Paint It All Red (Page 25)

“You have no idea at the pressure that’s on me to clean this all up. And—”

“You mean to cover it all up,” I growl.

“Damn it, Logan. I’ve already explained this to you!” he snaps, slapping a hand on his desk. “If I reopen this investigation and concede that one of ours really did falsify DNA evidence, it’ll be the end of your unit, as well as possibly allow numerous other serial killers to reopen their own cases and even get out of prison if their lawyers shine enough light on this as reasonable doubt for their clients.”

“So politics,” I state flatly. “You’re no better than McEvoy.”

His lips thin, and his eyes narrow to slits. “I’m cleaning up his mess. But I can promise you no one else will ever go through what that family did as long as I’m in this office.”

“No, an innocent man’s name will just go on tarnished because you’re too scared to stand up for what’s right.”

He curses and runs a hand through his hair. “He’s dead, Logan. Destroying your unit and all the good it has done won’t bring that man back to life. The end justifies the means right now.”

I stand, knowing he’s not going to budge. And I pull off my service weapon and toss my badge on the desk with it.

“Then consider this my resignation,” I tell him.

His eyes widen. “Don’t be stupid, Logan. Take some more time off. You’re too close to this case, and you’re not thinking clearly right now.”

“I’m thinking very clearly. I joined the FBI with the naïve notion we were going to always do the right thing no matter the personal costs to ourselves. I dedicated my every waking moment to this place, sacrificing any chance at a healthy lifestyle or any actual living. I didn’t sign up to be corrupted by the one thing that is supposed to be filled with honor. And I won’t be a part of it. Plenty of corruption is just outside those doors, and at least I get to have a life out there.”

He looks frustrated, but not as frustrated as I feel.

“You’re making a mistake,” he says as I start to walk out.

I turn and face him. “No. I’m fixing the mistakes, Director. Just remember that.”

I slam the door behind me, and I head back to my office to clear everything out. People glance at me as I walk through, and Leonard reads my face, his eyes dropping to my empty holster at my hip.

I’ve always hated wearing a tie anyway.

Taking my tie off and tossing it to the corner of my office, I grab a box, and pack up the few things that mean anything to me. Including the picture of Lana and me that I put on my desk a long time ago.

Hadley walks in as I finish up, and she shuts the door behind her.

“Don’t bother telling me I’m making a mistake,” I say without looking up.

“I’m not,” she says, walking toward me quickly.

My brow furrows when I see how wide her eyes are.

“What? If it’s a case, then you should take it to Donny.”

“Logan, Jason Martin was just found dead and castrated in South Carolina,” she says in a hushed tone reserved for blasphemy.

Blood rushes through my veins, and I squeeze the box in my hands as I lower it back to the desk.

“Was it—”

The words break off, because hope like that could destroy me if I’m wrong.

She nods slowly. “They sent me the pictures. I told them it wasn’t our Scarlet Slayer because she was dead. But it’s her, Logan. The knife is the same type, the wall was painted red, and there were no hesitation marks at all. Also, the shoe was a woman’s size. It wasn’t Jake. It was her. She’s alive, Logan. She’s actually alive.”

Tears start pouring from her eyes as I sag to my chair, unable to keep standing as my skin prickles all over. I’m almost afraid to believe it, knowing it’d be the final nail in my coffin if Hadley is wrong.

“I’ve been trying to find Jake since D-day, but haven’t found him anywhere. I checked plane logs, and couldn’t find any evidence that they came or went. That body was over a month old, but they just uncovered it. They found it in a cellar of a house that’s been on the market for a while,” she goes on.

“I know where you can search for them, and I think I know how you’ll find them,” I say quietly as I grab my things.

“What?! How?”

I look her in the eyes. “If you go to him, you can’t come back Hadley. If you leave with me right now, it’s the end of your life here. Do you understand that? It’d be too dangerous for them if we keep any sort of attachment to this life.”

“I’ll be packed and ready within the hour,” she says without hesitation. “I can’t quit, since this is a mandatory position, but I can disappear. I can make us both disappear if you want to give me two hours.”

“Do it,” I tell her. “I’ll meet you out front in ten minutes.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’m going to talk to the only person who can give me answers. You’re going home to get everything ready, including emptying our accounts.”

She grabs her laptop from her cubicle as she passes. I don’t glance behind me at anyone who might be looking at us.

“Where are you going?” she whispers.

“To learn the truth.”

Chapter 18

They do not love that do not show their love.

—William Shakespeare

LOGAN

There’s a note on the door when I arrive, and I tear it off, shaking my head as I read it. I pocket the note and walk inside without knocking.

I find the man in the back room with deteriorating health. He’s on a hospital bed, monitors and IV’s hooked into him, probably keeping the pain down just enough to keep him conscious.

His eyes are droopy when he sees me, and I pull up a chair, staring right at him. The tube in his mouth will prevent him from speaking, but there are other ways to get answers. After all, I’m a profiler. Micro-expressions are my specialty.

“It’s funny how even now Lana can surprise me,” I say quietly.

He looks confused, and I smirk, knowing he doesn’t know who Lana is.

“A psychopath with narcissistic tendencies,” I say on a sigh. “That should have been the profile. A psychopath can feign empathy. Can imitate regret, remorse or even emotional pain. Can even become a believable actor in his or her well-adjusted life. It makes them the hardest ones to find, to be honest. You don’t always know your neighbor is a psychopath.”

I gesture around at the seemingly innocent looking house he’s living in.

“It took me a while to figure it out, but when I did, all the pieces clicked into place. Victoria’s mother was beautiful, if the photos have done her any justice,” I say, leaning up as I study his eyes.

The machine that is monitoring his heart beeps just a little faster at the mention of Jasmine Evans.

“She was just as beautiful when she died in that car crash as she was in high school. It’s funny I never even thought to look into her past. After all, all the women who died looked strikingly similar to her when she was in high school, with the exception of Rebecca Cannon. But she died for a different purpose. Someone needed the sheriff to be blinded by rage and ready to take down anyone to punish.”

I lean back, studying his face as his eyes narrow. The monitor beeps a little faster.

“Her high school sweetheart was pictured with her in one of the prom photos. I can’t believe I never knew it. But I was distracted by an entirely different killer at the time. Turns out she happened to be the girl I love and a guy known as Jake Denver.”

His monitor starts beeping a lot faster as his eyes light up with surprise.

“Victoria Evans didn’t die that night. Jake helped save her life.”

Again, that monitor starts going wild, beeping with even more speed.

“She was beautiful, like her mother, and it’s surprising Jake—someone who appreciated both male and female beauty—never saw her as more than a sister. But he loved her brother. He hated anyone involved who lent a hand in creating the cluster fuck that ended the love of his life.”

He continues to study me, unable to speak, and I know it’s killing him. A man who loves power is now confined to a bed, living in agonizing pain and never-ending helplessness. Even now, he can’t form words with that tube down his throat that is keeping him alive, and all he can do is listen.

“You can’t even piss without a catheter right now, can you?” I ask, then notice the sheets are wet.

“I guess Olivia decided to remove it for your final moments.”

My eyes pop back up to his, and I see the fury washing around in his gaze.

“You want to write a note?” I ask him, putting a pen in his dominant hand.

His left hand weakly tries to clamp around it, but can’t, and it topples to the ground. I grin like the sadistic asshole I feel like right now. His suffering actually pleases me.

“I’d rather do all the talking anyway,” I say with a shrug. “Olivia was the final piece of the puzzle. I wondered why Lana—Did I mention Victoria is Lana?—and Jake hadn’t bothered to strike out against the man who started the domino effect. But I was looking for a torture-and-kill like all the others.”