Especially Lisa.
Then Brad had driven to the mountain cabin she’d rented near Ellijay in North Georgia to deliver the news himself. To see the relief on her face.
To find out if the ghosts still haunted her.
He’d somehow known they would, that she’d never fully escape them. And when he’d realized that he reminded her of the worst time of her life, he’d forced himself to leave. But he’d never forgotten her. Never stopped blaming himself.
Never stopped admiring her courage or…imagining that things could have been different if she’d never been a victim.
But a personal relationship with Lisa Langley was a pipe dream, especially a short-term one, which was all a jaded man like him had to offer. He knew nothing about love. Commitment. Families.
Dealing with a traumatized victim.
His own mother had thrown him out as a kid, discarded him like day-old meat. His bitter childhood had nearly turned him into the type of men he chased today. And there were times even now when he thought he might cross the line. Times when he’d come so close that he’d nearly tripped and fallen over to the dark side.
He had actually done so in the past.
The night he’d finally gotten his hands on William White, that killer instinct in him had emerged again.
Sweet, blissful relief to have caught the man had filled him, just as the rage and injustice of what White had done to his victims had made Brad nearly take the man’s life. Because Brad Booker was a man without mercy.
And White had seen that wrath.
Brad had no regrets. He would have enjoyed watching the killer die.
Forcing himself back to the present, he glanced at the victim’s body as the M.E. rolled her over. Bile rose in his throat. When they’d found her, Lisa’s lower back had been covered in welts in much the same way. Thank God she was safe now.
And keeping her safe continued to be part of the job. No one knew where she was. The new name she’d assumed.
And he intended to keep it that way.
But this poor woman…it was too late.
“Can you believe this?” His partner, Ethan Manning, strode up, notepad in hand, rubbing at the sweat on his neck. “We were in a drought back then, too, a real scorching heat wave.”
Brad nodded. “And the killer always left the body in an isolated place.” The proximity to his own cabin on the lake seemed eerie, too coincidental. He didn’t like coincidences.
“Wooden box was nailed shut with the same kind of nails,” Ethan said. “And he chops off the victim’s hair. Brutalizes them. Even calls a reporter to gloat.”
Brad grimaced. “But this time he left a cross instead of a rose.”
“What’s that all about?” Ethan asked.
“Maybe some indication that he’s a religious freak.” Brad scoffed at the idea. “Any sign of rape?”
The one thing Lisa had been spared. Thank God. Apparently White had been impotent.
“Can’t tell yet, but I’ll let you know,” the M.E. said. “He cuts the fingernails off to get rid of trace evidence.”
If the woman had been raped, then the copycat was deviating slightly from the first killer’s MO. Still, there were so many similarities. “How could this copycat know every last detail?”
“The papers carried the trial,” Ethan suggested. “And he could have read the transcript of Lisa’s testimony.”
Brad’s gut clenched. Every word of that agonizing testimony had been seared into his brain.
“Or hell, he probably bragged about it in prison,” Ethan said. “You know how these sickos are. White was a sociopath.”
Brad nodded. Right, the bastard had no conscience.
Brad almost understood. He’d been forced to get into perps’ heads too many times. Had seen their handiwork. Had witnessed their unspeakable acts.
Had begun to think he might be tainted himself from the violence. Not knowing his daddy or the genetic pool he’d come from triggered disturbing questions in the dark hours of the night.
The M.E. lifted a maggot from inside the box and bagged it. July 1, the dead of summer, and the Atlanta temperature soared near a hundred, making the heat in the box even more suffocating.
The poor woman. How long had she been kept down there before her killer had called? Brad turned toward Gunther, the local officer. “She the one you’ve been looking for?”
“Matches the sketch,” he said, tight-mouthed. “I’ll phone the family to meet us at the morgue and verify her identity.”
Brad grimaced. One of the worst parts of the job. Telling the victim’s family.
He still remembered Dr. Langley’s reaction when he’d phoned to relay the news that they’d found Lisa. Alive. Only the man hadn’t reacted as he’d expected.
“We’ll question the other inmates where White was imprisoned,” Ethan said.
Brad mumbled agreement. “And I want to talk to that reporter.”
“I’ll get someone on the lumber supply companies,” Ethan said. “He may be building these boxes himself, like White did. Maybe we can get a jump on where he bought the wood.”
Surges staggered up, wiping at his mouth. “Sorry.”
“Don’t sweat it, kid. You’ll get used to it,” Brad said. “Just start canvassing those cabins around the lake.”
Surges nodded, and Brad contemplated different possibilities—such as what if White hadn’t been operating alone years ago?
Sometimes serial killers worked in pairs….
The hairs on his neck tingled. They’d explored that angle during the original trial, but had never found any evidence to support it. But they could have been wrong.
Ethan moved up to his side. “Are you going to tell Lisa?”
Brad jerked his head toward his partner and swallowed hard. He’d never confided his feelings for White’s final victim, but Ethan had sensed the attraction. That Brad had nearly lost perspective.
But Lisa hated him. Would barely even look him in the eye.
How could he blame her? He’d hounded her for information on her boyfriend for weeks, accused her of covering for the man, even suggested White had used her, that she was a fool if she didn’t know the truth.
Then, when she’d finally phoned him to admit her suspicions, he’d promised to protect her. But White had gotten to Lisa first. The week that followed had been hell for Brad.
But nothing compared to the ordeal Lisa had endured. Seven days and nights of pure torture.
Ethan cleared his throat. “Booker?”
“No, not yet. I don’t want to alarm her.”
“You think that’s wise? Maybe she remembered something during the last four years that might help us. Like the place where White kept her. Or a second man.”
Brad nodded, feeling resigned, while they both tried to focus on the details regarding this other woman.
But as things wound down, and he strode back to his car, a sense of foreboding followed him. Could he ask Lisa to relive those nightmarish details again? To tap into her subconscious, where she’d repressed some of the horror?
Of