Into The Night

“Tomorrow, we forget this,” she said.

Not damn likely.

“We go back to the way things were.”

Maybe he should be clear on this. “There are some things you can’t go back from.” Because he would never forget the way Macey looked when she came for him.

Before she could speak, he’d wrapped his hands around her waist and he’d lifted her so that she straddled him. Macey’s hands flew down and pressed to his abdomen. Her thighs were so soft and her sweet sex...

He stroked her, sliding one finger, then another, into her.

Perfect. No, I won’t forget this. Because I’m not an idiot.

He wouldn’t forget, and he’d work like mad to get her this way again.

She began to ride his hand, arching up and then sliding down. She tightened her delicate inner muscles around him.

“Put the condom on me, Mace,” he urged her, his voice little more than a growl.

She leaned over the bed and he licked her breast. She gave a little gasp—he loved that sexy sound—and then she was grabbing the condom and slipping back to him. Her fingers closed around his cock.

Sweet torture. His eyes squeezed shut. She wasn’t just putting that condom on him—she was stroking him, pumping him in her fist, moving her hand from base to tip again and again.

In other words, Macey was driving him out of his fucking mind.

“Do I get to use my mouth, too?”

Now his eyes flew open. “Hell, yes.”

She gave a laugh and the sound was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. Macey was so sensual, so hot...and her mouth...

Her lips closed around the tip of his cock.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! His hands fisted and immediately slammed into the wooden headboard.

Macey stilled. Her mouth left him. “Bowen?”

“Don’t stop, Mace.” Now his voice was inhuman. Too rough. Too fucking wild. Oh, well...

She didn’t stop. She put her mouth back on him. She started licking him and sucking him and he was sure he’d explode. Right then and there.

Bowen tumbled her back onto the bed. He took the condom from her, put it on and was inside her in the next breath. His hands curled around hers and he pushed her wrists back against the bed. He remained there a moment, balls deep in her, his eyes on her, savoring the feel of Macey.

“Are you trying to drive me crazy?” Macey whispered.

Maybe. She’d driven him to the brink more than a few times.

He withdrew, plunged deep—and they fucking wrecked that bed as control was lost for both of them. Harder, deeper, stronger, he took her.

She arched her back and cried out as she climaxed.

Harder, deeper—

The bed slid across the floor.

He came, surging deep into her and holding her as if...as if he’d never let her go.

* * *

WHEN DAWN CAME, she eased from the bed—and out of Bowen’s arms. She dressed quickly and then tiptoed to the door. Macey glanced back at him, helpless not to do so. He’d given her just what she’d needed that night.

Pleasure.

Oblivion.

Bowen was still in the bed. He was lying on his stomach, with his hand stretched out across the bed. That hand had been around her.

The covers were near his waist and she could easily see his broad back. And the scars there. Bullet wounds. She recognized them for exactly what they were. Bowen hadn’t lived an easy life. He wasn’t an easy man.

He’d been exactly the man she wanted.

She opened the door and crept outside. Moments later, she was back in her room. She stopped trying to be quiet as she headed straight for the bathroom. She could feel Bowen on her skin. His touch, his mouth.

He’d kept his word. His mouth had explored her, everywhere.

She wrenched on the shower faucet and the water thundered down. As the steam began to fill the bathroom, Macey turned toward the mirror and looked at herself.

What have I done?

* * *

HIS EYES OPENED the minute the door closed.

Dawn had come, and Macey had slipped away. She’d asked him for a night. Nothing more. Just the hours in the dark.

He rolled over. The bed smelled like her. Some sweet lavender scent.

Bowen rose and stalked to the bathroom. Then he paused because he could hear Macey’s shower through the paper-thin wall. Macey, in the shower. Wet. Naked.

Just hours in the dark.

His hand lifted and pressed to that wall. Macey might think they were one and done, but he wasn’t so sure. Because...the thing about the dark...

It returned again. Every night.

* * *

“I WANT TO see the body.” Macey squared her shoulders as she faced Dr. Lopez. “I need to study the marks on Daniel Haddox’s body.”

Dr. Lopez had her hair pinned at the nape of her neck. She wore her lab coat and she had a big mug of coffee gripped in one hand. “Figured you’d be showing up.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Though I thought you’d at least wait until eight a.m.”

“We’ve got two dead bodies in this town,” Macey said. “There didn’t seem to be a point in waiting much longer.” She’d barely been able to wait until the ME’s lab opened.

She’d taken a taxi over, leaving a note for Bowen. Because yes, she’d been a coward that way. But she knew he wanted to go and see the sheriff again. And she’d wanted—needed—to see Daniel’s body.

She’d also wanted to avoid an immediate scene with Bowen. Night-afters weren’t really her thing.

“Grab a coat and some gloves and let’s get to work,” Dr. Lopez said.

Right. Macey grabbed the coat and gloves and then she hurried to the table. The body was already in position. Just waiting—

“Is this weird for you?” Dr. Lopez asked, tilting her head as she studied Macey. “I mean, some of the stories say he was your lover.”

“He wasn’t.” Her voice was clipped. “He was just the man who tried to kill me.” Her gaze was on his face. And now he’s the man who is dead.

But she frowned as she stared at him. “Is that...blood...under his eyes?” His eyes were closed, but she swore she could see a faint line of red beneath his lashes. She leaned in closer to get a better view.

The ME did, too. “Looks like it. Could be spatter from his other wounds.”

Because he certainly had plenty of those. Macey’s gaze slid down his chest. His arms. She hadn’t touched him yet and...she was hesitant to do so.

It still doesn’t feel real. I’m standing over his body, and I still feel like this is a dream.

“I’d be glad,” Dr. Lopez announced.

Macey’s gaze jerked toward the ME.

“If it were me,” she added, staring at Macey from under the veil of her lashes. “If some guy had started carving me up like some freaking Thanksgiving turkey, I’d be glad when he died.”

“Not exactly like a turkey,” she replied even as her stomach clenched. Her hand hovered over Daniel’s wrist. The bruising there was so dark, a deep mix of blue and black. He fought against his restraints, tried to get free.

But there was no escape for him. Not this time.

“Sorry. I, um, sometimes I say things without thinking them all the way through.”

Macey glanced back at the ME.

Dr. Lopez gave a little wince. “It’s why I work with the dead. You know...they don’t care if I say something stupid. The living—they mind.”

Macey wasn’t sure what to say.

“Are you glad?” Dr. Lopez blurted.

Macey blinked. That was the only expression change that she allowed herself.

The other woman sighed. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

Yes. “We should start the exam.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Once more, Macey’s gaze slid back to Daniel’s eyes.

“He was as handsome as they said.” Dr. Lopez moved closer to the table. “But he looks different from the pictures I’ve seen. Bleached his hair blond. Interesting touch. With this hair, he looks a bit like your partner, Agent Murphy—”

“He looks nothing like Bowen.” Her voice had gone arctic.

“Sorry,” Dr. Lopez said. She tilted her head. “Do you think he watched any of those movies about himself?”

She thought he had. She thought he’d probably enjoyed them. Macey had been against those films, but no one had listened to her. One slick prick of a producer had even told her movies like that were called “unauthorized” for a reason. They hadn’t wanted her approval. They’d just wanted to share her horror with the world.

“Did you see the films?” Dr. Lopez pushed.

“Didn’t need to. I saw the actual attack.” She hadn’t needed some Hollywood remake of the worst night of her life. Macey sucked in a quick breath as she squared her shoulders. “I want to look at his eyes.”

Because it was bothering her, that swipe of blood that she could see right under each eye. It almost looked as if someone had tried to wipe away the blood.

“What do you think happened?” Dr. Lopez asked. “You think he killed Gale Collins?” She pointed to the cold storage lockers behind her. “You think he had a partner, someone who helped him kill Gale and then that person turned on the good doctor?”

“There was nothing good about him.” She reached for a light, and then, steeling herself, she began to reach for Daniel’s right eyelid.

Dear God.

She felt a punch right to her stomach. She shined the light into his eye, making sure she wasn’t mistaken. Then...then she lifted his left eyelid. “There’s something there.” Her voice sounded hoarse to her own ears.

Dr. Lopez crowded in close. She’d gone silent. She took the light from Macey, shone it into Daniel’s eyes. The left. The right.

Then she grabbed a pair of tweezers.

* * *

“WHAT IS HAPPENING in this town?” Sheriff Burt Morris demanded as he paced the small confines of his office. “First, that poor girl’s body turns up and now...now this? I thought you FBI agents were going to swarm in and catch the guy.”

“Someone else got to Haddox first.” Obviously. “Based on the way he was murdered, it’s apparent that the killer knew exactly who Daniel Haddox was...and what he’d done to his victims.”

Morris stopped pacing. He swung back toward Bowen. “Like...a partner? The guy had a partner? Is that what you mean?”

Macey had never said anyone helped Daniel Haddox when he attacked her. And no signs had ever pointed to the guy working with someone else. But... Haddox had been in hiding for a long time. Perhaps his MO had changed.

But the crime scene didn’t feel like some kind of partner-gone-wrong shit. It felt like a vengeance play. Payback.

“The cabin had been wiped clean,” Bowen continued. “Our perp made sure he didn’t leave any evidence behind.”

The sheriff’s shoulders sagged. “Is he going to kill again? That’s what I need to know, Agent. Are the people in my town safe—or is the killer going to strike again?”

Before he could answer, Bowen’s phone rang. “Excuse me.” He pulled out the phone and saw Samantha Dark’s name on the screen. “I need to take this call. Give me just a moment.” He strode into the hall and put the phone to his ear. “Tell me you’ve got some news we can use up here.” Because things took a serious right-hand turn straight to hell.

“I need you and Macey in Gatlinburg, Tennessee.” Her voice was brisk. “And I need you there now.”

“Uh, Samantha, we’ve got two bodies here. One of those bodies belongs to Daniel Haddox.” He knew she didn’t need the reminder. But... “And you just want us to pack up? In the middle of our investigation?” He marched down the hall, not wanting the sheriff to overhear. “The local sheriff is worried about another kill, and I have to agree with him. The Haddox scene was a freaking bloodbath, and things aren’t looking good—”

“Patrick Remus.”

At the name, ice tightened around his heart. “Patrick the Pyro? Shit, don’t tell me he’s in action again.” Because Patrick was a killer the FBI had been hunting for months. The guy was an ex-firefighter who liked the flames too much. He picked victims and trapped them in isolated locations. Then he set those poor souls on fire.

“He may not be in action very much longer.” Her voice was quiet. “A video went up on the internet one hour ago. A video that one of our techs picked up. In that video, Patrick Remus is tied to a chair and someone is pouring gasoline on him.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“No, I’m not.”

Shit.

“The FBI was able to track down the location of the person who posted that video. We traced the IP address and we know the individual is in Tennessee.” Her voice carried easily to him. “Local law enforcement is closing in, but you’re less than an hour and a half away from the scene at your current location. I need you to get your ass over there. Get to the scene. I need your eyes. I need you and Macey to see what’s happening there.” Her rough expulsion of breath crackled over the phone. “Two serial killers. Haddox and Remus. Two of the worst out there...both seemingly targeted. And both within such a close distance of one another? I do not like this.”

Someone was hunting serials? We’re the ones who hunt the serials. That was the whole purpose of their group. They were the ones who went in. They were the ones who got the job done.

“Check out the scene in Gatlinburg. Haddox is already dead,” Samantha continued grimly. “We don’t have to hunt him any longer.”

But they did need to hunt the bastard who’d killed him. Was he just supposed to walk away?

“I think the cases are connected,” she said. “My gut—every instinct I possess—tells me that two serial killers...both of them in such close proximity...both of them targeted...”

He knew where she was going. “You believe Haddox’s killer moved to Gatlinburg.”

“He finished his work in North Carolina, and yes, I think he could have moved on.”

Shit.

“I’m sending Tucker up to North Carolina so that we can keep a team member with the sheriff and his team there. It will take Tucker a few hours to arrive, but he’ll be there by nightfall. In the meantime, I need you and Macey in Gatlinburg. Right now, we have to operate under the assumption that Remus is still alive and that he is still in Gatlinburg.”

He understood. “We’ll be there,” he told her.

He ended the call and headed back in to see Sheriff Morris. “There’s...been a development,” he began quietly. “Another case nearby. Agent Night and I need to head out for the day, but the FBI will continue to provide you with backup on this case.”

“What?” The sheriff’s jaw dropped. “You’re leaving? With two bodies here?”

I may have another victim close by. Another killer turned victim. “We’re needed in Gatlinburg.”

Morris’s eyes widened. “Why? Is there another body there?”

A soft knock sounded behind Bowen. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Macey standing there. A Macey who looked too pale and wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. Had Samantha already called her? Was that why she’d come to the sheriff’s office?

“We found something. Dr. Lopez and I...” Macey cleared her throat. She had a manila file clasped in her hand. “I wanted you both to know about it. It’s...very distinct. Could be our killer’s signature.” She headed toward the sheriff’s desk. Her hands trembled a bit as she opened the file. Then she swallowed. “The killer...he put nails into Daniel Haddox’s eyes.”

What the actual fuck?

“Dr. Lopez made pictures for you.” Her fingers pushed the photos across the desk. “This is...this is not something that Daniel Haddox ever did to his own victims. And this did not happen with Gale Collins. Dr. Lopez and I checked. The nails...” She straightened her shoulders. “It’s specific to Daniel’s killer.”

“Why would someone drive nails into the guy’s eyes?” the sheriff demanded.

Macey finally turned her stare onto Bowen. One brown eye. One blue. Just like Gale. “He picked me because of my eyes,” she said, her voice strained as she glanced back at the sheriff. “And I suspect that is the same reason he picked Gale. The killer knew that. The eyes—I think he made Daniel regret that he’d ever looked into our eyes.”

Son of a bitch.

“This is why you can’t leave!” the sheriff exploded. “We need you here. This case needs you! You understand this sick bastard out there!”

“Leave?” Macey blinked. “But...why would we be leaving?”

Because another serial is out there...and he’s about to die. “Samantha needs us in Gatlinburg. She thinks—” he cleared his throat “—there is a possibility that a victim there may be related to these kills.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Another victim? Already?” And he knew by the tone of her voice that she carried the same fears he did.

The killer is accelerating too fast. There is no cooling-down time between his kills. He’d already been working to build a profile on this guy...and it wasn’t looking good.

Highly intelligent, extremely organized, with knowledge of crime scene analysis and police investigations.

In other words, a killer who would be very hard to catch.

And that was why Samantha wanted them to get in a chopper and get their asses over to Gatlinburg right then. Because if the guy was still there, they had to take him out.

He nodded toward the sheriff. “Our colleague Tucker Frost will be arriving in town by this evening. He’ll make sure to provide you with support until we return.” Because they weren’t just going to leave and not look back. That wasn’t how they worked.

Then he turned and followed Macey out of the sheriff’s office. They didn’t speak again until they were outside. The sunlight fell down on them as they approached the SUV.

“Who’s the victim?” Macey asked him.

“Patrick Remus.”

She stopped, then swung toward him. “What? The Pyro?”

He nodded, grimly. “Now you see why Samantha wants us over there? We’re looking at two high-profile criminals...two men who appear to have been targeted by the same individual.”

“What is the perp doing?” Macey whispered as her brow furrowed. “It’s almost like he’s...”

“Taking out the predators. Hunting them...”

Her gaze met his.

“Just like we are,” Bowen finished.

* * *

“YOU’VE...GOT...THE wrong man...” Patrick Remus gritted out. He hurt—he fucking hurt. The bastard holding him had doused his legs with gasoline and then lit them on fire. Then the SOB had stood back and just watched while he burned. While the flames ate at Patrick’s pants and his legs.

Then, when Patrick had been screaming, the guy had lifted a fire extinguisher and sprayed at the flames.

“You’re the right man, Remus. I know. The FBI has been searching for you a very long time.”

Patrick’s breath heaved out. “No...no... I—I didn’t do that shit. None of it. Wasn’t m-me...”

The wooden floor creaked as his attacker began to stalk around him. The guy had a mask over his face—a black ski mask—so Patrick couldn’t tell anything about him.

“Of course, it was you. Your prints were found at two of your arson scenes. In Orlando, Florida, where you killed that father of two. In Atlanta, Georgia, at the home of the elderly grandmother you sent to a fiery grave.”

His teeth clenched. “I’m...a different man. I was sick back then. I’m better now! I haven’t burned...anything...” Like this bastard would know the truth.

The floor creaked again. “You think that stopping absolves you of your crimes?”

His legs hurt. “I need a doctor.”

His attacker laughed. “Too bad, he’s dead. I finished him first.”

What?

“I’ve been watching you... I do know that you’ve still been starting your fires.”

Fuck.

“And I don’t like it when people try to lie to me.”

Patrick yanked at the ropes around his wrists. That jerk had tied his arms behind him, securing him to the wooden chair. This shit couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. He’d been living a normal life in Alabama, even had a girl he was thinking about marrying. She’d won this fucking trip up to Gatlinburg, and they’d come together—“Lydia,” he whispered. “What did you do to Lydia?” Because this bastard before him had taken Patrick right out of his cabin.

The guy laughed. Patrick jerked against the ropes. His legs burned.

“She doesn’t know about you, does she? Poor Lydia...she thought she’d found her prince charming.”

“If you’ve hurt her...”

More laughter. “What? You’ll burn me?”

And he heard the slosh of a liquid. He couldn’t see the other guy, but he knew the man had picked up the gasoline again. “The only one who will get burned,” he told Patrick. “That’s you...”

CHAPTER FOUR

“PLEASE, PLEASE, I need help!” The woman with the long black hair was ringing her hands as she stood in front of the check-in desk at the Gatlinburg police station. “My boyfriend is missing!”

Macey slanted a quick glance her way. She and Bowen had arrived at the station moments before—to a scene of pretty much chaos. The police captain had greeted them at the door. Captain Henry Harwell was young, probably in his late twenties, with close-cropped brown hair. He wore a pair of glasses and his gun was holstered at his side.

Right then, he motioned toward another uniformed officer and pointed to the woman. “Help her, now.”

The officer bustled to the woman’s side.

“We searched the cabin,” Captain Harwell said as he began to lead Macey and Bowen back into the station. “Your Special Agent Dark helped coordinate with our team here and we went to the location that the FBI had pinpointed, but no one was there. I don’t know if this is just some damn trick or what is happening—”

“No!” It was the woman’s voice, rising over the din in the station. “You’re not listening to me! I think someone took him! He’s not just off drunk somewhere or lost in your damn mountains! He needs help!”

Macey paused and glanced back at her.

“The cabin had been swept clean,” Harwell continued. “I had my men check and double-check the place, but there wasn’t any sign of anyone. It was a rental, one that had been taken off rotation while some repairs were being made. No one should have been there...” He exhaled. “And sure as shit not some serial arsonist! Damn it, do you know what will happen if word gets out that Patrick Remus is in this town? Do you know how many tourists come here?”

Macey found herself sliding away from the captain and from Bowen. There was something about that woman at the counter. Her certainty that her boyfriend wasn’t just lost or drinking it off...that he’d been taken.

Macey touched her shoulder. “Miss?”

The woman swung toward her. Mascara smudges darkened her eyes.

“Why do you think your boyfriend was taken?”

“Because Patrick wouldn’t just leave me!”

Macey tensed. “Patrick?”

“Patrick Grace.” Now the woman turned to grab Macey’s shoulder. “He was there last night, I swear, he was asleep in that bed next to me. But...but when I woke up, he was gone. The front door was wide-open. Our car was still there. But he wasn’t.” A tear slid down her cheek. “He left his phone, his wallet. Everything. I know something happened to him.”

“Do you happen to have a picture of Patrick?” The name was too much of a coincidence to ignore. When individuals went into the Witness Protection Program, they often tried to keep their new first names as similar as possible to their real ones—it helped them to transition.

And Patrick Remus—the serial arsonist who’d been hiding from the FBI for over two years—must have adopted a new identity while he’d been in hiding. Perhaps that new identity involved a new last name—

“Here he is.” The woman pushed her phone toward Macey. “See him? What will you do now? Get an APB out for him? Put his face on all the news channels?”

Macey stared at the photo before her. On the way there, she’d pulled up Patrick’s old case file and photos on her tablet. The man she was looking at right then had shaved his head and put on about twenty pounds...but she was staring at a face she knew.

Patrick Remus.

“Macey?” Bowen strode toward her. “We need to go back with the sheriff—”