Chapter 21

Special Agent Jack Stone

We hightail back to the field office and I race to get inside because somehow Fallon managed to beat us here.

"All Hale the chief," I say, mock saluting our SAC as Nikki and I storm the office. I shoot a look to Fallon. "How did it go?"

"Wonderful," she says, looking stiff and stoic. "She's comping me another course. I'll get a chance to go over it in depth this weekend." Her eyes linger over mine a moment too long and it feels as if I've just been fed a line. "I was just filling Hale in." She nods past me. "Nikki, thanks for covering me today. I appreciate that."

"You're a team. That's what you do," Hale says, looking at her sternly before offering Nikki and me the same dark expression. "Sheriff Reed contacted the office and let me know there were two more bodies discovered in the woods last night. A man and a woman. The bodies were not buried. Both discovered by hikers. Forensics was able to move quickly. They're both being processed at the morgue."

"Where were they found?" I ask, ready to take notes and connect the dots if need be.

"Eagle Pass and Twin Pines," he says, turning on the screen above his head to a map freckled with red dots. "This is where the bodies have been found so far. All six of them, the head of Ms. Gannon excluded."

"Look at that." Nikki's chest trembles with a laugh. "We've almost got a complete circle."

Fallon nods. "With Ironwood Springs tucked neatly in the middle. It's almost as if the killer is baiting us to find them."

I glance her way and her gaze latches to mine as we think about it.

"The branding," she says. "Can you pull up the autopsies again?"

Hale starts to do just that, but Nikki is already clicking at her keyboard like mad.

"What are we looking for?" she asks.

"Right or left torso. A triangle on top. There's a line running from the top to the bottom. With two other lines fanning out from under the triangle," Fallon tells her.

Nikki draws it out on a piece of paper. "Almost looks like two triangles with the one on the bottom missing a third line. It must mean something."

"Mountains, trees," Hale offers. "Any number of twisted things qualify." A corpse pops up on the screen. "Bill Atwood," he says as he focuses in on the torso.

"There it is," I say, pointing up at the screen. "Zoom in on the hard right."

And sure enough, we've got a triangular image with three lines dancing from it.

We take a look at the other corpses, and Melissa Kilpatrick, Janelle Medina, and Brandy Richardson all have the very same markings.

"Who wants to bet our shiny new corpses will have the exact same branding?" Nikki says, closing her laptop.

"How were the other two killed?" Fallon asks just as Hale pops the sheriff's report onto the screen.

"Female, late twenties, throat slashed," he reads. "The body was found with multiple contusions, broken nose, and an arm that looked as if it were twisted. According to this, she was black and blue all over. Purple, green, and yellow bruising were present."

"Geez," Nikki gasps. "So if she had contusions that were evident, that means she got those before she died."

"Black and blue," I say. "Color indicates time frame. Yellow and green indicate five to ten days, so we'll go with that. Unless she was beaten daily."

"And in that house of horrors, it's completely possible," Nikki says.

Fallon squeezes her eyes shut for a moment.

"Everything all right?" I ask and she perks right up.

"I'm fine," she says. "I just feel bad for the victim." She glances to Hale. "How did the male die?"

"Throat slashed as well," he says, pulling up another report.

"What's the score?" I ask Nikki because I'm too lazy to dig through my notes.

"Four had their throats slashed, Janelle Medina succumbed to a nasty gash on the side of her head, and Melissa was strangled. One dismemberment—that would be Emily."

"Pull up Janelle," Fallon requests and Hale quickly obliges. "Get a tight shot of her neck."

The screen zooms in and we're treated to blotchy bruising.

"There it is," I say. "Someone tried to strangle her beforehand."

"They probably thought they did the job." Fallon shakes her head. "But the woman must have moaned or moved and they found a way to finish her off. And according to the coroner, Melissa was dead for several weeks before Janelle was killed. I think whoever did this found out the hard way how tedious and unpredictable a strangling could be."

"Makes sense," I say. "Everyone had their throat slashed after that. It's a cleaner kill."

"A certain death," Nikki says.

"We've got a serial killer hungry for bodies," Hale says. "And he or she is mining them from Paradise. Who are we looking at?"

"Malcolm and Patty Lewis are the head honchos in charge," I offer. "That puts them at the top of the suspect list."

Fallon shakes her head as if refuting the idea. "Yes, but Scarlett pointed out that there was another person, a supreme leader. She referenced him as a man, said he wears a red hood, and that no one knows who he is. She said he was a real lunatic."

"Supreme leader." Hale nods at the three of us as if we've got our answer. "He's the one in charge. But if he's protecting his identity from the general population, he's not going to out himself to us either." His lips curve with a slight smile as if he knows why.

Fallon raises a hand. "They're having a meeting Saturday night. I could try to get?—"

"No," Hale cuts her off at the pass. "Too many unknowns, too dangerous. Give it a few days, then head back to Ironwood and speak to Malcolm and Patty. I'll start the wheels moving for a search warrant and put together a task force to help with the project. We need to blanket that compound before anyone gets a chance to hide evidence. We'll shoot for Monday. That should give me enough time to get things together and hopefully have a full ID on the new bodies. If Malcolm and Patty are guilty, they won't volunteer a search. They can have their party on Saturday, but come Monday, they're finished."

We take off and Nikki heads home to Silver Peak while I follow Fallon to Pine Ridge Falls. We drive down Main Street and she waves as she heads into the parking lot of her mother's diner and pulls in alongside the sheriff's vehicle.

My chest expands at the sight and I'm about to take the turn toward Whispering Woods when I jerk the wheel in the other direction instead.

What the hell. I'm feeling a little hungry myself.

I glare at the sheriff's vehicle as I make my way inside.

A sheriff with seven bodies on his hands should be fired.

The diner issparse with patrons. The lunch crowd probably left two hours ago, and that leaves the place in limbo until dinner.

The music is soft, the scent of burgers hits hard, and that smug look on Rob Reed's face makes me want to punch someone—him to be exact.

Fallon is too busy smooching with his dog to notice my presence as I head their way.

"Fancy meeting you here." I shoot the sheriff a cheesy grin.

"Howdy," he says with a smile, but it looks forced as if he's not too thrilled to see me either.

Fallon looks up and her lips curl into a genuine grin. "I would have asked you to join me if I knew you were hungry. I thought you and Nikki just ate."

"We did," I confess without meaning to. "But I thought I'd grab something for my brother."

"Sit," she says. "We were just about to order."

A silver-haired maven struts this way, older, early sixties, lots of blue eyeshadow, hips that swivel, and an expression that says just try me.

I like her already.

"Mom, this is Special Agent Jack Stone," Fallon is quick to fill the woman in. "Stone, this is my mother, Bea. She owns the place." Fallon winks as she says it because she's already mentioned that to me.

"It's a great place," I say. "I've been meaning to stop in. Moved here a little over a year ago. I live out in Whispering Woods, just a few doors down from Fallon."

"Cozy," Rob says under his breath, but I choose to ignore it for now.

Her mother sizes me up as if I were a whole new species.

"Oh my word, aren't you a cup of hot buttered rum?" Bea purrs and elicits a laugh from me.

"Ignore her," Fallon insists. "She hails from Tennessee and tends to get extra country when she sees something she likes. Down, girl," she admonishes her mother somewhat playfully.

"Oh, come now." Bea waves her off. "I got eyes, don't I? Lucky you sitting at the table with two handsome men. What can I get for you all?"

Fallon and Rob put in their orders—burger specials for both—and I ask for two of the same to go.

She takes off and the dog bounces over to my side of the table before hopping up and licking my face.

"Down," Rob growls, but the smart pooch goes on undeterred. He knows a good thing when he sees it, and it's not his owner.

"That's okay, Buddy," I say, offering him a hearty scratch on his stomach. "I like you, too." I glance back at the man in blue. "So you hear about the bodies?"

"I heard first," he says, forcing a smile to come and go. "I'm on it. In fact, I'm expecting a full report from the coroner come morning."

"The other seven were branded," Fallon tells him before whipping out her phone and showing him a picture.

"Who's this?" He looks both amused and concerned. And seeing that it's a half-dressed stripper, I get it.

"Scarlett Blaze in all her glory." Fallon stretches the picture until her torso is on display. "Looks like a mountain and maybe a rough sketch of a tree underneath."

"Geez." Rob winces. "Looks brutal. Why anyone would do that is beyond me."

"You'd be surprised by the things people can talk themselves into," Fallon says. "Or more to the point, let others talk them into."

"I guess so." He ticks his head to the side. "That's the world we live in." His eyes linger on the photo for another moment. "People are forever searching for meaning, and unfortunately, they're looking in all sorts of places—always thinking they're on the edge of an event horizon ready to take them to the next level. Teetering on the brink of something profound—and nine times out of ten, it's just profoundly dangerous."

"The serial killer we're dealing with is the dangerous one," she tells him.

"Maybe so, but you don't want to spook him. Or he might just want to kill everyone around."

A waitress comes by and drops off our meals, two plates full of grilled perfection and enough fries to build a ladder to the moon, and a giant paper bag for me.

I wish the two of them a pleasant rest of the day before paying and taking off.

I feel as if I'm teetering on something profound myself—the heels of a killer.