Undercover Hunter

“I guess that you don’t know much about the sheriff we’re working with, unless someone gave you a dossier,” he said, disturbing the endless silence between them, a silence filled with the humming of the car engine and tires on the road.

“Not a thing,” she admitted reluctantly, wondering if she had been deliberately left out of some loop. Men often tried that with her.

“He’s good,” Cade said. “Not your average elected official whose chief accomplishment has been kissing babies.”

Despite herself, she almost wanted to laugh. Even as an MP she’d had to deal with that kind of local law enforcement occasionally.

“He’s former DEA,” Cade went on. “Undercover operative until a car bomb nearly killed him and wiped out his entire family. He still carries the scars.”

DeeJay swore quietly. She knew a lot of stories of car bombs all too well. Some of them had involved families.

“Yeah,” Cade answered, apparently hearing her. “Anyway, long story short. He came here to heal, got hired as a crime-scene investigator, and years ago when the old sheriff retired, he was elected. Folks still call him the new sheriff.”

“Of course.” That didn’t surprise her at all.

“His name is Gage Dalton. Runs a tight ship. His predecessor, Nate Tate, was sheriff for forty years and still sticks his finger in the pie. Let him. There’s no one and nothing he doesn’t know about this county.”

“Except who the killer is.”

“Obviously.”

DeeJay hesitated. Then, offering a slender olive branch, she said, “Sounds like a couple of good men to have on our side.”

“The best. The deputies are good, too. Nate started a trend of inviting his old military pals to come this way. He was Special Forces. Anyway, they joke sometimes that they have more Special Forces types in Conard County than most military bases. Makes for an interesting and sometimes useful mix.”

He was trying to tell her to be careful of stepping on toes, she realized. Trying to warn her that she’d be meeting men with backgrounds similar to hers and who shouldn’t be casually dismissed. Or wisely dismissed. While she resented the implication that she made a habit of stepping on toes, she’d certainly been stepping on his since their first meeting. Since she couldn’t just come out and say that she only stepped on toes she meant to break, she decided to take it as a good omen that he was trying to fill her in. Much as it killed her, she said, “Thank you.”

“The sheriff knows we’re both coming. It’ll be up to him to decide who to trust with that information, but from what little I know of him, I doubt he’ll trust very many. They’re already working the case, though, and as you know we’re here by invitation.”

“Got it. Been there, done that before.”

“I guess you have.”

She hesitated, then asked, “You read my jacket?”

“That stuff’s private. What I know about you is exactly nothing.”

That wasn’t good, she thought. They were partnered and both of them had to have some basis for trusting each other’s instincts, as far as the investigation went. They didn’t have to like each other, just to develop a professional trust. Partners could succeed no other way. But she still had a burr.

“You didn’t want to partner with a woman,” she said.

“No.” He didn’t varnish it. “Nothing to do with you personally. Bad experience once.”

“I could say the same about working with men, only more than once.”

She felt him glance at her before he spoke. “Then I suggest we focus on the badge and not the packages we’re wearing. I trained at Quantico and I’ve been a cop in one shape or another for seventeen years.”

She gave a short nod. “I did Quantico, too. Twelve years as a cop, mostly in investigations. All over the world.”

“Good. Well, we’re entering a different world here. You let me know if it reminds you of any place you’ve been before. People in this town are pretty tight. Just about everyone’s going to be upset about the missing boys. Then there’s a ski resort they started to build this past summer. Some new people from that. Some who came with the semiconductor plant and didn’t leave when it died. But most folks were born here and will be buried here. That kind of place.”

“I’ve been in villages like that.” She’d run into them in the Appalachians on a couple of cases involving military personnel, and overseas in Iraq and Afghanistan. Tight, cliquish and distrusting of outsiders. How was that going to help them?

She looked out the side window again, feeling as if the day’s gloom was settling into her bones. Some nuts were impossible to crack, and this sounded like one. How the hell were a couple of pretend travel writers going to get any real information from anyone? It would give them the freedom to move around without suspicion, but little else.

The more she thought about it, the less she liked this whole cover story. Profiling, in which they’d both been trained, could only get you so far. After that, you needed solid information.

“You know,” she said presently, “this cover story stinks. The whole town is going to be upset because kids are disappearing. Does anyone think they’re going to want to talk about that with travel writers?”

He didn’t answer for a minute. The car noises seemed to grow louder until he spoke. “That crossed my mind. But you tell me, Dawkins, how else we can insert a couple of strangers into a small community like this? No matter how we do it, we’re going to stand out and nobody’s going to want to talk. This cover story at least elevates us above a couple of dubious drifters and doesn’t give away our real mission.”

He was right. “So we back up the local law. I can deal.”

“Yeah. They’ll probably give us most of the information. We’re the ones who need to help pull it together. And who knows? We’re talking about one thing and looking for another. We might learn something useful just by keeping our eyes and ears open.”

“You mean the unsub could slip up.”

“We can hope.”

Amazing how much of law enforcement came down to someone slipping up and someone else having the wit to notice the slip. She drummed her fingers on her thigh. They had been called up because of their training in profiling. She didn’t have the highest regard for it, but it could occasionally provide some useful directions to an investigation.

She spoke as they passed the sign announcing that they were entering Conard County. “We’d better get on a first-name basis fast.”

“Yeah. Why’d you tell that barkeep that you were going to tout his burgers? He’ll be looking for an article.”

“Nah. He has a business card and a story to tell. That’ll make him happy. He’ll brag and our cover will be established.”

“True.”

She guessed that was an olive branch from him.

* * *

Calvin Sweet finished arranging his latest trophy and stood back in the barn loft to admire it. Three of them now hung from the commercial fish netting he’d acquired on his travels.

He liked that netting. It was better than the cargo net he’d used before, thinner, made of highly durable plastic. As close as he was going to get to a spiderweb unless he took the time to weave one himself.

His three trophies, wrapped in clear plastic painter’s drop cloth, hung beautifully like ornaments, visible but slightly hidden in their protective cases. Mysterious, like the life force he had taken from them. Holy now that they’d been saved.

Backing up, he settled on a bale of hay to admire his handiwork. His private collection, growing steadily, a work of art. He hoped that someday someone other than himself would be able to admire it. It had taken a lot of work and thought. Hunting for something more to his liking than rope cargo net had actually taken quite a while. There were a surprising number of different kinds of fishnets and netting, and he’d had to do research until he could walk into that place on the East Coast and order exactly what he wanted.

Even the clear plastic drop cloths were problematic, as he had to be careful not to buy too many at any one place. He’d driven many miles buying two or three at a time to make the stack that now stood in a corner of the old tack room. Always paying in cash, too.

Then there were the plastic, disposable restraints. Easy enough to come by if you ordered them online, a hundred at a time. Figuring out how to avoid leaving that trail had cost him as much time and effort as any other part. He’d been delighted when he’d learned he could buy them in smaller quantities at some sex shops, and for cash. That had meant a lot of traveling, too, and going into places that he was certain were evil.

But he liked the flexible ties better than tape, which damaged the skin and looked ugly, and better than rope, which could stretch and be wiggled out of. Imagine his surprise when he’d learned that most rope stretched on purpose so it wouldn’t snap.

But now here he was, his trail concealed, his beautiful web in operation, three offerings to admire. It had been worth it. All of it.

He had saved these three from miserable futures full of heartbreak, hard work, illness and sin. He had set them free. He had kept them pure.

And in setting them free he had purified himself, made himself stronger with their unsullied energy. Just like the spider, who could poison her prey and then eat it without suffering from the poison. Receiving only the nutrition.

His spirit had been fed. Now he honored those who had fed him, acknowledging their gifts.

It was essential to be grateful for these gifts. Gratitude filled him with a righteous light and reminded him how important his boys were, thus endowing them with the importance they deserved.

They had served him well.

He would honor them just as well.

But then the watch on his wrist beeped, reminding him it was time to get ready. He had a shift on the crisis line tonight, and no way would he miss it.

There was more than one way he could help others.

Satisfied, he rose and climbed down the ladder, locked the barn and headed to the house.

Nights brought him many good things. Tonight he might have the chance to help a mistreated woman. Life was good to him and he was great.

He needed nothing more.

Chapter 2

The town looked as buttoned-down as a military base under a black flag warning, DeeJay thought as they tooled down tree-lined streets beneath the skeletal fingers of leafless branches. Snow berms lined the streets from the plows, and lawns lay beneath an icy blanket of white. Holiday decorations, unlit now, hung from the light poles, awaiting the people who would remember to take them down.

“Do you know where this house is?” she asked.

Cade nodded. “Near the downtown. The guy next door is the landlord. We’ll get the key from him.”

If he was home. But she kept that thought to herself. “There’s no one about.” The winter night had fallen a while ago, but it was still early. “Is it always this quiet?”

“I doubt it, but like I said, I’ve only been here briefly a few times and that was long ago.”

“So people are hunkering down because of the kidnappings?”

“Maybe so. Once we talk to Gage we’ll get a better idea.”

Her eyes never stopped moving as she surveyed the streets, the town she could see, the emptiness that made it seem more like a ghost town. Lights glowed from inside the houses, but that didn’t change the sense of abandonment. She’d seen frightened towns before and this was a frightened town. Frightened for their young boys. It was enough.

She itched to get on the job, to catch the scent and start her work. The time between the last two disappearances had been just over two weeks. The current victim had disappeared four days ago. They didn’t have a whole lot of time.

She’d learned patience as an investigator, however. Impatience could lead to mistakes and oversights. These could not be allowed. She drew a deep breath and let relaxation pour through her. Time. It always took time.

“Do we have any idea of his cycle?” she asked.

“The killer? Not sure. He was escalating somewhat before he vanished, and he seems to be escalating again. It’s hard to be sure with only three missing kids, though. You read the report?”

Of course she had, but it had mostly been a description of events five years earlier. Little enough about the present except that it appeared to be happening again. Since Cade had been in these parts for at least a decade, she couldn’t help wondering if he knew more than was in the report. If so, they were going to have a meeting of minds very soon. If not...well, they were starting on equal footing. “The more frequently he acts, the more likely he’ll slip up.” On the other hand, that put some very real pressure on them to figure out something fast.

“We’ll find out.” He pulled a left turn onto an even narrower street, this one devoid of pole decorations, although a few houses still sported lights along the eaves. Barnstable Street.

“There it is.”

Unmistakable, she thought. It was the only house on the street that was completely dark. Not very big, either, which could be good or bad, depending. Her mind ticked over impressions, cataloguing them for later.

He stopped the car at the end of a plowed driveway, no heaped snow blocking it. “I’ll get the key.”

She didn’t answer, just climbed out. He paused, then switched off the ignition and set the brake. She didn’t explain her actions, felt no need to, but she was damned if she was going to start letting him cut her out of anything, however small.

She was a tall woman, but Cade was even taller. As they mounted the three salted steps side by side, the wind bit at them with frigid teeth. It was freaking cold this evening, like the breath of an advancing ice age. Even with her hood pulled up, the chill found ways to snap at her ears.

Cade knocked, a courteous knock rather than a police banging, and soon the front door opened to reveal a beautiful and very pregnant young woman. “You must be the Dentons?” she said.

Cade nodded. “I’m Cade, and this is my...wife, DeeJay.” DeeJay hoped she was the only one who noted that hesitation. To her it sounded too obvious to miss.

“Come in,” the woman said, smiling. “I’m Kelly Jackson. You’ll freeze out there waiting for me to get the key.”

So they stepped into a tiny foyer where the wood floor was covered in a bright braid rug and a few photos hung on the walls. “How about some coffee?” Kelly asked. “You must have had a long drive. Hank should be back soon. He’s helping with the search parties.”

DeeJay could smell roasting pork from the kitchen and guessed dinner was cooking for Hank. Then it struck her. This woman was talking about search parties to a couple of travel writers. What’s more, they weren’t supposed to be clued in.

As they were ushered into the front room and waved to seats on the sofa, she asked, “Search parties?”

“We’ve had a boy go missing,” Kelly answered, her smile fading. “Just twelve years old. Let me get that coffee.”

Kelly returned quickly carrying a tray that held three mugs and a coffeepot. “You’ll like the house,” she said. “I know you might not be here very long, but it’s where I first lived when I moved here.” Her face seemed to shadow, but then it brightened. “A real estate agent rented it to me when Hank was away for a few weeks. I thought Hank was going to have a cow when he found out. The place was in terrible shape. I don’t think you ever saw a man move so fast to repair things. He hadn’t intended to rent it out so soon.”

DeeJay thanked her for the coffee. “How long did you live there?”

Kelly laughed again, seeming to relax. She sat in an armchair across from them. “Long enough to finish out my divorce and marry Hank. Just long enough to fix it up a bit. The furnishings aren’t top-of-the-line, but they’ll serve you.”

“What’s Hank do?” Cade asked.

“He’ll tell you he’s just a cowboy.”

DeeJay hooked on the way she said it. “But?”

“Hank will never be just anything.”

DeeJay was sure Kelly believed that, but she also sensed there was more of a backstory. No way to ask. “So he’s out searching for this boy?”

“A lot of people are.” Kelly’s face darkened again. “I might as well tell you, since you’re going to run into it anyway. You picked a bad time to write a travel piece about us. Even with the new ski resort opening next fall.”

“Why?” DeeJay asked gently.

Kelly shook her blond head. “This is the third boy to disappear since late fall. And some are talking about how this happened before I moved here. People are scared. Whether they talk to you about it or not, you’re going to sense their fear.”

Five minutes later they were parked in the short driveway of the dark little house. Kelly assured them that Hank had turned up the heat that morning so they should be warm. Everything was ready for them, including the phone.

Cade drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Want to unload the suitcases first or find a place to eat?”

“Greasy spoon?” she asked, quoting him from earlier.

“One of the best.”

“Then let’s eat first. As cold as it is tonight, I don’t want to settle into warmth and then have to go out again. When do we meet the sheriff?”

“Soon. With the search going on, I can’t say any better than that.” He pulled away from the house, rounded a block and headed in toward the center of town. The houses grew bigger and some even boasted decent-sized yards.

If you blinked, DeeJay thought, you could miss the entire center of town with its flashing red stoplight. It had the kind of charm most old small towns boasted, along with the inevitable seediness. It could have been almost anywhere in the country or anywhere in the past century.

Whatever tourism might come to Conard County from the ski resort, the town hadn’t yet given in. No cheesy T-shirt shops, no cowboy-hat shaped neon announcing Western clothing. No upscale boutiques. No touristy stuff at all. The town hadn’t yet wakened to its new status. Maybe it never would.

They parked at a place called the City Diner. “It’s empty,” she remarked before they climbed out of the car. “That’s not a good sign.”

“This place has a great rep,” Cade answered. “And remember, people are either out searching for a boy or they’re locked inside where it’s safe.”

Three boys missing and the town feared they had a killer in their midst. Not understanding the mentality of most serial killers, they wouldn’t get that anyone other than a young boy would probably be safe. And that was wise, because there had been a few who had had no particular victim type, and hadn’t cared whom they had chosen for their ritual.

“Ramirez,” Cade said, almost as if he were reading her mind. “That guy ran the gamut in his victims.”

“But as far as we know, this one doesn’t.”

“So far.”

“Maybe more like Gacy.”

“Maybe.”

Inside, the diner looked ancient, with seats patched with tape and tables that were scratched past all shine but clearly clean. The menus weren’t even sticky, but the woman who waited on them was something else. If she’d ever had a charming bone in her body, it had abandoned ship a long time ago. Crockery clattered, cups slammed, hot coffee filled them and splashed a bit, and all without any communication beyond indeterminate grunts. Mavis apparently wasn’t much for talking.

Then came the platters overflowing with steak sandwiches and enough fries for an army. The dinner salads in their tiny bowls almost disappeared beside them.

It was then they discovered that Mavis could talk.

“You them travel writers?”

“Yes,” Cade and DeeJay answered together.

“Humph. Bad time to be coming to these parts. Don’t know if I like that whole ski thing, neither. We were getting along just fine.”

“You’ll get more business,” Cade pointed out.

“Already got all the business we want, and some that we don’t.” With that, Mavis stomped away.

Cade and DeeJay exchanged looks, the first real understanding that had passed between them. It arced almost electrically, and both quickly glanced down at their plates.

“So everybody knows who we are,” DeeJay remarked, picking up a half a steak sandwich that by itself would have fed three men.

“At least we won’t seem suspicious.”

“Maybe not.” But she had her doubts. Strangers in a frightened town always caused suspicion. They really had their work cut out for them.

* * *

The house created its own set of problems for them. It was tiny, with one small bedroom. DeeJay insisted she sleep on the couch because she was shorter, and this time Cade didn’t offer an argument.

They’d brought home hefty containers full of leftovers, but they’d also made a stop at the grocery for coffee. No day would be complete without it. At least they agreed on that much. Cade picked up a few other odds and ends for snacking while DeeJay selected some energy bars. Even frozen, they’d be edible, and right now they were utterly in the dark about how they were going to handle a case they knew very little about.

Back at the house, they brewed a pot in a decent drip coffeemaker, then sat down to pass the time. Being here in support of local law meant they had to await directions. And all of this undercover stuff was designed to lull the perp. If he caught wind that two state investigators had been brought in, he might disappear again. The pressure to catch him was heavy, almost creeping along DeeJay’s nerve endings. She suspected Cade was feeling much the same.

“There are crimes and then there are crimes,” she remarked.

“I read you loud and clear,” he answered.

“These sick twists make my skin crawl. I’ve dealt with all kinds of crimes. Just like you. I can understand most of them. People get mad. They want money. Lots of reasons that fit human understanding. Hell, most of us have probably felt an urge or two in our lives but haven’t acted on it.”

“True.”

“But these guys...they like it. They’re playing out some bizarre fantasy and compulsion. They never stop until they’re dead or in jail. All that stuff they poured into us at Quantico? It still doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I don’t think it ever can.”

“If it ever does, I may cash in my chips.”

He surprised her with a quiet laugh.

She looked at him, something she’d been trying to avoid by pretending a fascination for the pattern in the curtains or the back of her hands. “I didn’t mean that to be funny.”

“I know you didn’t. I laughed because my reaction is the same. It’s bad enough we have to try to understand enough to predict him. That’s as much understanding as I ever want to have.”

“More than enough. And we start as usual with the same bare-bones outline. Probably male, most likely white, late twenties to early thirties, drives a car that doesn’t stand out...” She trailed off. “A lot of blanks to fill in.”

“It could be a woman.”

“Quit reminding me we can’t eliminate anyone.”

At that he laughed freely, and as much as she didn’t like most men, she joined in. It felt good, released tension, and she hoped he was beginning to feel less resentful of having a woman for a partner.

In fairness, he couldn’t feel any more resentful of her than she felt of him. She sighed as the laughter died. Somewhere in the depths of the house the heat kicked on. First came a wave of chilly air, followed by warmer air that smelled a little musty.

The doorbell rang. She let him answer it. She heard Cade and another man exchange a few words, then Cade ushered in the sheriff along with a blast of cold air. The first thing that struck her was that one side of his face had been burned and showed old, shiny scar tissue. The next was that he limped, and occasionally pain flickered across his face. The car bomb.

“Gage Dalton,” he said, pulling off his glove and offering his hand. She rose and shook it. Cade took his jacket while DeeJay introduced herself. And even though it was a female thing to do, which she usually avoided, she asked if he wanted coffee.