After The Dark

“This is FBI Special Agent Bla—”

Laughter cut through his words. Taunting, cold.

Blake’s face tensed.

“I don’t care about you, Special Agent. You’re just a means to an end. I’m calling to talk with Agent Dark.”

He nearly shattered the phone.

“Is she with you?” that taunting voice continued. “I bet she is. I bet you’re staying as close to her as you possibly can.”

“Who the fuck is this?”

He saw Samantha tense.

“The man you’re hunting, of course.”

And the bastard had called him?

“I learned Agent Dark didn’t get my champagne. I was quite disappointed with that, so I had to let the clerk know just how upset she’d made me. Poor service just can’t be tolerated, you know.”

What. The. Hell?

Samantha grabbed Blake’s arm. Put him on speaker. She mouthed the words at him.

Blake lowered the phone and tapped the screen so that she’d be able to hear the call, too. She needed to hear the bastard. The more she learned about him, the better able to profile him she’d be.

“Can she hear me yet?” the voice demanded. “Because I really need her to know what’s happening.”

“She can fucking hear you,” Blake snapped. “But I don’t buy your—”

“I’m going to kill her.” Flat, cold words. “I’ve got Tammy White here with me, and I am going to slice her open. I will watch her bleed and beg and die, and it will all be because of you, Agent Dark.”

The killer wasn’t speaking to Blake any longer. He was talking directly to Samantha. Because she’s the one he’s wanted all along.

The bastard’s voice was a rasp. Disguised.

“Do you want that, Agent Dark—Samantha?” He seemed to stumble a bit as he finally used her first name. “Do you want someone else to die because of you?”

“No.” Her voice was low, emotionless. “But I don’t believe that you have her. If you have her, you’d send—”

The phone vibrated as a text came through. Still keeping the speaker on, Blake swiped to look at the text. He heard Samantha suck in a sharp breath as she saw the brutal picture of a bleeding Tammy White.

“That’s my proof,” the caller taunted. “Now, be a good agent. Get the coordinates from the pic. They’ll tell you where I am. Then you come, Samantha. Just you. You come to meet me. You trade yourself for Tammy White, and she’ll escape with just a few...cuts.”

This was bullshit. “Not happening,” Blake swore. Samantha was not going to enter into some kind of deal with that psychopath. Yeah, they’d get the coordinates, all right. Blake was already getting them. Most folks didn’t realize that when pictures were taken...if they were using a smartphone to take pics, those phones would actually embed GPS coordinates into each photo. The coordinates were in the metadata that comprised the photo files. To see those coordinates, you just had to view the photo’s properties. You could get the coordinates, as long as the person who took that photo hadn’t disabled the feature on their phone...

And there they were. The coordinates popped right up, a perfect guide to the killer’s location.

“If Samantha doesn’t come to me, then Tammy White will die within the next fifteen minutes.” Spoken easily. “She’s already bleeding quite a bit now. A pool of blood is beneath her. Maybe I cut her too deeply last time.”

Samantha’s fingers locked around Blake’s wrist. “Don’t hurt her again. I’ll come to you.”

Fury swept through Blake.

“You come alone, Samantha. If I see a cop car, if I see a helicopter...I will drive my knife into Tammy’s heart right then and there. Her death will be on you.”

No, Tammy’s death would only be on the sick son of a bitch who got off on torturing her.

“I know the tricks the FBI uses. You’ll get the coordinates from the picture I sent...and you’ll realize that I’m on the water. So much wonderful water down here. Makes things easier for me.”

Fucking bastard.

“I’ve left a boat for you all tied up on the old pier near Devil’s Hole. You get in that boat—just you. Be in it within ten minutes. Take the boat and come out to meet me. If I hear a chopper, if I hear another boat, if I see any cop cars...my knife is in Tammy. She’s dead, and it’s because of you, Samantha.”

The line went dead.

“No fucking way,” Blake gritted. He’d call the local cops, he’d get backup...they’d go in with a full team.

But Samantha shook her head. “You know he wasn’t lying. If he sees a team coming, he will kill that woman.”

“He’s going to kill you.” Blake believed that with utter certainty. “You think I’m just going to stand there while you walk in blind? You think—”

“I swore the day that I buried my father...” Her shoulders straightened. “No one else would ever die in my place.”

Her father?

“Tammy White is a pawn. It’s me he wants, and it’s me he’s going to get.”

CHAPTER FIVE

IT WASN’T THE first time that Blake and Samantha had faced down a killer. “Just like old times, huh?” Blake murmured as he shut off the car engine. They were parked at the end of a long, lonely stretch of road. He could see a pier waiting for them. The old, wooden pier was twisted, broken in spots, seeming to sag into the very water itself.

This was supposed to be the site of the trade. The bastard actually thought Samantha was going to walk out to the pier, get on the little boat that was bobbing in the water and head out to meet him...alone.

What a fool. As soon as he’d gotten off the phone with the perp, Blake had been in contact with the FBI and the local authorities. The Bureau had traced the call, triangulating the signal because they weren’t just going to the drop site based on that text alone. Blake had wanted confirmation—and he’d also wanted backup.

Local FBI agents and Captain Lewis’s men were on the way. They’d been given orders to stay back, keeping out of sight, until Blake gave the signal that they were needed. He’d considered bringing in Coast Guard support, but sound traveled too easily over the water, and he hadn’t wanted the perp to be alerted to their presence. Blake fully believed if the guy got spooked, he would kill Tammy White.

So the Coast Guard was on standby. Everyone was waiting for the perp’s next move.

A move that involved Samantha.

“Not exactly like old times,” she murmured as she checked her gun. She’d made sure to arm herself with her personal weapon before she left her house. “This is the first time a killer has wanted to trade for me.”

“Latham wants you badly.”

She turned her head to look at him. “This isn’t Cameron. That wasn’t his voice.”

“The bastard was disguising his voice.” She couldn’t be certain they weren’t dealing with the SOB. “Maybe he used that credit card because he wanted you to know he was in this town. Maybe he ordered the champagne for the same reason. He came here for you.”

She tucked the gun into her waistband.

“I don’t like this,” he said. When they got out of the car, she’d be the one going down those rickety steps to the pier. He’d follow her, keeping to the shadows, watching her every moment. He had night vision goggles so that he could keep his gaze on her every step of the way. Samantha had been trained to deal with hostage situations. They both had.

But...

This is different.

“If I don’t go out there, he will kill her, Blake. And that girl’s death isn’t going to be on my conscience. Trust me, I carry enough baggage as it is.” She rolled back her shoulders. “He gave us clear orders. I had fifteen minutes to get here. I’m supposed to head out alone. My time is almost up. If I don’t go, she dies.”

Damn it. Damn it.

“If our situations were reversed, you wouldn’t even hesitate.”

No, he wouldn’t. He’d put the victim first because that was what an FBI agent was supposed to do—was trained to do.

“You understand, Blake, so you’re going to do your job. You’re going to have my back, the way you always have. You’re going to trust in me.”

That was the thing—he did trust her. He always had and he always would.

“You wanted my help,” she said. “Well, you’ve got it.” She reached for the door handle.

He grabbed her, yanked her back.

“Blake—”

He kissed her. Hard. Fast. Desperate. He was angry—with her, with himself. With the bastard who was playing his games out in the bay. For an instant, she kissed him back, but then Samantha was pushing against him.

She had a job to do.

So did he.

Blake pressed his forehead to hers. “If he comes at you, you shoot him. You make sure you’re the one who survives.”

“I’ll make sure Tammy and I both survive.” Her breath eased out once more. Then she opened the passenger-side door and slipped away from him.

He immediately reached for his phone and dialed Lewis. “She’s going in. Everyone stay in position until you get the signal from me.” No choppers were in the air—it was far too quiet that night for the birds to launch. If they went out, the perp would hear them.

“Got it,” Lewis growled back. “But you make sure you guard her back.”

That was a partner’s job, after all.

Blake ended the call and slid from the vehicle. He kept to the shadows as he followed Samantha. The moon was heavy in the sky, and he could see Samantha heading toward the pier. Though the moon was bright, it was hard to see out over the water. Fog was rolling in near the shore. Samantha had told him fog often covered the bay.

Their perp was using that cover to his advantage.

Blake could hear the rush of waves against the shore down below. Samantha was climbing down the wooden stairs that would take her to the pier. Her steps were sure and her hands were empty—he knew she’d tucked the gun into the back of her jeans, the better to hide it from the man waiting for her.

His gaze drifted away from Samantha to the end of the pier. A small boat waited there, so perfectly placed. The killer had obviously planned this moment.

He was watching me. He wanted Samantha. He was willing to kill in order to get her.

And Blake had been the one to lead the bastard straight to her.

* * *

SAMANTHA WAS FAR too conscious of the gun’s weight at her back as she climbed down the wooden stairs. The pier was located at the base of the bluff, and in that narrow beach area, the wind seemed to make a tunnel, almost moaning around her.

This section wasn’t used much. The last big tropical storm had washed away part of the bluff—and the pier. As she eased onto the pier, she saw the missing slats of wood. It swayed beneath her feet, and she was worried she’d tumble into the water at any moment.

She looked straight ahead, trying to see through the growing fog. The perp had told her to get on the boat. She figured there would be a phone waiting there for her. He would call her, give her more directions. More orders to follow. He was a very, very organized killer. Meticulous.

The organized killers were the most dangerous ones.

A piece of wood cracked beneath her foot and gave way, bobbing into the water as she staggered. She was a good swimmer, so she wasn’t afraid about taking a tumble into the water. If she had to do it, she could swim out into the bay and find that perp herself.

But...

Something is off. Every instinct had screamed that truth at Samantha as she inched along the old pier. The middle section was completely underwater, the old boards sagging as she sloshed across them.

The perp wanted her. He’d killed one woman to find Samantha’s location. He’d abducted a second in order to draw her out. She reached the end of the pier. The boat bobbed beside her, a motorboat that waited for her. She started to ease down into the boat, but then she stilled. Something isn’t right. That had been the thought she had when she confronted Allan March. A sense that the whole setup was wrong. She’d been correct that terrible day and now...

She retreated back onto the pier. Her head turned, and she gazed through the fog, trying to see if there was another boat out there, one that held the perp as he watched her.

But...

I don’t see any lights. It could just be due to the fact that the perp had killed his lights and anchored his boat just beyond her sight. He could be watching her from the water right then, using night vision binoculars. Or...

She looked back toward land. Houses were up there, easily several dozen old cabins that dotted the bluff. A few of those places were condemned—they’d been too damaged in the last storm. Abandoned houses. An abandoned house would be the perfect place to hide with a victim.

Maybe he wasn’t in the water at all. At least, not any longer. Maybe he’d been in the water when he brought that motorboat to shore. Maybe he’d taken refuge in one of the houses on the bluff and then called her with his little plan.

The better to watch me.

But if that were the case, then why would he want her to get into the boat?

Why...

A phone rang. Its cry was loud, jarring her and making her jump. Her gaze shot back to the boat. She didn’t see the phone, but the sound was coming from the small vessel. The perp had left a phone for her to find, just as she’d suspected he would.

Had he placed the phone there, giving her exactly fifteen minutes to reach the boat before he called? Or... Is he watching me even now? And he realizes that I didn’t get into the boat? He’s trying to draw me closer. If she wanted to save Tammy White, she was supposed to get in that boat. She was supposed to climb in and answer the phone. But...

Something is off.

The phone stopped ringing.

Think like the killer. There were some habits that she couldn’t break.

And a door seemed to open in her mind. He’s organized. Smart. It’s like a game of chess to him. He’s connected to Cameron. Wants to emulate him...that was what he did with Kristy Wales. He tried to duplicate Cameron’s crimes as a way to get to me.

He wants me.

He...blames me?

Her gaze darted to the boat once more. Oh, hell.

He wants to eliminate me. Everyone else is just collateral damage. Everyone else—

The phone rang again.

She spun away from the boat, trying to lunge down the pier as she fled.

* * *

SAMANTHA WAS RUNNING away from the boat. As soon as he saw her spin around, Blake took off.

Something spooked Samantha. His gaze shot around him, searching the darkness for any sign of the perp. Maybe Samantha had seen something to make her think the perp wasn’t out in the water. Maybe he was up there with Blake, maybe—

That was when he heard the explosion. Deep, rumbling, quaking like thunder, the explosion seemed to rock everything around him. His gaze flew back to the pier, and he saw the fire, shooting high up—red-and-gold flames. The boat was gone. The end of the pier was gone, and Samantha—she was gone.

* * *

HE RUSHED DOWN the stairs. The fire was blazing, crackling. “Samantha!” He jumped over the last seven steps and hit the small beach at a run. The pier had broken loose in big, thick chunks and those chunks were on fire. He hurried forward—

Another explosion erupted, this one near the middle of the pier, sending chunks of wood flying into the air, making the smoke and fire billow and sending him flying back through the air. He landed hard, but he had the sand to cushion his fall. Blake shoved back up to his feet, his heart racing in his chest.

The son of a bitch set a trap for Samantha. He planted bombs out here, in this secluded spot, and he lured Samantha into his web. He watched, and he waited, and when the time was right, he detonated.

Because he wanted Samantha dead.

Blake didn’t head for the remains of the pier. Another bomb could be there, ready to go off at any moment. He rushed toward the water, immediately sinking to his knees in the waves. “Samantha!” he bellowed her name as he lunged forward. “Samantha!” The water hit his waist, and he kept going, desperate to find her. He wasn’t about to leave that water without her.

Not Samantha. Not—

He saw a hand flash up through the water, about twenty yards in front of him. Then Samantha’s head broke the surface.

Time seemed to stop for him. Alive. She’s alive.

He dived into the water, swimming fast and hard for her as the fire raged on the remnants of the pier. His arms moved in a blur, his feet kicked and soon Samantha reached out to him, curling her arms around his shoulders.

“I’m okay.” She was out of breath, treading water. “I had to...stay under until it was clear...”

He yanked her against his body, held her close. A shudder shook him.

“I’m okay,” she said again. Her breath still panted out. “I jumped into the water...right before the explosion... Something was off... Knew it...”

He held her tighter. “He wanted you dead.” His hands flew over her, frantic, because he had to be sure she was all right. Whole—safe in his arms.

Her arm curled around his neck. “We can’t go directly back to...the beach. He might be waiting.”

“Damn straight,” Blake said grimly as they began to swim parallel to the shore. That blast and the fire lighting the sky would bring help their way. When Lewis and the others saw those flames, they’d come running. But if he and Samantha went straight back to the beach and the old steps that led up to the bluff, the killer could pick them off when they came ashore...and long before the help ever arrived.

“But what about Tammy?” She glanced back at the flames. “Is she—”

“I don’t know.” The sooner they got to a safe shore spot and circled back to the SUV, the better. We can’t be the hunted. We have to turn him into prey. “But we’ll get her, Samantha. We’ll get her back.”

She didn’t speak again. They swam in the dark water, and the fire raged behind them.

* * *

THE FIRE WAS PRETTY.

He took a moment to admire the way it lit up the sky. Big and bold, rather like the fireworks he’d seen when he spent his summers in Martha’s Vineyards.

It had been easy to set the bombs—two of them. One on the motorboat. One just beneath the pier. Almost anyone could make bombs these days, with just a handy internet search, but he’d actually spent time researching bomb-making for quite a while.

One of his “phases” as his father called them. When he liked to explore destruction and death.

Bombs had interested him, once upon a time, but he’d decided they weren’t intimate enough. Sure, they could do a lot of damage, very fast, but...

As Dr. Latham had told him, the knife was an intimate weapon.

I only used the bomb because I didn’t want to get too close to Samantha. He’d actually seen a story on the news months ago about Samantha Dark and a bomb. She’d barely escaped another case where someone tried to use a bomb to take her out. It had seemed fitting, using a bomb again.

It was dangerous to get close to her. Dr. Latham had gotten close to her...

And now he’s gone. She took him away.

He watched the flames crackle. A lot of the fire had already gone out, thanks to that black water. He didn’t see Agent Gamble. The man was probably still in the water, still searching for Samantha.

Would she be burned when he found her? Disfigured? The classic beauty Latham had once spoken of gone forever? Oh, he hoped so.

It would be a treat to see Agent Gamble carry her broken body from the bay. To watch as the agent stood there, so lost without her.

But he could hear the scream of sirens, coming in the distance. If he lingered too long, cops would be there, not that the local cops scared him.

He’d completed his mission. Finished what Dr. Latham had started. Now he could evolve. He could go to the next step, he could—

It was the faintest movement that caught his eye.

The fog wasn’t as thick near the shoreline, and the moonlight shone down just right...just enough for him to see a man swimming. Strong, hard, a good distance away, not near the burning pier at all.

He could see the man’s dark head. He approached the shore, splashing out of the water, and he knew it was Agent Gamble. Agent Gamble turned, stretched out his hand behind him—

No, fucking no.

And his fingers curled around her hand. Samantha splashed after him. They ran onto the little beach and hurried toward the cover of the trees.

She hadn’t died. She hadn’t paid for her crimes. She’d escaped, like a damn cat with nine lives.

Rage twisted in his gut, and he took a lurching step toward them.

But the cry of the sirens came again, louder this time, closer, and he knew that he couldn’t finish Samantha right then.

But he’d have his chance with her soon enough. After all, he still had the one thing she wanted. The victim.

* * *

“WE CAN’T LET him get away,” Samantha said. The wind whipped against her, and she shivered as her teeth began to chatter. When the explosion had first hit, she’d stayed under the water until she thought her lungs would burst. She’d tried hard to swim away from the pier even as the flames lit the sky. “Get the...cops... Search the area. He has Tammy close—”

Blake pulled her against him. She could hear the shriek of sirens. Captain Lewis and his team were rushing to the scene.

“You’re freezing.” Worry filled Blake’s voice.

She was freezing, no doubt, but she was alive, so she’d just suck it up and deal with the cold. “I think he has Tammy in...in one of the abandoned houses on the bluff... W-we have to search for—”

He wrapped his arms around her, held her tight. She could feel the heat of his body, and she wanted to press herself against him. He was warm and strong and she felt safe with him.

“Thought I’d lost you...” His words were so low and...there was something about his tone. Something dark. Dangerous.

Samantha glanced up at him.

“I can’t lose you.”

The sirens were louder. “We have to go,” she said, “we have to help find the perp. We need to get Tammy.”

He eased back. “We will get her. And that SOB.”

In the next instant, his hand had locked tightly around hers. They were running through the trees—twisting pines and old oaks that had limbs heavy with moss—as she and Blake circled back toward his rented SUV. He rushed to the vehicle, and she was right with him. He opened his door and—

Patrol cars screeched to a stop, the sound of their squealing tires and lurching brakes hurting her ears. Bright headlights illuminated the scene, and she heard a rough voice call out, “Freeze! Put your hands up!”

Blake turned in the light, putting his body in front of hers. “FBI,” he shouted. “Agent Blake Gamble. The perp is still here. We need to start searching the scene now.”

Yes, they did...before the guy vanished into the shadows once again.

* * *

THE PERP WAS GOOD, Blake would give him the fuck that. The local cops and FBI agents had fanned out fast, and they’d made short work of searching the abandoned houses on the bluff. One house had shown signs of a squatter, a place littered with old food and debris, but whoever had been there—he was long gone.

They’d found blood in a second house. One with boards on its busted windows and a front door that had been sagging open. Captain Lewis had ordered a crime scene team to the house so they could take care of collecting that bit of evidence.

The problem was...it had been a whole lot of blood. Too much.

If Tammy White is alive, I’m not sure how long she has left.

But the perp—he’d gotten away. Probably just driven away when the cop cars had been screeching up to the scene.

“You didn’t get a look at the guy?” Captain Lewis asked him now. He was pacing near Blake’s SUV. Samantha stood to the side, a borrowed Fairhope PD jacket wrapped around her shoulders. Lewis had given her that jacket—a jacket that dwarfed her fragile frame.

“Didn’t see him,” Blake said. “Just the explosion.”

Lewis swore. “Hate this shit is happening in my town. It’s not supposed to happen here. Sammie...” He pointed at Samantha. “You know this is a good town, a quiet place. A safe place.”