Chapter Nine

Bexley woke from a disturbing sleep, the weather channel playing on low volume. Elbow Cay, Bahamas, had over two hundred lives destroyed. The hurricane had finally lost some steam but was now moving northward toward an environment of high shear and cooler waters, re-strengthening to a Cat 3 as it flowed over the Gulf Stream. It was now offshore of the Georgia and South Carolina coasts. Jodie was expected to hit the Outer Banks soon. Officials were warning them to prepare for a Cat 4 hurricane if it increased in velocity.

What about Ahnah? Would she be safe wherever she was being held? Bexley's mind wouldn't let her believe that Ahnah was dead. Her sister was resilient and tough and smart. Bexley had trained her well in cults, manipulation, narcissistic men and any other form of psychology that would help keep her from becoming a victim.

Ahnah was not a victim, but a survivor. All Bexley could do was pray Ahnah would survive whatever was happening to her right now. Ahnah knew Bexley would scour the earth and enlist every resource she had, which were many, when dealing with rescuing women. Ahnah also knew Tiberius was FBI, and if push came to shove Bexley would call him. But it looked like the killer called him first. Bexley had picked up the phone half a dozen times but never called. Did that make her a terrible sister?

As far as Hurricane Jodie, Bexley would give it a few more days to decide on hunkering down or evacuating, and in the meantime, she'd make sure they had plenty of bread, junk food and water. Ty had camped out on her couch again last night. He'd come in about ten o' clock, looking weathered and wearied. He hadn't said much, but when Josiah had come into the living room, Ty's eyes brightened, and they spent an hour playing video games. She'd been surprised Josiah had even come out of his crypt after the conversation she'd had with him about drinking and friends who might be a bad influence.

Maybe she'd given him too much independence. How was a parent supposed to know how long to let out the leash? Seemed like every choice she made concerning her son was the wrong one. Josiah had taken the lecture mostly in silence, with a few eye rolls and a couple of huffs. When she'd brought up his new behavior, he'd commented he didn't need a psychiatrist and that he was working through some junk that was personal and was none of her business.

Children. She'd die for him and wanted to kill him simultaneously.

She swung her feet over the bed and slid her glasses onto her face, then proceeded to her bathroom. After brushing her teeth and running a brush through her mass of uncooperative hair, she padded into the living room, passing Josiah's closed door. It was Labor Day. He'd likely sleep all day. Teenagers. Oh well, tomorrow he'd return to school until the weather amped up and then they'd cancel.

But today wasn't a holiday for Tiberius or Bexley. When she entered the kitchen, he greeted her with a chin lift. The smell of coffee and frying eggs wafted through the room, and he stood over the stove with a spatula in one hand. He wore athletic pants and a Panthers T-shirt. His hair stuck up on one side, and his eyes were a little red.

The toaster popped, and four slices of toast sprang up. "Hope you don't mind," he said.

"No, no, it's fine."

"I gotta eat when I can. Who knows what the day will bring. Figured you'd be hungry. You still eat first thing when you wake or is that going away with age?"

"You calling me old?" She snagged a piece of toast and began buttering it.

"I'm calling you older." His grin was smug, and he flipped over the eggs without breaking a yolk.

"When did you learn to cook?"

"When my mama wasn't around to do it." He put the eggs on two plates. "I figured the boy won't be up for hours."

"Good call."

"That kid can eat, Bex. He went through an entire family-sized bag of Doritos and a two-liter last night. How do you afford him?"

"I go hungry," she teased, but caught his serious eye. "What?"

"I need to give you money. Seventeen years' worth."

She gingerly laid a hand on his shoulder. "Tiberius, if I wanted your money, I'd have made sure to get it. God has been good to us. We've always managed."

His right shoulder lifted. "Still. I feel like I've shirked my duties. Granted, I didn't know I had duties."

"I am sorry."

He handed her a plate of steaming eggs over medium. She put two pieces of the buttered toast on his plate, and they sat at the bar eating quietly.

Finally, Tiberius spoke. "We've been thinking about this killer. It's possible he's infiltrated your life. Any new clients lately or within the past year?"

"If he's a former cult member, I'd know him." She tore off a piece of toast and swiped it through the yolk.

"Not necessarily. Only if he lived in the gated community, and maybe not even then." He sipped his coffee. "We have to think of every possibility."

"I always have new clients, but the lion's share are women. No one is on my radar, but I'll go through and look. Thanks for breakfast, by the way, and spending time with Josiah. He kick your butt in Call of Duty again?"

"Well, of course. You talk to him about the drinking?" He mimicked her toast-dipping action.

"I did. It wasn't a pretty confrontation, but what teenager wants to be reprimanded? I think he'll adhere to the rules." At least, she hoped he would. A roaring out front caught her attention, and she frowned and headed for the front door.

Seemed a little early for mowing, especially small lawns with very little grass. She peeked out the front door. "You've got to be kidding me."

"What is it?"

"Not it. Who. Milo Brandywine. My client who walked in on us the other day. He's out here trying to mow my yard." She threw open the door and waved him down. He wore a faded blue Charlotte Hornets T-shirt, jeans with the knees worn, and grass-stained tennis shoes. His push mower was ancient, and he wore earbuds in his ears.

With a boyish grin, he shut down the mower and removed his earbuds. "Hey Miss Hemmingway. I drove by the other day and noticed your yard needed mowing. Thought I'd help you out."

Milo had no reason to be driving by her house when he lived on the other side of the island. "That's kind of you, but I can mow my own yard." After he burst into her office the other day, she had a feeling something like this might happen. "Really. It's Labor Day. Go home and relax. I'll see you in a few days for your appointment."

He pulled a face and held his hands out. "I wanted to do something nice for you, Miss Hemmingway. You've been good to me. You deserve to be taken care of, you know?"

Tiberius stepped up behind her, and his chest grazed the back of her head, his body heat radiating. "Problem out here?" he asked. She elbowed him in the gut.

"No. Milo was being kind, but it's unnecessary, right, Milo?"

"I guess." He leaned on the mower. "You're that guy yelling at Miss Hemmingway the other day, aren't you?"

"Milo, that's none of your concern. I'm completely safe. I'll see you at your appointment, okay?" Bexley said again with more insistence.

Reluctantly, Milo pushed his mower toward his beat-up truck. "Fine. But I don't think anyone should be yelling at you."

"I agree and appreciate that. See you soon." She closed her door as Milo clambered into his truck. Inside, she spun on Tiberius. "You're here about Ahnah and the person who abducted her. Not my personal life. Milo is sensitive and needs to be handled with care. He's no threat."

Tiberius shot her a warning look. "Everyone, until they're ruled out, is a threat. My job is to deal with threats." His phone rang. "Hold on, I'm not done."

"I am."

"Finish your eggs, Bex, and quit being bratty." He answered. "Hey, Bear, what's up?" His face paled and his jaw hardened. "Okay. I'm coming to you." He ended the call.

"What is it? What's happened?" She clutched the counter, her heart beating wildly out of control, and her muscles turned to lead, so heavy. Every limb of her body tugged her down as if the floor would open and suck her in.

"Another woman has been found. At Bodie Island Lighthouse. We don't know who she is."

"That's the north end of Cape Hatteras island. Nags Head. Can I come? What if it's—" She couldn't bring herself to say Ahnah's name. But it could be her. It might be her.

What if it was her?

Tall pines, marshland and small ponds surrounded Bodie Island Lighthouse. While a sight to behold, it wasn't the most well-known lighthouse on the island. At one hundred fifty-six feet tall, its beams shone for miles at night. Ty had visited here before. He'd visited all the lighthouses growing up through fishing trips with his father. They always reminded him of massive black-and-white-striped candy canes.

Today, it was nothing more than a beacon of death. He'd forbidden Bexley to come. If this latest victim was Ahnah, Ty didn't want her to see her this way. Ty didn't want to see her this way either. A cold burn filled his body as he ingested the sight. The crime scene tape drew a crowd, and he, along with the team, was already scanning the area. The killer might be here in the throng of people, watching with giddiness and awaiting a reaction from Ty. He would give him nothing and braced himself to see the sweet little girl—now a woman—Ahnah Hemmingway.

No one would be allowed in except for the SCU, the medical examiner and the FBI's Emergency Response Team, and anyone Asa said could cross the threshold. Increased foot traffic meant increased chances of compromising the scene.

Marsh grass rustled and the pines swayed as Ty gulped in the salty air with a hint of musk. White farming fence surrounded the lighthouse, visitor center and museum—which gave off farmhouse vibes.

But there, propped up at the entrance to the imposing lighthouse, was a naked woman. From here, her facial features were difficult to see. Her head rested against the door and her delicate left hand had been placed on her thigh, one ankle crossed over the other.

Brunette hair was piled in a tight bun on the top of her head. Milky eyes stared lifelessly. Her pale skin had been tattooed in multicolored flowers except her soles, palms and face.

Owen murmured a prayer, and Asa heaved a sigh. Violet moved closer to the body and knelt, staring at her from eye level. The wind picked up as if protesting this death, and the murmurs of the media floated on the increased force.

As Ty approached, he realized it wasn't Ahnah. A weight lifted from his shoulders, and he let out a breath. While he was relieved it wasn't the little girl he'd loved, the stark reality that this was someone's loved one and they would receive no relief like Ty pressed against his rib cage. He had to get justice for these families. To at least give them closure.

"Any identification?" he asked.

Big Guns, as Ty had dubbed him, was on the scene.

Deputy Grady Dorn shook his head. "Not yet."

"These tattoos are dahlias," Violet said.

The name rang a bell. "Dahlia Anderson went missing over a year ago in Nags Head." Explained the full-body coverage of tattoos. She'd been missing the longest. "She was on the list. Hold on." He brought up the list with photos of each missing woman. There she was. Alphabetical order. "It's her. It's Dahlia Anderson." He showed the team her photo. They'd still have a family member ID her.

Her flowers ranged from pink to orange to blue. Intricate and looking almost 3-D. Some had double blooms. Others were smaller—the ones by the neck like on Amy-Rose and Lily Hayes. "Not as many closed blooms on her as Lily Hayes but far less than on Amy-Rose."

"I stand by my theory," Violet said. "Open blooms mean she obeyed or acquiesced. Closed blooms reveal her rebellion." She pointed to the note card nailed into her palm. "You want to do the honors?"

Not particularly, but Ty knelt and read the black lettering aloud for the team and Deputy Dorn, who was squinting, his head cocked, studying Ty.

I can only imagine how your heart thrummed in your chest as you approached my sweet Dahlia. It's not Ahnah. That doesn't mean the next one won't be. I hold the power of life and death in my hands. That includes yours, Agent Granger. It also includes those you love. I know each and every one you hold dear. Get ready for more pain.

A reply wouldn't form. His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. Bexley. Josiah. Ahnah. "This cements what we suspected. He has Ahnah. He's toying with us. With me." He slammed a fist into his palm after promising himself he'd show no emotion in case the killer was watching, but the fury and fear were equal, hot and cold driving his reaction.

"We'll get him. We will," Owen insisted.

"She isn't crudely posed," Violet said, "which reiterates this wasn't sexual in nature—at least not the posing. Her nudity is about exposing his art. Like Michelangelo's David. She has calluses on her big toes. Was she a dancer?"

"Nothing in the report to indicate so, but we can find out," Asa replied. "Did the other women have calluses?"

"I'll need to check the photos again. If they do, I missed it." Violet continued to inspect the body. "Ty, do you remember anything else about her other than that she was a travel agent?"

"Twenty-seven. Specialized in trips to the Outer Banks, in particular Blue Harbor and Nags Head. Lived alone. One cat. Family lives in the Charlotte area—we called and talked to them two days ago. No boyfriend. Selah hasn't said anything yet about her social media accounts other than she can't find connections or a singular man who could link to all the victims."

Ty texted Bexley to inform her it wasn't Ahnah. She was probably climbing the walls about now.

"What happens when he runs out of lighthouses?" Owen asked.

"Good question," Violet said. "They're his shining light, his shining moment. What I want to know is, how long will he keep these women? Not all of these women are linked to Ty. He's killed two to bring us to his doorstep. One to toy with Tiberius—and all of us—and to let him know he's got Ahnah and at any time could kill her. He's screwing with you at their expense."

Would the next body be this evil man's toy or would it be Ahnah?

Ty's eggs and toast threatened to come back up. The fact his name was being used in nearly every sentence regarding this killer sickened him. Ty was no one's pawn. Under no one's authority, especially a deranged ink master who clearly knew his past.

Ty couldn't put it off any longer. He should have made the call two days ago. But he'd wanted to be absolutely certain before interjecting himself back into that world for even thirty seconds.

"Excuse me," he said.

As he walked away, he heard Owen say to Violet, "Was that foreboding display necessary, Violet? Sometimes you don't think."

"All I do is think, Owen, and it's a big part of the reason we catch these killers." No braggadocios in her voice. Simply facts.

Once Ty was out of earshot, he texted Selah for the number. Didn't even have it anymore. Had never wanted it again. Had no intention of ever hearing that low, thundering voice.

Selah returned his text with a shamrock emoji next to the word good and the number.

With a trembling finger, he pressed the number and let it ring.

Once...twice...

"Rand Granger," his father's voice said, transporting Ty back seventeen years. He'd been the favorite who could do no wrong. The only son to bear the Prophet's middle name.

Did he call him Father or Rand?

"It's Tiberius." He decided to let Father take the lead on the titles and position.

Silence stretched like a taut rope awaiting a fool to test it over an abyss.

"Tiberius," he said softly. "What can I do for you?" No son. No Agent. Did he even know he was a special agent with the FBI? Ty had been on the national news, which Father watched. Only leadership were allowed TV privileges. Other members were barred from watching propaganda and wickedness that would rot their souls.

"I'm with the FBI now. We're investigating three murders in the Outer Banks and missing women who potentially connect."

"Yes, I heard that. Saw the press coverage."

Rand had watched him on TV. Did he have any positive thoughts about him? Should it matter? It sickened Ty to realize he still clung to the hope his father would approve of him—this vile man. "We have evidence that leads us to believe it might be a former member of the Family of Glory. I wanted to ask if you'd be courteous and send us a list of members who have left or been disfellowshipped within the past ten years."

A hissing of breath releasing filtered across the line. "Our Family has enough false rumors circulating. I do not want a serial killer getting any kind of connection to us in the press. Besides, it's highly unlikely."

"Anyone who may have been disfellowshipped for deflowering a young woman? Can you at least tell me that?"

"Other than you, Ty?" His accusation landed with a one-two punch to the kidney.

He swallowed the jagged pill. "Besides me. Garrick hasn't left in the past year, has he?"

"Of course not. He's taking my Office when I go to rest in peace. But these days, I'm believing I may live to the millennium."

Ty rolled his eyes.

"And to insinuate that the Lord's anointed would have anything to do with murder—"

"I want a list, Rand." This man fathered him but he was no father, and Ty would never call him by that term again. "That's all."

"Well, you can't have one without a warrant. Good day, Agent." The line went dead. He white-knuckled the phone, knowing this was the projected outcome but irritated anyway. Nothing had changed.

He returned to the scene and relayed the phone call with the team.

Asa frowned. "For now, Ty and I will go to the morgue with the medical examiner," Asa said. "You good to fly out?"

Ty nodded.

"Violet, you and Owen follow up here."

"We'll make sure no one gets through the tape," Deputy Dorn said.

"Thanks." Asa motioned Ty to follow him.

Once they were boarded on the plane to Raleigh, Ty asked, "How are we going to get ahead of this one, Bear? We have nothing concrete for a warrant, but we need that list."

"I don't know. I'm going to pray for a break."

At this point, Ty would take that prayer. He needed anything he could get.

This monster was coming for him full force and willing to extinguish anyone in his path. But unlike a hurricane, this killer was flesh and blood. He could be stopped. He could be put in the ground, and Ty was going to see to it that it happened. He only hoped it was before another person died.