Chapter 29

Jason Abbott sat in front of the crackling campfire with his gun at his back, his knife in his boot, and his ax leaning against a nearby tree. He held a flashlight in his mouth as he read through the pages of his most recent journal. The memories came rushing back, and he remembered the sweetness of each kill.

His dick hardened to rock. Where was he going to find black dahlias now?

A rumble started down the dirt drive, and he paused, letting the flashlight drop onto the descriptive pages before setting it aside on a log stump next to him. He pulled the weapon from the back of his waist and stood, pointing it at the bulky car.

Like before, it was an older Cadillac glinting golden in the firelight. The vehicle rolled to a stop, and the door opened, a gun emerging first, pointed at him. Then she stepped out. She slammed the door shut and walked gracefully toward him, tonight wearing all black: sweater, jeans, boots. Even a black knit hat covered her head and a portion of that unreal auburn hair.

"Are the guns really necessary?" Abigail Caine asked, edging toward him, no fear on her face.

He tilted his head. "Where's the sniper rifle?"

"It's in the car," she murmured, drawing nearer. "If you shoot, I shoot. How about we put them away?"

"Why?" he asked insolently, the idea of wrapping his hands around her neck nearly making him come in his pants.

She sighed as if becoming bored. "Would you stop acting silly? We both know you have a much higher intelligence than most people realize. How about you act like it?"

He hated when she spoke to him like that, and yet he also wanted to understand. Why did she always seem to be irritated or bored with him? He was smarter than she was—for sure. "What exactly do you think is going to happen here?"

Her gaze dropped to the journals on the stump. "I thought I could read one of those, and then we have to burn them, Jason."

Fire lashed through him. "We can't burn them. I recorded everything. These are mine." He sounded petulant, and he knew it. He drew in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. The way she'd taught him.

"If you detailed your kills, then we have to destroy them." She spoke slowly and with a commanding voice, one he remembered from those experiments.

"What did you shoot into my veins during those experiments anyway?" he asked.

She smiled, looking quite lovely in the firelight. She'd look even better dead. "I tell you what. How about we sit, have a nice chat, and I'll tell you? Put down your gun."

He'd wondered for months, truly not understanding. He'd believed when he signed up for her study that she would help him manage his rage. That those injections were vitamin B shots. He now knew otherwise. "All right. You first."

"How about at the same time?" She sounded bored again.

He wanted to roll his eyes but instead stared at her directly. "All right. On the count of three. One. Two. Three."

They both lowered their weapons.

"How about we toss them over there?" she suggested, pointing to a tree close to his cabin.

"Fine." He threw his first. If she'd wanted him dead, she would've killed him when she had him nearly unconscious during those tests. Or rather, yesterday when she'd held that sniper rifle on those officers. He'd been in her sights, too.

"Very good. I appreciate it." She tossed her gun over next to his, and they clinked together.

He retook his seat. She looked around and then sat on a stump to his left.

It had shocked the hell out of him when she'd knocked on his door a couple of days ago, saying that he had told her about the cabin on Viper's Mountain. The cabin couldn't be traced to him, and he truly could not remember telling her about it. Yet she'd shown up, pointed a gun at him, and informed him that his journals had been found—and she had a plan to get them back. She had a source in the FBI.

She looked at the volumes. "How could you have written down anything about your criminal activities?"

"I like to relive them." He saw no reason to lie to her now. He was bigger, and he was stronger, and they were both unarmed. Her outfit was tight, and there was no way she'd hidden another weapon. If she had, it was a knife, and he could easily take it away from her. He hadn't spent his time in jail getting fat. He'd worked out every day and was even stronger and faster than he had been before he'd been arrested.

"Do you talk about me in the journals?" she asked.

"Of course," he said. "What happened was your fault. I never would've killed those women without you."

Her chuckle was low and reminded him of happier times. "That's not true, and we both know it. You were on a path to kill. I tried to help you, Jason."

Fury lashed through him, and he looked toward the guns.

She waved a hand in the air. "Don't be silly. We're in this together now." She crossed her legs, making his mouth water. "What is your ultimate plan?" she asked.

To kill her, that was for sure. "I don't know," he lied. He also wanted a piece of her sister. Then maybe he'd move to a larger city, where he could get lost among the crowds. He missed following his girlfriends, spending time getting to know their schedules, watching them when they didn't know it. Then the leaving of presents, flowers everywhere for them, forcing them to think about him. Only then did he strike.

"I have money," she said. "I can help you get out of town."

"I'm not quite ready to leave."

She stood and started to walk to her car. "Oh, for Pete's sake."

"What are you doing?" He jumped to his feet.

"Would you relax? I'm getting something to drink. We're sitting at a cozy campfire."

He started to reach for the knife in his boot just as she leaned into the car and drew out a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"You brought wine and plastic wineglasses?"

"I'm a woman of fine taste." She sauntered toward him, completely confident. Frankly, it was disconcerting. Then she sat and untwisted the bottle top.

"You don't seem like a twist top." He retook his seat and allowed his shoulders to relax. This time, he would not let her make him uncomfortable. He was in charge.

"There are very good vintages that now have twist tops." She poured them each a glass and leaned over to hand him his.

"Switch me," he ordered.

She frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Switch glasses with me."

She snorted and then handed hers over, accepting his. "All right." Perching on the stump, she took a healthy swallow.

He did the same, now feeling silly. The wine exploded on his taste buds, and he had to admit she was right. It was delicious.

"Your turn," she said.

He reached for the nearest journal and tossed it to her.

Delight lifted her lips, and she opened it, tilting the pages toward the fire to illuminate them. "Naughty boy. You drew pictures, too, Jason."

"I was an architect," he said. "I like drawing."

She read for a while, sipping her wine. "This is rather detailed."

"I know." His cock wept against his zipper.

She looked at him directly. "You're smart enough to understand that we have to burn these, right?"

He finished his wine, understanding the danger the journals represented. But they were his, damn it. "I suppose so."

"There you go," she said happily, pouring more wine in her glass and then doing the same in his. "I brought an accelerant." She put the bottle on the ground and walked back to her vehicle, pulling out a healthy-sized can of lighter fluid. "I know it's difficult to let these go, but you want to be safe, and you can always rewrite them. You're a genius, Jason. You can remember everything in great detail."

She was correct.

"All right," he said.

She ripped off the front of the journal she'd read and threw it in the fire before tearing out the individual pages and finally tossing the back cover in. Then she opened the can of lighter fluid and poured it all over the papers. They went up instantly, and a swoosh of fire flashed toward the trees.

He could almost hear the screams of his victims.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as he watched his glorious pages burn.

"Now, those two," she said.

He took another big gulp of his wine and then tore the second journal apart the same way she had before throwing it onto the fire.

She gleefully poured more lighter fluid over it, her lithe body dancing in the firelight.

He finished his wine and sat back. "I could keep just one of them."

She sighed and returned to her seat to finish her glass of wine. She poured herself another one, then walked toward him and dumped out the rest of the bottle in his glass. "Come on, Jason. You know you need to burn it."

"I can't do this anymore," he burst out. "It's too much." The hiding by himself without his dates was killing him. Perhaps taking her life would help him to calm down.

"Do it."

For courage, he tipped back the rest of the wine and then threw the plastic cup into the fire. "Fine."

She'd been correct that he was a genius, and he would remember the kills. In fact, she'd be the first one he recorded in his new journal. His head was swimming from the wine, but he wasn't letting her leave tonight. Almost angrily, he tore apart the journal and threw it on the fire.

She smiled and sprayed more of the lighter fluid.

A light rain began to fall. He'd read that there was a big storm coming.

She retook her seat, and together, silently, they watched the papers burn. "What did you do with the cops' phones?" she asked. "Tell me. I did let you shoot at them, you know."

"The phones are in the cabin," he murmured. "I don't know why you wanted me to take them. I turned them off so they can't be traced." No doubt she had more games to play, or at least she thought she did.

She wasn't going to survive the night.

His eyes blurred as he watched his wonderful drawings go up in flames, and his head swam. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and his vision blurred. His feet went numb, and it took him a moment to realize that his ears tingled. What was wrong with him? Slowly, way too slowly, he turned to look at Abigail. "What did you—"

The world went fuzzy, and he slumped down in his chair, wanting to scream, but then the darkness took him.