But still, the impulse to look down, to drink in her expression, her fear, her suffering, built to a fevered pitch within him. The muscles across his shoulders and neck shook with it, and his fingernails dug into his palms. His knees had begun to shake, his breath to rasp harshly in the back of his throat. His mouth tasted of copper and sweat and pain.
And it was marvelous. Better than the finest whisky, better than the most expensive wine, better than riding a new…
Well, not better than that, certainly.
When he could stand it no longer, he tipped his head forward but kept his eyelids squeezed shut as long as he could, his teeth grinding against the pressure, the desire, the wanting.
At his feet, she whimpered, and that was more than he could stand. His eyes flew open, his nostrils flared, saliva sluiced into his mouth, and the need beat like a second heart within him. He dropped his arms, one hand twisting into her long, beautiful yellow hair—though it was now streaked with red—the other snaking around to his waistband in the back, feeling for it, seeking it, caressing it…
There! The cold metal head of the hammer seemed to beckon his fingers, to cry out in ecstasy as his fingertips brushed against it. A grin of brutal savagery twisted the lower half of his face, and seeing it, the woman began to scream again.
He danced back and forth from foot to foot, barely able to contain himself as he drew the hammer, the fiberglass haft of it making that delectable slithering sound against the leather of his belt. His hand wrapped up in her hair kept right on winding and winding and winding, the ropes of her bloody hair growing tighter and tighter and tighter around his fingers and across his palm. His eyes caressed her naked skin, probed the secret recesses of her body, stabbed into her own, and her long, agonized scream crackled against the thunderclouds overhead. His smile widened, and he showed her the hammer. Her eyes grew as wide as any woman’s ever had before—not only could he see the whites all the way around her irises but also the delightful pink beyond that. Her eyes dilated as the adrenaline hit her blood.
“Oh, yes,” he crooned. “Fight! Fight me!” He cackled madly into the dismal, delicious night, and he shook her by the hair, doing a mad jig like a drunken leprechaun. He swung the hammer through the air, grinning at the feeling of ineffable power in the muscles across his back and shoulders, laughing at the sound of the hammer head cutting through the air, and she screamed anew when it slammed into the cobbles next to her head.
She kicked at him, heels striking out like a wild animal, and her nails bit into the skin of his wrist on the arm with which he held her hair, and he shook her—hard—then pressed her down to the scum-covered bricks, wedging first one knee between her own, then his other knee. He rapped her head against the cobbles, liking the sound of it, then lunged down until he pressed against her from foot to lip. Her heartbeat slammed against his ribs, her breath washed across his lips, her sex ground into his.
“Oh, yes,” he moaned. But then she bit him. She latched onto his lip with her teeth, pressing them together as hard as any woman ever had a right to, and blood flooded across his teeth and tongue.
She’d expected to at least cause him pain, and when he laughed, he sprayed hot blood across her face, not even bothering to dislodge her from his lip. After all, what did he care?
Thunder crashed around them as he raised the hammer again. Cold rain splattered across his back as her hot blood splattered across his front. Beneath him, she stiffened while he wilted. Lightning tore at the darkness as the hammer slashed down and up and down and up and down yet again. The shiny metal head of the hammer danced in the murky night, thudding her head into nothing, adding her blood and flesh and skin and bone and brains to the refuse already coating the bricks.
When it was over, when his savagery had drained to a controllable level once more, he shoved her remains away and spit the parts of her that had ended up in his mouth against the wall. He rocked back on his haunches and grinned as the moon peeked through the bloody-black clouds and washed down on him. He savored it a moment, luxuriating in the ecstasy of murder, then performed the last few tasks he had with the woman, almost sad at leaving her in the alley.
Chapter 2
The Smith’s Return
1
FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit, Quantico, VA
Tuesday, 4:45 pm
Special Agent Gavin Gregory sighed and slapped the case file closed. His neck ached from too many hours poring over the reports, the pictures, the notes scratched in hieroglyphics by other agents, and the sensationalized news articles. He’d read it all before—at least a hundred times—and there was nothing he hadn’t seen before despite his hopes that he would discover something new. And yet, he knew he’d go through it all, again and again, until he could write “closed” across the face the cold case file.
He’d needed something to do during the last week before the long vacation his wife, Maddie, had booked, and going through cold cases fit the bill—desk work, sure, but it also got him home every night, and at a reasonable hour. He’d stopped taking new cases and had handed off low priority cases where he could. She’d arranged for an extended stay—one entire month—on Maui in the hopes of rekindling their relationship, of trying again, of…he had to face it…conceiving another child.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want those things too, because he did, but he didn’t think they needed to go to some high-priced resort. They’d both come from humble beginnings, and it seemed…wrong to go to a fancy five-star place where other people just like them would wait on them hand and foot for an entire month. And it wasn’t the money—his job paid well for government work, and since Maddie’s writing career had taken off, there was plenty of money for the two of them. But still…he felt nervous about the trip, uncomfortable at the thought of doing nothing for four entire weeks. He shook his head to clear those thoughts away. They were going, and that was all there was to it. Maddie wanted it—said she needed it—and he was going to do his part.
In his seventeen years at the Bureau, he’d developed a habit of clearing his desk at the end of the day. Of locking case files away, cleaning all the stray junk he pulled out during the day—the paper clips, the eraser, the Post-Its, the stapler, his pencils, and any stray notes. It wasn’t only about physical security, either, though that was a big component of it. It felt like the right thing to do. Doing the things that felt right was important to Gavin.
“Hey, Gregory,” said Peter Fielding, his direct superior in the BAU. “Have you heard?”
“No, Pete. What did I miss?”
Peter grunted and found the remote for the television mounted in the corner of the bullpen. He unmuted the news feed and peered at the screen. “He’s back.”
“Who is?”
“The Smith.”
Gavin flashed a sour grin at his boss. “That’s not funny, Peter.”
“Yeah, I know it isn’t.” He thumbed through the news channels, hunting for one showing the report he wanted. “Look.” He gestured at the screen with the remote.
A graphic covered the screen—a street map of New York City, zoomed in on Murray Hill. When the map disappeared, it revealed a pretty young woman with blue-black hair and Asian features. She looked directly at the camera but didn’t smile. “It was here, Chet, that the body of a twenty-one-year-old woman was found this morning. According to my contacts within the New York Police Department, the victim was found nude after being bludgeoned to death sometime during the night. The investigation is on-going, but so far, there are no suspects, and, according to my source, except for the bloody hammer used, no evidence has been found.” Behind the reporter, men and women covered from head to toe with white nylon suits milled around.
“Is that the forensics team—”
“Yes, Chet, they are still working the scene, and my source indicates there is high confidence within the forensics department that there will be other evidence found, particularly on the body of the deceased.”
“Terrible, Mona.”
“It is at that, Chet.”
“Does your source think this crime is related to the other two female victims found in the past few weeks?”
“The NYPD’s official stance is that it is too early to tell if the crimes are related, but just between you and me, my source has told me he believes there is no doubt.”
“Ah. That’s scary news.”
“Indeed,” said Mona. “But rest assured that the NYPD’s finest detectives are on the case—not only of this particular victim, but my source says all three cases have been taken over by a task force under the command of Lieutenant Kirk Haymond. The police chief, himself, established the task force and handpicked the detectives assigned to it.”
“That lieutenant…”
“Kirk Haymond,” said Mona.
“His name is familiar.”
“It should be, Chet. He led the task force that caught the Subway Slasher five years ago.”
“Ah. Then I’m sure he will sort it out soon.”
“Let’s hope and pray that’s the truth, Chet.”
Peter muted the feed. “Well?”
Gavin shook his head. “No. Not possible. The Smith’s been inactive for too long.”
“Maybe, maybe not. He could have changed his MO.”
“What, and then change back? Why would he do that?”
Peter shrugged and leaned against the corner of Gavin’s desk. “Perhaps he went quiet because you were getting too close. Now, he feels comfortable again.”
“Or he tried to stop,” mused Gavin.
“Or that,” said Peters with a shrug. “Stranger things have happened.”
Gavin leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “But, still, Pete. The Smith was active for three and a half years, starting in 2007. Then he just fell off the face of the Earth. No wind down, no similar crimes…just gone. What serial killer does that?”
“The smart ones. The ones who don’t want to get caught but like it too much to quit.”
Gavin shook his head once, a slow arc back and forth. “He didn’t…” He sighed. “What you’re suggesting is that his personality is organized, thoughtful, and disciplined, yet his crimes don’t mesh with that. His crimes were frenzied…opportunistic…not planned. Disorganized, in other words.”
Peter nodded. “Sure. I get that, but we don’t know everything about these guys. Hell, maybe we don’t know anything, and all this is just mental masturbation. But think about these New York murders. Three beautiful young girls bludgeoned with a hammer in two and a half weeks. He leaves the hammer at the scene, and reading between the lines of good ole Mona’s report, he’s leaving fluids on the scene.”
“Maybe,” said Gavin. “If he is, and if we can get the NYPD to share a sample, we can rule The Smith in or out based on that evidence.”
“If it is The Smith, he’s killing during rainstorms, and even though he’s a secretor, the samples might be—”
“Too degraded or corrupted by the storm. I know.”
“I hate to do this, Gavin.”
“No,” said Gavin, shaking his head. “You know I’m on vacation starting at five on Friday, and that we fly out on Monday.”
Peter nodded. “I know that, Gavin. You can be back Friday night—Sunday at the latest. All you need to do is go up there, visit the scenes, talk to the detectives… You know, get a feel for it. Get your samples and bring them back. Write it up. We’ll do the DNA while you’re away, and if we can, we’ll nab the bastard before you get home.”
Gavin shook his head but said nothing. The sad fact was that he wanted to go. That familiar buzz had started in his sinuses the second he’d heard the news report. The buzz that said he was on the right scent, the right track—even though he was on no scent, no track at all. “I don’t know, Peter.”
Peter nodded. “I understand, Gav. I do. This job is hard on a marriage—especially one that’s suffered a tragedy like yours has. You love her. I get it. But listen, you know The Smith. You, and you alone, can go up there for two or three days and come back knowing if it’s him, and you’ll still be back before the weekend.” He shook his head. “I know it bothers you—that The Smith got away, I mean. Hell, it bothers me, too. Gavin. I want to know if this is him. I want to know if he’s reactivating, or if it’s just some other bozo who likes to pound on blondes with a hammer.”
Gavin nodded. He did understand, and truth to tell, he felt exactly the same. “Maddie’s going to murder me if this takes more than a couple of days,” he murmured. Peter smiled, and Gavin reached for the phone to arrange his travel. “She’s going to kill me, and it’ll be your fault, Pete.”
“Want me to talk to her?”
“Are you insane?”
2
1289 Welcrest Drive, Minnieville, VA
Tuesday, 5:51 pm
Maddie looked up from her laptop and pinned him with her best glare. “You’re doing what?”
“Uh, it’s only for a day or two, honey. I’ll be back by Friday.” He looked down at his hands, unable to meet her hostile stare. “It’s work. It might be—”
“Duh. You’ll pick a corpse over me every time.” She dropped her gaze back to her laptop screen. “Go away. I’m busy.”
“I know it’s writing time, but I—”
“You are interrupting my flow, Gavin,” she said in a tone devoid of emotion. “I always work around your job, it’s time you started working around mine since it pays all our bills.”
“Sorry, it’s just that I—”
“Have to go. Am so sorry about this. Blah, blah, blah.” She shot a quick, hot-eyed look at him. “Close the door.”
Feeling like an utter asshole, Gavin backed out of her office and pulled the door shut without a sound. He turned and walked back to their bedroom, where his garment bag and duffel already lay open on the bed. He moved quickly, getting underclothes from the dresser, a pair of sneakers and some workout clothes from the closet. He added two suits, dress shirts, ties, and his work shoes, then he stepped into the bath to grab his toiletries.
“Sorry,” said Maddie from the bedroom doorway.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. But what I do is important, and sometimes I have to go when I have to go.”
“I know,” she said, coming up from behind and wrapping her arms around his waist and putting her cheek against his shoulder blade. “But promise me we won’t miss the vacation. I’ve been looking forward to it for a long time.”
He put his hands over hers and gave them a gentle squeeze.
“We need this, Gav,” she whispered into his back.
“I know. Pete just wants me to go up and see if it’s The Smith. That’s all I have to do. Go up, talk to a few cops, read a bunch of reports, maybe visit the scenes…”
She sighed. “Just promise me.”
“It’s only a couple of days, Maddie. I’ll be back before the weekend starts.”
“We need to go shopping, so you’d better be.”
He patted her hands, and she sighed.
They both knew he couldn’t make that promise.
After a moment, she released him. “I’d better get back to the novel,” she murmured.
“I love you, Madison Gregory. More than anything.” He watched her in the mirror.
She stopped, her back to him, and her shoulders slumped. “Yeah,” she murmured.
3
LaGuardia Airport, Queens, NY
Tuesday, 9:41 pm
Gavin shuffled down the too-narrow aisle of the plane, his garment bag in front of him, his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, and his coat draped over his arm. Like all flights to New York City, it had been over-stuffed with all manner of people, and the line to disembark moved at a snail’s pace.
The woman in front of him kept turning around for no reason he could detect, smashing her backpack into his garment bag and then glaring at him as though he were the one who couldn’t hold still. She had the too-dark bronze tan of someone addicted to tanning salons and wore enough makeup for two or three women. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see her anymore, not wanting to be trapped behind her anymore.
“You think squeezing your eyes shut will protect you?” asked the carnival show attraction in front of him.
He snapped his eyes open. The woman had turned to stare at him, arms akimbo, head cocked at a jaunty angle. “You wouldn’t know real power if it was staring you in the face.”
“Uh…”
“Right, right.” She waved her hand in the air like an orchestra conductor. “Uh… Duh… Uh…” she mocked.
“Look, lady, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. Let’s keep it that way, okay?”
“Oh, you want it like that, do you?”
“I want off this plane. I want to get to my hotel and take a hot shower. Those are the things I want.”
She grinned as she made a gun from her forefinger and thumb, then shot him with it. “Gotcha, spark.” The line beyond her began to move toward the plane’s door, and he jerked his chin up, but she didn’t move. “Tell ya what, sparky-spark. You buy me a drink, and I’ll tell you a story you need to hear.”
“Come on,” said a woman behind Gavin.
“FUCK YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!” the woman screamed.
“Look,” said Gavin. “I’m an FBI agent, and causing trouble on a flight is a federal thing these days. You don’t want—”
“What? What am I doing to cause trouble? I just want to save your soul, motherfucker! I’m doing God’s will, motherfucker!”
“Right. I appreciate it, I really do, but right now, we need to deplane so that—”
“There’s no time, sparkster! None! The Rapture could come at any moment! Don’t you know that? Don’t you know anything, spark?”
Gavin puffed out his cheeks and shifted his garment bag and coat to his left arm. “Ma’am, you need to—”
“Don’t! Just don’t, spark!” she shouted, spittle flying. “I’m trying to save your ever-fucking soul, dumbass! Are you too stupid to listen? Shall I shake the dust off my feet?”
The aisle beyond her had cleared, and one of the flight attendants had come halfway from the cockpit to where the woman stood. She stopped there, wringing her hands. Gavin held up his hand, the classic “stop” pose.
The woman in front of him threw a glance over her shoulder. “Best do as he says, MOTHERFUCKER! I’m filled with righteousness, and if you push me, I’ll smite your whore ass!”
“That’s enough!” snapped Gavin in what Maddie called his “cop voice.”
The unbalanced woman in front of him whirled her head back to face him. “DON’T YOU GIVE ME NO COMMANDS, SPARKY-SPARK!” she screamed in his face. “Only Gawd can command me! Only GAWD tells me what to do! I’m filled with the SPIRIT, motherfucker! GAWD’s ever-fucking love! I’m trying to SAVE you, praise GAWD! Are you too stupid to hear the word of the LORD? Are you too dumb to listen? Are you so motherfucking insane that you’ll turn your back on an EMISSARY OF THE LORD GAWD?”
“You say you’re filled with God’s love? I’m not feeling very loved at the moment.” Gavin draped his garment bag and coat over the back of the seat to his left.
“ARE YOU QUESTIONING THE BRETHREN? DO YOU DARE TO QUESTION THE BRETHREN, MOTHERFUCKER? The Lord thy GAWD will smite the shit out of you, sparky, if you do that! The Lord thy GAWD sayeth unto you—” She jerked her head back like some crazy chicken and stared at him as he dropped his duffel into the seat with his garment bag. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, MOTHERFUCKER?”
With a grim expression, Gavin took her by the shoulders and spun her in the aisle. “I don’t want to arrest you, miss, but you can’t do this on a plane. You need to walk down the aisle and get off the plane.” He glanced at the flight attendant and gave her a little nod. One that said, “go call for help.” She nodded and turned to trot back toward the cockpit.
The unbalanced woman in the aisle cackled like a witch on black sabbath. “Oh, spark! Oh, sparky-spark-spark! You’re killing me. YOU’RE EVER-FUCKING KILLING ME, MOTHERFUCKER! The Lord thy GAWD sent me unto you. He sent me from the wilderness. He sent me from the mouth of the fish. The BELLY of the fish, I mean! He sent me from the gates of Hell itself to save you, spark! And you REJECT him? You REJECT the LORD THY GAWD, spark? Do you? Do ya?”
“Let’s go. One foot in front of the other.” Gavin applied a little pressure to her shoulders, and she squawked.
“You DARE to put your motherfucking hands on me, MOTHERFUCKER? You want to fuck me, don’t you, spark? I can tell, I can tell! You want to fuck the Brethren! But you know what the LORD THY GAWD says about fortification! You know what he says about lying down with your uncle? About seeing the Brethren naked, spark?”
“Time to go,” said Gavin in an iron tone. He propelled her down the aisle, and she threw her weight back against him.
“Dancing! Dancing! That leads to foreplay! That leads to sex! That leads to fortification! That leads to all twenty-five Gates to Hell, spark! But the Lord GAWD has filled me with righteousness, and nothing I do is a sin! I’m here to save you, spark, and if that means letting you fuck me, then so be it!” She began to unbutton her blouse, still facing away from him. She paused and tilted her head, her whole body seeming to freeze as she thought. “Hey! Maybe we can make another one. A brother!” she said in a normal tone, then she shrugged and resumed unbuttoning her blouse. “Be quick about it, spark. The Lord Gawd needs his dinner and hates it if it’s late. The Lord Gawd knows I don’t want a smack in the chops for not having dinner ready.”
“Stop that, miss,” said Gavin. “Let’s get off the plane and we can talk.”
“Oh ho! NOW, you want to talk! Are you chicken? Scared to fuck one of the Brethren?” She tucked her hands under her arms and clucked like a child taunting another. “Got me all riled up with your talk of fortification, but now you want to back out? Well, FUCK you, MOTHERFUCKER! I’m going to save your goddamn soul if it means knocking you down and jumping on your cock! I’m going to fuck your goddamn soul if it means saving you!”
Gavin sighed and began to move her bodily down the aisle. She grabbed at the seats as they passed, but he kept her moving, pushing her shoulders, bumping her butt with his hip from time to time.
“Foreplay, is it?” she cackled.
He got her all the way to the flight attendants’ area before the uniformed airport police arrived.
“Ah!” she cried. “Satan’s Imps! Come for a foursome, boys? Well, get in line. I’m fucking souls by saving ‘em, and there’s plenty to go around!” She reached toward the first cop’s groin, and he slapped her hand away. “Oh, no, MOTHERFUCKER! Don’t you dare reject the handjob of the Lord thy GAAAWD!”
Gavin pushed her against the wall that separated the passenger cabin from the cockpit and held her there. For just a moment, something wiggled under his palms. Something that felt scaly and cold. He stared down, but there was nothing there—just the woman and her ugly shirt. “Cuffs,” he grunted, shaking his head. She screamed and fought, but Gavin held her pinned, and the four airport cops secured her arms.
“TURN YOUR FACE AWAY FROM THE LORD THY GAAAAWD AND SEE WHAT BEFALLS YOU, MOTHERFUCKERS! JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE WHO FUCKS YOU NOW! WAIT ON IT! WAIT TO GET YOUR ASSES SMOTE INTO FINE POWDER BY THE BRETHREN!”
Gavin blew out a breath and stepped back, letting two of the airport cops take her by the arms and frog march her up the gangway. He shook his head at the other cops. “5150,” he said.
“You think?” asked one of them with a lopsided grin. “What set her off?”
Gavin laughed. “Getting off the plane, if you’ll believe it. She just turned and started screaming at me.”
From the gangway, the woman screamed, “OH YOU’RE FUCKED NOW, FBI-MAN. GAAWD’S WRATH IS GONNA POUND AND POUND AND POUND YOU!”
“What did she say?” asked Gavin.
“She said, ‘Ignore me, I’m crazy as fuck.’”
Gavin laughed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Need a statement from me?”
The airport cop shook his head. “Nah. She’s going straight to Bellevue, I’m sure.”
“Right.” He turned to go get his things, but a very pretty brunette smiled as she carried them up the aisle and gave them to him. “Thank you,” he said.
“Oh, no. Thank you, Agent…”
“Gregory.”
She dimpled and cocked her head to the side. “Is that your first name?”
“Gavin,” he said, grinning. “Gavin Gregory.”
“Ah. Thank you for helping that poor woman.”
“Well…”
She chuckled. “And for getting her the hell out of the way.”
Gavin nodded once and picked up his gear, his smile fading a little. “Nice meeting you.”
“You, too,” she said. She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Uh, can I buy you a drink?”
“Oh.” A warm blush crept up his cheeks. “Uh, I appreciate it, but—”
“You’re married,” she said with a sigh. “Why are all the good ones taken?”
Not knowing what to say, Gavin smiled. “Sorry.” He turned and walked up the gangway.
