Cut & Run (Cut & Run #1)(98)
Author: Abigail Roux

Ty shook his head. “You read crime novels and watch detective movies, right?” he said eagerly. “The stereotype in almost every one is a bored cop; he wants something exciting to sink his teeth into, wants action, wants…a big case to work on,” he rambled almost excitedly. “Right? For all his intelligence and talent, this perp has bought into that image. He admires law enforcement officers,” he went on, beginning to form a new profile as he spoke. “His dad or father figure might even have been a security guard or some sort of pseudo-policeman type. That’s why he became a Fed, if he is one. He admired them. He wants to please the people he admires, give them something worth their time.” He closed his eyes and lifted his chin, raising his face to the ceiling.

Zane bit back a smile. He glanced to the stack of crime and suspense novels he’d bought. “Okay, I can see that. So, he’s hoping to give us a good game. So if we figure it out, what’s to stop him from changing the game?”

“He has to change it. He’ll be well-schooled in forensics and profiling. He’ll think he’s hiding by switching his MO, but he’s still got that pattern. He may have picked it because it offered so many different methods.

Or it may have more special meaning to him. He killed the Poe Toaster in Baltimore, we can be sure of that, either as a jumping-off point or practice. He had to have picked him because of who he was. Poe is the playbook he’s sticking to in order to stay safe. He’s not killing for the pleasure of the kill, not like normal serials. What he enjoys— his real ritual—is the after-effects,”

Ty explained as the profile unfolded before him like a road map over his mental steering wheel. “What he craves is the attention of the authorities afterward. Not the press, not the public. Just the cops and Feds. He doesn’t just return to the scene of the crime; he lives it. He soaks the mayhem in afterward, either by being physically present or thriving on the official reports. That’s why he’s sending stuff in the mail; he’s helping the people he admires try to solve him.”

“So, it might not be someone at the Bureau, but maybe a cop from the city who’s got access,” Zane realized. “Someone who works both sides of the case, although in a minor role. Like the Steves are attached to this case.” He tossed the cigarette pack on the table and sat back down on the bed. “I wish we had that damn list of all personnel who’ve touched anything to do with this mess.”

“The new profile screams cop with an inferiority complex,” Ty agreed. “But with the access he has, I’m still saying FBI. It also makes me think that something we did, the two of us, told him that we were enjoying what he was doing,” he went on more tentatively. “We may have expressed admiration for his skill somehow or shown interest in how or why he did something that none of the other agents had noticed. Whatever it was we did, he thought he’d finally found someone who was enjoying the fruits of his labor.”

Zane’s face was blank and then he blanched. “So he’s been doing this

… specifically to amuse us? You and me?”

“Not at first,” Ty answered with a shake of his head. “And not even now. To assume that would be to assume he knows we’re back. The two of us, specifically. I think he heard somehow that the Bureau was sending in a new crew. That, back there? That was his welcome party.”

Zane closed his eyes, feeling slightly ill at the thought. That had been perhaps the most gruesome scene he had ever witnessed, and he’d seen a lot, but Ty seemed to be thinking of it as merely another stepping stone to finding their killer.

He opened his eyes again and looked—really looked—at Ty, studying him, catching on to the slightly detached air he had about him. He’d had it ever since they’d been reunited. Even back at his home in Baltimore. He remembered Ty’s reaction to the woman being found in his hotel room all those months ago, and experience with psychology told Zane what was going on. Ty was still in shock. He’d gone through the treatment like a good little soldier, but he hadn’t really processed any of the therapy. He had basically severed any links to deeper emotions to avoid anything hurting too much.

Ty snorted and continued to pace, oblivious to Zane’s study of him.

“We should call Henninger,” he finally murmured. “Tell him to change the profile.”

“It’ll be several hours ‘til he’s off the scene and able to talk,” Zane reminded. He felt for Ty. Not just aching because Ty was so removed, but in other ways as well. It scared him, and his chest tightened as he watched his partner pace.

“Call him anyway, this shit is important,” Ty grunted in annoyance as he patted himself down for his own phone.

“All right. Call Henninger, then what?” Zane asked. “We need somewhere bigger than this to spread out the files he’s supposed to bring us and give them a good study. We should probably change hotels anyway, just in case.”

Ty was very still, letting the last words sink in. “You think he knows we’re back?” he asked neutrally.

Zane swallowed, thinking back to what they’d talked about minutes before. “Yeah.”

“Us, specifically?” Ty asked quietly.

Meeting Ty’s eyes, Zane wondered if the curling anxiety showed in his own. “Yeah.”

“Me too,” Ty responded in the same quiet, calm voice.

“Won’t be long until he—”

“He needs us,” Ty interrupted confidently. “He needs us to make him feel as if he’s doing well. He won’t try to hurt us again. I’m sure of it,” he lied.

The lie didn’t go unnoticed, but Zane had no plan to comment. He looked up at Ty sadly, wanting to say something, anything other than the soft words crowding in his throat. He swallowed on them again. He didn’t know how much more “speaking” they could do. Finally, a sentiment broke free in a rasp. “I won’t lose you. Not now.”

“I don’t plan to get any more lost than I am,” Ty answered roughly.

He turned quickly, pacing away from the bed as he flipped open his phone.

Zane squeezed his eyes shut and cursed silently. Curling his hands into fists, he got off the bed, put on his jacket, and retrieved his lighter, sliding the cigarette from behind his ear as he walked toward the door again.

Ty watched him go from under lowered brows, waiting for Henninger to pick up. When the younger agent answered, Ty quickly told him about the change in profile and the pattern they had discovered.