Chapter Three

My son.

Those two words echoed through Tiberius's brain.

Time froze and the room slanted as Ty scrutinized the gangly teenager. About six foot. Two inches shorter than Ty. Dark curly hair like his mother's. Completely untamed too.

But his eyes.

Like green diamonds. Tiberius's eyes.

"How...how old are you?" he managed to ask, but his mouth had turned into a massive wad of cotton.

"I think it's time for you to go, Agent Granger." Bexley's bottom lip trembled, and her eyes were shifty. This truth could not be masked, and she wore it like a neon sign across her pale face.

Ty was staring at his son.

He had a son.

A son.

His entire world shifted, and he ran a damp palm over his mouth and nose. This kid belonged to him, and he had never known. Might not have ever if their case hadn't brought them to North Carolina.

Another chilling thought forced its way into his mind. What if he wasn't his? What if he was... No. He refused to let himself go there. The possibility punched his gag reflex. It was too much. Like a double-edged sword being thrust through his middle, taking its time entering and exiting.

But he had to know either way.

"I don't think it is," he said.

Josiah frowned. "Mom, you didn't answer your cell phone, again. Thought I'd come by to clue you in that I'm alive and to remind you that if you want me to answer my phone, you might want to lead by example."

Bex's lips pursed, and she darted a glance at Ty. "I'm with someone right now."

"Yeah, story of my life. You work on weekends and holidays. Whatever," he muttered, then started for the door.

Apparently, the kid needed a class in manners. Did she always allow him to talk this way to her?

Josiah paused at the door. "Wait." He eyed Ty. "Dude, who are you again?"

"I um..." He cleared his throat and shook his head, running a hand through his hair and trying to gain composure. He retrieved his credentials. Couldn't say he was his father. Maybe his brother. "I'm Agent Granger with the FBI."

"Aunt Ahnah?" he whispered, and his hand fell from the doorknob. Even his voice sounded like Ty's. Did the kid notice?

"She's still missing, but yes, I'm here about her. Do you know anything that might help me?"

"You think those girls they found at the lighthouses might have something to do with her abduction?" Josiah asked. "I've thought it. I mean, she was friends with Amy-Rose and kind of knew Lily. I've been shook for days. Ahnah's middle name is Oleander. Doesn't he tattoo the flowers of their names on them?"

"He does. And we're looking into every possible connection."

Josiah's jaw hardened, and he shot a furious glance toward Bexley. "Since you're FBI, weird stuff has been going on at our place."

"Josiah!"

"What?" He splayed his hands, bowing up as if he dared her to deny it. "The photo of us on the sofa table is gone. And you also said the blanket you crocheted was missing. That's weird right?" he asked, pleading with his eyes for Ty to back him up.

"It's odd, yes." A photo and a blanket she handcrafted were personal. "Anything else missing?" he asked Bexley.

Blushing, she said, "Um...a box of mementos I kept in the top of my closet."

"What was in it?"

"Mementos," she stressed, and it dawned on him. She kept a box of photos or things that reminded her of them. It would have solidified they'd been an item, but the killer would have to have been knowledgeable about their relationship prior to finding the box.

Unless the killer was someone Bexley or Ahnah knew. Someone they'd confided in who could also be the Fire Ice Killer. He'd worked dozens of cases where a killer inserted himself into the lives of his prey not only to play head games but to keep up with them. It was sick. But plausible.

"Okay. Was Ahnah missing anything?"

"I don't know," Bexley said as Josiah shrugged. "She didn't mention anything."

Had the other victims mentioned missing anything prior to their abductions? Ty would follow up with that when they visited the homes of the missing women and talked with their families.

"Why haven't you answered your phone?" Josiah asked. "Is it missing?"

"No. It's in my drawer," Bexley said to Josiah. "You know I can't be on my phone during sessions."

"I could be dead in the road, but let's not interrupt someone else's dying moments." He graced her with an eye roll. "Whatever. I'll be home later. Me and Abe's game might go long."

"You be home for dinner. Five." Bexley gritted her teeth and averted her gaze from Tiberius. This kid might be his, but regardless, he was a disrespectful brat.

"If you think of anything else, let me know," Ty said, as Josiah started out the door.

"I will."

After the door closed, Ty crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for answers, but Bexley didn't budge. Didn't offer a single word. He let time tick by. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer. "I have a million questions, here, Bex. But first off, is he mine?"

She nodded.

"Are you sure? You married my father. Dalen said you'd died three months after the ceremony so..."

Bexley sniffed. "I did marry Rand. But after the wedding... I couldn't go through with the consummation, Ty. Mother Mae helped me and Ahnah escape and fake our deaths. I'm sure Dalen spun the story that we were out on the lake having a great day and a tragic accident took place—and that the tragedy occurred later than it actually did, which was the wedding night. Mother Mae made it appear we drowned escaping."

Dalen had spun it exactly like that. Ty had no reason not to believe him.

The Family would never have reported two minors running away. They would have looked into it privately, using any law enforcement who was in the cult to hunt for them on the down-low. Bringing in authorities meant the possibility of uncovering the fact Ty's father—and other members—were bigamists and that he'd been taking minors as brides.

Bexley hadn't been with his father. Eons worth of nausea lifted from his shoulders.

She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. Inhaling deeply, she squared her shoulders. "Josiah doesn't know who his father is, and Tiberius, you can't tell him."

Couldn't tell him?

"You have kept my son from me for seventeen years with zero intention of telling me. No wonder you were so shocked to see me. I rained on your secret baby parade. What do you think this is, a bad made-for-TV movie?" He tried to contain his feelings, but they crept out in his raised voice.

Bexley's office phone rang, and she answered. Her brow furrowed. "Okay." She looked at Ty. "I have an emergency phone call." She pressed a red button on her phone. "Bexley Hemmingway." She frowned. Then her mouth hung open, and she slowly met his gaze. "It's for you." She held out the phone receiver to Ty.

"For me?" Who would be calling for him? Only his team knew he was here, and they could call his cell phone. "Who is it?"

"I don't know. He sounds funny."

He accepted the phone. "Agent Granger," he said.

"Hello, Agent Granger. I suspect you're not having a good day." The caller's voice was modulated. Because Ty would recognize it or because Bexley might?

"Who is this?"

"Someone who knows far more about you than you think you know about me. I'm looking at your son right now. Kinda looks like you. Oh yes, I know you have a son. I know all kinds of things, and I'm going to use them to my advantage. I'm not nearly as stupid as you suspect. Bye for now. But see you soon." The line clicked.

Ty's heart thudded in his chest. He checked his watch. The call hadn't lasted long enough to triangulate a location, and if the UNSUB was smart, he'd have used a burner.

"Who was it, Tiberius? What did he say?" Bexley's bottom lip trembled.

"I don't know, but he knows I have a son. Where was Josiah going?" The caller had been following Ty and must have spotted Josiah leaving the building. Violet was outside. That gave him some comfort.

"Probably the arcade at the boardwalk. Is he in danger?"

Somehow, he knew about him and Bexley. How? "I don't know." He knew nothing. His life had been tossed a grenade and was exploding into pieces. He had a son. Bexley didn't want Josiah to know. But this killer also knew, and he had Ahnah.

"I don't have time to further discuss our personal life. But know this much—it isn't over. Josiah is going to know he has a father, and I'm going to be a part of his life. And if I have to drag your sorry self into court, then that's what I'll do. I am not leaving North Carolina without me knowing my son and my son knowing me."

Bexley raised her chin. "I did it to protect him. I'm still protecting him, Tiberius. You don't know him."

"You haven't let me! And now I have a killer to catch who might target him," he boomed, and the door opened again.

Another young man entered, dark hair and eyes.

"Tell me that's not a twin or something." He was hanging by a thread.

She shot him a look.

"Miss Hemmingway, are you okay? You need anything?" the young man asked, giving Ty a once-over.

"No, Milo. You know the rules. You can't interrupt or walk in without being let in by me or my assistant. Sometimes sessions get heated. I'm safe."

Milo studied Ty once more. "I'm sorry. I heard yelling, and I was afraid for you."

"She's good," Ty said.

Milo—the client—hesitated, then backed up and closed the door.

"I need you to go straight home after work," Ty said. "Walk out with your assistant. Do not talk to strangers. Maybe don't even talk to someone you know."

"Fine. Quit talking to me."

"You know what I mean, Bexley." The woman had never been lax in the wit department. It had been one of the things he'd loved about her. But she needed to take this seriously.

Could the UNSUB have extracted this kind of information from Ahnah? Either by force or grooming? She might have gone with him willingly because she knew him. He'd invaded her life. Tricked her.

"And call Josiah now. I want to know he's okay. Tell him to go home."

Bexley retrieved her cell phone. "You're scaring me, Tiberius."

"Just do it."

She made the call. "Where are you?" she asked Josiah. "Okay, I need you to go straight home and text me when you get there. I won't be too far behind... Yes, it's about the case." She listened and then sighed. "Just go home, Josiah. Lock the doors." She ended the call. "Well, I've terrified my kid into going home versus the arcade."

"Maybe you should go on home too."

"I have two clients and then I will. I promise. Is this person coming after me and Josiah?"

"I don't know. But he's definitely out to give me grief." Ty blew out of the office and the building with a whirlwind of thoughts and no time to process. Outside, he scanned the area for the unknown caller. Then he stopped dead in his tracks.

Josiah sat on the wooden stairs with his phone in his lap.

"Hey." He wasn't sure how to act. This was his son. "Aren't you supposed to be heading home instead of the arcade?" Did he lie concerning his whereabouts often? Ty let his gaze circle the area again. Nothing out of place. A blue car zipped past, and someone walked across the street toward a coffee shop.

Josiah stood. "I didn't want my mom to know I needed to talk to you." He rubbed his hands on his back pockets. "You said if I thought of something to let you know, and I did."

"Okay, you can tell me." He held up a finger. "But give me one second." He bounded down the stairs, and Violet opened her window.

"What's going on?" she asked, before returning her sights to Josiah on the stairs, his dark curls whipping in the wind, reminding Ty of one of those blow-up creatures used at car dealerships.

Ty gave her the CliffsNotes version of the phone call, omitting anything personal. "Have you seen anyone suspicious or a vehicle?"

She shook her head. "A few cars passed but nothing to give me pause." She glanced across the street. "He could be in any of those shops."

Ty didn't see anyone, but an icy sensation gripped his ribs and raised hairs on his neck. His gut warned they were being watched. "The kid wants to talk to me. Give me a second." He raced to the stairs. "Okay, what is it you didn't want your mom to know?"

"My mom doesn't know this because she gets all up in our grill—me and Ahnah—when she's not traveling. Although she's gone pretty much all the time."

"She's probably in your business because that's what moms do."

"Whatever, man." He rolled his eyes. "There was a guy that dated Ahnah's friend. Amy-Rose. His name is Skipper. I mean, I doubt that's his real name, but no one calls him by anything else. I was hanging out at the arcade waiting on Ahnah to get off work one night and ran out of money, so I was in the store killing time. He came in, but Amy-Rose had dumped him. He was being all stalkerish. The manager asked him to leave, and at first he wouldn't, but then Ahnah told him if he didn't, she'd call the cops. He pretty much cussed her out, then told her she better watch her back and Amy-Rose too."

Skipper. Shouldn't be hard to track down someone with a nickname like that in this small town. If he was from here. He'd talk to the manager, who might know more.

"You seen him around since Amy-Rose or Ahnah disappeared?" Ty asked.

"No. But I could draw him for you. I'm pretty good at portraits."

Ty smiled, but it hurt. One more thing Josiah had inherited. Ty could draw, but portraits were never his strong suit. His early plans had been to study architecture, then go into the family business of construction and real estate development and marry Bex. But plans changed when Garrick pulled his cruel stunt by asking for Bexley's hand in marriage. And their plans to run failed. Everything swirled down the can. "Yeah? You want to be an artist?"

"Nah." He tossed him a crooked grin that mirrored Ty's. "I want to play video games on YouTube and get rich. But I'll probably do something with the art. Maybe...teach, or like, I don't know. My mom says I'd make a great architect. I have the talent, and they make good money."

"She said that, huh?" She'd encouraged their son to follow in the footsteps of his father yet withheld his existence.

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Anyway, I'll draw him. My sketch pad is at home right now, though. My mom says I need to go home due to the case. Are we in trouble?"

Ty needed the boy to be alert but not afraid. Right now, he knew little to nothing. The man on the phone said he was watching Josiah. Ty saw no one. Not a single person even in their car. He'd lied to scare him. Hadn't he? He never actually said where Josiah was to prove his claim.

"Be cautious. Be careful. I'll be by later to get it. Okay?"

"You got a card or something? My mom is blowing off the stuff at the house as her forgetting, but after Ahnah, I don't know. My gut says something else."

"Go with the gut." He laid a hand on Josiah's bony shoulder. Moisture burned in his eyes, and he rushed to conceal his emotion with his sunglasses. "It's usually right." He gave him a solid pat, then handed him the card. "I'll be by around dinnertime."

"Cool." He strolled toward an old Honda, then turned, walking backwards. "Hey, is that, like, your partner in that Suburban?"

"Yeah," Ty said warily. What had Violet done to him? She was unpredictable.

"She's hot." He grinned as he hopped inside his car.

Ty found he could chuckle. "That hot one would burn you alive, bruh."

"Hey, I wouldn't mind going down in flames."

This kid was a chip off the old block—not necessarily a good thing.

Josiah reversed from the parking spot without a glance, nearly taking out a minivan. Ty winced. He was going to get into a fender bender sooner rather than later, but Ty hadn't been able to teach him to drive or how to use shading techniques. He hadn't even been able to purchase Josiah's first sketch pad.

"Well?" Violet asked, once he was inside the vehicle and situated.

"You may be dead-on, Violet. It's personal, and he made sure to let me know he's not stupid like I implied on the video. It's the Fire Ice Killer."

"And what else couldn't you tell me with ears around?"

Ty leaned back and sighed. "He's my son...and the killer knows it. I'm not ready to divulge that information further. I might be recused if Asa knows, and I was down with that initially—before coming to meet with Bexley. Now there's no way I can walk away from this case, this place."

"At some point he needs to know."

"I know. Let me process it all first. I can't even think."

Violet's eyebrows twitched. "Alright. Your call. I disagree with it."

"You don't keep secrets? You do. You have. Don't judge."

"I'm not judging. I'm disagreeing. You say it was less than thirty seconds—the call?"

"Less than ten seconds. We'll get nothing." Ty gripped the wheel and entered the address of Amy-Rose's family into the GPS. "What's up with the missing personal items?"

"I don't know. Mementos. Could be items in there to get to know you better. Recon, so to speak. You really made this guy angry. So angry he brooded and hatched a plan. We have no idea what his goal is, but what we do already know about him is he's calculated, intelligent and hard to track or trace. This won't be easy."

Violet never had anything good to say. But she was truthful. And nothing about this case was good. "We'll see if the other victims had personal items removed. Could be connected."

"Could be, or could be specific to you. I'd like to have her catalog what exactly was in that box."

"Okay."

"One last little mention," Violet said. "I've had the radio on, and that tropical storm is gaining some muscle off the West African coast and heading for the Bahamas. We both know how unpredictable hurricanes are. It could die down or it could ramp up. Either way, we need to pay close attention."

He was already in a hurricane of his own and his gut projected the case was going to escalate to a Cat 5 if they didn't get ahead of it.

The Artist casually stood to the side of the counter in the local coffee shop, awaiting his latte and a spinach quiche while concealing a grin. Everything he'd ordained was falling into place like perfect little puzzle pieces, forming a big picture. A picture he had created, spun and been meticulous to bring to fruition. Guiding a human life took a considerable amount of time and study. Arranging the women at lighthouses and hinting at Agent Granger's past indiscretions were all he'd needed. These bread crumbs had brought him right to the Artist's door.

Each coordinated detail was another crushing blow for Tiberius Granger. He'd mapped out his destruction and couldn't be outmatched. Granger would pay for his sins—pride at the top of the list. When he finally fell to his face, he would be humbled, humiliated and held accountable.

He'd been in the shadows as the agent went inside the counselor's office. Seen him come out in angst and turmoil. But he'd also been enamored with the brunette beauty who'd remained inside the vehicle. Long, dark hair with a sun-kissed glow on her skin. She'd turned in his direction as if sensing his presence, challenge in her eyes, and he wondered about folding her into his plan. He'd think on that later. For now, he savored the game.

The barista batted her lashes while he waited near the counter. Her desperation radiated like the Carolina noon heat. Smothering and sticky. She wasn't the woman who'd caught his interest. No, the woman who had his undivided attention had lovely hazel eyes, though one was a little lazy, but they were sharp. She was several inches shorter than his six-foot-two height, but her legs were long, and underneath her clothing, he imagined she was toned and sleek.

She presented an aura that hummed red, a warning to steer clear, and confidence oozed from her pores—another layer of defense if one ignored the first signal to keep away. From his side view, he studied her short hair—not his preference, but it revealed a slender, delicate neck. From a few feet away, he caught her coconutty scent. He also caught her quick glances at him. Not lusty but aware of his presence. Most women paid little attention to their surroundings, and when a man had his physique and face—not pride but fact—they dropped their wary guard, which inevitably worked against them.

Women were the lesser sex and shallow creatures.

She ordered an Americano black and backed up next to him. They were about two feet apart while she waited.

He caught her eye. "Afternoon."

Bucking her chin, she acknowledged his greeting.

Oh, he liked her quite a lot. Wary. Sly. A challenge.

"You don't look like a local."

She shifted, her hand lightly swatting her black fitted blazer in a gesture to unveil smooth steel in a side holster. Another warning signal. Interesting she didn't flash the bling on her left ring finger instead. No, the gun instantly disclosed she was independent. Strong on her own two feet. But he already knew that about her.

He entered his passcode and opened his phone. He had things to check on.

"I'm not." Her tone was no-nonsense but not necessarily irritated.

"Me neither. I mean, to the Outer Banks. I'm from North Carolina, though. Moved with my wife—she got a transfer." Her hard-edged glare softened at his disarming lie.

"Not a terrible place to transfer," she commented.

"Fiona?" the barista called, and lightly placed her drink on the counter.

He cocked his head. "Fiona. That Irish? My wife's Irish. On her mom's side. Kiera."

She retrieved her cup and eyed him again. "Enjoy your day."

"You too," he said, and held out his phone a measure as he studied his garden girls. All beautiful and right under Agent Fiona Kelly's nose. Oh yes, he knew all about her and the entire SCU team. While they had a solid track record of catching killers, they'd never been up against a man like the Artist. He was unrivaled. Unmatched.

They were completely in the dark, but he planned to bring himself into the light.

In due time.

All she had to do was cast one tiny peek at his phone and she'd see his girls. She could use that gun to subdue him, force him to his knees in surrender. No one else would need to die.

She didn't give the phone a single glance.

In real time, his next-to-newest flower huddled in a heap weeping in her room. She'd been like that all morning too, bringing down his mood. As if her condition was his fault. He'd made it clear what giving herself to him entailed, like he'd made it abundantly clear with all the others and his newest garden girl to replace Lily Hayes.

They chose him. They gave themselves to him.

Now she was nothing but a whiny mess he'd have to fix later.

"Art," the barista called.

He received his drink, glancing at Agent Kelly and the big guy, Asa Kodiak, who thought he was large and in charge. He wasn't.

The Artist was.

And he was coming for Tiberius Granger.

Passing the counter, he plucked a napkin from the holder and purposely dropped his phone, the camera on and his lovely garden girls in their hanging baskets awaiting him to come and command them to bloom.

Agent Kodiak bent and swiped his phone from the floor. A thrill zinged through the Artist's middle, goading him to shout, dance, do a victory pump in the air. The girls were in the agent's hands; he only had to ignore politeness and peek.

"Here, man," Agent Kodiak said and handed him his phone. Idiot. Yet one more layer of proof that he could not be touched or outsmarted.

"Thanks. Clumsy me." Lies. "Y'all have a nice day. Enjoy the Outer Banks."

"You too," Agent Kodiak mumbled, not looking up from his own phone. Agent Kelly raised her eyebrows when he turned back and caught her eye. As he neared the door, he heard Agent Kodiak say, "Stop gawking at Orlando Bloom, Fi."

"I am not gawking, and he is not Orlando Bloom. Orlando wishes," she muttered.

"I heard that," Agent Kodiak replied. "Drink your coffee and look at the dead bodies instead."

To their detriment, there would be many more dead bodies.