was Logan? Was he hurt? Was he dead?

A sob welled up and Ella pushed it back as the figure got closer, stepping into the light. She didn’t recognize him.

She readied herself to fight, calling on all the training the FBI had drilled into her during her eighteen weeks at the Academy.

Then he pulled his hand from behind his back and fast, too fast, something was swinging toward her head.

Ella ducked and spun, trying to dart around the killer, to get out the door.

But he was quick for his size and he blocked her way and swung again. The block of wood flew past her as she darted backward, throwing herself off balance. And then he was swinging again, before she got her equilibrium back.

His next swing caught her on the arm and sent her flying. She crashed to the floor, sliding into the staircase.

Immediately, she flipped over, tried to push herself to her feet, and then the wood was coming at her again. It struck her temple and pain exploded in her head.

Bile filled Ella’s throat and the room dimmed around her. As she felt herself losing the battle for consciousness, the killer stepped over her and raised the wood again.

She tried to lift her hands to block the blow, but they wouldn’t move.

And then everything went dark.

* * *

C
ONSCIOUSNESS
RETURNED
SLOWLY
,
PAINFULLY
.

When Ella forced her eyes open, the ceiling was blurry, moving with every beat of her heart. Her head throbbed so badly she was nauseated.

She was sitting on a chair, her head lolling over the back. When Ella tried to move her head, tried to shift so she could see where she was, she realized her arms and legs wouldn’t move. She was tied to the chair.

Fear skittered along her nerve endings. How long had she been out? Was she still in the cabin? Where was Logan? Where was the killer?

She heard a low, pained moan and wondered who else was in the room until she realized it was her making the noise. Sucking in a deep breath, Ella used all her strength to move her head, so she could look around. Another groan ripped from her throat as her forehead throbbed harder and a stream of blood slid down her cheek.

She was hurt worse than she’d realized. She probably had a concussion. The right side of her forehead felt swollen to the size of a grapefruit and there was a haze over her eyes.

Ella blinked and squinted, trying to get her bearings. She was in a room, probably a bedroom, though the chair she was sitting on was the only furniture. The shades were down on the sole window, but she was pretty sure she was still in the cabin, probably upstairs now.

She listened hard, trying to determine whether the killer had left, but all she could hear was a buzzing in her ears that she suspected was connected to her head injury.

Then a form filled the doorway and Ella swallowed back a scream. He was blurry through her clouded vision, but he was big. Not quite Hank O’Connor big, but close.

“You’re awake,” he snarled, stepping closer.

Ella blinked and blinked until her vision started to clear, until she could make out his face. Light blue eyes, sandy blond hair, average features. She didn’t recognize him. But the look in his eyes told her all she needed to know: he was planning to kill her.

Why hadn’t he done it yet? Why had he bothered to knock her out and tie her up? Bile rose up her throat. Did he plan to burn and torture her like he had his victims?

The idea made tears rush forward, but Ella held them in, staring him dead in the eyes. If he was a sadist, he wanted her afraid, and she refused to give it to him. Not that easily.

As if he could read her mind, as if he was anticipating her taking the hard way, he smiled. A slow, calculating curve of his mouth that made her want to shrink backward.

But there was nowhere to go.

Ella tugged at the bonds tying her hands behind her back, but they were tight, digging into her wrists. Her ankles were latched to the legs of the chair equally tightly.

He watched her test them, then laughed, a deep, guttural sound. “Believe me, I know how to tie a knot. Don’t bother.”

Ella forced words through her dry mouth. “Who are you?”

He scowled at her and the average, unmemorable features became a dark mask of fury. “You should know. You came looking for me.”

Ella ran through the options in her head, the people she had specifically questioned. “You work for Adam Pawlter, don’t you?”

“And it’s a waste of my time,” he spat, his scowl deepening.

Ella squinted at him, trying to read him. “But it works for you. It’s physical work, but it doesn’t take too much mental energy. It gives you time with your fantasies. You’ve had them a long time, haven’t you? Probably most of your life.”

“Trying to profile me?” he asked darkly, pulling off his long-sleeved T-shirt and tossing it aside as if he was about to get physical.

“Burns,” Ella murmured. His face was untouched, but the burn marks covered his arms completely down to his elbow, disappearing up under the sleeves of his undershirt. She’d been right. And the fact that he had burn scars meant he burned his victims for a personal reason, maybe not to torture them, but for some other gratification. Maybe to make them look like him.

He stepped close, bracing his hands on her arms, making her twitch with the desire to break away from his touch. Then he leaned down so his eyes were inches from hers. He smelled like ocean brine and smoke.

Ella tried not to flinch.

“Yes, I have burns. You planning to analyze me, profiler? Maybe we should talk about why I burn them.” His voice dropped low, almost to a growl. “You want me to show you? You want to see how it feels?”

“No,” Ella croaked, panic erupting. Was this where Theresa and Laurie had died? Tied to this chair, begging for their lives?

She needed to get him on a new subject, fast. But what would distract him?

“How did you lure them to you? That’s what I couldn’t figure out,” she said quickly, even though she already knew. She was betting that he’d want to brag about how clever he was. She could tell by the sick smile spreading across his face when she asked that he loved feeling the power he gained from tricking his victims.

Then his eyes narrowed, as though he knew what she was doing. He pushed himself away from the chair and said, “They thought they were meeting someone else. Just like you did.”

“You hacked their phones.”

“Yes.” Amusement flickered in his eyes. “I got the idea a few years ago. It took me a while to figure it out. I had to make a rather unsavory friend, get him to teach me. Then he hooked me up with his spoofing service, made that part real simple for me. And the connection turned out to be mutually beneficial.”

“Why?” Ella asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer. Had he killed for someone else, too? It wouldn’t fit his self-centered needs, but maybe it had given him a chance to practice.

“It’s not what you’re thinking. I just gave him an alibi. He doesn’t know what I do. And now I’ve got something to hold over his head. Just in case.”

“What about Theresa and Laurie? Tell me about them.”

“They were so stupid. They got the texts and neither of them bothered to call and verify. I didn’t think they would. I was very, very careful with the wording, to make it sound like the person they expected.” He smiled, baring his teeth, and the light that came into his eyes was unnatural and evil. “They came right to me. And then it was too late for them.”

“It was you who texted Logan,” she realized.

“Of course. Becky is still at her parents’ house, safe and sound. At least for now. But I knew he’d go running to save her. He made it so easy. I actually thought he might have been more of a challenge, being a
detective
and all. And you.” He shook his head. “You were pitiful. Running up the stairs like that, the look on your face when you saw the rose petals I put out for you.”

Shivers inched up Ella’s skin. Where was Logan now? The need to ask was overwhelming, but she was terrified of the answer. And terrified that if by some miracle he was still alive, she shouldn’t remind the killer.

How had he known Logan had told her about the cabin? Hacking Logan’s phone might have told him Sean Fink was in custody, but it wouldn’t have told him about the cabin. Had he been listening at Logan’s house last night? The thought made her time with Logan feel tainted.

She desperately wanted to ask if Logan was okay, but she forced herself not to, forced herself to ask instead, “How did you know to mention a cabin?”

He smiled, that creepy, self-satisfied smile that made Ella want to knock it off his face. “I followed Theresa all week. I knew as soon as I saw her that I wanted her. I thought she was going to be perfect.” His smile fell off. “But she wasn’t. She wasn’t perfect at all.”

“You overheard her talk about the cabin?”

“I overheard Becky telling her all kinds of things. About her grandparents’ house in Huntsville, about the family cabin on the ocean, about her nickname for her brother.” He leaned close to her again, so close that she could feel his breath on her face. “Becky could be perfect, too. I don’t know yet.”

A new sort of fear rushed through her. She couldn’t let anything happen to Logan’s little sister. Even if he was gone, he would want her to try to protect Becky.

The thought that Logan could already be dead, that she’d never see his green eyes sparkling with laughter or desire again, that she’d never have the chance to tell him she loved him, made her feel as if she was choking. As if all the air had been sucked out of the room and her heart was compensating by beating faster and faster.

She was having a panic attack, she realized as her head dropped to her chest. She’d never had one in her life, but that had to be what this was.

Get it together, Cortez.

She focused on slowing her heart rate, on evening out her breathing, and tried not to think about anything beyond getting out of this chair. She’d worry about everything else afterward.

But how could she get free?

She knew her best chance was to keep him talking, learn as much as she could about how he thought, and then try to use it against him, use it to get him to make a mistake. From the BAU office, she did that all the time. Analyzed killers and told the police how to make them slip up. But the stakes had never been her own life, the lives of people she loved.

Ella jerked her head back up and the room spun. When it straightened out, the killer was staring at her, studying her.

“You don’t want anything to happen to Becky,” he said in flat tone. “Or to Logan.”

Ella felt tears rush to her eyes with relief. Logan was still alive.

“But you should have thought of that before you talked to Adam. Before you stopped by the dock and called me. You’re way too persistent. The other guys never ask why I keep my shirt on out on the ocean. They just figure I’m out of shape and embarrassed. But if the cops started asking about burns, it might have come out that I stay covered up. It might have made you suspect me specifically. I can’t have you digging around anymore.” He walked around behind her and she felt his hand slide underneath her head to grab the back of the chair.

Then the chair tilted backward and he was dragging her through the doorway as the whole world spun. He pulled the chair down the hall and then kicked open the door to another room, yanking her inside and setting the chair straight again.

When she had her equilibrium back, she saw she wasn’t alone.

Tied to the chair next to her was Logan. She didn’t see any immediate injuries, but his head lolled to the side, his eyes closed. It was only by staring intently that she could see his chest faintly rising and falling, and confirm that he really was alive.

“Logan,” she breathed.

But he remained silent and still.

“He had no idea until you showed up in town,” the killer spat at her. “I would have left him alone. It’s your fault. Remember that.”

“No.” Ella shook her head frantically and pain burst behind her eyes. “We have someone else in custody. You know that.” She sounded desperate, even to her own ears.

“It was only a matter of time before you realized Sean Fink wasn’t smart enough to do this.” A half smile formed on his lips. “You’re quick.” The smile dropped off and was replaced by a dark scowl. “You shot the van. That’s going to be a problem. But if you’d just been easier to kill, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

“No,” Ella protested. “It’s not—”

He shrugged. “It’s too late now, profiler. You’re going to have to disappear. Both of you.”

Chapter Sixteen

He heard Ella’s voice. It was coming from a great, great distance, and Logan struggled to reach it, fighting the blackness that threatened to pull him under again.

As his mind cleared, he started to remember. Going to Becky’s house and being ambushed. He’d woken again, trussed up in the back of a van that smelled like shrimp, bouncing along the road, not knowing where he was headed. As soon as the van had opened and the killer had realized he was awake, Logan had gotten stunned with the Taser again, then hit in the head with something.

It had happened a fifth time when he’d come to in the bedroom of a cabin. And then he’d stayed under. For how long, he had no idea.

But if he could hear Ella... He prayed it was just his unconscious mind wishing for her, that she wasn’t really here, but even before he pried his eyes open, he knew she was. He could sense her beside him.

And as his eyes focused, there she was. Tied to the chair next to him, the right side of her forehead swollen, blood streaking over her cheek. “Ella,” he rasped.

“Logan.” She sounded so relieved, and more clear-headed than he was, despite her injury.

Logan forced his head to lift, and his spine creaked in protest after too long with his head hanging sideways. He drew in a deep breath, trying to get his mind to focus. The air felt thick and noxious, and he tried to identify why, but all he could focus on was Ella. “Are you okay?”