19. Born This Way

NINETEEN

Born This Way

Early that evening, Bohannan sat Rus down in his office with a beer and the door closed.

Delphine had been thrilled with the cookies and the flowers, and he’d been reminded that she wasn’t just a world-renowned author.

In a former life, she’d also been the star of a sitcom Rus had not been allowed to watch when he was younger.

That was a wild life trajectory, but he knew of wilder ones.

In other words, she was beautiful and outgoing and friendly, and right off-the-bat, very funny.

He met Bohannan’s daughter, Celeste, as well.

She was pretty, sweet, shy and would be the perfect foil for Rus’s ballsy, knows-what-he-wants-and-goes-after-it son.

He stopped coupling off his kids with locals, which would bring them closer if Rus followed through with moving out here, when Bohannan got him a beer and led him to the office.

He’d asked Rus to come early because he wanted work out of the way so they could enjoy dinner without CK hanging over their heads.

Rus was at one with this idea.

That said, first things first.

“Christ, man, what devil did you make a deal with to score this house?”

Bohannan smiled.

He was right on the lake. His view was even better than the one from Rus’s hotel room, which was only about a seven-minute drive away, down the mountain and around what he had a feeling was Bohannan’s property.

And it was a compound. There was a tall, sturdy fence that disappeared into the woods and a gate with a call box you had to use for them to buzz you in, unless you had the code, which Bohannan did not give to him.

Rus wasn’t slighted. If he had this setup, he’d have to be a lot tighter to those he gave access to as well.

“My ancestors founded the town,” Bohannan informed him. “We got this land, probably by taking it.”

Well, that explained that, though Rus was struck by the coincidence that he was dealing closely with two people who had deep roots in an area of the country that was almost as far away from Plymouth Rock as you could get.

Guess if you found what you liked, you didn’t move away.

Bohannan was studying him.

“You getting ideas?” he asked.

“I like it out here,” was all Rus was ready to say, not that he didn’t feel like sharing with Bohannan, just that he wasn’t ready to say it out loud.

“It’d be nice to have a brother here, in that way,” Bohannan replied.

Rus had to admit, that felt good.

He knew from friends who were agents who had been reassigned, if you went somewhere new, especially at his age, it wasn’t easy to develop a social circle. Those had all been established years before, and although you could be invited in, you still always felt like the odd man out.

Including in your new bureau.

And this could be even tougher on spouses.

Unless retired FBI agents made a habit of ending up here, Bohannan and Rus would be the only ones who shared that bond.

“And it’d be good Cin had a man whose balls didn’t get in the way of his brains,” Bohannan finished.

He couldn’t be any clearer about his opinion on that.

“But that’s out of turn,” he muttered, still watching Rus closely.

Rus liked the guy, so he gave it to him.

“Not really. You, or Harry, called it as it is. We’re talking. I know Lucinda’s coming tonight. But she knows I need to focus on the case. When it’s done, though, I’ve made it clear I want to keep getting to know her. And she’s receptive to that.”

“Glad to hear it, she’s a good woman.”

“I know. So it’s a compliment you feel we might fit.”

Bohannan jerked up his chin, and Rus felt relief they were off that subject when he watched Bohannan put his hand flat on the fat case file that shared the trail of torment of the Crystal Killer.

“I can’t say I disagree with what the profilers said about this guy,” Bohannan started it. “Malignant narcissist gone off the rails. The staging, at first, was an act of intimacy for him. He feels emotion for them. Not in any way we understand, but they mean something to him. It continued in that bent, but he started to clean their faces when you came on board. He did this as a gift to you. To show you what good taste he has. To show you when you walked in what his power was, but when you saw them from the front, that was what he worked with. The beauty he owned, until he was done with her. And he wanted them to look beautiful for you too.”

Rus nodded.

He’d heard all of this before.

At least all of it before the last part, which was something that turned his stomach.

“I also agree with the profilers that the notes he left, too short for them to establish a language pattern, not too short not to have meaning, were definitely for you. He knows you’re investigating him. Though I don’t agree they’re important.”

This was new.

“They dismissed the crystals, and I think that’s a mistake,” Bohannan asserted. “Those are how he’s really communicating with you.”

Rus felt a tightness hit his shoulders because he’d always thought the same.

He’d researched crystals until he got a low-key stress response if he saw a New Age shop.

But he couldn’t put his finger on why he felt they were important, other than he knew his suspect didn’t do anything throwaway.

It was all important.

Rus wasn’t the perp, or a profiler, so he didn’t know how it was important.

Bohannan continued.

“Case in point, victim number four. He put a malachite in her hands. Malachite is known in those circles as a protection stone. Also healing. Balance. They blew it off because they didn’t feel it pertained to him, where the other stones seemed to have some connection to the perpetrator. They thought, when the message changed, they were headed down the wrong path, reading too much into it. It was just a calling card, the stones selected at random. He’s proud of what he does, and he wants his victims linked. Or it was a way to throw you all off, send you down the wrong path, away from him. I think…”

Bohannan stopped talking, and the sense Rus had as to why made him move his head side to side on his neck, because all of a sudden, his shoulders got so tight, they caused pain.

“I think that stone, and all the ones after, were for you.”

He didn’t get it.

“He wants to protect me?”

“Bear with me on this, Rus,” Bohannan urged. “I was feeling this when I first worked the file, but the fact he might be in town makes me believe it. And the other profilers who worked this case did not have that to work with. You and him, traditionally, are adversaries. Adversaries can admire each other, but they’re still adversaries. I don’t think it would enter any profiler’s head what I’m about to say when you have a suspect like the Crystal Killer.”

Rus braced.

Bohannan gave it to him.

“The way I read it, he thinks you appreciate what he does. He sees you as a connoisseur of his work. He doesn’t consider you a fan. Or a protegee he’s grooming. He considers you a collector. He thinks of you as a kind of soulmate.”

Bohannan shook his head while saliva filled Rus’s mouth.

“That’s not the right word,” Bohannan said. “He thinks you’re the only one who appreciates the work he puts into what he does, and since that’s important to him, he’s inflated what your relationship really means. Once you came on board, he stopped being frustrated that people didn’t get the beauty he created. He convinced himself somebody understood. And for that, you are very, very important to him.”

“You gotta know, that skeeves me way the fuck out, Cade,” Rus growled.

“It would me too,” Bohannan agreed. “But breaking it down, it makes twisted sense. No one, not even him, is more intimate with what happened in those hotel rooms. No one, but you. You’ve spent days, months, years on his work, and he’s not a well man. It’s easy for him to feel, or more, convince himself you’re enjoying, even relishing what he does. He doesn’t even spend that much time on his victims. By that I mean what he does when he kills them. He definitely spends time choosing and finding where he’s going to kill them. Covering his tracks along the way. I’m sure he takes pictures and relives what he’s done. Even so, I’d lay money on the fact you’ve spent more time on what he’s done than he has, and he knows it.”

Yeah, it was twisted.

But it made sense.

Bohannan kept going.

“Running it down, victim one had a Carnelian. This denotes energy and ambition. It’s thought of as a source of creativity. Protection from adversity. His beginning.”

Rus nodded.

He knew this too, more than he wanted to know it.

“Crystal two, Chrysocolla. More energy. More creativity. But also wisdom. Self-expression. Crystal three, Tourmaline. Again, creativity. Grounding in the present moment. Protection against negativity. These are all for him. Victim three is when you enter the picture. And then there’s victim four, with the Malachite. Victim five held an Obsidian, which is also for you. Protection, but also it guards against attack.”

Rus was well acquainted with all of this as well.

Though he never considered it was for him.

“This was a shift in meaning,” Bohannan noted. “It could be about him worried he’s going to get caught. But that’s off-profile. He’s confident. Not a man to worry. So that’s why the profilers began to doubt the crystals meant anything.”

That was exactly why.

“Victim six, rose quartz,” Bohannan stated. “This is often equated with love and relationships, and that threw the profilers way off. That, as you know, is when they completely gave up on the crystals. Because, for the most part, this is meant between lovers. But it’s also about caring and compassion and connecting on a more profound level. It has connotations of finding your inner truth. By this victim, he feels that’s what he’s establishing with you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rus bit out, feeling a cold creep into his blood, because this made sense.

Too much sense.

Bohannan dipped his head understandingly, but he kept talking.

“The last victim, he’s reaching out to you. Pink Halite. Unconditional love. It provides a shield against people who would hurt you. Now, I don’t think this love is physical love. He’s not homosexual or striking out against the world because he is and doesn’t want to be. He doesn’t have issues with his parents. He wasn’t bullied. He doesn’t have psychological wounds that have abraded away the tools every human needs to live harmoniously with others. He’s genuinely mentally ill. He was born this way.”

And again, Rus had heard all of this.

Bohannan carried on.

“He lives his life. He might be married. He’s good in bed, loving, giving, demonstrative. He feels he takes care of his victims. He feels they’re privileged to be of service to him. So he’s going to take care of his wife, his partner. And if he’s in a relationship, he truly loves his partner, or he does in how he understands that emotion. He might be so deep into this, and we know he’s smart, so he could also be manipulative and convincing, both traits of a malignant narcissist. So she could know what he’s doing and approve of it, allowing him to go out and make his art. But bottom line, you mean something to him, Rus. And I don’t think he’s here in Misted Pines to protect his work. He’s here to protect you.”

The fuck?

“What’s he protecting me from?” Rus demanded.

Bohannan shook his head. “I don’t know. Someone wasting your time and valuable skills on something undeserving of both. Maybe he fears for your safety because this is a wildcard. The good news is, my take, and I could be wrong, he would never hurt someone you care about. He would not cause you pain. He’d never hurt you, not directly. You mean too much to him. Honestly?”

Rus nodded again.

“I think you could retire, and he’d back that play. He might even go so far as finding something new to do so he’d have a new agent to impress and connect with, because that is now deeply involved in what he needs to get out of his scenes. His new crimes would be so different, no one would ever know. The cases would never be connected. He’d start all over again. And the Crystal Killer would just fade away.”

This did not sit well with Rus.

Not at all.

Which was why he demanded, “Are you shitting me?”

Bohannan shook his head.

“This is very convenient, Cade,” Rus remarked.

“Think of the life trajectory of a narcissist,” Bohannan suggested. “At the end of his life, he’s either used up everyone who loved him, and he’s totally alone. Or he’s left with only those he’s groomed, usually since birth, his children, but also there are partners he’s either conned, and they fell into his web, or they came to him with such low self-confidence, they put themselves in his hands. But one way or the other, he’s had plenty of time to demand their unconditional love, no matter his behavior, and that’s all they know, so they give it. Or he selects the chosen few to cover in his love, smothering them with it, so they become addicted to it and mirror his behaviors by giving that back to him.”

This was definitely the case of a narcissist, so once again, Rus nodded.

And Bohannan kept going.

“But it’s rare he has any true friends. He’s usually driven away his family, at least those not directly connected to him. Now think of a narcissist’s pattern with relationships. He discards people who have no more meaning to him, usually those who have figured him out and call him on his shit. He picks up new ones who don’t know just how disturbed he is and convinces them of how amazing he is. He then becomes obsessed with them. They’re everything. They’re perfect. They fulfill his every need. Until his flaws show, and they point them out. Then these new people are cast aside, and he always casts them aside, even when they break things off with him. He convinces himself he’s the one in control of it being over. The other scenario, they fall so deep under his spell, they’re his forever.”

Again, all shit Rus knew.

Bohannan had more.

“Now think of a narcissist who feels he’s finally found his equal. He has no flaws, and his equal doesn’t either. It’s impossible. No one is as smart as he his. No one is as anything as he is. This is a miracle, to finally find a true connection. To finally find that one person alive in billions who appreciates you just as you expect to be appreciated, and he returns that.”

The cold hadn’t stopped creeping in, so now Rus was fighting the need to shiver.

“But it makes sense,” Bohannan continued. “You aren’t competition. You aren’t going to turn the eye of his wife. You aren’t going to earn the love of his children. You aren’t going to go out and rape and murder women. You aren’t going to call him on his day-to-day bullshit. You aren’t going to take anything he has. And he wants nothing you have. And you can bet he looked into everything he could as to your accomplishments. He knows how good of an agent you are. He knows they sent the best to find him. And he’s not going to destroy someone as good at what they do as he is. He admires you. It would be a sacrilege. It would be like destroying himself.”

Bohannan’s gaze became hyper-focused on his.

“There may be one person he’d put it all on the line for, Rus, and that’s you. And yes, what I mean by that is, if he’s here, there might be one window of opportunity for you to catch him, and that’s now. When he’s making himself vulnerable to protect you.”

Rus sat back in his chair, whispering, “Fucking hell.”

“Another guess?”

Rus needed it, but he didn’t want it.

Still, he jutted his chin at Bohannan for him to give it.

“He’s a tall man with close-cropped brown hair and a mustache. He didn’t appear to Brad like he usually does, in a disguise. He went to Brad as just who he is, not only to ascertain what on the face of it seemed too close for comfort. A young, beautiful, blonde woman murdered in an out-of-the-way motel that didn’t have security cameras, something that drew you to the scene. But he was definitely there because your presence indicated that something was fishy, and it pertained to him. He knew you’d go back to Brad. He knew you’d go back to that motel.”

Bohannan’s chest expanded with the massive breath he took in.

And when he let it out, he lowered the boom.

“For the first time, no disguise, he was there as the man he is to say hello to you.”