Kitabı oku: «The Risk Series: A Bree and Tanner Thriller»
The hunters
Become the hunted.
Deputy Tanner Dempsey and Bree Daniels are tasked with unraveling a deadly mystery in Dallas—one that involves transmitting live feeds of victims trapped in tanks as they fill with water. Bree’s computer genius is their only hope at solving the crime. Knowing the darkness in Bree’s past, Tanner is determined to make sure she comes out of this emotionally unscathed. Especially once they both become a killer’s next target...
JANIE CROUCH has loved to read romance her whole life. This USA TODAY bestselling author cut her teeth on Mills & Boon novels as a preteen, then moved on to a passion for romantic suspense as an adult. Janie lives with her husband and four children overseas. She enjoys traveling, long-distance running, movie watching, knitting and adventure/obstacle racing. You can find out more about her at janiecrouch.com
Also by Janie Crouch
Calculated Risk
Security Risk
Daddy Defender
Protector’s Instinct
Cease Fire
Special Forces Saviour
Fully Committed
Armoured Attraction
Man of Action
Overwhelming Force
In the Lawman’s Protection
Armed Response
Major Crimes
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk
Constant Risk
Janie Crouch
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09431-3
CONSTANT RISK
© 2019 Janie Crouch
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk
Version: 2020-03-02
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This book is dedicated to Lissanne J.
What a huge source of support and encouragement
you are—thank you! I look forward to holding
your own book in my hands soon.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
About the Publisher
Chapter One
“Here’s the paperwork you need to look over, Mr. Jeter.”
Michael Jeter barely noticed when the handcuffs pulled at the skin on his wrists as he reached for the piece of paper his lawyer, Beau O’Boyle, slid over to him. After the past five months of being in handcuffs regularly, he did not pay much attention to something that had irritated him to no end when he’d first been incarcerated.
There were many other things that irritated him to no end now.
The lack of flavor in all the food. The lack of quiet in the jail. And most definitely the lack of anything to do.
Up until five months ago, his hours had been filled from sunup to sundown running a worldwide, multifaceted charity that touched thousands of lives.
If that hadn’t taken up enough of his time, the network he’d developed underneath said charity—where information, privacy and lives themselves could be sold to the highest bidder—certainly had filled his hours.
But now there were so many hours of nothing.
Nothing to do but plan. And wait.
He looked at the paper, immediately spotting the code within the sentence structure that provided him with the real information he needed.
All messages, hidden or official, now had to be sent archaically—on paper. He didn’t even like the feel of the parchment on his fingers. He much preferred a keyboard and screen. But he hadn’t been allowed any sort of computer or internet access since the moment he was arrested. When Michael’s lawyer came to see him, the man was required to leave every electronic item outside of the room.
It was almost as if law enforcement thought Michael would be able to vanish into thin air if he even came anywhere near any sort of computerized item. Like a computer-age Houdini.
In their defense, that wasn’t totally untrue. If he had five minutes with a smartphone he could probably manipulate enough data to make the prison warden and guards think the wrong person had been arrested and maybe even let him out. After all, Michael was the most brilliant computer hacker on the planet.
Actually, no.
He was the second most brilliant computer hacker on the planet. The most brilliant hacker was the reason he was in jail to begin with.
For now.
Michael forced himself not to grimace at the feel of the paper as he continued to read. The encoded message was nothing less than he’d expected.
Michael read the letter again, a habit he developed around other people since his exceptional reading speed tended to make them uncomfortable. They thought he wasn’t giving the document thorough attention since he finished so quickly. In this case it was probably better anyway. The second read through would allow him to almost memorize the info.
He looked over at his lawyer, unsure of how much the man was actually aware of. Almost everyone who’d been involved with the top tier of the Organization had been arrested. Anybody who was capable had immediately started flipping on others. That was to be expected. Loyalty dived out the window when the death penalty for treason entered the room.
Michael looked over at the lawyer. “Mr. O’Boyle, what exactly is your job here?”
His response would tell Michael everything he needed to know. Any response about law, the trial or the case would mean he didn’t know the true contents of the letter.
“I am here to assist in all ways needed.”
So, someone loyal. Good to know, not that they could talk openly about the real content of the message anyway. They were supposed to have a confidential conference room, but Michael was more than aware that Homeland Security was listening. He also knew there were cameras in this room right now surveilling what was written on the letter.
The most brilliant law enforcement minds in the country would be looking for encoded messages in it, starting immediately.
They wouldn’t find any.
“Good to hear that.” Michael held up the letter. “Thanks for the paperwork. Has there been any progress on the case in any other areas?”
“We are continuing to gather evidence for the trial. Things are going as best as can be expected.”
“The cost is high. We have people willing to pay the price?” The security footage Homeland would run of this conversation would lead them to believe Michael was talking about the costs of trial preparation.
He was talking about something much different.
“Yes, sir. There are those who are loyal and look at the bigger picture, willing to sacrifice short term, for the long-term good.”
Michael gave a brief nod. “I’m glad to hear that is still true.”
They had been prepared for this contingency. Perhaps not exactly in the way it had occurred—a young woman back from the dead taking them all down so swiftly and efficiently. That had definitely been unexpected. But from the beginning, the Organization had known there would be enemies, and that drastic methods might be needed to evade those enemies.
It was time for the drastic measures.
“What sort of schedule are we talking about?” he asked O’Boyle.
“The tentative court date is set two months from now. We can certainly push that back to give us more time to—”
Michael shook his head. “No. It’s time to move forward.”
He had plans of his own. Plans that couldn’t be put into play until he was out of this hellhole of boredom.
O’Boyle nodded. “Of course. The trial itself could take weeks, which will give us plenty of time to continue gathering...data and anything else needed.”
“No. I want to move forward now, not during the trial. Call the district attorney.”
“But, sir...”
“Now, Mr. O’Boyle. Prison is inevitable for me. Let’s not pretend it’s not. I’m ready to not be in limbo any longer. I want to know my sentencing and move on with my life.”
O’Boyle nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll start making the necessary calls today. But I must forewarn you, I think this might be a little premature. The closer we are to the end of your trial—”
“That will be all, Counselor.” Michael didn’t know if the man was unaware of law enforcement, who would be poring over their discussion, or if he’d momentarily forgotten. Either was unacceptable. “Make it happen.”
Color leaked out of O’Boyle’s face. “Yes, Mr. Jeter. It will take a little bit of time, but I can get the wheels set in motion immediately.”
Wheels in motion. Good.
He’d been still for too damn long.
Chapter Two
“Remember that time when we were kids and Mrs. Ragan found that rattlesnake in her mailbox?”
Tanner Dempsey dragged his eyes up from the diner booth table to his brother, Noah, sitting across from him.
“Yeah, I remember. We were all terrified to get the mail all summer. Why?”
Noah grinned at him. “Because that’s the same look you’ve got right now.”
Tanner muttered a low curse and resisted the urge to flip his brother off like he would’ve done that summer of Mrs. Ragan’s rattler. His eyes dropped back down to the small box on the table.
A ring box.
“I’m just saying what’s in that box is not going to hurt you,” Noah continued. “No snake is going to jump out of it. Or at least not a very big one.”
Cheryl Andrews, owner of the Sunrise Diner with her husband, Dan, was making her way over with their lunch. Tanner quickly grabbed the box on the table. He definitely didn’t want word to get out around Risk Peak that he had a ring box. That would spread like wildfire.
Noah was right. There were no rattlesnakes in the small jewelry case, just their mother’s engagement ring. The one their father had given her when he’d asked her to marry him nearly forty years ago.
It was the ring he planned to present to Bree Daniels when he asked her to marry him.
“Did it bite you?” Noah whispered with a laugh as Tanner slipped it into his pocket.
Now Tanner did raise his middle finger, pretending like he was rubbing a spot on his cheek under his eye. He and Noah had been flipping each other off that way for so long that Noah immediately caught sight of the gesture and laughed.
So did Mrs. Andrews. “I’m going to pretend like I don’t see you making rude gestures at your brother the same way you two have been for the past twenty years. I’d hate to have to call your mother down here to pick you up at your age.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tanner muttered, dropping his hand immediately. He wasn’t completely sure the older woman wouldn’t actually follow through on that threat.
Tanner loved the town of Risk Peak, where he’d been born and raised. He loved it enough that except for the four years when he’d gone to college in Denver, he’d never even been tempted to leave. Loved it enough to have followed in his father’s footsteps and joined the Grand County Sheriff’s Department. Might even decide to run for sheriff someday.
This town had given him everything that was important to him, including Bree Daniels, the love of his life and hopefully soon-to-be fiancée.
She hadn’t been born here like so many of the other residents. She’d shown up nearly eight months ago, broke, exhausted and hunted. When he’d caught her shoplifting at the town drugstore, stealing formula and diapers for twin babies who ended up not being her own, he would have never dreamed that she would become the woman he couldn’t live without.
“Enjoy your meal, boys.” Mrs. Andrews set the plates down on the table in front of them. “Noah, it’s good to see you here.”
Noah gave the older woman a nod. He didn’t tend to come into town very often, preferring to stay out at the ranch he and Tanner owned together. Noah had his own house on one side of the property and Tanner, with Bree for the past three months, lived in a house on the other side of the two hundred and fifty acres.
Once Mrs. Andrews was gone, Tanner took a bite of his food. “Look, jackass, I only told you at all because Mom wanted to make sure it was okay with you that I use the ring. If you think you’ll want it for whatever unfortunate sucker you talk into marrying you, then that’s fine. I can pick out a different one.”
Noah shoveled a forkful of the renowned Sunrise Diner meat loaf into his mouth. He was already shaking his head before Tanner even finished his sentence/insult. “Pretty sure marriage is not in the cards for me. So you go right ahead and use Mom’s ring.”
“You might be a little closer to marriage if you would actually date anyone.”
Noah shrugged and kept eating. Tanner didn’t push it. Noah had returned from his years as an Army Green Beret different than when he’d gone in. Stronger. Harder.
Colder.
His brother had never offered many details, and Tanner hadn’t demanded them, but Tanner knew Noah had seen and done things in his time overseas that had changed him.
“So when are you going to ask Bree?” Noah said between bites.
“I’m not sure.”
“Because you’re trying to make it all romantic? You know stuff like that just stresses out your little brainiac.”
Noah was right. Bree was a computer genius, but due to her upbringing—first within a terrorist organization, then almost completely alone and on the run—she wasn’t great at interpersonal interaction. Normal things most people took for granted, like a conversation or casual touch, were often a challenge for her.
Tanner loved Bree because of this, not in spite of it.
“I’m only planning on asking a woman to marry me once. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make it special. I want to take her someplace romantic.”
Noah shook his head and continued his lunch. “You do remember what happened last time you decided you were going to take Bree on a romantic holiday and make things perfect?”
Tanner rolled his eyes. “Considering I’m still recovering from my wounds and Bree barely made it out of that situation alive herself, yes, I remember it. And that’s the exact reason why I need to make the proposal romantic and special. Get back up on the horse so to speak.”
Bree had missed out on so much in her young life. She deserved a little romance. Deserved to travel and see somewhere besides a small town in Colorado.
“You know she loves the ranch more than anywhere else. Hell, brother, the woman just loves you.”
“And I love her.”
Noah shook his head. “Believe me, you two are so gooey, the whole town knows. Don’t make the proposal more complicated than it needs to be.”
They both finished their meal and pushed their plates toward the center of the booth. “I’m not making it complicated. I just want to make it perfect.”
They both got up from the booth and walked over to pay the bill.
“It’s on me,” Noah said. “I want to be the one who buys you your last meal as a single man.”
“I’m trying to keep this under wraps,” Tanner muttered. “You know how the gossip mill is around here. I—”
Tanner stopped talking as Mrs. Andrews came back through the swinging kitchen door.
“You boys done?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Noah said. “I’d like to buy my brother’s lunch.”
“How about lunch is on the house.” Mrs. Andrews winked at them. “As long as Tanner doesn’t take too long asking Bree to marry him.”
Damn it.
He gave the older woman a tight smile. “I’m trying to keep that on the down low, Mrs. Andrews. I don’t want Bree to figure it out.”
“My lips are sealed. And you know Bree, this is all so new to her she’ll never see it coming.”
But was she ready? Tanner didn’t have any doubt about their love for each other, but was this the right time to even ask this of her? Maybe she needed more time. A chance to be on her own without anyone chasing after her, trying to trap or kill her. It was all she’d ever known.
Tanner was ready to start their forever right away, putting all that behind them.
“Where you heading now?”
“I’m supposed to meet Bree and Cassandra over at that abandoned office building on the south side of town.”
“What are they doing over there?”
“Honestly, I’m not 100 percent sure. Bree just said Cassandra had a plan for expanding.”
Noah looked at him with concern as they walked out of the diner.
“You don’t think she’s planning on having another baby, do you?”
Tanner shook his head. “It’s our sister. Hell if I ever know what she means.”
“I’m coming with you. In case you need backup.”
Tanner chuckled. Cassandra had certainly talked the two of them into a number of stupid things over the years. Backup wasn’t a ridiculous idea.
“Well, for God’s sake don’t mention the engagement ring to Cass,” Tanner said. “You know how close she and Bree have gotten. And Cass definitely can’t keep any sort of secret.”
Tanner never would’ve thought that his sister and his hopefully soon-to-be fiancée would ever get along so well with one another, particularly after their rocky start a few months ago. Cass, when she found out about Bree’s computer skills, had immediately demanded Bree teach computer classes at Risk Peak’s women’s shelter.
Bree had laughed at her.
Cassandra hadn’t understood Bree’s complicated history with computers. How she was both so good with them and terrified of them at the same time.
But Bree had agreed to try.
She might’ve been frightened to teach classes at the beginning, but there was no doubt she was incredibly talented when it came to sharing her skills with others. It had basically become her full-time job over the past few months. And Cassandra had become one of Bree’s best friends.
Risk Peak was not that big, and it didn’t take Tanner and Noah long to walk from the diner to the office building. The building itself had sat empty for nearly a year since the owner had died right at the end of construction, causing legal hassles as the property was left to his children, both of whom were going through a divorce.
Tanner had no idea what his sister could have planned here.
“There he is,” Cassandra called out when he and Noah entered. “And he brought my other favorite brother.” Cass stepped closer to Bree and nudged her with her shoulder. “Probably because Tanner felt like he needed backup.”
Cass and Noah immediately started joking with each other but Tanner ignored them. All he could see was Bree and her soft smile. He walked over to her and wrapped an arm around her waist.
“Hey,” he whispered. Had it really just been a few hours since he’d seen her last? Noah was right. He did have it bad.
“Hey, yourself.” She pressed closer. “I missed you.”
“Cass is right though. I did bring Noah as backup. You never know what sort of craziness is going to result when Cass announces she has news.”
Bree smiled. “This is pretty good news.”
“Okay, lovebirds, keep it in your pants until you get home,” Cass called out.
Tanner rolled his eyes, but stepped away—slightly—from Bree. “Mom didn’t discipline you enough as a kid.”
Cass hooked a hand on her hip. “That’s because she was too busy chasing around after you two hooligans. Besides, I was an angel.”
Everybody broke out in laughter at that.
“All right, so what is the big expansion surprise?” Tanner asked.
“This is,” Bree said, stepping away from him and spinning around with one arm out.
“Are you guys going to open an office?” Noah asked.
Cass smiled. “No, even better. We’ve gotten a grant and approval to renovate this building and use it as a long-term women’s shelter.”
Tanner stepped away from her, looking around, trying to picture it. It wasn’t difficult. Tear out some of the walls, add more bathrooms... The place was already in great structural shape overall.
But doing this would be a much-bigger commitment for Bree and Cassandra than the shelter. He looked over at Bree. “So someone will need to be living here full-time?”
Was that what she wanted? She seemed to love the ranch, but maybe it was too isolated for her. For the first time in her life she was starting to make friends. Maybe she didn’t want to be thirty minutes away from the town and the people here.
“We’re still working out the details of that,” Cass said. “But the point is, we’re going to be able to help a lot more women.”
He wanted to argue, to ask for details, demand how this was going to fit into the life he’d been envisioning, but realized how unreasonable that would be. Especially given the excitement on both Bree’s and Cassandra’s faces.
Teaching these classes and helping these women was important to Bree. She knew what it was like to live in fear and not have many options.
Far be it from Tanner to try to limit her empowerment by stopping her from empowering others.
“I think it will work great,” he finally said.
“Really?” Bree studied him, obviously picking up on some of his initial hesitation. “I think it could really be amazing.”
“Absolutely.” He gave her a nod.
“See? I told you.” Cass said, turning to Noah and Tanner. “Bree didn’t want to make any decisions until after Tanner had seen the building.”
Tanner walked back over to Bree, feeling the engagement ring in his pocket as he reached to put his arm around her. If this was really what she wanted, maybe engagement was going to have to wait.
Maybe a long time.
Damn it. That wasn’t what he wanted.
“What?” she whispered up to him as Cassandra started showing Noah how the space would be utilized. “What aren’t you telling me? Do you think this is a bad idea?”
He hated the look of worry on her face. She’d already carried so many burdens and so much pain. He’d be damned if he was going to add to it.
“I promise I think this is a fantastic idea. I would tell you if I didn’t.”
She relaxed. After what they’d been through, she knew he wasn’t going to start keeping the truth from her now.
And it was the truth. He did think this place was a fantastic idea. What Bree and Cassandra could create here would be amazing.
“I know you’ve got to get back to work,” she whispered. “But I couldn’t wait to show you this.”
He wrapped his arm tightly around her waist. “And I’m so glad you did. You and Cass have a lot of decisions to make.”
He did too. Just different ones than he’d been expecting.
Chapter Three
“When I was eight years old, I was invited to participate in a computer coding class provided for free by the charity Communication For All. My father died when I was just a baby and my mother worked really hard just to make ends meet. There were no finances for tutoring or extra lessons. Everyone, including my elementary school teachers, knew I needed to be challenged, but no one knew how to do it. By eight years old I had already figured out more than what most of them had learned in their computer science degrees.”
Bree ran a hand over her eyes, then stared at the laptop screen in front of her on the kitchen table at Tanner’s ranch house.
Gregory Lightfoot, one of the federal prosecuting attorneys for Michael Jeter’s case, had been working with her two or three times a week for the past month on her witness statement for the prosecution.
Gregory was located in Dallas, where the federal trial against Jeter would take place. Eventually Bree would have to go there, but for right now they were working via teleconferencing. Her testimony in Jeter’s trial in a couple months would play an important role. The case against the members of the Organization was very complicated and intertwined.
Bree wanted to help ensure the conviction of Michael Jeter, but this part wasn’t the way she wanted to go about it.
She let out a sigh. “I just don’t understand why I have to go back so far into my personal Bethany Ragan history. Why can’t we just focus on me talking about the crimes I can prove Jeter and the Organization committed, and how I brought them down?”
As far as she was concerned, Bethany had ceased to exist once she’d gotten away from the Organization.
Gregory’s face filled her screen. “Because what they did to you and your mother will be the nail in the coffin. Terrorist activities can sometimes be vague in a jury’s mind. But picturing little eleven-year-old Bethany being tortured in order to get her to cooperate? That’s the sort of thing that will guarantee a conviction.”
“Right.”
But did it matter that she didn’t want to relive that? That there were times when she could still hear her own bones snapping in her dreams? That she could still remember what it was like to hold her mother as she vomited up blood from the beatings the Organization inflicted on her?
“Let’s just focus on Michael Jeter,” Gregory said. “Let’s leave the more painful stuff out for today and focus on when you first met him.”
Gregory didn’t understand. It was all tied to Jeter. He’d been the face of her nightmares for nearly a dozen years. There was no separating him from the horror of what happened to her, even if most of it hadn’t actually happened by his hand.
She attempted to focus.
“I moved up the ranks at Communication For All pretty quickly. At the time my mother didn’t realize that the free courses were being utilized by the Organization to discover children who had natural hacking abilities. We just thought they were giving kids in poorer neighborhoods a leg up.”
“And when did you meet Michael Jeter?”
“I’d been inside the Organization for over a year before that happened. He didn’t get involved with the classroom programs in any regard except the highest possible levels. He met maybe one child per year.”
“And you were that child?”
Bree nodded, glancing away from the screen. “Yes. I’d aced every class and test they’d given me. I was already living on the Communication For All compound with my mom, and honestly was a little bored.”
She could still almost perfectly remember the day she met Jeter. His office had been on a high floor in a Chicago skyscraper. She and her mother had grinned at each other all the way in the ride up the elevator.
“What happened at that meeting?” Gregory asked, yanking her out of the memory—one of the last clear good ones she had of her mother.
“I was brought into his office. It had unbelievable views from the window, and I wanted to look out them. But Jeter told me I had to do a test first before I could.”
On the other end of the screen, Gregory jotted something down. “And what was the test?”
“To most people it would’ve looked like a computer coding game. That’s how Michael presented it to me.”
Thinking about it all now, with such hindsight, was difficult. If she hadn’t wanted to show off so much, impress the bigwig in the fancy suit with the grandiose office, how much different her life would’ve turned out.
“I almost missed the true test,” she finally murmured. “I was so used to everything coming so easily to me with computers that I almost missed the Trojan horse Jeter had put inside his little game.”
The defect had been placed deep inside the coding, and couldn’t be fixed with a simple rewrite. Almost the entire program had to be refitted, and had to be done quickly and creatively because of the countdown the system was on.
“He was testing to see how I could adapt. He wanted to know what I would do when a system’s walls started closing in around me. If I could think outside the coding box.”
“And how did you do?”
“I passed.” She said it with a shrug like it was no big deal.
It had been the hugest of deals.
She would never forget the look in Jeter’s eye when she completed his little coding puzzle and turned the laptop back around toward him with time to spare.
Until that moment she’d been nothing to him. Just another kid who, with the right guidance, would probably grow up to do pretty advanced programming, or maybe even start her own business.
But once she’d turned the laptop back around to him and he’d seen what she’d done, she had become something much different to him.
Much more interesting.
From that day forward, until the day her mother had finally broken them out, there wasn’t a single day that Bree could remember that didn’t have Michael Jeter in it.
“Were you aware of his illegal activities at the time?”
She let out a sigh. “I was eleven. And for the first time being challenged to my fullest potential. To me, it was all a game. In the beginning at least.”
“And when did things take a turn for the worse?”
She stared at the screen, almost unable to focus on Gregory’s friendly face. She tried to force words out of her mouth—once, twice—but they wouldn’t come. Panic bubbled inside her.
All she could see was Michael Jeter.
All she could hear was his voice.
All she could feel was when her leg had been broken at his command.
The room began to close in on her, the past threatening to swallow her whole.
“Hey, freckles.”
Tanner. She felt his hands on her shoulders, his strong thumbs moving gently up and down the back of her neck.
The terror faded. He was here and would help hold her demons at bay. She leaned her head back against his abdomen.
Without taking his hands off her, Tanner crouched down so Gregory could see him in the screen.
“Hey, Tanner.”
“Hi, Greg. Looks like we might need to take a break for tonight.”
Frustration floated over the lawyer’s features. “Being able to talk about this on the stand will make a difference in the case. Bree’s already written it all out, so it’s just a matter of being able to say it.”
Tanner’s voice was calm but firm, and his fingers never stopped rubbing her neck. “You read it, so you know what sort of trauma we’re talking about. You’re going to have to be more patient. Bree will get there, but it’s going be on her timetable and nobody else’s. And besides, if she decides she doesn’t want to talk about all this, you’re going to have to find a workaround. You’ve got plenty of other stuff.”
Bree rubbed her eyes. She should be able to do this. “I’m sorry, Gregory...”
He held up a hand. “No, Tanner is right. You shouldn’t push yourself too hard. God knows you’ve done enough to take the Organization, and Jeter, down.”
“Some days it’s easier to process the past than others.”
“Well, like Tanner said, we’ve got plenty to go on even if we don’t include details from your childhood.” Gregory’s voice dropped, and he gave her a sympathetic look. “But what he did to you so very clearly proves he’s a monster. If we can use that to our advantage, I think we should.”
Bree gave a tight smile and a nod, standing up and walking away from the table, as Tanner talked a few more moments with Gregory. She moved over to the front living room window, wrapping her arm around her midsection. She couldn’t see anything in the darkness—dark came early here in the heart of winter—but her mind could perfectly envision the beauty of Tanner’s ranch and the Rocky Mountains behind it. But right now the beloved scenery didn’t help.
She knew Michael Jeter was a monster. She just didn’t know if she could bear to relive it all.
Strong arms wrapped around her waist, and she leaned back into Tanner’s strength once again. He didn’t say anything or ask her to try to voice her feelings. And she loved him more for it.
“Seems like it’s always one of our pasts coming back to haunt us,” she finally said.
Just a few months ago, it had been someone from Tanner’s past trying to hurt them. Now it seemed like it was back to being Bree’s turn.
His arms tightened around her. “You stuck with me through my monsters. You can be damn sure I’ll be doing the same for you with yours.”
“I know it happened so long ago and I shouldn’t let it affect me now.” She’d always thought herself so strong since she’d managed to survive on her own, but maybe that wasn’t correct. “I’m not really a survivor. I’m just a victim on the move. I haven’t really faced any of it.”
“You’re damn well not a victim, so I don’t want to hear any of that talk.” Tanner turned her in his arms so they were facing one another. “Just because you don’t dwell on it doesn’t mean you haven’t faced it. So what if your mind balks at the thought of sharing the most horrendous details of your life with complete strangers. Nothing wrong with that.”
“The thought of having to talk about this while Jeter is sitting right there in front of me? I’m just not sure I can do it.”
He pulled her more firmly against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. His big body seemed to surround her on every side. It was almost impossible not to feel like he could defeat any foe for her when he held her like this.
“I’ll be there with you every second you’re on that stand. You won’t have to look at him, you’ll look at me. I may hate that bastard with a passion for what he did to you, but I’ll always be thankful that, because of him, you ended up in Risk Peak.”
He was right. Michael Jeter didn’t have any control over her now. He was in jail, awaiting trial, and soon would be in prison. Probably forever. She didn’t want to give Jeter any more of her time. Any more of her life.
She twined her arms around Tanner’s neck. This was what was important. This man who meant everything to her. “Make love to me, Captain Hot Lips.”
He grinned at her nickname for him. “My pleasure.”
Immediately she found herself lifted by the hips and pressed into the window she’d just been looking out of.
There was no place for the ghosts of the past when all she could think about or feel was Tanner’s strong body pressed up against hers.
This man had been her only lover, and it was just fine with her if that was the case for the rest of her life. She couldn’t imagine she would ever find the same passion with someone else. And had no interest in trying.
Her head fell to the side, exposing her neck as those talented hot lips made their way down her jaw and onto her throat. She didn’t even try to hide the whimper that escaped her when his hand slid up the outside of her thigh and hooked her leg over his hip. It brought them in direct contact with each other.
There was nowhere else she’d rather be than right here with him. She let out another little moan, pulling him closer.
“If you don’t stop making those sounds, we are very definitely not going to make it to the bed,” he said against her throat.
“Maybe I don’t want to make it to the bed.”
With a moan of his own, he reached down and grabbed her other leg so they were both wrapped around his waist.
They both let out a hiss at the build of the friction, the heat, the passion that was always just a breath away between them.
And no, they didn’t make it to the bed.
Chapter Four
When Bree woke the next morning Tanner was already out of bed, which wasn’t unusual—the man loved to wake with the dawn. She smelled coffee in the kitchen and padded from the bedroom to pour herself a cup.
Her heart stuttered in her chest as she caught sight of Tanner sitting in the rocking chair directly outside the window she’d been gazing out last night. He had a cup of coffee of his own resting on the porch railing.
When he’d been recovering from his stab wounds months ago they’d discovered that sitting out on the porch in the morning—even if it was only for a few minutes—helped settle his mind and get him ready for the day. His PTSD symptoms, a result of being held and tortured by a gang nearly four years ago now, were much easier to manage if he was able to take this quiet time in the morning.
She’d been wrong last night. She’d thought it had been her mind’s image of the land that had comforted her. But really it had been this image—Tanner looking out at the land that was so much a part of him him—that her mind had clung to. A strong, rugged man facing the strong, rugged land was the most breathtaking thing she’d ever seen.
She wrapped herself in a blanket and walked over and opened the door. His dazzling smile let her know she was more than welcome. She was almost to him when his arm just snaked out and wrapped around her waist, yanking her the rest of the way into his lap. His lips were cold against hers as he kissed her. She yelped and giggled.
“Good morning.”
She wondered if her heart would do somersaults in her chest every time she heard his deep voice rumble in the morning.
She hoped so.
She fitted herself more firmly against him, curling her legs up onto his for warmth. His arms tucked her against him, pulling the blanket around her to keep her warm. A couple minutes later Corfu, the dog Tanner had given her months ago when she’d been heartbroken with loss, came wandering out of the barn and sat down contentedly at Tanner’s feet.
“I don’t think I could ever get tired of this view,” she said, sipping on her coffee as he rocked them both.
His arms tightened around her. “Really? I would’ve thought you would want to see the world. Journey to all the places you never got to go because the Organization was hunting you.”
“I will. There’s lots of time to get to all those places.” She smiled. “I’m not as old as you, you know—the Grim Reaper is not quite ringing my doorbell just yet. I’ve got plenty of time to see the places I want to see.”
She expected him to tickle her or rub her back at the old-age comment, but he didn’t.
Finally she nudged him. “Did I wear you out too much last night? Got you coming to grips with your own mortality? Do I need to go get your walker?”
Now she definitely expected him to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder and take her back to bed. Tanner might be ten years older than her, but he was definitely one of the fittest and most able-bodied people she knew. Their difference in age had never really been an issue.
“My job doesn’t leave me a lot of time to journey the world,” he finally said.
She tried to scoot back in his lap so she could look in his eye, but he kept her tucked up against him. “Well, I’m not planning on quitting my job and becoming a nomad. Now more than ever I want to be in Risk Peak.”
“Because of the shelter?”
“New Journeys.”
“What?” he asked.
“It’s funny that you would mention traveling and journeys because that’s what Cass and I decided to name the shelter in the grant proposal. New Journeys. That’s what it is for so many of these women. A new start. A chance to go somewhere they’ve never been.”
“It’s a great name. And the new building...” He faded off.
Once again she was struck by his lack of enthusiasm. It was like he wanted to support this new change, but something was holding him back.
“I know it’s going to be a lot of work, but I’m up to it.”
“Believe me, I never doubted that you were up to it,” he said.
She broke away from his hold and leaned back so she could look into his eyes. “Then what? Obviously there’s more to what you’re thinking.”
He took in a deep breath. “Just, someone is going to need to live there, full-time, right? I thought you might want that.”
She could feel her brows furrow as she tried to take in what he was saying. She’d been living here at the ranch since he’d gotten out of the hospital three months ago. It had started as her being here because he needed someone to help him recuperate. But, just like Tanner’s mother had predicted, there’d been no talk of Bree ever moving back out again.
Until right now.
But maybe Mrs. Dempsey had been wrong. Maybe Tanner was ready to have his space back. Bree hadn’t made any plans to live at the New Journeys building—she and Cassandra had already found a young, single mother who would make an excellent facilitator for the building. They’d approached Marilyn even before applying for the grant since neither Bree or Cassandra would be able to live at the shelter full-time.
Or so Bree had thought.
She knew Tanner loved her, and she loved him. But they’d never really talked about any specifics of how their relationship would play out long term.
“I—”
“Love doesn’t—”
They both started speaking at the same time, then both stopped.
“You go,” he said. “Love doesn’t what? Say what you need to say.”
Bree shrugged. She didn’t want to make this awkward, although that seemed to be her superpower. “Love doesn’t always mean marriage and settling down and having kids. I know that. I don’t expect that.”
It was what she wanted, sure, but she didn’t need a ring or a white dress to know that Tanner loved her.
She looked more closely at his face and realized she had said something very wrong. His features weren’t cold, but they definitely lacked the warmth and welcome she’d always had from him.
She swallowed hard, a ball of dread forming in her belly. “Tanner, I’m sorry. I said something wrong, didn’t I?” Damn her inability to process emotions like other people. “I love you.”
Some of the cool melted from his brown eyes. He brought his thumb up and trailed it down her cheek. “I know you do, freckles. And I love you. I want you to be able to do all the things you want to do.”
There was nothing she wanted to do without him. “There are things I want to do, but—”
Tanner muttered a soft curse as his phone began buzzing on the porch rail next to his coffee.
“Hold that thought,” he muttered as he grabbed the phone. “I’m on call so I have to take this.”
The way she’d already butchered this conversation it was probably best for them to completely restart it anyway.
“I’ll go inside and start breakfast,” she muttered, getting off his lap. He looked like he wanted to argue but the phone buzzed again so he just nodded.
Good. Maybe she could figure out how to fix what she was trying to say.
* * *
TANNER GRABBED HIS phone as he watched the woman he loved, the same woman who just said that love didn’t equal marriage—bundle herself into her blanket and walk inside the house.
That talk hadn’t gone the way he’d planned.
He hit the receive button with far more force than necessary. “Tanner Dempsey.”
“Tanner, it’s Richard Whitaker.”
“Hey, Whitaker. I thought you were taking some vacation time and heading back to Dallas. Are you in Grand County already?” Whitaker was the other deputy captain of the Grand County Sheriff’s Department.
“No, I actually just got off the phone with Sheriff Duggan. I’m going to be taking a little more leave, helping out here. Dallas has a serial killer, Tanner.”
Tanner winced and gave a dry laugh at the same time. “You always did complain there wasn’t enough action around here.”
“Believe me, this particular case is more action than I ever wanted to deal with.”
It almost seemed like the man was asking for his help. “You calling me for backup?”
Tanner couldn’t imagine many scenarios where he would be tremendously helpful for a murder investigation in Dallas.
“We do need help. In a big way.” Whitaker’s voice was strained. “This is personal for me. One of the victims was a girl from my old neighborhood.”
Tanner straightened. He and Whitaker might not have always seen eye to eye, especially since a few months ago the man had thought Tanner was responsible for three murders, but Tanner would still do whatever he could to help him.
The fact that Whitaker was calling him at all spoke volumes.
“Richard, what do you need?”
“Actually, I need Bree. We’re on a strict countdown—literally—and she may be the only one with the computer skills we need. The killer is sending live footage of the victim, and that’s the only thing we’ve got to go on.”
Tanner swallowed a curse. “That’s messed up.”
“I know. We’re going to have another girl dead within a few days if we don’t get someone in here who can think outside the box when it comes to tech stuff. I trust Bree, and we both know there’s no one better in the world.”
The only other possible person as good as Bree was currently waiting in jail in the city where he’d been assigned federal trial.
Dallas.
Tanner let out a curse. “You know Michael Jeter is being held in Dallas, right? I don’t like the thought of bringing Bree into the same town as him, even if he is in a cell.”
“I know, man. And trust me, if I had anyone else to ask, I would do it. We’ve got good computer people here, and they’re stumped. We need the best.”
That was Bree.
Tanner rubbed his eyes. Until Jeter was in actual prison, and not just a county jail cell, Tanner wasn’t going to breathe easy, even from here. Bringing Bree closer to Jeter went against every protective fiber in his being.
But he also knew Bree. Knew she would never agree to hide from the possible risk of Jeter, even after her near panic attack last night just thinking about him, if lives were at stake. If Bree could help she would want to.
“Okay, I know she’ll want to help. I’ll get her to you.”
He listened as Whitaker provided details about flights that day. Tanner would get Bree to Dallas. But he damn well would be staying glued to her side.
Chapter Five
On the way to help with a murder case was not the way Bree had envisioned taking her first airplane ride.
When Tanner had come in from talking on the phone his face had been pinched and tight.
“That was Whitaker. He’s in Dallas and has a serial killer on his hands. He needs help.”
She’d just nodded. She didn’t like that their conversation would have to wait, but knew Tanner’s job was always important. “When do you leave?”
“Actually, it’s more you he needs than me. He has a killer sending some sort of live footage of the murder scene and their tech team can’t figure out from where. He’d like for you to take a look.”
She hadn’t even been sure how to respond. The police wanted her to help with a case?
“You don’t have to go, of course,” Tanner said when she hadn’t answered.
“No. I want to help.” Just the thought of being at a strange police department by herself, even with Whitaker around, was daunting. She shrugged. “I just don’t do well with people. You know.”
He pulled her against him. Thank goodness. Maybe she hadn’t broken their relationship with what she’d said earlier. “I’m going to call the sheriff and get the time off so I can go with you. I wouldn’t ever send you alone. Plus, it’s in Dallas. I don’t even like you being in the same state as Jeter, much less the same city. I don’t care how locked up he is.”
Tanner had arranged all the flights and details. He had even been excited for her when he’d realized this was her first time on a plane, taking the requisite picture of her from the airport terminal. He’d held her hand when the plane had hit a little turbulence. He’d talked to her and given her what few details he’d had about the situation.
Even though everything seemed okay on the surface, Bree knew it wasn’t. Because of what she’d said this morning.
Score another point for the girl incapable of appropriate emotions. She didn’t know how to make this right, and it wasn’t going to get any easier while trying to help solve a murder.
Richard Whitaker was there to pick them up from the Dallas airport. He shook Tanner’s hand and smiled at Bree, knowing her well enough to understand she wouldn’t want to touch anyone unless she had to. She’d learned how to act appropriately around others, but it still didn’t come naturally.
She gave him a little wave. “Hey, Whitaker.”
“Thank you for coming.” He walked with them out to his car.
“So what exactly is going on?” Tanner asked as they drove into downtown Dallas.
Whitaker took a deep breath. “We had two bodies on two different sides of town.”
“What was the cause of death?” Tanner asked.
“They had both drowned.”
“Are you sure that’s even a serial killer?” Bree asked. “People can drown in just two inches of water.”
“Believe me,” Whitaker said. “I would not have brought you out if I wasn’t sure we had a killer on our hands. Yes, the cause of death was drowning. Both victims weren’t in water when they were found, but they had water in their lungs.”
“Definitely drowned then,” Bree muttered.
Whitaker nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “They were both found in boxes—almost like coffins. Both were restrained in the box by both wrists and ankles.”
“Someone filled it with water while they were trapped there?” Tanner said.
Whitaker nodded sharply. “Yes.”
Tanner let out a curse. “Did you find out about them because of the footage the killer sent you?”
“No, that’s new. Both victims were found by civilians. One in some woods off the highway about ten miles south of town. The other, Shelby Durrant, was found on the north side of town in a restaurant that had been closed for renovations.”
“You know her?” Bree asked.
Whitaker shrugged. “Not very well, but we grew up near each other. She was ten years younger than me, so I never actually hung out with her. She was just one of the neighborhood kids, you know? She was still chained in that damn box when they found her.”
He cleared his throat. Bree and Tanner both gave Whitaker a minute to collect himself.
“Any connection between the victims?” Tanner asked.
“Nothing that we’ve found so far. Both were female, about five foot three, roughly a hundred pounds. Shelby was twenty-two, an African American college student at Dallas Nursing Institute. Victim number two was in her midforties, Caucasian, married, with no kids. Her name was Kelly Quinn. She worked as a bank teller. Nothing we’ve been able to find ties them together in any way.”
“What do you need me to do?” Bree asked.
Whitaker looked at his watch as they pulled up in front of the Dallas police station. “That’s going to become very obvious in about twenty-two minutes.”
As they got out of the car she looked over at Tanner, but he just shrugged. Evidently he didn’t know any more than her. Twenty-two minutes was oddly specific.
Whitaker signed them in at the front counter of the station and led them past a number of uniformed officers’ desks to the back section of the building, where it was much quieter.
He opened a door leading out of those offices and everything changed.
People were buzzing around everywhere. This was obviously command central for the case. Multiple pictures of the two dead women hung on a large bulletin board. Some of them were from when they were alive. The others, definitely more painful to look at, were the bodies in those boxes Whitaker had told them about.
Dead.
They kept moving past the pictures into a large conference room. The entire back wall was made out of screens and had a half dozen computer terminals sitting right in front of them. At least ten people were surrounding the terminals.
Everybody was talking at once, vying to be heard. This was the situation Whitaker wanted her to work in? Even being in the general vicinity of this many strangers already had her cringing.
Her discomfort didn’t get any better a few seconds later when a gorgeous blonde wearing jeans and a thin sweater—detective badge clipped on her belt—walked over to them.
“Whit,” the beautiful woman said in, of course, a gorgeous smoky voice to match her perfect face and body. “Glad you’re back. It’s almost time.”
The woman turned to Bree and Tanner, offering her hand. “Captain Dempsey, Miss Daniels, I’m Penelope Brickman, lead detective on this case. Thanks so much for coming.”
Tanner shook her hand. “Hope we can help. Please, call me Tanner. Especially since I’m not here in any sort of official capacity.”
Bree force herself to shake the woman’s hand too. “Bree, please.”
She was a little bit proud of herself for saying something appropriate rather than shoving all five feet eight inches of the woman’s gorgeousness into a closet far away from Tanner.
“Did you catch them up?” Penelope asked Whitaker.
“Mostly. The footage... I figured that was just something they had to see for themselves.”
Penelope nodded. “Yeah, explaining wouldn’t do much good.”
“How often does the footage arrive?” Bree asked. “Is it live or prerecorded? I’m assuming it’s been rerouted through multiple channels or you wouldn’t need me here.”
“I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not any sort of computer expert.” Penelope gave them both a rueful smile. “I can get around and do the basics with computers, but I tend more toward old-fashioned methods of solving crime and police work. Hitting the pavement and talking to people.”
“I’m the same,” Tanner said. “People tend to give up their secrets a lot more easily—”
“—than machines.” They both finished together, then smiled.
Bree barely refrained from rolling her eyes. These two should just go get married and make a bunch of crime-fighting babies together. Babies, of course, who would never deign to touch the keys of a computer.
A yell at the front of the room caught their attention. The people at the computers were getting more frantic.
“What’s going on?” Tanner asked.
“Everybody’s on edge,” Whitaker said. “It’s almost time for the message. Every hour on the hour the bastard sends us some footage.”
Every hour on the hour. That was the first completely useful bit of information Bree had received.
Without waiting to hear anything else, Bree walked over to the computers. The people surrounding them were still talking all over each other, arguing about the best way to track the message that was coming in.
Bree just listened. Nothing coming out of their mouths was particularly complicated in terms of ideas on how to track the killer.
“Listen, people,” the guy sitting at the main console said. “If we could catch this guy with any of those methods we would’ve damn well done so long before now. If you don’t have something intelligent to say, then stand here quietly.”
The group grumbled but quieted. Bree might not like how the guy was talking to everyone else but she definitely had to admit he was right. None of the ways they were suggesting were particularly inspiring.
The guy pointed at Bree. “Who are you?”
“I’m just observing for the moment.”
“Great. Another useless person taking up space.”
Bree ignored him. She might be pretty hesitant when it came to a lot of things—beautiful blondes included—but her confidence in her knowledge of computers was secure. She could probably do more than everyone in this room combined. But she had no need to prove that to anyone.
Yet.
“How long do you think it will be this time?” the young woman next to her asked another woman sitting at a console.
“It was three and a half minutes last time. That was the longest so far. Maybe they will keep getting longer.”
“But the time before that was only fifteen seconds,” the first responded. “There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to his methods.”
A large digital clock on the wall beeped loudly and started counting down from thirty. Evidently the killer was punctual enough for them to set a clock to his transmissions.
Another good piece of information. That meant the footage was being sent on a computerized schedule, not just when the killer felt like it.
“Look alive, people,” Mean Guy said as he sat down at the main computer terminal. “Remember we’re still running all possible scenarios and solutions. Just because it didn’t work one time doesn’t mean it won’t work this time. Everybody do your job.”
Sure enough, right as the clock reached zero, every screen on the wall of monitors lit up.
The picture was just slightly blurry, enough to make it a little hazy. Bree wanted to ask if that was always the case, but didn’t want to interrupt anyone from the jobs they were trying to do. The broadcasting window was limited. She could ask questions later.
The picture wasn’t so blurry that you couldn’t see what was going on. There was a woman restrained in a long, thin box. It looked almost like a clear coffin. The woman in the box was shown from the neck down. Her head was completely out of the shot. There was nothing distinguishing about the box itself.
Water was dripping into the box at the woman’s feet in a regular, timed pattern. It had already filled a few inches of the container, but not enough to be very noticeable.
Something caught the woman’s attention because she immediately began sobbing.
“Please! Help me please. Can you hear me? Please help me!”
Bree realized Tanner was next to her when he muttered a curse under his breath.
Bree’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why does her voice sound funny?” she whispered to him.
“Bastard is using some sort of voice modulator.”
That didn’t make any sense to her, but neither did trapping a woman in some sort of coffin and slowly filling it up with water.
They had exactly twenty-three more seconds of the woman’s hysterical crying before the feed completely cut off.
Bree looked over at Tanner, who looked as stunned as she felt, then glanced back around her. “I should’ve been watching what they were doing rather than the screen.” She pointed to the dozen people huddled around the multiple computers.
“It’s hard to look away from something like that.” Tanner reached over and squeezed her elbow. “And from what I understand, you only have to wait another fifty-nine minutes to get your chance and do it all over again. No wonder everyone here is such a mess.”
Not having to wait long was a good thing. Footage coming in once an hour meant more opportunities for them to catch this guy.
“All right, people, sound off,” Mean Guy said, like some NASA mission control simulation. “Tell me we got something.”
“IP address was rerouted through multiple VPNs once again.”
“Jumped to at least one public Wi-Fi, but not the same one as last time, so no triangulation.”
“Top level was definitely utilizing a proxy server again. Encrypted coding.”
With every announcement of unsuccessful attempts to home in on the killer, the group became more despondent. Mean Guy got shorter and shorter in his responses.
The blonde, Penelope, walked to the front of the room. She erased the number twelve from the whiteboard and wrote down thirteen, then turned to the people around her.
“I know you’re tired. I know you’re frustrated. We’ve been watching this happen for twelve hours now. I know seeing that woman suffering every single hour eats at all of us. But you need to focus. We’ve got less than an hour to have a new way of trying to catch this guy.”
Mean Guy threw his hands up. “Triangulating his location just isn’t possible. Whichever way we come at him from, he’s already expecting it.”
“Jeremy...” Penelope started.
“It’s not impossible.” Bree hadn’t meant to cut off whatever Penelope had planned to tell mean Jeremy, but that had to be said.
“What?” Jeremy stood up from behind his computer and took a slight step toward Bree, eyes narrowed. She immediately felt Tanner shift a little closer, ready to step in, not that she thought Jeremy was going to hurt her.
She shrugged. “No offense—it’s not impossible.”
“Really?” he scoffed. “You’ve been here less than five minutes, saw twenty-three seconds of footage, and now you just know everything?” He turned back to Penelope. “No offense, boss, but this is not the sort of help we need.”
Bree wasn’t going to be cowed. Not about this. “Impossible is the term regular people use to make themselves feel safer about technology. To hide away from its fullest potential,” she said softly. “And I knew that long before I walked in here today.”
She’d learned it the hardest way possible when she was just a teenager.
Jeremy threw up his hands. “You think you can do better than we have? Be my guest.”
A year ago, unable to read the interpersonal clues or tones, Bree would’ve thought that was an actual legitimate welcome to take over.
She leaned over toward Tanner. “I don’t think he really meant that as an offer,” she whispered. “I think he feels threatened by me. But I just want to help.”
Tanner nodded and gave her a small smile. “He’s frustrated. Everyone is. But they do want your help.”
“Then I need everybody to get out of my way so I can get to work.” She knew others could hear her, but it was the truth.
Jeremy let out a curse and a laugh.
Penelope cleared her throat. “People, this is Bree Daniels.”
There was a slight murmur as her name was recognized.
“Yes, that Bree Daniels, who was responsible for bringing down Michael Jeter and the rest of the criminals hiding behind Communication For All,” Penelope continued. “I daresay she might have some ideas we haven’t thought of. So let’s give her some room to work.”
Jeremy walked over to Penelope and began arguing about something, but Bree wasn’t paying any attention. She sat down in the seat Jeremy had vacated and pulled up what she needed on the system. It was time to go to work.
Nothing was impossible when it came to her and computers.
Chapter Six
Tanner walked away from Bree as soon as she sat down in front of the computer system. She wouldn’t be aware of him—wouldn’t be aware of almost anything—while she worked.
Whitaker caught his eye and motioned him over.
“Bree wasn’t offended by Jeremy, was she? He’s IT, not a cop, and he’s pretty damn knowledgeable about computers. Dude can be a jerk, but in this case it’s mostly frustration. Like Penelope said, for twelve hours we’ve been watching this poor girl lying in that damned box, terrified. The water’s getting higher.”
“How long do we have before it’s critical?”
“In every single piece of footage that’s been sent to us the water has been dripping at the exact same rate. Slightly faster than one drop per second. That means it’s filling up at a rate of about one gallon every three hours.”
Tanner did some quick math in his head. “So, around two and a half days before she drowns?”
“Could be closer to only two.”
Tanner ran a hand over his eyes. “And your friend Shelby? Are you sure this was the same guy? There was no video of her, right?”
“No, thank God. I’m not sure I could’ve handled it. But the box was the same for her, as well as for the other dead woman. The general consensus right now is that they were some sort of warm-up.”
“Or escalation,” Tanner said. “Maybe he got bored killing them just for himself, decided to make it into a broadcast sport.”
Whitaker grimaced. “Yeah, that’s possible too.”
Over his shoulder he could hear Bree demanding people move so she could work on two different computers at once. A few seconds later he turned around and she had all the different video segments up on the multiple monitors, playing in repeat, some two or more to a screen.
Even with no sound, it was jarring to watch the woman in the box. Bree stood for a long time, just staring at the monitors, taking it all in.
Penelope walked over to them and turned to the screens herself. “You guys have any idea what she’s doing? We don’t need her watching the footage—we need her figuring out where it’s coming from.”
Tanner gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Bree rarely does anything without a purpose. If she’s studying the footage, it’s because she thinks it will help her.”
Penelope crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. But we’ve got less than forty-five minutes until the next live stream. She needs to be ready.”
Tanner turned away from the monitor. “Believe me. Bree will be ready. That clock you have running the countdown? She won’t need it. Her brain is already keeping completely accurate track of the time without her even trying.”
Because that’s how Bree’s brain worked. The things most people had to put conscious effort into, it did automatically.
Like a computer.
Penelope nodded. “Good, because like Jeremy said, our team thinks this guy can’t be traced.”
“If it’s possible, Bree will do it,” Whitaker said.
“And she’ll do it faster than anyone,” Tanner finished for him.
Penelope didn’t look convinced, and Tanner couldn’t blame her. Bree was young, not very polished, and most people were going to underestimate her for that.
“I can’t help with computer stuff, but I’d be happy to be an extra set of eyes and ears for anything else, if you don’t mind my involvement.” Tanner didn’t want to step on any toes. Some departments liked to keep investigations as close to the vest as possible.
Evidently Penelope wasn’t one of those types of leaders. She nodded. “I’ll take every eye on this we can get. Maybe you’ll see something we’re missing. Because I’m damn tired of sitting here waiting for the top of each hour to come by just for us to be toyed with again.”
They sat down at the conference table and Whitaker pulled up a link.
“These are the twelve live streams in the order in which we received them. All in all, it’s a little bit less than fifteen minutes of footage.”
Tanner played each one so he could get an understanding of the full scope, then immediately started watching again, this time pausing whenever he needed to in order to study details.
The killer never showed up in a single shot. The camera never panned or zoomed—never moved at all.
“The room isn’t very big,” Tanner said. “I would think the camera is mounted over the door.”
Whitaker leaned over his shoulder to look at the footage.
“I agree.” Penelope sat down next to him. “We can’t see the woman’s face, but we think that there’s some sort of light on the camera that switches on when it’s transmitting.”
Tanner nodded, skipping to footage number four and pointing to the screen. “Yes. Because she’s inactive for a few moments and then sees whatever she sees, and that’s when she starts begging for help. So she’s probably not blindfolded.”
He skipped ahead to the other footage, pointing out where she did the same thing.
“Right,” Penelope said. “And sometimes she doesn’t seem to see anything at all. Maybe she’s sleeping?”
Tanner and Whitaker both nodded. “There are no windows in the room,” Whitaker said. “The light is always constant. She probably has no idea if it’s day or night.”
Tanner nodded. “And who knows how long this bastard held her before he even started sending the footage.”
“She’s definitely more hysterical in some of the recordings than others.” Penelope put her hand over Tanner’s on the mouse, then glanced at him. “Do you mind if I...”
He moved his hand. “Be my guest.”
She clicked so that five different images took up the screen. “These were when she was most hysterical. Already sobbing before the live stream even came through.”
Tanner watched each separate clip. Penelope was definitely right. The woman was already crying when the footage started, not because she realized the camera was on.
Listening to her—fear and desperation so close to the surface—was agonizing.
Tanner muttered a curse. “Is there any pattern that we see? Are there clips where she’s upset longer? Is he hurting her and wanting us to see it? I don’t see any markings on her body to indicate he’s hurt her.”
“No,” Whitaker said. “When it first happened we thought maybe he was escalating. That the clips would get longer as he got more violent, or show her harmed, but that hasn’t happened. And there doesn’t seem to be any pattern to how long the clips run.”
“She’ll be hysterical one hour then much better the next, thank God.” Penelope rubbed her eyes with her fingers. “I’ve watched these clips over a hundred times. Whit has also. But we haven’t found anything that helps at all.”
“Just makes me pretty damn furious,” Whitaker said.
Jeremy walked over to them. “We’re up in less than three minutes, boss.”
Penelope nodded. “Any progress over there?”
“Bree isn’t saying very much, but she seems to know her stuff, which isn’t surprising, given who she is. This will be the first time she’s seeing what’s happening behind the scenes as the footage comes in. No offense, but I don’t think she’ll be quite so quick to say no such thing as impossible after she really understands what’s going on.”
“Give her a chance,” Penelope said.
Jeremy shrugged. “At this point I’m willing to give anybody a chance. I just don’t want us putting all our eggs in one basket. Plus, she’s not making any friends over there.”
“Why? What happened?” Penelope asked, as they all stood.
“One of the first things she did was set up a program so it records what’s happening on everyone’s computer screen. Bree said she wanted to be able to look over what everyone was doing in case they missed anything.”
Whitaker looked over at Tanner and they both winced. People who didn’t know Bree wouldn’t understand the kindness and gentleness that resided under her sometimes-abrupt exterior. Her actions would seem like she thought herself superior to everyone else.
They walked over to the monitor screens to prepare for the next transmission. Bree had made herself a little command center and was typing on one keyboard as her eyes darted back and forth between three screens.
Tanner walked over to stand right behind her.
“I don’t have anything yet,” she said without looking at him. “There’s something weird going on that I haven’t been able to put my finger on.”
He rubbed the back of her shoulders. “Nobody expected you to come in and solve this in an hour. Let’s give it a little more time.”
Her disgusted grunt told him she had in fact expected to be able to solve this in an hour.
Just a few seconds later, the countdown clock began to beep. Bree didn’t even look up from her monitor.
The crying, sounding even more eerie because of the voice modulator, came through just a split second before the video did. The video was exactly the same as all the others. Nothing could be seen but the coffin-sized box containing the woman from the neck down. She was struggling against the metal cuffs that attached her wrists and ankles to the sides.
Everyone’s attention was riveted to the screens in front of them, except Bree.
Even when the woman was sobbing and begging to be freed—this was obviously not one of her good moments—Bree didn’t look up from what she was doing. Besides the crying, Bree’s fingers on the keyboard were the only thing that could be heard.
Tanner understood Bree well enough to know what was going on. She knew the victim was not the key to finding the location to where she was being kept. The key was in figuring out the details of the transmission.
But to everybody else it looked like Bree didn’t care at all about the suffering of this poor woman. Like Bree couldn’t be bothered to stop typing for the seconds the transmission would last and at least acknowledge the woman’s misery.
The transmission ended as suddenly as it began. Bree’s hands never stopped moving on the keyboard. Nearly everyone in the room was staring at her, the noise from her fingers sounding throughout the room. Tanner was glad Bree was caught in her own world and had no comprehension of what was going on around her.
“Do you mind if we play it again, Bree?” Penelope finally asked.
“Would hate to disrupt you in any way,” Jeremy muttered.
Bree didn’t even look up. “That’s fine. The victim is irrelevant.”
Even Tanner had to wince a little at that one. Jeremy rolled his eyes and walked over to one of the computers and set the footage to play again.
“Okay, people, what do we see?” Penelope asked when it was done.
“She was already crying before the camera turned on. It was one of the times when she seemed not to be aware of the transmission at all,” Whitaker said.
“All right, so it’s one of her bad hours. Maybe she’s tired. Maybe he hurt her.” Penelope had them play the footage again.
There were so many things that could be happening to the poor woman to make her hysterical.
Hearing the modulated crying caused Tanner to look more closely at the screen. He walked over and stood next to Whitaker. “Your friend Shelby and the other victim.”
“Kelly Quinn,” Whitaker filled in for him.
“You didn’t find any links between them?”
“Nothing of any significance.”
“Did you check where they shop for clothes? They were both similar build, right? I know we don’t have great perspective from this footage, but looking at this new woman, she could possibly be about the same size also. Relatively petite. Slender.”
“Definitely worth a try.” Whitaker called Penelope over and she agreed it was worth redoubling their efforts to see if it led anywhere, and immediately got someone on it.
They played the footage again and Tanner stepped closer to the screens. The crying was so much more jarring with a voice regulator distorting it.
The killer wasn’t letting them see her face and wasn’t letting them hear her real voice.
Why?
Tanner looked over at Whitaker and Penelope. “You guys got any local celebrities missing or anything?”
Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Not that I’ve heard. Why?”
Tanner shrugged. “Just seems like an awful lot of work to use a voice modulator when we can’t see the victim’s face anyway. Leads me to think there might be something about her voice that’s unique. Something we’d recognize right off if we could see or hear her clearly.”
Whitaker muttered a curse. “You’re right. I can’t believe we didn’t think of that.”
Tanner slapped him on the shoulder. “Trying to figure out who framed me for murder gave me a better perspective on thinking outside the box.”
Whitaker had the good grace to look sheepish, since he’d been the person most convinced Tanner was guilty. “I’m glad something good came out of that.”
Penelope played the clip again. “Damn it. I think you’re right, Tanner. I haven’t heard anything about a well-known missing person, but we’ll put some feelers out immediately. But knowing the victim still isn’t going to help us get to her. We need the location.”
“Give Bree time,” he told her.
* * *
BREE WORKED ALL night long on the tracking without stopping.
Whitaker and another one of the detectives on the case, Leon Goulding, an African American man in his late twenties who’d joined the Dallas PD after Whitaker left, took Tanner to show him where the first two victims had been found.
None of them had found anything useful in either the woods or the empty restaurant, but at least it had given Tanner a frame of reference.
Then they’d taken him to the evidence room and shown him the boxes the dead women had been found in—identical to the one the woman from the footage was currently trapped in. The boxes were lying on a table side by side.
“They’re made of low-density polyethylene,” Leon said as Tanner walked around looking at them. “Basically the same thing trash cans are made from.”
Tanner nodded. “So they definitely wouldn’t have any problem holding water.”
Whitaker was studying the boxes too. “That’s correct. We even filled one of them to capacity to double-check. The seams are reinforced with an acrylic binder.”
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