Chapter Thirteen

Wilmington was more vibrant with tourists than Blue Harbor, which—barring gruesome murders—was a quiet, charming seaside town. One Tiberius could imagine settling down in, if he wasn't doing this gig.

The wind off the Cape Fear river blew his hair. Next to him, Owen gawked at seagulls skulking around the Riverwalk Landing near South Water Street. A string of shops, restaurants and boutiques lined the river, but mostly it was rows of condos. At night it was probably hoppin' with nightlife. The smell of beef grilling, funnel cakes and the brine from the river infused him with memories of vacations and leisure days.

Nothing about this morning was leisure.

"I can't believe we're going to have to cut Skipper and Patrick Swain loose. I'm telling you, Swain is dirty." Ty shucked his suit jacket as they made their way down the boardwalk to the Inky Octopus, a tattoo shop that might give them some answers about the original tattoos on two of their vics. The killer might have inked them, then talked them into another, only to trap them and tattoo the flowers.

"You think Selah and Asa will find anything?" Ty asked.

"In the home or the location perimeter?" Owen sniffed and paused. "Let's eat lunch here after. It smells good. I could go for red meat."

Ty could care less where they ate. "Geofence." Geofencing was the frontier of investigation these days, thanks to technology. They could get a warrant for a certain geographical perimeter, then sift the iCloud for photos and videos within that perimeter, if they'd been set to public. Or it would also give them phone user names so they could reach out and personally speak to the person who posted the image.

Now they'd been given a warrant to search the night the photos were taken of Patrick Swain, their two victims and the missing Jenny Davis. Somebody took that photo, and they needed to know who so they could talk to him or her. With a warrant, they could search that date with the geographic location and find anyone who had used their phones within those parameters. It was also something Selah could do—or any good hacker—without a warrant, but if they wanted an arrest, they had to go through proper channels.

"I don't know." Owen shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded at the two brunettes walking toward them. The woman on the left held Owen's gaze until she passed.

"Let me guess, you want to find her afterward too." Ty remembered when he could still have a little fun on cases. Joke around while getting the job done. But not this case. He was bound to this one. Like quicksand pulling him under faster than he could catch his breath.

"Nah. I want to find this killer and get my friend back."

"You got a friend in me..." he sang half-heartedly to prove he was still himself, but the upbeat song fell flat.

Owen shook his head. "Lame." He pointed. "That's the place." They climbed the wooden stairs and entered the Inky Octopus, a modern shop with sleek metal and black-painted open ductwork. The lingering scent of cheap marijuana couldn't be masked with the incense. While the building appeared clean and sleek, seedy vibes crawled under Ty's skin.

Behind a black half-circle desk stood two women in their mid-to late-twenties. One was clearly into the gothic look, like the actress in NCIS, and the other was all bohemian. "How can we help you, Suit?" She pointed to Owen's fancy get-up.

Owen went with the flow, gracing her with his signature grin that usually won him digits. "Can we talk to the manager?"

"Tarique isn't in. Won't be until Friday. Do you have an appointment?" she asked. "A name?"

"Agent Barkley." He showed his creds, and her interest dimmed. Guess she thought he was a flashy businessman. He definitely dressed the part. "We have a few photos of tattoos that we're trying to connect to the artist." The ones they had done here and also the ones the killer designed. Maybe they'd get a twofer.

The other woman's green eyes grew to the size of hubcaps. "Those women they found dead in the Outer Banks? I saw that on TV. Aniyah, they're here about the Lighthouse Killer."

"The who?" Aniyah asked, clearly not one to be into the news.

Green Eyes waved her off. "I'm Kate. We have two artists in today. Tweak and Buzz. Buzz is with a client, but Tweak's available, and he's been here since the place opened. Hold up." She left behind a gray door.

"Who did your ink?" Owen asked Aniyah.

"Everyone here pretty much, and my brother did the old-school ones. As for the piercing—" she made a grand display of her very flat midriff "—Kate did it. She does a lot of piercings." She pointed to the gold marijuana leaf jewel in her navel.

"Nice," Owen said, and then glanced up as Kate returned with a scruffy dude with more ink than skin. Long hair hung in a braid down his back and a toothpick hung from his lips.

"Kate says you're here about the ink on the women killed at the lighthouses." He extended his hand. "I'm William Tweakton, but folks call me Tweak. I do a lot of touch-ups, cover-ups and the like. Follow me back to my station."

They went through a different gray door, the sound of a tattoo gun buzzing as they passed a station, and then turned right. Standard tat equipment setup. Ty laid out the photos on the table, and Tweak winced slightly. "Can I pick 'em up?"

"Sure."

He held up a photo. Amy-Rose Rydell. Pulling down a magnifier and adjusting the lamp, he studied the tattoos more closely. "Definitely professional. I haven't seen shading and line work this good in a while. It's a serious level of talent."

"You recognize it?" Ty asked.

He studied Amy-Rose's body again, and then he looked at the photos of Lily Hayes and Dahlia Anderson. "The older work looks like Smoothy's hand. Can I show it to Buzz?"

"Sure."

"Hold on." He walked out of the room.

"Smoothy. Do these people have real names?" Ty asked. "I'm gonna start calling you something. I need to think on it."

"I'm gonna call you Windbag."

Ty grinned and tried it on for size. "Windbag. I like it."

"You have no shame." Owen laughed, and Tweak returned with a guy who was as inked as he was; even his bald head was covered in a skull. Not exactly clever, but it worked for the dude.

Buzz inspected the photos. "Smoothy left one of his albums here. Hold up." He left, then returned. "Yeah. Check this out." He pointed to a page full of roses. "Looks the same, no doubt."

"What about this one?" Ty showed the photo of Lily's unicorn with the flowers coming out of the mouth.

"Oh yeah, that's him. His signature's on it. Barely but it's there. That's why he got fired. He was putting his brand on the tats, hidden, but one of the girls noticed it embedded and had a meltdown. He's been gone a year now maybe?"

"Name?" Ty asked.

They shrugged. "We called him Smoothy because he didn't have a single piece of work on his body. Nowhere. That's odd for an inker."

"Does anyone know his real name?"

Ty's earlier vibes were being confirmed. This was a cash-under-the-table kind of place, with who knew what all going on in back rooms. Maybe drugs changing hands. They were definitely smoking pot. And it was still illegal in North Carolina.

"Maybe Tarique does, but probably not." Tweak and Buzz exchanged a knowing look. This place was not on the up and up, which meant he likely didn't care about names or licenses to tat.

"Can you draw him?"

"I'm not a sketch artist. I don't do portraits," Tweak said.

"Neither do I. But Pimp does. I can have him do it when he comes in and text it to you. Probably be this Saturday. That work?" Buzz said.

It would have to do. "Sure. Can you show me the embedded signature on both tattoos?"

Buzz brought the magnifier down and grabbed a pencil. Using the tip, he showed them a faint little picture within a picture. It wasn't visible upon first glance. It was like focusing on a stereogram. Once it came into focus, it couldn't be unseen.

Ty recognized the signature brand.

It was a small cross with dogwood flowers in the center.

The Family of Glory's logo.

Bexley nestled on the couch and yawned more out of emotional exhaustion than the physical need to sleep. Every day Ahnah was gone was another day Bexley feared the worst. She'd gone back through Ahnah's room and called every number that had been marked somewhere, which had turned out to only be three numbers, but no one knew a thing.

She'd driven to all Ahnah's favorite places—again—and repeated the same questions she had before, and was given the same answers. What else could she do?

By the time she'd made it back home, it was nearing dinnertime so she'd tossed together a sheet pan of chicken tenders and vegetables. Then she and Josiah had eaten in semi-comfortable silence.

She'd been tempted to tell him the truth during dinner. If the root of his mood swings and abandonment issues stemmed from not knowing who his father was, telling him would pull him from the funk. But she'd choked due to fear and second-guessing. What if it didn't help him but worsened his mood? And if she were being brutally honest with herself, she was terrified he might hate her. Would he understand her need to protect him from the Family?

Instead of being brave—being the adult—she kept the truth hidden and ate her dinner on autopilot. God, help her get the nerve to tell him. If she didn't, Ty would, and soon.

The news was nothing but devastation thanks to Hurricane Jodie. Tomorrow the rain would begin. Goodbye sunshine and hello gray skies and worsening weather by the hour until it made landfall on Friday or possibly the early morning hours of Saturday as predicted.

"Mom," Josiah said, coming into the living room.

"Yeah, hon?"

"Is that agent coming back over tonight too?" he asked as he crashed on the oversize chair, his size-eleven feet stretching out on the ottoman. He was dressed in black basketball shorts and a Nike T-shirt with a black stripe, his hair a little too long on the brow and around the ears, but if that's how he liked it, Bexley let it go. His haircut wasn't a hill she was prepared to die on.

"Yes, why?"

"Just wondering. Are we legit in that much danger or...is something going on? I mean, y'all know each other and clearly have a history. I'm not blind. I see the way he looks at you. Although to be honest, he seems kinda mad at you at times. Did you like dump him?"

Bexley hadn't intended on dumping Tiberius. "Not exactly." Should she tell Josiah now that he'd gone and sort of opened Pandora's box? "The danger is real, Josiah. Agent Granger is going to keep us safe. Staying here is important."

"Why's he care so much?"

Okay, this must be God's way of saying tell the kid already. "He cares so much because—"

A knock interrupted her words, and Josiah jumped up. "It's probably him. I got it." He peered out the window to make sure it was actually him. At least he had that much sense.

"Hey," Josiah said, and let Tiberius inside.

"Hey man. How you doin'?"

"Good. You got any leads on my aunt?"

"Maybe." He spotted Bexley, and her heart thrummed like a bass drum. Big heavy booms. A mixture of sorrow and regret. "We found a tattoo artist who might have inked the victims before they were tattooed by our UNSUB. Did Ahnah have any tattoos?"

"No."

"Yes."

Bexley stared at Josiah with her mouth agape. "When did Ahnah get a tattoo? She never mentioned it to me." The Family didn't allow them, but once she'd been removed from their teachings, Bexley had nothing against them and wouldn't have reprimanded Ahnah.

"She got a tribal design on her left shoulder blade a year ago. She didn't tell you because she wasn't sure you'd approve."

"Do you know where she got the tattoo?" Tiberius asked Josiah.

"No. She didn't say and I didn't ask. Maybe I should have."

"There was no need to know. Don't beat yourself up. I'm waiting on a portrait artist to sketch the tattooist. But if you remember her tattoo, could you sketch it?"

Josiah's eyes lit up with the thrill of being useful in finding his aunt. Tiberius had clearly seen their son's need to help. Josiah was limping along in this, and now he'd been given a chance to walk—by his father. "Yeah. Yeah, it won't take long. It wasn't big. I'll do it right now." He hurried down the hall to his room and the door closed with a quiet click.

"Thank you for that. He needs to feel useful. So do I." She told him what she'd been doing for part of the day to aid in the hunt for Ahnah. "I feel guilty for going to work and cooking, eating. Sleeping—even if it is fitfully. I'm moving on with my days while Ahnah's days are uncertain. What's he doing to her? Other than tattooing her body. He's seeing her, Tiberius. He's...he's looked at her. He's stripped her. And I fear... I fear..."

Tiberius closed the distance between them and lightly gripped her shoulders. "Don't go there, Bex. You can't go there even though it feels impossible not to. We didn't find any evidence of sexual assault."

"Any...torture?"

His grim expression was enough to make her knees buckle, and his grip tightened, holding her up. "If she's obeying him then it's likely she's not being physically harmed."

"Then we're in trouble, Tiberius. She's not the submissive little girl you once knew who allowed Garrick and others to abuse, humiliate and degrade her. Once we left, I taught her how to speak up, to fight. I taught her that her voice mattered and she was to never let a man do to her what they did. What my own father did—conditioning her to be an object only. She'll fight the killer every step of the way, not giving an inch. So... I have no comfort in that." She was proud of the fighter Ahnah had become, though.

"Hey, that's not a bad thing. You taught her to be smart and strong. She'll survive this." He took her hand. "We need some fresh air. Wanna go for a walk down the beach before it's too late?"

"You seen the prediction of Hurricane Jodie?"

"Oh yeah." They slipped out the sliding glass doors and Bexley texted Josiah that they'd gone for a walk to get some air and would return shortly. "You ever been in a hurricane?"

"Once in Barbados on vacation."

"How frightening. Were you alone?"

Tiberius cleared his throat. "No. But it wasn't a romantic getaway exactly."

Bexley didn't want to picture Tiberius vacationing with another woman, and it was clear he'd been with a woman in Barbados. She'd walked away. Couldn't hold other women against him. "What are the chances this maniac doesn't have her?" she asked instead.

They walked down the private dock to the beach. Sand coating her bare feet and the breeze off the sound blowing her uncontrollable mane. Water lapped at the shore and chilled her toes.

"Slim, Bex. Pretty slim. At least we know she's probably alive if she is with him. Not much comfort there, I know, but it's better than dead."

"How did it go at the tattoo shop?"

"Three of the girls had tattoos before, and embedded in those tattoos was the Family of Glory's logo."

"The cross with dogwood blooms in the middle?"

Tiberius nodded as they walked the stretch of beach. The moonlight cast romantic shadows over the water, and the air tasted briny.

"I called Rand for a list of people who'd left the cult or had been disfellowshipped like I told you I was going to. Got squat from him. I need that list to track down who left. Then I can find out who took a job at the tattoo studio and placed the logo on unsuspecting women. I'm not sure we can get a warrant on a logo. Anyone could have done it and tattooing victims months ago with it doesn't mean he killed anyone."

"Was it a brand to show he'd targeted them? If you said it that way you might secure one."

He sighed. "It doesn't work like that." They walked quietly a few moments. "Who would have a score this big to settle with me? I need to know why I'm the cause of this. Why my life is getting people killed. I was eighteen when I left. What teenager makes that kind of impression?"

Bexley felt his torment and heard the guilt he carried. "This is not your fault. I don't blame you. No one does. You were the favorite, and Rand often made decisions that benefited you. Any number of people might be salty about that. Have you talked to your mom? She might know some inside stuff you don't. Have an idea."

"I haven't talked to her other than to let her know I'd made it to the Outer Banks safely. I'll talk to her, but she left before me. What would she know?"

"Maybe nothing. What's she doing now?" Bexley often wished she could talk to her mother. She missed her terribly.

"She works for a shipping container company in Memphis."

"Is she happy?"

Ty nodded. "She's never dated anyone since, but she has a group of friends she does fun stuff with, and she's involved in a thriller book club. I told her she ought to write a novel with our lives as fodder, and she said readers would find it far-fetched. Fiction has to be more believable than reality."

Bex laughed. "I guess that's true. I like romances but I can't venture into scarier books. Too many triggers."

"I wish we'd have grown up differently."

She stooped and collected a little broken shell. "I do too, but I don't believe anything in our life is wasted. This shell is chipped and broken. Been tossed by the waves. No control and yet it's here on this beach. It's not so far destroyed that I can't recognize what it's meant to be or find the beauty in it. I think the broken shells have stronger, richer stories than those I find that are in mint condition."

Tiberius took the broken, chipped shell from her hand, his fingers brushing her sandy ones and sending a shiver through her. "That makes sense. I took my broken past and studied religions to make sense of life. To discover if anything was true. In doing that, I landed this job, and as much as I detest paperwork—and there are mountains of it—I love it. I mean, I hate that by the time we get on a scene, death has already occurred, but when we track an UNSUB and arrest him, we do save lives. For a moment we've made the world a better place to live. Justice is served, and we're able to give families closure. For so long I wanted closure. Knowing you were alive wasn't closure, Bex. Now I know why you did what you did, but I feel like we have three dots after our names."

"An ellipsis?"

Tiberius grinned. "You were always the smarter one."

"I don't know about that."

"How many perfect shells do you find out here?" He rolled the tiny pieces through his fingers.

"Not many."

"We're all broken, aren't we? We've all been chipped away at in one form or other. Beaten up. Beaten down. Lied to. Exposed, exploited. Betrayed," he whispered. "We never arrive on sandy shores unscathed."

"No. We don't. We carry scars, little chips and cracks. They reveal our story, but there's hope, Tiberius. There's always hope that what was marred can be mended."

His eyes filled with moisture. "I could use some hope. Some mending."

Couldn't they all? Without hope, there was no meaning in life. The ocean was vast and shadowy, always reminding her that darkness lurked and was immense, terrifying and unpredictable, but when dawn peeped over the horizon it brought light to the darkness and color. Vibrant and beautiful. That was hope—light piercing the darkness, overwhelming it with its glory and majesty, bringing a new day and fresh mercy. Light chased away shadows and sparkled on the shores, beckoning one to come and stand in its presence with outstretched arms and to be wrapped in its warmth. Yielding to hope was possible. For Tiberius. For anyone who wanted to come and partake.

A gust of wind whipped her hair in her face again, and Tiberius shook his head. "That hair yields to no one." He brushed it from her face, tucking a thick lock behind her ear and holding her gaze, searching her eyes under the moonlight.

"I missed you, for what it's worth," she admitted. "I thought I'd die every day for that first year. Every milestone with Josiah was bittersweet. I truly am sorry and regretful."

"Nothing's wasted, though...right?"

What did he mean? Could they make up for the time eaten by fear and mistakes? "Right."

He leaned in, placing the shell in her palm as he grazed her lips with his.

"I finished the sketch!" Josiah's voice sliced through the moment.

Tiberius pulled away and tossed her a smirk. Then they walked in comfortable silence toward the house. As they drew closer, hairs rose on the back of Bexley's neck. She hesitated, peering into the darkness and seeing nothing.

But a dark presence hovered. Watching. Waiting.

Inside, she locked the door and headed for her bedroom while Josiah showed Tiberius the sketch of Ahnah's tattoo. She took out her contacts and put on her glasses, then pulled her hair up into a big clip. She glanced out the window and froze, her heart jumping into her throat.

Forcing herself to calmly enter the hall, she waved her hands and caught Tiberius's attention.

"Someone's outside my bedroom window again."