The Coldest Fear. Debra Webb
answer, LeDoux finished his beer and went for another. Images of Weller’s numerous victims filtered one after the other through her mind like flipping the pages of a macabre family album. Randolph Weller, aka the Picasso Killer, wasn’t just another serial killer. He’d spent most of his adult life as a celebrated, highly respected psychiatrist whose secret hobby was mutilating the corpses of his victims and then painting macabre scenes of the carnage. More shocking, the sick son of a bitch had served as a consultant to the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit—still did, or at least he had until he escaped. Weller was also a father. Images of Nick flashed through her mind. Unlike his father, Nick had spent his adult life stopping the most ruthless serial killers, the ones no one else appeared able to find. He’d found the one who’d stolen Bobbie’s life. The Storyteller. She flinched. Hoped LeDoux hadn’t noticed.
“The Bureau has no fucking idea where he is.” LeDoux grunted. “They’ve torn Atlanta apart. Can’t find him.” He shook his head and downed more of his beer. “Zacharias gave them zip. He’s sticking by his attorney-client-privilege bullshit.”
“What about the package, LeDoux?” she repeated, impatience swelling inside her.
He lifted a bleary gaze to hers and exhaled a big breath. “He wouldn’t tell me who the recipient was, but—” the hint of a smile tugged at his lips “—for a hundred bucks he gave me the address.”
“Where?”
The smile made a full appearance. “The same place I’m headed after a few hours’ sleep. Savannah. I would’ve left already but I guess I was actually waiting for you. I knew you’d show up eventually.”
“Savannah?” She ignored the remark about him waiting for her. Why would Weller risk staying in the state of Georgia? Savannah was only three or four hours away. “That makes no sense.”
“Who knows? But I’m damned sure going to find out.” LeDoux laughed, the sound as weary as she felt. “That’s why I brought my car back here and took a cab to Zacharias’s house. In case the courier grew a conscience and decided to report me.”
At least that cleared up her question about how he’d followed the courier and why he didn’t have a rental car.
“You’re here,” he went on, “we have a lead. You going with me?” He tipped up his second bottle of beer and finished it off.
Either LeDoux had gone rogue or his new assignment was to keep her off track. Considering his apparent need to inhale those beers, maybe if she nudged him enough he’d slip up and reveal his true objective.
She chose her words carefully. “The FBI is still suspicious of Nick?”
Just saying the words out loud had anger stirring inside her. Bobbie had no idea exactly how many killers Nick had stopped in the past decade but the FBI wanted to label him a vigilante. The man was anything but. He hadn’t taken a single life...until just over twenty-four hours ago. Montgomery PD had cleared him of any wrongdoing in Steven Devine’s death. If Nick hadn’t stopped the bastard who had used being a cop as a cover for what he really was—a cold-blooded murderer—he would have killed both of them. Devine had already taken five lives, including a fellow cop she’d loved like a brother.
Bobbie pushed the memories of Asher Bauer away. No looking back until this is done.
“There are those who want to take him down,” LeDoux acknowledged, “but they have no proof. All they can do is watch and wait for him to fuck up. They got nothing on Shade and nothing on Weller. You and I are the only ones with a lead.”
She wanted to rant about the injustice of it all. Nick was a hero. “Then I guess we’ll be working together again.” At least as long as it benefited her goal of helping Nick. She didn’t wait for LeDoux to respond. She picked up her cell and headed for the bathroom.
He grabbed her arm as she passed. “We want the same thing, Bobbie. But I’m not sure we can win this.” His thumb rubbed across the scar on her wrist.
“That won’t keep me from trying.” She tugged free of his hold and shut herself up in the bathroom. She placed her clothes, her Glock, the ankle holster with her .22 and her cell on the closed toilet lid and then sagged against the door. She squeezed her eyes shut to block the memories that tried to intrude. The long scars on her wrist burned as if LeDoux had dashed lighter fluid on her skin and lit a match rather than simply touched her there.
The first cut had been long and deep. She hadn’t been able to hold the knife well enough to slash the other wrist so she’d taken the handle between her teeth and sliced as hard and deep as she could. Blood had flowed like a river. The knife had dropped to the floor and she’d slumped against her little boy’s bed and waited for the relief of death.
Only it hadn’t come.
Bobbie opened her weary eyes. Now, despite that horror, she had something more than revenge or just the job to live for. “Where the hell are you, Nick?”
He had no right closing her out like this. He thought he was protecting her, but he was wrong. Forcing herself to move, she turned on the water in the shower and placed a towel over the curtain rod. She watched herself in the mirror as she methodically undressed. Stripping off her sweatshirt first, she dropped it on the floor. Reaching behind her she unfastened her bra, pitched it on the pile. She shucked her jeans and underwear next.
For a long moment she stood staring at her reflection. She made herself inventory the ugly journey she’d taken ten months ago. Every step was carved onto her flesh. The thin line around her throat where a plastic surgeon had repaired the deep groove left behind by the noose she’d worn like a too-tight dog collar for weeks. The marks on her breasts where the monster in her nightmare had cut around her nipples and then sewed them back on like a demented surgeon. The slashes and gouges that had healed into grotesque ridges and shallow craters. The unsightly ridges from the surgery to repair her right leg. The small bulges that gave away the location of the screws and pins that held it together. The things he had done to her on the inside couldn’t be seen, but they were there...always would be.
It was the words tattooed on her back that told the real story. The words she chose not to remove. The words that spilled across her skin in broad black strokes like a tragic monument to all she’d lost.
She had left the story the bastard started on her back to remind her of what she’d done.
Bobbie had chosen to risk her life, but she hadn’t realized until it was too late that she’d put her family at risk, too.
The hot steamy air clouded the mirror, hiding the things she didn’t want to look at. She shook off the pity session and climbed into the shower. As she scrubbed her body and washed the sour smell of worry and desperation from her skin and hair, she considered that the Atlanta PD’s forensic unit would be lifting her prints from Zacharias’s front door. If he was dead she would be a person of interest in the investigation no matter her explanation. Her chief would not take it well.
As much as she didn’t want to hurt him, she couldn’t call in yet. She’d known Chief Theodore Peterson her whole life. He was her godfather. He’d been her father’s best friend, the best man at his wedding. The two had played football together in college, had married the same year, and she’d grown up calling him uncle. Bobbie had to do this and the chief didn’t agree. He wanted her clear of whatever fallout was coming related to Weller’s escape and the inevitable federal investigation into Nick’s actions.
Bobbie shut off the spray of water and climbed out of the shower. As soon as she’d dried off, she checked her cell. Still nothing from Nick. Another missed call from the chief, of course. A text from her sergeant and another from her lieutenant. Both ordered her to return to Montgomery.
Not yet.
She dressed and tucked the phone into her back pocket. Strapped the .22 back to her ankle and nestled her Glock into her waistband. With a deep breath she opened the door and the cooler air made her shiver. Rather than deal with the noise of the hair dryer she took the towel with her to continue rubbing at her damp hair. LeDoux had crashed on