Together, can they find the Twilight Killer...

Before he finds them?

Special Agent Ethan Barrow’s father was the most brilliant FBI profiler of all time. Now he’s in a psychiatric ward, committed for the very crimes he cased. But new evidence leads Ethan straight to Detective Adaline Kinsella—the woman he had a past with ten years earlier. Addie can trust evidence...even if she can’t trust the emotions Ethan elicits. Can she now put the past aside to bring the real Twilight Killer to justice?

AMANDA STEVENS is an award-winning author of over fifty novels, including the modern gothic series The Graveyard Queen. Her books have been described as eerie and atmospheric, “a new take on the classic ghost story.” Born and raised in the rural South, she now resides in Houston, Texas, where she enjoys binge-watching, bike riding and the occasional margarita.

Also by Amanda Stevens

Pine Lake

Whispering Springs

Bishop’s Rock (ebook novella)

The Restorer

The Kingdom

The Prophet

The Visitor

The Sinner

The Awakening

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Criminal Behaviour

Amanda Stevens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09391-0

CRIMINAL BEHAVIOUR

© 2019 Marilyn Medlock Amann

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Located at the end of a dead-end street, the derelict Victorian seemed to wither in the heat, the turrets and dormers sagging from time, neglect and decades of inclement weather. The gardens were lost, the maze of brick pathways broken and forgotten. The whole place wore an air of despair and long-buried secrets.

Those secrets and the steamy humidity stole Detective Adaline Kinsella’s breath as she ducked under the crime-scene tape and pushed open the front door. It swung inward with the inevitable squeak, drawing a shiver.

She had the strangest sensation of déjà vu as she entered the house, and the experience both puzzled and unsettled her. She’d never been here before. Couldn’t remember ever having driven down this street. But a nerve had been touched. Old memories had been triggered. If she listened closely enough, she could hear the echo of long-dead screams, but she knew that sound came straight from her nightmares.

She was just tired, Addie told herself. Five days of hiking, swimming and kayaking in ninety-degree weather had taken a toll, and now she needed a vacation from her vacation.

For nearly a week, she’d remained sequestered in her aunt’s lake house without access to cable or the internet. One day had spun into another, and for the better part of the week, Addie had thought she’d found heaven on earth in the Blue Ridge Mountains. But by Thursday she’d become restless to the point of pacing on the front porch. On Friday she’d awakened early, packed up her car and headed back to Charleston, arriving just after lunch to explosive headlines and the police department abuzz with a gruesome discovery.

The details of that find swirled in her head as she hovered in the foyer. The previous owner of the house, a recluse named Delmar Gainey, had died five years earlier in a nursing home, and the property had remained vacant until an enterprising house flipper had bought it at auction. The demo crew had noticed a fusty odor, but no one had sounded an alarm. It was the smell of old death, after all. The lingering aroma of disintegrating vermin and rotting vegetation. The house had flooded at least once, allowing in the deadly invasion of mold and mildew. The structure was a public health hazard that needed to be razed, but the flipper had been adamant about renovation—until his workers had uncovered human remains behind the living room walls.

Skeletal remains had also been found behind the dining room walls and beneath the rotting floorboards in the hallway. Seven bodies hidden away inside the abandoned house and seven more buried in the backyard. Fourteen victims so far, and the search had now been extended onto the adjacent property.

“Hello?” Addie called as she moved across the foyer to the rickety staircase. The house was oppressive and sweltering. No power meant no lights and no AC. Sweat trickled down her backbone and moistened her armpits. Furtive claws scratched overhead, and the sound deepened Addie’s dread. Ever since she’d heard about the Gainey house, images had bombarded her. Now she pictured the ceiling collapsing and rat bodies dropping down on her. She had a thing about rats. Spiders and snakes she could handle, but rats...

Grimacing in disgust, she moved toward the archway on her right, peeking into the shadowy space she thought might once have been the dining room. The long windows were boarded up, allowing only thin slivers of light to creep in. She could smell dust from the demolished plaster and a whiff of putrefaction. Or was that, too, her imagination? Delmar Gainey’s victims had been entombed in the walls for over two decades. Surely the scent would have disintegrated by now.

A memory flitted and was gone. The nightmares still tugged...

Addie suppressed another shiver and wondered why she had come. As of Monday, she had a new assignment. Handpicked by her captain to train with the FBI’s famous Behavioral Analysis Unit, she’d been temporarily reassigned from the Charleston PD Investigations Bureau. Soon she would join select law enforcement personnel from all over the Southeast for six weeks of specialized training conducted by one of the brightest minds to ever work in the BAU. But for today, right this moment, she needed to focus on her perilous surroundings. She needed to find out why so many alarms were tripping inside her head.

“Boo!” a voice boomed from the shadows.

Addie jumped in spite of herself, and her hand went automatically to her weapon. Then she let loose a string of expletives that seemed to echo back to her from the hollowed-out walls. “Are you crazy?” she scolded her partner. “I might have shot you.”

Detective Matt Lepear laughed as he emerged from the depths of the gloom. “Oh, come on,” he drawled. “I’ve never known anyone less trigger-happy than you.” He somehow made it sound like a shortcoming.

“Maybe I’ve changed.”

“Not you, Addie Kinsella. You’re as predictable as the day is long. I knew you wouldn’t make it a week in the mountains all by your lonesome. What happened? Couldn’t stand your own company?”

“Figured I’d better head on back and see how badly you’ve screwed things up in my absence.”

“Can’t say as I’ve missed that mouth.” He shoved his dust mask to the top of his head, allowing a lock of brown hair to fall across his brow. “Seriously, girl, you couldn’t find anything better to do with the last few days of your vacation? Go to the movies or something. Go shopping, get your hair done. Just go. Get out of here. We’ve got this covered.”

“I know you do, but I wanted to see this place for myself.”

“You’re a strange bird, Addie. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Yes, you. All the time.”

He leaned a shoulder against the door frame and unwrapped a stick of gum. Like Addie, Matt Lepear was a ten-year veteran of the Charleston PD. They’d gone through the academy together, patrolled the streets together, and their partnership in the Investigations Bureau had seemed a natural progression of their bond. They were as thick as thieves and as different as night and day. Addie had a tendency to overthink and second-guess, but nothing much fazed Matt Lepear. He took it all in stride. Serial killers, hurricanes, even his two ex-wives.

He was a good detective, one might even say gifted, but his career would always be held back by his disdain for rules and neckties. He preferred to follow his gut rather than the book, and he insisted on dressing in his own uniform of jeans, sneakers and T-shirts. His insubordination had become legendary, but he and Addie led the department in percentage of closed cases, so the powers that be tended to give him leeway. Addie was under no illusion that she would be afforded the same consideration with a different partner, no matter that the deputy chief was a man she once called uncle. Addie was smart, meticulous and persistent to a fault, but she would never have Matt’s instincts.

His irreverence had rubbed off on her over the years and now she was in no position to criticize anyone’s style, she acknowledged, wiping clammy hands down the sides of her faded jeans. She hadn’t bothered going home to change before stopping by headquarters. When she heard about the Gainey house, she’d driven straight over. Come Monday, she’d make more of an effort to look presentable. It was in her best interests to get off on the right foot with the retired supervisory special agent-turned-consultant who would be in charge of her training. If there was anything Gwen Holloway had been known for at Quantico, besides her uncanny profiles, it was her rigid standards on dress and conduct.

“You want the twenty-five-cent tour?” Matt asked her.

“Of the house? No, thanks. I’ll just poke around on my own.” She turned back to the foyer. “How do you think he got away with it for so long? The stench must have been unbearable, especially in the summer months. Yet none of the neighbors ever filed a complaint? Even now I can smell the decay.”

“You’re smelling the rats,” Matt said. “This place is lousy with them, dead and alive.”

Addie lifted her gaze to the water-stained ceiling. “I can hear them.”

“Wait until they start nipping at your feet. As to why the neighbors never complained, you have to remember that back in Delmar Gainey’s time, this area was a lot less populated. The houses damaged by the hurricane were either torn down or abandoned. Gainey’s mother died the same year the big one hit. He moved in after she passed, and that’s likely when he began his spree. Her death may even have been the stressor. Being isolated as he was, he could come and go as he pleased—bury bodies in the backyard at all hours—and no one would have noticed.”

“And then he just stopped?”

Matt nodded toward the murky sidelights that flanked the front door. “Didn’t you notice the ramp by the porch steps? Three years after Gainey moved in here, he had a car accident that confined him to a wheelchair. His mobility became limited. He couldn’t go around unnoticed like he did before the accident, so for the next quarter of a century, he had to content himself with reliving the kills in his head. Probably why he stayed in this squalor for as long as did. Couldn’t bear leaving his conquests behind.”

Addie glanced around the gutted room. The remains had already been removed and the scene processed, but the exposed wall studs were a reminder of a madman’s gruesome pastime. “That explains how the smell went unnoticed, but how do fourteen people in a city this size just disappear?”

“Fringe dwellers, most likely. Street people have always been easy prey. We’ll have to check the files to see if any of the disappearances were reported. That far back, nothing is computerized. Someone will have to do some digging.”

Addie nodded absently, her gaze still raking over the walls.

“There’s also the time frame to consider.” Matt’s voice sounded hushed, as if he had intuited her unease. “Could be the reason the disappearances never made the news is because Gainey’s spree overlapped with a more famous predator.”

Addie nodded again, but she found herself oddly short of breath. Why Matt’s observation should hit her so hard, she couldn’t explain. She’d already considered the timeline, but the spoken word had power. In one sentence, her partner had illuminated a connection, no matter how tenuous and indirect, to Addie’s personal nightmare. The déjà vu she’d experienced upon arrival hadn’t been conjured by this house, but by the icy touch of another monster.

“Think about everything going on in Charleston during that time,” Matt said. “The city knee-deep in hurricane recovery and every headline and news broadcast obsessed with the Twilight Killer.”

The Twilight Killer. The very real bogeyman of Addie’s childhood.

“Little wonder someone like Gainey was able to fly under the radar.”

“I guess.” Addie turned to avoid her partner’s penetrating gaze.

His voice softened. “You still don’t like to talk about it, do you?”

“I don’t mind talking about it. I just have nothing new to offer. And it happened so long ago. I barely even remember it.” Not true, of course. She recalled only too well the woman she called aunt standing in the bedroom doorway as Addie had pretended to sleep.

How do we do this, David? That child is barely seven years old. How do we explain to someone so young that her mother has been brutally murdered by a serial killer? Only, it couldn’t have been Orson Lee Finch, could it? You arrested him. Which means there’s another one out there. A copycat...

We’re not going to explain anything tonight. The news can wait until morning. Come away from the door, Helen. Let the girl sleep.

In a minute. I just can’t bear to take my eyes off her. My poor angel...

Orson Lee Finch’s spree had lasted five months. Nine young women had been brutally murdered, all single mothers from affluent families. All slain in the twilight hour by a demented gardener who had left as his calling card a crimson magnolia petal placed on the lips of his victims, as if to seal their deaths with a kiss.

Unlike Delmar Gainey, who had sequestered his victims in his home, Orson Lee Finch had flaunted his kills, leaving the bodies broken and exposed.

Addie’s mother had been the ninth victim—or the first, depending on one’s perspective. She hadn’t been killed by Orson Lee Finch, but her death was a result of his spree. She’d been murdered in cold blood by the FBI profiler who had mind-hunted Finch. For months, SSA James Merrick had tireless tracked the Twilight Killer, only to become the monster he had so obsessively stalked.

“I watched a documentary the other night about the Twilight Killer,” Matt said. “They interviewed people who still think Orson Lee Finch is innocent.”

“Death-row groupies. I’ve run into a few of those over the years,” Addie said.

“No, these people were different. Articulate and respectful, and they made some good points. Got me to thinking.”

“Had to happen sooner or later.”

Matt grinned and folded his arms, which meant he had no intention of letting the subject drop until he’d said his piece. “The case had inconsistencies that I was unaware of until I saw that film. They also ran a segment on Twilight’s Children.” He paused. “They showed your picture, but it didn’t look much like you.”

“Probably an old shot,” Addie said, still avoiding his gaze.

“They said you declined to be interviewed.”

“Because I’m not technically one of Twilight’s Children. Orson Lee Finch didn’t kill my mother.”

“Yeah, but they lump you in just the same, and they still consider your mother the ninth victim. You have to admit, it was one strange, messed-up case.”

“Messed up is an understatement,” Addie muttered.

Matt continued, undaunted, “An FBI profiler with an almost godlike reputation helps capture the psycho and then ends up stalking and murdering a victim with the same MO in order to continue Finch’s mission. Talk about crazy.”

“Merrick obviously had a psychotic breakdown,” Addie said. “Which is why he remains to this day in the state psychiatric hospital in Columbia. He’s where he belongs. End of story. Let’s get back to Delmar Gainey. We’re standing in his house of horrors, after all.”

“Yeah, sure. We can get back to Gainey. But there’s a lesson to be learned from James Merrick. Especially for you.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Your new assignment.” He let his head fall back against the door frame as he observed her. “It’s a game changer. I’d be the last one to ever stand in your way.”

“I know that. I also know you deserve this assignment more than I do.”

“That’s not true. You’re a good detective, and you’re smart. You need to stop selling yourself short because of a stupid rookie mistake.”

Addie winced.

“Just stay smart, okay? The people who’ll be training you are a different breed. Next-level intense. What we found here is nothing compared to what they deal with on a daily basis.”

“What’s your point?”

“Sooner or later, what they do takes a toll. It has to if you’re human.”

“You don’t think I can handle it?”

“Oh, I know you can handle it. Just be aware. Profiling is a powerful tool, but it’s not without a dark side. It can mess with your head if you’re not careful.”

“You mean like James Merrick.”

“He entered the mind of a monster and created an opening, allowing the monster to slither back into his.” Matt’s gaze deepened, and he seemed uncharacteristically sober. “You go into that training with an open mind, Addie. Learn everything you can from this Gwen Holloway. Be a sponge. Soak it all up. Then you come back to the Charleston PD and put that knowledge to good use. But always keep your guard up. Always protect yourself. The moment you let that monster crawl inside your head and make a nest is the moment you become the next James Merrick.”

* * *

SPECIAL AGENT ETHAN BARROW stood at rigid attention beside his rented SUV as he eyed the abandoned house through his Ray-Bans. His gaze traveled over the crumbling roofline and then dropped once more to the sagging porch. The place was as dark and creepy as one might imagine the lair of a ruthless predator would be. Even the sun shining down through thick curtains of Spanish moss seemed muted, casting the house in perpetual gloom.

Ever since Ethan’s return to Charleston, the news had been dominated by the gruesome discovery inside that house, managing to overshadow the upcoming anniversary of Orson Lee Finch’s incarceration and James Merrick’s subsequent confinement to the state psychiatric hospital. Twenty-five years after the fact, Orson Lee Finch remained at Kirkland Correctional Institution, housed in a specialized unit for the state’s most violent inmates. Most people thought he deserved worse. James Merrick remained a patient on the infamous fourth floor, a ward for the criminally insane. Most people thought he deserved worse.

Ethan wasn’t one of those people.

He shifted his position so that he could glimpse around the corner of the house. He heard voices over the fence, but no one approached him. That was good. He needed a few minutes to plot his strategy. Or to work up his courage. No reason in the world Adaline Kinsella should agree to hear him out after what he’d once put her through, but she was the only person he could turn to right now. The only person he trusted with the potential bombshell that had fallen into his lap.

He moved back to the other end of the SUV, killing more time. It had now been twenty-four hours since his arrival in Charleston, and he had yet to make contact with Addie. He hadn’t slept much. He’d eaten poorly, consumed too much coffee, and now he was starting to feel the strain. He’d forgotten just how hot and humid the city could be in the middle of summer. Virginia was bad enough, but coastal South Carolina was a whole new level of misery. He wasn’t dressed for the weather. He loosened his tie and tugged at the collar of his starched shirt, but he didn’t remove his jacket. The dark suit was his uniform now. Both his identity and his camouflage.

His first order of business upon landing at Charleston International Airport the day before had been to rent a vehicle and drive to Columbia to interview Orson Lee Finch. Over the years, Ethan had studied dozens, perhaps hundreds, of photos and videos of Finch, but he’d never met him in person. Face-to-face, Finch’s appearance had taken him by surprise. The Twilight Killer was a small man, pale and wiry with bright blue eyes magnified behind the thick lenses of silver-framed glasses. His grooming was fastidious—crisp khaki uniform, combed hair, clean and clipped nails. He resembled a scholar or historian. He did not look like a serial killer. Ethan couldn’t help but wonder how Finch had managed to survive for as long as he had behind bars. Maybe he was small enough and his appearance so nondescript that he’d managed to go unnoticed. Or maybe his looks were deceiving.

They’d sat on plastic chairs, eyeing each other warily through the partition until Finch had picked up the phone. A few minutes of awkward conversation had ensued while Ethan tried to get a feel for his subject. Finch had struck him as quiet and reflective, a man who’d long ago made peace with his deeds and circumstances. His placid demeanor never altered until Ethan had broached the topic of Finch’s mother. Then the blue eyes seemed to intensify behind the glasses and the corner of Finch’s mouth twitched, as if he were suppressing a painful memory.

“Your mother never married, did she?” Ethan had spoken in a conversational tone, trying to draw the man out. “That must have been tough. Children born out of wedlock were stigmatized back in your day. You were probably teased in school, maybe even bullied.”

Finch said nothing.

“Your mother worked as a housekeeper, so I imagine money was tight. Barely enough for necessities, let alone extras. You wore hand-me-down clothing from the people whose houses she cleaned, and as much as you enjoyed having those nice things, you resented where they came from, didn’t you? You were hostile to the hand that fed you.”

Finch watched him avidly through the partition.

Ethan glanced down at his notes even though he had everything memorized. “Despite your disadvantages, you were a good student. Always the brightest in your class, but your financial situation limited your prospects. A full-ride scholarship must have been the answer to all your prayers. A dream come true. You studied horticulture at a state school, right? You wanted to be a landscape architect. Then your mother became ill during your junior year, and you were forced to drop out of college to take care of her. That’s when you got your first job as a gardener. You had to go back, hat in hand, to the people who had given you their throwaway clothing.”

Finch had stared at him for the longest moment before answering. “Is this your way of establishing rapport, Special Agent Barrow? Or do you wish to impress me with the amount of homework you’ve done?”

“How’s this for homework? You have a daughter out there somewhere. No one knows her name or where she’s been since your incarceration. Some believe her mother was your first victim. Did she fit your criteria? A single mother without morals. A loose woman who valued her freedom more than her child. What happened? Did she refuse to marry you? Is that what set you off?”

Finch’s expression never changed, but something dark glinted at the back of his eyes. “After all these years and all the files you people have amassed—mountains, I’m told—no one has ever gotten it right. Not even the esteemed James Merrick.”

“Is that a denial?”

Finch studied his hand for a moment. “Merrick’s profile was flawed from the start. It was written from the cynical presumption that I harbored ill will toward my own mother. Nothing could be further from the truth. I was a happy child. We didn’t have money, but I never wanted for affection. I wasn’t starved for attention. Your psychological evaluations to the contrary, I wasn’t bitter then about my lot in life and I’m not bitter now. That must surprise you. You’re thinking, if he’s really innocent, how can he be so accepting of such a cruel injustice?”

“How do you accept it? If you really are innocent, that is.”

A smile flickered for the first time. “I could never give an explanation that would satisfy someone like you. Acceptance isn’t in your nature. A man like you will always be at war with his emotions. Tormented by what he can’t know. Unable to make peace with his past.”

Damn if the observation hadn’t been insightful and perhaps even prophetic.

After Ethan had left Orson Lee Finch, he’d driven to the state psychiatric hospital. He was no stranger to the layout of the parking area or the maze of hallways and wards. He’d visited regularly for years and was afforded certain privileges because of his position and background. He had signed in and then been escorted up to the fourth floor, where an orderly had unlocked a small room and waved Ethan inside.

James Merrick had been at the window, gazing out over the shady grounds. He hadn’t turned when Ethan entered, nor had he acknowledged Ethan’s presence in any way. That wasn’t unusual. He never gave any indication of recognizing Ethan from one visit to the next. Ethan had learned to ignore the long silences and unblinking stares, as well as the disturbing sounds that came from deep within the facility. He focused his attention instead on the patient’s journals, poring over pages and pages of painstakingly scribbled gibberish in the hope of finding the one clue that would break everything open.

He had that clue now. The last piece of the puzzle was finally within his grasp.

“I came here to tell you that new evidence has turned up in your case,” he’d said to Merrick.

The man had given no indication of comprehension, but Ethan hadn’t let the prolonged silence discourage him.

“I won’t go into the details yet. It’s early stages of the investigation. But I wanted you to know that I’m still out there looking for the truth. I never believed you were guilty. Not once in all these years.” Ethan walked over to the window and placed his hand briefly on the man’s frail arm. “Do you remember me?” he murmured. “I’m Ethan.”

Nothing so much as a blink.

“I work for the FBI just as you did. I even do support investigations for the BAU. Back in your day, it was called the Behavioral Science Unit.”

Still no response.

“My stepfather is Richard Barrow. You knew him once. I took his name when he married my mother, but he’s not my dad. My real name is Merrick. Ethan Merrick. I’m your son.”

Chapter Two

The muted thrum of a car engine drew Ethan’s attention, pulling him out of that twelve-by-twelve room, away from the power of his father’s vacant stare and back to his roadside vigil in front of the Gainey house.

He turned his head toward the sound, noting the presence of a black Dodge Charger—the preferred FBI pursuit vehicle—at the end of the street. The car did not approach, nor did the driver pull to the curb to accommodate oncoming traffic. The Charger sat idling in the middle of the road as if daring Ethan to notice.

Any hope he’d had of flying under the radar vanished. He’d seen that same vehicle or one like it parked outside his hotel that morning. Ethan had gone about his business, taking tortuous routes as he ran aimless errands, and eventually he’d lost the tail in downtown traffic. He had no doubt, though, that whoever was keeping tabs on him had already heard about his trip to Columbia and his visit that morning to the Charleston Police Department. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that they’d found him again so quickly—they were pros, after all—but it had only been by sheer luck that he’d overheard mention of Adaline Kinsella’s name and her whereabouts. He had no idea why the agents had thought to look for him here unless they’d known all along he would come to Addie.

He glanced around, once again scoping out his surroundings. He needed an exit strategy in case the occupants of the Charger got too curious. The house sat at the end of a dead-end street, nearly hidden by a canopy of live oaks and palm trees. The nearest neighbor was a block away, but Ethan was hardly alone. While he stood contemplating his options, the voices behind the fence grew louder, and through one of the grimy sidelights, he caught the silhouette of a woman.

Was it Addie?

Had she spotted him?

Probably not, he decided. If she had an inkling of his presence, she would have already come outside to give him a piece of her mind. Not that he could blame her. He deserved every insult and condemnation she could heap upon him. Still, he’d come here with his hat in hand, offering her the chance to help solve the case of a lifetime.

He squinted down the end of the road, trying to determine if the car had crept a little closer. Even from a distance, he could tell the windows were tinted and the license plate obscured. He wondered briefly if a tracker had been planted on his vehicle. Maybe that was how they’d found him again so quickly. More likely they’d used his phone’s GPS. Electronic surveillance usually meant clout and someone with serious intent.

The surveillance had annoyed him earlier, but now he was just plain pissed. He resented having his every move scrutinized and disseminated. He’d used personal days to come to Charleston on his own dime, relying on his own resources. As far as he was concerned, this was not the FBI’s business, but of course, his section chief would likely see things differently.

So be it. Might as well give them enough rope.

He climbed into his rental and made a U-turn in the street, picking up speed as he headed toward the Charger. The acceleration thrilled him. He pushed the pedal to the floor, and the powerful V-8 roared. The scenery blurred in the side windows as the vehicle shot forward.

For a moment, he wondered if the driver meant to call his bluff. The vehicle remained immobile for so long that a crash seemed imminent. Ethan braced himself and was just about to swerve when the car reversed down the street and backed around the corner in one smooth move. Then the driver shifted and the Charger catapulted through the intersection.

Ethan made the turn without slowing. He gripped the wheel as the SUV fishtailed and the tires spun on the graveled shoulder. Up ahead, the Charger careened around another corner and blasted through a stop sign, narrowly missing a woman and two small boys as they stepped off the curb. The mother had plenty of time to pull the children to safety on the sidewalk, but she froze. Ethan could have sworn he saw her lips move in prayer a split second before he hit the brakes.

The tires squealed in protest as the rubber gripped the pavement and the powerful vehicle skidded to a stop.

He hopped out of the SUV and called to the woman, “Are you okay?”

She spoke in a heavy accent. “Are you crazy? You could have killed us!”

She kept screaming at him, gesturing wildly with her arms as the boys clung to her legs. Ethan stood silently by and took it. She had every right to call him out. What had he been thinking, engaging in a high-speed chase?

He scanned the neighborhood from his periphery. Many of the houses along the street were in various stages of disrepair, but he could see signs of gentrification creeping in. He wondered what the upwardly mobile millennials would think of their fixer-upper investments when they learned about the house at the end of the dead-end street.

Apologizing profusely, he got back in his vehicle. He waited until the woman was safely across the street with the children and then he circled the block and headed back to the abandoned house, parking in the very spot he had vacated only a few minutes earlier. The incident left him shaken. He’d been able to stop in plenty of time, but that was beside the point. What if his brakes had failed? What if he’d lost control of the wheel? He’d behaved recklessly, and that wasn’t like him. Not anymore. Maybe he’d played the game for too long, kept his head down and his nose clean for so long that his dangerous impulses were rebelling. Ever since he’d received the first email from a woman named Naomi Quinlan, his life had been one risky decision after another.

He locked the vehicle and walked through the tall weeds in the front yard, pausing at the bottom of the steps to scan the ramshackle facade. He could no longer see anyone inside. Whoever he’d glimpsed earlier had moved into another part of the house or perhaps had left the premises altogether. He hoped that wasn’t the case. Far better that he approach Addie on neutral ground than to show up unexpectedly at her house.

He lifted the crime-scene tape over his head and opened the front door. Before he could step into the foyer, a male voice halted him. “Stop right there. In case you can’t read that yellow tape, this is a crime scene. You need to get back behind the barricade and stay there.”

Ethan took out his wallet and showed the man his credentials. “My name is Ethan Barrow. I’m with the FBI.”

The man glanced at the badge and scowled. “No one said anything about federal involvement.”

Ethan returned the wallet to his pocket and removed his sunglasses. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Detective Matthew Lepear, Charleston PD.” He glanced behind him into the gutted room. “Delmar Gainey’s victims have been dead for over two decades, Agent Barrow. The man himself died five years ago. Why would the feds be interested in this case?”

“I’m not interested in your case, Detective. I’m looking for Adaline Kinsella.”

“What’s your interest in Detective Kinsella, if you don’t mind my asking?”

The slight proprietorial edge in the man’s voice caught Ethan’s attention. He gave him a sharper scrutiny. “I’d rather discuss my business with her.”

“Detective Kinsella is on vacation this week.”

Ethan turned to glance out one of the sidelights before resettling his gaze on the detective. “Isn’t that her silver SUV at the curb?”

The man shrugged. “New cars all look alike.”

Ethan folded his sunglasses carefully and tucked them into his inner jacket pocket. “Detective Kinsella is your partner, isn’t she?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You seem overly protective. I can appreciate your concern, but I’m not sure she would.”

Something flashed in Lepear’s eyes, a fleeting acknowledgment that Ethan had hit a little too close to the truth. “You could be right. Addie’s got a mind of her own, that’s for damn sure. The one thing I do know about her is this—she won’t be happy to see you.”

Ethan tamped down his annoyance. “You know her well enough to make that assessment?”

“We go back a long way. Ten years, to be precise. She’s not just my partner. She’s also a friend. And you’re the SOB who almost ended her career.”

Ethan was jolted by an uncomfortable truth. Lepear knew who he was.

Anger mingled with remorse. “I never meant to cause her trouble.”

“People like you never do. You just tell yourself the end justifies the means.”

Ethan waited a beat before he continued. He didn’t want to lose his temper. Lepear was defending his partner and friend. Ethan would do the same if the positions were reversed, but it wasn’t like he’d walked away from the relationship unscathed. It wasn’t like he’d gone back to Virginia and forgotten all about Adaline Kinsella. He’d spent many a sleepless night staring up at the ceiling, wanting to call just to hear her voice but knowing she would never pick up.

“I’m not looking for trouble now,” he said. “I just want to talk to her.”

Lepear gave him a derisive look before he finally acquiesced. “She’s out back. You can go through that door.” He nodded toward the crumbling archway. “But if I were you, I’d watch my step. I mean, I’d really watch my step, Agent Barrow.”

Their gazes held for a moment longer before Ethan nodded. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

* * *

ADDIE STOOD ON the back porch, staring at the mounds of dirt and empty graves where the remains had been excavated and removed. A broken wheelchair had been pushed up under the porch railing, and she couldn’t help but imagine Delmar Gainey sitting there alone in the dark, admiring his gruesome garden by moonlight. Another ramp had been built beside the back steps, and if Addie closed her eyes, she could see him out there among the graves, enjoying the mingled scents of jasmine and death wafting on the afternoon breeze.

She felt light-headed from the heat and from old memories, and she curled her fingers around the wood rail, clinging for a moment while she tried to beat back her emotions. She was no stranger to death. She’d lost her mother to a brutal killer and her grandmother to the gentler reaper of natural causes. As a cop, Addie had seen all manner of death and violence, but those empty graves reminded her of the thin veneer of humanity that could too easily be peeled away.

A sound brought her around with a start, and she felt a shudder go through her as her gaze connected with the man in the doorway. Tall and fit, he stood ramrod straight in his dark suit and tie, hardly more than a silhouette against the dim backdrop of the house.

“Ethan?” Even as she spoke his name, her chin came up in defiance. Before she could demand to know the purpose of his presence, she heard a crack, followed by a splintering sound as the rotting floorboards gave way beneath her feet. Her arms flailed wildly as she tried to catch her balance, but the wood disintegrated and she crashed through the porch.

She saw Ethan lunge for her, and then she saw nothing but blackness as she found herself in a free fall.

Chapter Three

Addie reached out instinctively, grasping, grasping until she made contact with a rope. She grabbed on with both hands, halting her fall for only an instant before she dropped to the bottom. But that split second allowed her to brace for impact. She tucked and rolled.

Hot pain shot across her left shoulder as she lay still for a moment. Then she gingerly moved her arms and legs. No broken bones. She pushed herself off the floor and got to her feet. No cuts or other wounds that she could determine, but she was in complete darkness save for a thin tunnel of illumination that shone down through the fractured boards. The light seemed to quiver as if it had a life of its own. The sensation was eerie and disorienting. Addie reached out with one hand and made contact with the wall as she tilted her head to that shimmering light.

“Addie?”

Her eyes fluttered closed before she braced herself yet again. That voice. How many times had she dreamed of it in her ear, imagined his husky whisper in the dark? She shivered now as her name echoed off the walls like a taunt.

“Adaline, can you hear me?”

She peered up into the freaky light. “I can hear you.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. No broken bones or cuts. Where am I?”

“I think you’ve fallen into an old well or cistern. The porch must have been built over it. Are you in water?”

She shivered again at the echo-like quality of his voice. “No, but the walls are damp. And it smells pretty bad down here. I wonder how far I fell. It looks a long way up there.”

“Hard to say. Fifteen, twenty feet maybe. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

“I grabbed on to a rope. Do you see it?”

“It looks badly frayed. I’m not sure it’s strong enough to haul you up.”

“Go find Matt. Matt Lepear. He’s my partner. He drove his truck out here today. He usually keeps a chain in the back for when he goes off-roading. Someone always gets stuck.”

“I’ll find him and we’ll get you out of there. Just hang tight until I get back.”

“Ethan?”

His face appeared back over the opening.

“Someone left a flashlight on the porch railing. I saw it a minute ago. Can you toss it down to me? It’s pitch-black and I think I hear rats.”

“I see it. I’ll tie it off and lower it down. Stand back in case the rope breaks.”

She stepped out of the light, allowing the darkness to swallow her. Furtive claws scratched nearby, and she could have sworn something scurried across her feet, but she hoped the sensation wasn’t real. She hoped her imagination was getting the better of her because the notion of rats closing in on her—

Ethan cut into her thoughts. “I’m lowering the light down now.”

He turned on the bulb so that Addie could track the beam. As the rope spun, the light bounced off the walls, casting giant shadows down into the well. Addie reached eagerly for the flashlight, slipping it free of the knot and then wrapping her fingers tightly around the thick rubber housing.

“I’ve got it,” she said. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll be right back.”

“Ethan?”

“Yes?”

She ran the light up and down the walls and then over the floor, exploring debris that had been abandoned for decades.

“What is it?” he called down to her.

“There’s a lot of trash in here.” Her voice quivered in spite of her best efforts. “Old blankets. Broken dishes. I think this is where he kept them.”

Ethan said something, but she didn’t hear his response. She was too caught up in the horror of that place. Too distracted by the image of that wheelchair shoved up under the porch railing. How many times had Gainey rolled across the floorboards, aroused by his memories as he reveled in his secrets?

Addie angled the beam along the crevice where floor met wall. She imagined someone cowering there, but the beady eyes that glinted back at her weren’t human.

Repelled by the light, the rat scuttled back to its hidey-hole, leaving Addie alone with the echo of long-dead screams.

* * *

ADDIE STOOD WITH her face to the sun, basking in the light as she brushed dust from her hair. Even covered in dirt and grime, she looked good. Ethan was glad for his sunglasses so he could pretend not to stare.

He and some of the officers had easily hauled her up from the well, and she seemed no worse for the wear. But she hadn’t lingered, even when her partner had insisted on going down to have a look for himself. Addie had watched for a moment and then, with a shudder, turned and disappeared. Ethan had followed her out into the sun. After the creepy confines of that house, he welcomed the heat, even the trickle of sweat he could feel between his shoulder blades.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I just needed some air. Being down in that well and knowing what he used it for...knowing what he did to all those people...it got to me for a minute.”

Ethan nodded. “It gets to all of us now and then, but that’s a good thing. You don’t ever want to feel numb to what one human being can do to another. You never want to lose your ability to be shocked.”

If she thought that sentiment strange coming from him—the son of a profiler who had gone to the dark side—she didn’t say so. “You see this sort of thing more than I do. How do you cope?”

“I’d be lying if I said I leave it at the office. But I try to find productive ways to fill up my spare time. I run. I listen to music and read books. Sometimes I visit museums and art galleries just to remind myself that human beings are also capable of creating great beauty.”

“That sounds amazingly well adjusted. Right now, I just want a good, stiff drink.” She wiped her hands down the sides of her jeans as if trying to cleanse herself of the images.

Ethan found himself checking out her fingers to make sure she hadn’t gotten married or engaged since last he’d heard. No diamonds that he could discern, but the sun bouncing off the detective shield she’d clipped to her waist was blinding.

“Congratulations, by the way.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “For what?”

He nodded toward her badge. “You made detective in record time, I see.”

Her eyes flashed. “I didn’t set any records. And there were plenty of times when I never thought I’d make it. This shield didn’t just fall into my lap. I worked hard for it.”

He’d obviously hit a nerve. Like him, she’d probably battled whispers of nepotism for most of her career. “I never thought otherwise,” he said. “My congratulations were sincere.”

“Thank you.” She glanced away for a moment as if trying to puzzle something out. Her gaze came back to him reluctantly. “You seem different.”

“Because I’m happy for your success?”

A frown flitted across her brow. “No. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“It’s been ten years. I expect we’re both different people.”

“Agreed. At the very least, I like to think I’m a lot less gullible than I used to be.”

Their gazes met, clashed again, but behind the glimmer of hostility, Ethan felt a connection, no matter how fleeting. Or maybe the link was nothing more than wishful thinking, but he found himself drifting back, imagining her smile and the spill of blond hair over her shoulders as she stared down at him through hooded eyes. Adaline Kinsella at twenty-two had been something. At thirty-two... Ethan didn’t dare let himself go there.

She glanced past him down the road to where the black Charger had returned to wait him out. “Friends of yours?”

“No.”

She lifted a brow at his tone. “Enemies?”

“I don’t know.”

“But they’re here because of you.”

“Probably.”

“That car looks official. Tinted windows. No identifying tags or marks. I’m guessing feds.” Her gaze swung back to him. “Why are you here, Ethan? What have you done this time?”

“You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

Any hint of a bond melted in the fierceness of her stare. “I’ve been on the wrong end of your obsession, remember? I recognize the signs. You didn’t come all the way from Quantico just to see me.”

“Why not? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Okay, stop right there.” She gave him a disgusted look. “Don’t even think about playing that card. In case you’ve forgotten, things didn’t end well for us. So don’t pretend this is a sentimental reunion. Be honest for once in your life and tell me why you’re really here.”

“It’s not an easy explanation.”

“It never is with you.” She came down the porch steps. “How did you even know where to find me, anyway? I’ve been away on vacation. I only got back a little while ago, and other than a quick stop at the station, I came straight here.” She shot another glance at the Charger. “If those guys are following me—”

“They’re not. Stop worrying about that car. I’ll handle whoever’s inside. I knew to find you at this house because I overheard someone at police headquarters mention your whereabouts.”

The revelation didn’t please her. “You were at headquarters? Who did you talk to?”

“I didn’t talk to anyone about you. I had a meeting with the deputy chief.”

She looked even more distressed. “Why?”

“That’s for him to say.”

Addie shook her head. “This is crazy. I don’t want to hear any more. Whatever you’re involved in, count me out. Thanks for getting me out of the well. I do appreciate that. But this is the end of the road for us.” She turned and headed for her vehicle. “I’m going home and you can go to...” Down the road, a car door slammed, freezing her for a moment as she glanced over her shoulder.

One of the agents had gotten out of the Charger to stretch, apparently now unconcerned about anonymity. Ethan didn’t recognize him, but like Addie, he knew the guy was a federal agent.

He returned his focus to Addie. She lifted her chin and turned back to her car. He called after her. “I’ve found new evidence in your mother’s case.”

That stopped her again. She turned slowly to face him. “What?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I came to Charleston to see you, but I’m also here pursuing a lead. I wanted you to know before you heard it from someone else.”

“Is that why you went to see the deputy chief?”

“Like I said, you need to talk to him about that.”

She shoved back a lock of damp hair. “Assuming I believe you, what makes you think I’d ever want any of this dumped on my doorstep?”

“Besides the fact that your mother was murdered? You’re a police detective. You must be interested in justice.”

She said nothing for the longest time, just stood there staring back at him as he searched her face. Her eyes were so much bluer than he remembered. Softer, too, and liquid. They reminded him of a Monet painting he’d seen in the National Gallery.

But right now, those eyes were narrowed in suspicion. “My mother’s case is closed. As far as I’m concerned, justice was served twenty-five years ago when your father was committed to the fourth floor.”

“Maybe. Or maybe an innocent man was framed for something he didn’t do.”

“James Merrick is not an innocent man.” She opened her car door. “I’ve heard enough. I’m not getting sucked back into your delusions. Listening to you almost cost me everything ten years ago.”

“If the evidence wasn’t compelling, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Then investigate all you want, but leave me out of it.”

“Addie.”

She whirled. “Damn it, can’t you take a hint? Leave me alone!”

Her tone took him aback. He put up a hand. “Okay. I get it. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

She let out a long sigh. “Don’t give me that look. Do you think I enjoy acting like a first-class bitch?”

“I would never call you that.”

“You didn’t have to. I can hear myself. I don’t enjoy saying these things to you, Ethan. I’m not an angry person, and I don’t like carrying a grudge. But you did lie to me. And worse, you got me to lie. That was on me. As a grown woman, I should have known better. I never should have accessed sealed files without authorization, let alone allowed you to leak information to the press. I shouldn’t have done a lot of things I did when I was with you, but that all happened a long time ago. I’m over it. What I can’t get past, though, is how you made me doubt myself. How you made me lose faith that I had what it took to be a good cop. I’ve worked really hard to get my confidence back.”

No wonder she was so defensive of her detective’s shield. “I’m sorry I lied to you. And I’m sorry about how everything went down.”

“I know. That I believe, but it doesn’t change anything.”

“If you’d just hear me out—”

“I can’t.”

“Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

She closed her eyes. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because you’re the only other person in the world I trust with this information. If anything were to happen to me, I know you’d do the right thing.”

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean, if anything were to happen to you?”

He shrugged. “We live in a dangerous world.”

Her gaze flicked back to the Charger. “Who are those guys?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’re watching you because of this new information?”

“That would be my guess.”

She chewed her bottom lip as she stared down the road at the car. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but fine. Tell me what you’ve found.”

He followed her gaze to the Charger. “I’d rather discuss it somewhere more private. Can I buy you that drink?”

“No,” she said bluntly. “When I leave here, I’m going straight home to wash the cobwebs out of my hair.”

“Later then. We can meet anywhere you like.”

She drew another breath. “I know I’ll live to regret this, but I sometimes go for walks on the Battery in the evenings. I’ll be there at seven, and I’ll wait exactly five minutes. If you don’t show, we’ll let this drop and you won’t ever bother me again.”

“Agreed,” he said. “But I’ll be there.”

Nothing short of the apocalypse—or the federal agents inside that black Dodge Charger—could keep him away.

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