Chapter 24

Tuesday, March 16

7:30 a.m.

That was how he'd gotten in.

Into her childhood home, into Carter Boucher's. Her memories of the Garrison home in the original investigation file confirmed her theory. All three victim homes had crawl space access, but because Derek Garrison's body had been found in the backyard shed, Lebanon PD hadn't made the connection. Splinters of wood frayed around the crawl space access in Carter's closet suggesting it'd been nailed shut at one point. Now all that was left was a collection of bent nails scattered in the dirt beneath the house.

Leigh fought a yawn as sunrise broke through the bedroom window and cast a streak across her laptop screen. Her legs begged for relief, folded under her as she worked from the middle of Carter Boucher's room.

The search team had grown overnight, pulling in hundreds of capable men and women from border to border. Volunteers scoured beyond property lines with spotlights, flashlights, and radios. Chief Maynor had called in a K9 unit from Concord while neighbors made sure the team had coats, food, and water. Gabriel Boucher had gained their trust as an officer by protecting them and this town. Now he'd need them more than ever.

Only there was no sign of Carter.

As though he'd simply vanished.

Leigh knew better. She read through the Fruitland file for a third time, cover to cover. Fruitland PD was desperate. Her request for the investigation file had been granted in less than forty-eight hours and emailed over to her last night. While she couldn't be sure without speaking to the lead detective directly, she had the feeling the town of less than six thousand residents wanted any help they could get to bring Michael Agutter home.

"I thought I might find you here." Chandler Reed leaned against the bedroom doorframe. She hadn't heard him approach. Odd, considering that while the Boucher home was newer, there were still spots in the hallway that creaked. "You look like you haven't slept in two days."

"I grabbed a couple hours in the car this morning." It was the stupidest decision she could've made in the middle of an investigation. Exhaustion meant she wasn't thinking clearly, and her reaction times would be compromised. Any small slip—any mistake—on her part, and Carter Boucher could lose his chance of coming home alive.

The federal investigator came into the room, much too large and taking up too much space. He seemed to take it all in, right down to the toy soldier she hadn't let Lebanon PD collect. "What are you doing here, Leigh?"

There was a familiarity there she didn't have the mental capacity to process at the moment. Like they'd known each other all their lives. Leigh forced her attention back to the computer screen and the pixelated words starting to lose their shape in front of her. "You already know the answer to that."

"This isn't connected to the task force's case." He said it so matter-of-factly, she almost believed him. There was something in his voice, in the way he moved. Subtle. Trusting. But could turn deadly in a split second when provoked. "The victimology doesn't match."

She knew that. Because there were too many differences. It was what led her to believe Gresham Schmidt, Michelle Cross, and Roxanne Jennings had been targeted and murdered by someone familiar with her brother's case. Not the man she believed had killed him. Her awareness felt Chandler rounding behind her, instinctually telling her he'd noticed the toy soldier on the bed. "It doesn't have my name carved into the bottom. I think whoever really killed those boys twenty years ago took Carter."

"Why?" The federal investigator slid into her peripheral vision. "It's been twenty years. Why after all this time?"

"Because someone is replicating his life's work." She looked up at him then from her position on the floor, saw the heaviness that came with an investigation like this in his shoulders, in his eyes, and understood it right down into her bones. "He's been at the top of the food chain for so long, he feels threatened by someone bigger and badder coming to take his place. Whoever killed our three victims is stronger, faster, and can take down adult targets without leaving a trace. He's proven his position because he simply doesn't have to go after children."

"You make it sound like a territorial fight," Chandler said.

She considered that for a moment. "It is, in a way. Add to that, the unsub killing these latest victims is doing so with another killer's MO, and that makes it personal."

"You think the unsub is recreating a twenty-year-old case to get a reaction out of the original killer?" He settled against the dresser.

"I believe these recent murders are a way to bring the veteran out into the open." Leigh turned her laptop toward him. She didn't know why she felt the need to share with him what she'd found other than carrying the weight alone was getting to be too much. "And it's working."

Chandler crouched to meet her, small lines creasing between his brows as his eyes ping-ponged across the screen. "Michael Agutter missing three months from his backyard in Fruitland, Montana." A small shake of his head told her the details weren't significant. "The investigation is still active. You think there's a connection?"

"I think Carter Boucher's disappearance is a response from the same person who killed Troy Brody and Derek Garrison, and while Lebanon hasn't seen a murder for two decades, serial offenders don't just stop cold turkey unless they're in the middle of a cooling off period. They have to adapt so as not to bring attention to themselves." She turned the screen back toward her and opened the collection of newspaper articles she'd put together the past few days. "Such as moving to a small town across the country. Maybe even changing their name, but there are things they can't run from. Opportunity, especially."

She pointed to a photo taken from Michael Agutter's home, one police highlighted as a possible entry and exit point from the house. A crawl space access in a bedroom next to the victim's.

"One case." Chandler's knees popped as he shoved to his feet. "You're going to need more than that to get the director's attention. And until you do, we've been ordered to step back from the Boucher search. The lieutenant, too. Livingstone wants Lebanon PD to take point."

That got her attention, but Leigh refused to give in to the fear carving out her insides. "They're not trained to handle a disappearance like this. Look what happened the first time. Carter Boucher doesn't have weeks. We've got three days to bring him home before he turns up dead."

"That's not our call, Agent Brody. Three people are dead, Boucher's son was just taken, your house was burned to the ground. This case is bigger than all of us, and it's going to take us working together to figure it out. Before it's too late." He disappeared down the hall as quietly as he'd approached. One moment there, gone the next.

Together. She supposed he had a point. From the moment she'd stepped foot in Lebanon, she'd committed to connecting these cases to her brother's and Derek Garrison's. Whether the unit supported her or not. Because she'd been the only person she could rely on. No one had believed her after her father's arrest. No one wanted to admit Troy could've survived his abduction. All they'd wanted was closure—her parents, the police, this town—leaving her to fight alone.

But she wasn't alone anymore. At least, she didn't have to be.

The words on the screen blurred together. Her hands were shaking from the grip she'd kept on her laptop. No. She wasn't going to lose it. Boucher needed her focused. To bring his son home. Michelle Cross, Gresham Schmidt, Roxanne Jennings—they were all part of this puzzle, but she couldn't help them now. She could help Carter.

She read through one of the newspaper clippings published a week after Michael Agutter had gone missing. Wait. She checked the date three times. "A week." Leigh scoured through the rest of the articles. There wasn't a single local newspaper or story she'd found that reported a body had been discovered. The investigation was still active. There were rewards being offered, tip lines open, search teams still in place. It didn't fit. Any of it.

Both her brother and Derek Garrison had gone missing three days before they'd been brought back to their homes, stabbed, drained, and missing their mouths. But the crawl space connection said Michael Agutter's disappearance was the work of the same attacker. It had to be. Which meant either Chris Ellingson had disposed of the body too well, or… "He's still alive."

An expansion in her chest had her holding her breath as she skimmed the final few news reports she hadn't gotten the chance to review. The killer would've tried to establish a relationship with Michael Agutter, just as he'd done with the others. Chris Ellingson had gained access to hundreds of potential victims by positioning himself as a school psychologist. It was possible old habits died hard.

"You would've wanted to help with the investigation." Just as he'd offered that night outside the hardware store then again after her house had burned down. Maybe Fruitland police had taken him up on that offer. She ran through the last article, her attention honing on a single name toward the bottom. "Local Elementary School Psychologist Vows to Recover Missing Boy." She read through the article. "Harvey Gehrig has stepped in to organize search volunteers, assist police with possible psychological markers of the abductor, and console the boy's parents in a vow to bring one of his prized students home safely."

Possible psychological markers. Were those the same markers Chris Ellingson had been all too willing to educate her about four nights ago? Leigh highlighted, copied, and pasted the name and ran it through the FBI's database. Montana was one of only twenty-one states that gave federal law enforcement access to resident driver's licenses and identification photos for facial recognition when connected to a crime.

Her heart shuddered as a familiar face filled the box on the right of her screen.

She was right. Chris Ellingson had assumed an alias, positioned himself inside a public school, and put himself front and center in another boy's life.

Acid collected at the back of her throat. "Bastard."

It was enough for a search warrant.

Leigh sent everything she had to Livingstone and slammed her laptop closed. Her instincts screamed they'd already wasted too much time, but she'd do whatever it took to make sure Carter Boucher had a chance at survival.

She raced down the hall and out the front door of the house. The sun spread out in the front yard, and it was only then she realized Boucher had taken his vehicle last night. Of course he had. Most of the department was in the woods, searching for any sign of their lieutenant's boy, but they weren't going to find him out there. Not yet. Only one officer remained behind on scene security. Donavon Pierce. "Shit."

She was stranded at the edge of town with no one but a Lebanon PD officer waiting for the day she ended up behind bars or six feet under. With his help. Leigh approached Pierce. That ten-year-old boy was counting on her, and she wasn't going to fail him. She couldn't. "Officer Pierce, I need to get to Chris Ellingson's home as fast as possible."

Disbelief hardened that bruised jaw as Pierce stared her down. "Not sure if you've noticed, Brody, but I don't work for you, and I sure as hell ain't doing you any favors. Not after you embarrassed me in front of the department. Call a ride share."

She didn't have time for this. Whatever was happening between them didn't matter in the face of a missing scared little boy, and she wasn't about to let one more roadblock slow her down. Leigh took another step forward, lowering her voice. "Listen to me, Pierce. I know it was you in my house the night it burned, just as I know you're the one who slashed my tires back in high school. I know that broken nose you're sporting came from my foot ramming into your face when you tried to make it look like I'd died in that fire, and your sling is supporting a stab wound from my hammer."

Nervousness exploded across Pierce's face.

"Now, the only reason I haven't started an investigation into you is because there are more important things going on here than whatever issue you have with me." Suspicion she might be talking to the unsub responsible for three adult victims charged through her. "I know where Carter Boucher is, and despite your winning personality, I'd like to think you're the kind of guy who isn't going to let an innocent child die. So are you going to help me save him, or are you going to be the one to stand in my way?"

One second. Two.

Pierce pinched his radio in one hand. "4058 to dispatch, requesting additional units at my location for scene security." He looked at her then, clearly questioning her motive. As well as his own. "The FBI is requiring assistance." The dispatcher's voice crackled confirmation, and he stood taller. "We find that boy, I get the credit. You understand? Then you're gone. Out of Lebanon. No looking back."

"Whatever helps you sleep better at night." She followed him to his patrol vehicle and collapsed into the passenger seat. Within fifteen minutes of determined silence, Pierce pulled over just before the gravel road leading to Chris Ellingson's home.

The bridge where Michelle Cross's body had been found was right on the other side of these trees. Now she understood the reasoning for that. Whoever'd killed Gresham Schmidt, Roxanne Jennings, and Michelle Cross had wanted her to suspect Ellingson. The unsub had planned on it. And she'd played right into their hand.

She and Pierce hit the dirt as one, leaving the car behind. Of all the people she could trust in this investigation, Pierce sure as hell wasn't one of them, but he was armed, and she had to believe he'd follow through on aiding her during the search.

They approached the house, her senses raw. Chris Ellingson was an intelligent predator who'd outlasted suspicion and law enforcement for two decades. There was no telling what lengths he'd gone to to protect his home and the surrounding property. She'd known serial offenders to funnel police into an ambush with garbage and junk in their yards, dig holes then cover them over to stop intruders, and cleverly direct unwanted visitors in front of windows for a kill shot.

The house came into view. It looked exactly as it had five days ago. Only now the car that'd been parked in front of the garage was missing.

"You really think the lieutenant's boy is in there?" Sweat beaded along Pierce's temple. Most of Lebanon PD's calls were in response to domestic disturbance calls. Not surprising a suspected child murderer.

"Only one way to find out." Her search warrant request wouldn't have gone through in the past twenty minutes, but there was no harm in knocking on the front door, was there? Leigh set her weight on the bottom step leading to the screened-in front porch. The resulting creak hadn't triggered her nerves during her last visit, but it might as well have been a bull horn announcing their presence this time.

Three knocks swung the door inward. The fine hairs at the back of her neck stood on end as the seconds ticked by. No movement through the kitchen window. No footsteps rushing toward the front of the house. Only silence.

"Step back." Pierce unholstered his service weapon and maneuvered in front of her. He shoved inside, raising his uninjured arm, and entered the house.

Leigh barely had time to register the small details of the house before the smell hit the back of her throat. It resurrected buried memories, dread, and loss as she pushed past Pierce through the living room.

"Brody, wait! The house isn't clear!" The officer tried to keep up with her, but she knew the layout here.

She'd never forgotten.

She wrenched the basement door open and descended the stairs. The odor turned thick and physical, a wall of warning she refused to slow down for. The windows had been blacked out, but the lightbulb cord at the bottom of the stairs was right where she remembered. Leigh tugged at the string.

Yellow light spread across the basement.

And exposed the body waiting in the dark.