Chapter 25

Special Agent Jack Stone

As I steer my truck toward Boulder, I can't stop thinking about the case.

Why do I get the feeling the answer is right in front of me?

Malcolm and Patty have been whirling through my mind nonstop for the last twenty-four hours, and I've spent about that much time digging up as much as I can on them. No records to speak of, none as of yet at least.

Jet grunts as he switches the radio station. It's his fault we're out tonight. There's a late-night recovery meeting out in Teal and he's been invited. Most likely because no one closer to home will invite him back.

I'll give it to Jet. It takes a lot of work to get booted from a recovery meeting. At least he's good at something.

On our way out, I drove past Fallon's place. No lights on and no truck in the driveway. Makes me wonder who she's with and what she's doing. I suppose her mother and sister are options, but I'll admit, my mind drifted far past any relation of hers.

Fallon is beautiful. And she's smart as hell. She makes a good team member, too. I may not admit it to her, but I'm glad to have her.

The roads snake through the rugged scenery and my mind treks back to the case. Seven bodies. All of them branded.

Murdered and dumped.

Not buried.

I shake my head. It's clear they all belonged to Paradise at one point and found hell in exchange for heaven. That sums up so much of this rotten planet.

The evergreens line either side of the road, blackened by their own shadows, the towering peaks in the distance stretch as far as the eye can see. And soon enough, the landscape shifts as we get closer to Boulder and the wilderness gives way to the manicured outline of the city. But nothing seems to be able to distract me from what evil might be lurking in Paradise. The irony isn't lost on me. But what is lost on me is how so many people can fall victim to such blatant brainwashing.

Unburied bodies…

I shake my head.

It's as if the killer is baiting us.

Four bodies before we were allowed to even look at the case.

Whoever dragged Emily Gannon's pretty little head across state lines was either a fool or knew exactly what they were doing.

But regardless, each of those bodies points like an arrow straight at Malcolm and Patty.

Something Scarlett said the other night comes back to me and my heart lurches in my chest. I take the next exit and Jet sits up as if waking from a stupor.

"Teal is past Boulder," Jet says, sounding increasingly annoyed with me. He was annoyed when I made him shower. Annoyed when I shoved a burger at him. Annoyed when I told him to stop jonesing for liquor. Annoyance is the state of our affairs as of late. Heck, it has been for the last fifteen years at least. "You took the wrong turn, dude."

"We're going to take a little side trip," I say, and soon enough I pull into the lot of the Boulder Beauties Gentlemen's Club.

Jet lets out a catcall that nearly takes out my eardrum.

"Now we're talking." He slaps his thigh as he laughs with approval. "Dude, is it my birthday?"

"No. And stop saying dude. You know I hate that."

"That's why I say it." He starts to get out and I yank him back.

"Stay here. I'll be five minutes."

I jog inside and the music and the stench of liquor hit me like a riot.

I stop the first waitress I see and ask if Scarlett is working this evening.

"Scarlett doesn't work here anymore," she says as the smile glides off her face. "She missed three sets. It's three strikes and you're out. But don't worry, honey"—she glides her finger over my cheek—"we've got lots of beautiful women here who would love to take care of the needs of a man like you."

"I'll keep that in mind," I say as I head out and jump back in my truck. "She's not there anymore," I say to myself, stumped, but Jet is too busy scrolling through his phone to notice.

That conversation with Scarlett plays out in my mind once again. The guy with the red hood must be pretty important if he doesn't want anyone to know who he is.

I nod as the pieces to the puzzle begin to fall into place.

I pull out my phone and scan through the plethora of material Fallon shot to Nikki and me, specifically the file from the Quantum Success program. I studied it as if it were my new Bible last night, and something struck me and I didn't know why. I scroll through pages and pages until I find it.

Get ready to shed the shackles from your past. You stand at the event horizon of a transformative new beginning.

"Huh." I stare at my phone in a daze.

I know why those bodies weren't buried.

I know why they were circling Ironwood Springs like a calling card.

And I sure as hell know why the sheriff's department hasn't budged an inch on any of it.

Hale said that monsters like this prefer to leave their signature, as if their demented behavior is their pride and joy. I pull up the photo of that insignia branded onto the victims and I know exactly what I'm looking at.

His initials. One letter pointing the right way, one sits backwards.

Scarlett was right. The man in the red hood is pretty important.

My eyes dart to the entry of the seedy club before me. The other night at the diner, Fallon mentioned that we had spoken to Scarlett.

Ice runs through my veins.

I have a dark feeling I know why she missed her last three sets.

Then it hits me. It's Saturday night. There's a big hoorah down in Paradise.

Fallon's truck was missing.

I shoot a look out the window.

She couldn't be. Would she?

Why wouldn't she tell me?

Then again, I have a feeling she doesn't tell me a lot of things.

I call Hale and he picks up on the first ring.

"What?" he snaps with all the enthusiasm as my brother.

"We need to get to Ironwood Springs asap. I'm about fifteen minutes away. I'll meet you there. Call Nikki and send backup. I know who the killer is and he needs to be stopped right now."

We hang up and Jet catches my eye.

"Geez." I hit the steering wheel.

As far as I see it, I've got two options—drop him off at the booze and boobs before me or take him with me. And seeing that he has an addiction to both booze and boobs, it's not the wisest move on my part. Even though he doesn't have cash or a credit card, there's nothing that would stop him from trying to down all the booze this place has to offer, and I don't feel like bailing him out of jail tonight.

"There's been a change of plans," I tell him as we hightail it out of the parking lot and get back on the road.

"You're goingto sit in the truck while I take care of a little business," I say to my brother as I speed us down to Ironwood Springs, to the back roads that lead to Paradise lost, and park as close as I can get to the front gate.

"Don't move a muscle," I warn as I get out, climb through the fence, and make my way toward the compound in the cover of darkness.

Every now and again I hear the murmur of a crowd collectively cheering and applauding.

I head in that direction, past the RV graveyard, past the tents, past Nightshade, the house that looks as if it's about to come to life and swallow me whole. A cache of red canisters sits dotted every ten feet or so around the periphery of the structure and I make a note of it. Odd location to store fuel.

I spot a crowd standing in a mammoth circle, and the fact every last one of them is naked as a jaybird doesn't seem to surprise me. I shoot across to the woods and duck in a thicket, climbing up the side of a pine until I'm perched about eight feet off the ground. The moon glows over their bodies and makes them shine like aliens. Three figures stand in the middle, clad in black robes. Malcolm, Patty, and a sturdier man with a red hood. A dry laugh thumps through my chest.

I can't wait to take him down myself.

I scan the crowd. Everyone is solemn, so very focused with the exception of a brunette who seems to be shifting her head ever so slightly from side to side. She turns this way briefly and my stomach drops.

I know exactly where Fallon Baxter is tonight.

She doesn't have her weapon on her.

She doesn't have anything on her.