No, she wasn’t sure. How could she be? “I think we need to get up there.” Her hands twisted in front of her. She wasn’t supposed to let cases get personal, Macey knew that, but...how could this case not be personal? Haddox had marked her, literally. He’d changed her whole life. She’d left medicine. She’d joined the FBI. She’d hunted killers because...
Because deep down, I’m always hunting him. The one who got away. The one I have to stop.
Samantha stared at her in silence for a moment. A far-too-long moment. Macey realized she was holding her breath. And then—
“Get on a plane and get up there,” Samantha directed curtly. Then she pointed to Bowen. “You, too, Bowen. I want you and Macey working together on this one. Get up there, take a look at the crime scene, and...” Her gaze cut back to Macey. “You work with the ME. If Daniel Haddox really committed this homicide, then you’ll know. You know his work better than anyone.”
Because she still carried his “work” on her body. And in her mind. In the dark chambers that she fought so hard to keep closed.
But now I’ve found you, Daniel. You won’t get away again.
Tucker rose and came around the table toward her as she fumbled with her laptop. “Macey...” His voice was pitched low so that only she could hear him. “Are you sure you want to be the one going after him? Believe me on this...sometimes confronting the demons from your past doesn’t free you. It just pulls you deeper into the darkness.”
Her hands stilled on her laptop. She looked into Tucker’s eyes and saw the sympathy that filled his stare. If anyone would know about darkness, it would be Tucker. She lifted her chin, hoping she looked confident. “I want to put this particular darkness in a cell and make sure he never gets out.”
He nodded, but the heaviness never left his expression. “If you and Bowen hit trouble, call in the rest of the team, got it? We always watch out for each other.”
Yes, they did.
She put her laptop into her bag. Tucker filed out of the room, but Samantha lingered near the doorway. Bowen wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Macey figured that he must have slipped away while she was talking to Tucker. Clutching her bag, she headed toward Samantha.
“How many victims do you think he’s claimed?” Samantha’s voice was quiet as she asked the question that haunted Macey.
Every single night...when she wondered where Daniel was...when she wondered if he had another patient trapped on his table. How many? “We know he killed five patients before he took me.” They’d found their remains in that hospital, hidden behind a makeshift wall in the basement. Daniel had made his own crypt for those poor people. He’d killed them, and then he’d sealed them away.
“He’s been missing for several years,” Macey continued. Her heart drummed too fast in her chest.
“And serial killers don’t just stop, not cold turkey.” Samantha tilted her head as she studied Macey. “He might have experienced a cooling-off period, but he wouldn’t have been able to give up committing the murders. He would have needed the rush that he got when he took a life.”
How many victims? “I don’t know how many,” Macey whispered. And, because she trusted Samantha, because Samantha was more than just her boss—she was her friend—Macey said, “I’m afraid to find out.”
Because every one of those victims would be on her. After all, Macey was the one who hadn’t stopped him. She’d run away from him, so terrified, and when she’d fled, he’d escaped.
And lived to kill another day.
Samantha’s hand rose and she squeezed Macey’s shoulder. “You didn’t hurt those people—none of those people.”
“I ran away.” She licked her lips.
“You survived. You were a victim then. That’s what you were supposed to do—survive.”
She wasn’t a victim any longer. “I’m an FBI agent now.”
“Yes.” Samantha held her gaze. “And he won’t get away again.”
No, he damn well wouldn’t.
After a quick planning talk with Samantha, Macey slipped into the hallway and hurried toward her small office. As always, their floor was busy, a hum of activity, and she could hear the rise and fall of voices in the background. She kept her head down and soon she was in her office, shutting the door behind her—
“I would have helped you.”
Macey sucked in a sharp breath. Bowen stood next to the sole window in the small room, his gaze on the city below. His hands were clasped behind his back, and she could see the bulk of his weapon and holster beneath the suit jacket he wore.
She put her laptop down on the desk. “Samantha said we should be ready to fly in an hour. She’s giving us the FBI’s jet to use—”
He turned toward her. “Do you trust me, Mace?”
Mace. That was the nickname he’d adopted for her, and half the time, she wasn’t even sure that he realized he was changing her name. But...it was softer when he said “Mace” and not “Macey.” For some reason, she usually felt good when he used that nickname.
She didn’t feel good right then. Do you trust me? Was that a trick question? She frowned at him. “You’re my partner. I have to trust you.” Or else they’d both be screwed. She was supposed to watch his back, and he was supposed to watch hers. It was pretty much the only way the FBI worked.
He crossed his arms over his chest as he considered her. “I have to ask... What will happen if you come face-to-face with Daniel Haddox?”
She stared up at him, but for a moment, she didn’t see Bowen. She saw Daniel. Smiling. His eyes gleaming. And a scalpel in his hand. The scalpel was covered in her blood.
Bowen’s square jaw hardened. “We’re on this team because Samantha thinks our connections to killers give us special insight into serial crimes. We’re not here because we’re trying to follow our own personal agendas.”
Hurt, she took a step back. “My agenda?” Anger hummed in her blood and, just that fast, she didn’t see Daniel any longer. She just saw Bowen. Bowen with his handsome face, his dark eyes, his strong jaw—a jaw that was currently clenched. Bowen with his broad shoulders and his athletic build. Bowen...the guy she’d thought would understand, more than anyone else, exactly why she had to do this. “You’re the man who hunted a serial and killed him. You’re the one who went out for your own justice, not me.”
He looked away from her. “There are things you don’t know...”
Because Bowen wasn’t exactly the sharing sort. That was fine, neither was she. “I’m not going up there to kill him.”
Now he turned his stare back on her.
“Isn’t that what this whole trust talk is about?” She tugged on her right sleeve, making sure it was perfectly in place, as always. She didn’t like for anyone to see her scars. When people saw them, they tended to just—stare. And stare. And then to look at her with sympathy or horror. “You want to know what my plans are? Do you want to know if I’m going up there so that I can exact some vengeance on the man who tried to kill me?” Her words hung in the air between them.
He was supposed to say something.
He didn’t.
Damn it. He did want to know all that.
“Samantha trusts me.” So maybe she emphasized trust a bit too much there. “You should, too. I’m going up there to stop a killer. I’m not going to Hiddlewood so that I