Profile of Retribution: FBI Profiler Romantic Suspense (Profile Series #3) Page 8

  “Oh, no. Are you thinking that the guy who threatened Tisha in my cafe might be the one who did this?”

  “I don’t know. Could be. Do you remember what he looks like? There’s a good chance Cam will contact you for that information. I told him your story.”

  “Like I said, he was huge and weighed at least two hundred pounds. He was tall, around six feet four or so. In his forties or maybe even fifties, but his body was fit like he worked hard for a living, or worked out. His brown hair was dusted with gray. That’s about all I remember. But I think I could recognize him in a photo if Cam has a suspect.”

  “My theory is Cam has seven families filled with suspects. The Lucas boys killed seven young women. Each member of these families might be the one who thinks retribution is his right. But which one?”

  There was empty silence for a long time, but surprisingly it didn’t seem awkward, at least not to Bryan. They swung back and forth, and there was no other place he’d rather be than sitting next to Mollie, so close he could feel the warmth of her body.

  As it turned out, Mollie was the first to speak. “One of the things I like about you, Bryan, is your sense of empathy. You dissect human bodies for a living, and yet you still maintain your ability to feel what others might be feeling. Right now, my brain is telling me to back off. My heart is telling me how much I’d like to.”

  He turned to her with a questioning expression. Her fingers lightly touched his face and traced the line of his jaw all the way to his hairline. She didn’t stop until her hand was at the back of his neck and she pulled him to her. Bryan dared not move, for fear she would stop touching him. His whole being was filled with wanting her. She gently kissed him, then drew back and looked into his eyes. Touching her lips to his, the kiss was as gentle as the spring breeze. Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her closer and kissed her back, slowly and thoughtfully, because he’d been waiting for this moment for a long, long time.

  Bryan left Mollie’s house at midnight, and he was the happiest he’d been in years. They’d spent hours on her porch swing just talking and holding each other. He’d almost told her he loved her, but realized it was much too soon. He’d waited for her for years; he could wait a bit longer.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Fire and the Note

  As he drove home, he realized there was a lot to think about. Building a strong relationship was hard work, but he was in it for the long haul. He’d do whatever it took to keep Mollie in his life. Then there was her daughter, Hailey. He’d never been a father, but he’d seen a good one in action. His dad was everything a child could ever want for a parent, starting from the moment Bryan was born, when his dad got up with him at night so his mother could sleep. Dad was one of those hands-on parents. Diapering his baby wasn’t a foreign concept to him. When Bryan was old enough to walk, his father had him in the backyard, teaching him to catch a softball. From grade school on, his dad could be seen in the bleachers cheering for him. Bryan decided right then that he’d be the same kind of dad to Hailey.

  Rolling down his car windows, he enjoyed the cool spring air whipping about his face. He couldn’t stop grinning.

  Bryan was a mile or so away from his house when he saw a thick column of smoke rising in the distance. As he drew closer, he realized the smoke was coming from the Lucas place. He floored the accelerator. Slipping his cell phone out of his pocket, he called Cameron.

  “Hey, there’s a fire at the Lucas place.”

  It sounded like Cameron dropped the phone and then picked it up. “Are you fucking kidding me? Where are you?”

  “On my way home. I’m almost to the Lucas property. Something’s on fire.”

  “I’ll call dispatch and be there soon.”

  When Bryan reached the Lucas place, he saw their mailbox was on fire, flames licking at the wooden structure, so he raced up the driveway to their darkened house. On the front door, he pounded and shouted their names.

  A light went on in the upstairs window, and Tisha appeared in the window, her eyes fixed on the fire.

  Soon the porch light came on and a drowsy Bradley in boxer shorts opened the door. He saw the fire before he noticed Bryan. “Oh, shit.”

  “Are you and Tisha okay? That’s all that matters. You can replace the mailbox tomorrow.”

  Nodding, Bradley focused on Bryan. “Yeah, we’re fine. We were sleeping.”

  “Why don’t you get some clothes on and I’ll walk the perimeter around the house to make sure he didn’t try to set the house on fire. You should check the interior.”

  Bradley’s eyes widened; he nodded and closed the door.

  Bryan stepped off the front porch, but something caught his eye and he went back. Peeking from under the porch mat was a folded white piece of paper. Slipping some latex gloves out of his jacket, he put them on and lifted the paper. Unfolding it, he realized it was another note, similar to the one Cam had shown him. This one read:

  May you burn in hell with the animals you called sons.

  Slipping it into an evidence bag, he shoved it into his pocket.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Bradley

  Bradley flipped on a bedroom lamp and searched for his jeans. Plucking up a pair lying on a chair, he pulled them on, then noticed Tisha standing in front of the window as if she were mesmerized by the fire.

  “Tisha, throw some clothes on. That was Bryan Pittman downstairs. The police are coming.”

  Whipping around to face him, her hand was pressed against her chest in surprise. She stared wide-eyed for several seconds before speaking. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

  “Can’t be sure. I didn’t see a note. Unless you found one and didn’t tell me about it again.” He shot her a glare. It still pissed him off that she kept the first note her own little secret.

  Tisha shot back a defiant look. “No, I didn’t find a note.”

  She tried to pass him but he grabbed her arm. “Don’t ever hide something like that from me again. You put us both in danger.”

  “Let go of my arm.” He let go and noticed the red marks his fingers had made on her pale skin. Damn it. Was he abusing his wife now?

  Tisha continued, “I didn’t tell you about the first note because you never believed me when I tried to warn you. I’ve got years under my belt of warning you about the twins, and not once did you take me seriously.”

  “I’m sorry, Tisha. How many times do I have to tell you before you believe me? I’m sorry. I can’t undo the past. We don’t have time to talk about this now. Please grab your robe and we’ll check the rest of the house together to see if he tried to get in or set fires in other places.”

  Checking every door and window in the house, they saw no evidence of someone trying to break in nor were there any signs of fire. By the time they got to the front door, Cameron’s vehicle was parked by the garage and he held a white paper as he talked to Bryan in the yard.

  “It was him, wasn’t it?” Tisha shouted. “That’s another one of his messages that you’re holding. What does it say?”

  Cameron quickly slipped the evidence bag back to Bryan. “Same veiled threat as the first one.”

  Bradley had reached them by then and held out his hand for the note. Bryan looked at Cam and then gave the evidence bag to him. He read it before Tisha snatched it out of his hands.

  Alarm came into her eyes, and Bradley wished he could hold her and make it all go away. She searched Cameron’s face, as she handed back the note. “He isn’t going to stop, is he? He won’t stop until we’re dead.”

  “Tisha, we don’t know that to be true.” Bradley reached for her, but she stepped back as if his touch were poison. It hurt just as much as the first time she reacted that way. He was her husband. He should be the first person she ran to for comfort. Instead, she pushed him away.

  Cameron ran his fingers through his thick hair. “Your husband is right. We don’t know how far he’ll take this. He wants payback. Maybe he is getting enough by the vandalism he’s done so far.�
��

  Bradley interrupted. “What about the mailbox?”

  “It looks like he stuffed old rags in your mailbox after he soaked them in gasoline. The smell alone indicates that’s what he used as an accelerant. Nothing sophisticated.” Cameron shrugged and looked at Bryan.

  “I checked the perimeter and saw no signs that his intent was to set the house on fire. That’s a good thing. I’ve already sent the first note to the lab. I’ll send this one, too. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll find a fingerprint or DNA.” Bryan paused, looked at the couple, and continued, “I’m sorry this is happening to you. You don’t deserve it.”

  “Don’t we?” Tisha asked, avoiding her husband’s eyes. “We’re the ones who raised the monsters who ground out those girls’ lives like they were cigarettes they’d finished.”

  Scowling, Bradley moved an inch closer to her. “Stop it, Tisha.”

  Looking as if she were close to hysteria, she said, “I’m not like you. I can’t deny what they did, and I can feel for those families who lost their daughters, sisters, wives or mothers. Our sons did that to them.” Tisha ran into the house, slamming the front door behind her.

  Bradley looked at his feet, unable to make eye contact, not knowing what to say or do. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be,” Bryan offered. “I imagine you raised your sons the best you could. Like I said before, I’m sorry this is happening to you.” Taking out a business card, he wrote something on the back. “I live up the road. Here’s my number. If you need anything, just call.”

  A lump clogged Bradley’s throat. There it was again, this time in the doctor’s eyes. Pity. Concern. The last things he needed or wanted, so he changed the subject as he turned his attention to Cameron. “Any suspects?”

  “Sorry, I can’t talk about an active investigation.”

  “Well, that’s a pile of crap. I’m still the county commissioner.”

  Cameron shrugged his apology. “Still can’t talk about it.”

  Bradley scowled at him and then hurried to the front porch. Soon he disappeared inside the house.

  “Tisha?” He called for her as he searched each of the rooms on the first level. Upstairs he heard water running, so he stood outside the bathroom door. “Tisha?”

  “Go away.” His wife was in the shower, thinking that the running water would drown out the sound of her sobs. It didn’t. And it was all he could do to keep from breaking down the door.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The Call

  It was five in the morning, as Cameron sat at his work desk, thoroughly pissed off that no one had bothered to make fresh coffee, and that the jerk vandal had been at it again at the Lucas place the night before. One would think three deputies and four dispatchers could find it in their busy work lives to dump some fresh coffee grounds in the machine and push a button.

  Ripping open three packets of sugar, he dumped them in what looked like sludge and shook his head in disgust. Desperate for some caffeine, he took a first sip and nearly spit the bitter brew all over his desk. Pushing the mug away, he started his computer and then opened a file drawer and pulled out the Gamers’ case file. Removing the crime scene photos on top, he pulled out the victim folders that contained contact information for the surviving families.

  The first folder belonged to Destiny Cooke, former beauty queen and college graduate. She was the daughter of Anthony and Bobbie Cooke and fiancée to Justin Andrews. Destiny had the brightest of futures ahead of her, but that all ended at her wedding rehearsal when Evan and Devan Lucas abducted and later killed her. Her funeral was attended by most of Shawnee County. Cameron had tried to stick by Justin most of the day, because the state trooper was his friend and needed him. That day, and in the days to follow, Justin seemed broken, and there wasn’t a damn thing Cameron could do about it.

  Did he think Anthony, Bobbie, and Justin were angry about the way Destiny died? Who wouldn’t be? Was their rage so fierce as to seek retribution? He didn’t know.

  He jotted down the Cooke’s address and made a mental note to call Justin later. Most of the time, he loved his job. This was not one of those times.

  Deputy Sawyer popped in his office at seven, holding a hot cup of fresh coffee and a newspaper.

  “Good morning, Gail. Thanks for the coffee, but I’ve got no time to read the paper.”

  She unfolded the newspaper on his desk in front of him. “Sir, I think you’ll want to see this.”

  Taking a quick sip of coffee, he waited for her to explain, but she’d already left the room. Glancing down, he saw why she disappeared with such haste. The headline read: Vandal sets Lucas Mailbox on Fire. Aw, shit. Where in the hell did they get their information? The article was short, but hinted that this was not the first act of vandalism to the Lucas property, and that the couple had been the targeted. Great. Just great. As if they didn’t have enough going on, the article had the potential to give every copycat nutcase wild ideas on how they could harm the Lucas couple and get the support of most of the county.

  Cameron slammed his fist on the desk, and then reached for his phone. He dialed the editor’s number at the Morel Journal.

  “Hello, Sgt. Chase. It didn’t take you long to call.” Jack Wyatt, the new editor, had proved himself to be an asshole and no friend to the Shawnee Sheriff’s Office. A small man, Jack was no more than five foot four. Carly once said he had a Napoleon complex; he compensated for his small size by being overly aggressive, even when the situation didn’t call for aggression in the first place. That summed up Jack Wyatt in a nutshell.

  “Looks like you had a slow news day. Since when do vandalism articles become headline news?”

  “I guess it depends on whose property the vandalism occurs.”

  “It was a mailbox, Jack. It wasn’t their house and garage. We’re not talking a towering inferno.”

  “This time…”

  Cameron ignored his remark and continued, “How did you even know about it?”

  “Got an anonymous call.”

  The editor acted like he was a leading member of the press who’d just uncovered the scoop of the century. Cameron had the urge to shake him. It was just a fucking mailbox. Next he’d say he had to protect his sources.

  “Who called you?”

  “How do I know? I said it was anonymous.”

  Cameron rolled his eyes. “Right.”

  “I know this isn’t the first time the Lucas place was vandalized. The caller said something about a bloody rock?”

  This got Cameron’s interest. The only one who’d know about the bloody rock was the guy who threw it. “Sorry, Jack, I’m not sure what he’s talking about. Did he say anything else?”

  “He did, but he was mumbling and I couldn’t understand him.”

  “Any chance I can get a hold of your phone records?”

  “Not even a sliver of a chance.”

  “Have you ever heard of the term ‘obstruction of justice’?”

  “Hey, get a warrant. Go for it.”

  Cameron shook his head. Did he expect anything less from Editor Jack Wyatt? He called Gail in so she could start the process to subpoena Jack’s business phone records. If they were lucky, they’d be able to identify their suspect by his telephone number. On the other hand, the chances were excellent that David109 used a burner cell. He’d been smart so far. Why deviate now?

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Bobbie and Anthony

  It would have been hard to miss the Cooke house on Washington Street. It was the only Cape Cod home in town, painted a soft yellow with white trim. Two cars were in the drive, so Cameron was relatively certain he’d be able to talk to both Bobbie and Anthony and get it over with.

  He’d received a text from Bryan before he left the office. Both notes had been examined, but no fingerprints or DNA. The blood coating the rock was not human. Not the best of news for someone who wanted to apprehend his suspect as soon as possible.

  Bobbie Cooke answered
the door and led him into a small living room where Anthony sat watching television.

  “Hey, Cameron. It’s been a long time.” He flicked off the TV and swiveled in his chair. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “I just made a pitcher of sweet tea,” said Bobbie. “I’ll get you a glass.”

  As soon as his wife left the room, Anthony looked Cameron squarely in the eye. “Is your visit personal or professional?”

  “I’m afraid it is professional.”

  Bobbie returned, handed a glass of sweet tea to Cameron, and sat down in a chair near him.

  Obviously not a man who favored chit-chat, Anthony asked, “What’s going on?”

  “I’m investigating some vandalism at the Lucas place.”

  “We saw the article in the paper this morning. What does that have to do with us?”

  “Do you know anyone who would want to hurt Bradley and Tisha Lucas?”

  Anthony stiffened. “That’s not what you want to know. You’re asking if we would want to hurt them.”

  “Oh, Lord no.” Bobbie blinked and clenched her hands in her lap. “Those poor people. Someone tried to hurt them?”

  “Poor people? Are you serious, woman? Those people raised the teenagers who killed our Destiny. How can you feel sorry for them?”

  Her voice turned soft and low. “Anthony, if you don’t forgive, you can’t move on.”

  Becoming agitated, Anthony waved his hands expressively as he talked. “I think I’ve heard about enough about your forgiveness campaign, Bobbie. I want no part of it.”

  He turned to Cameron. “Unlike her mother, I cannot forgive Destiny’s killers. Bored, rich teenagers looking for their next thrill. No, I can’t forgive them, or the parents who brought them into the world. I know both Tisha and Bradley Lucas. Cold, self-centered and pompous, both of them. I sure don’t feel sorry that someone struck out at them. Not a bit.”