Scarlet Angel (Page 2)

She watches me, a small smirk on her lips, as though she’s daring me to say something here and now.

My angel made sure he’ll never hurt us again. My angel saved me. She’ll always watch over me. She is right now.

Laurel’s words slap me, and I slowly piece things together that don’t really fit. She. Laurel said she.

And she waved at Lana.

There’s no way I’m right.

There’s no way Lana killed and tortured him…I mean…right?

She arches an eyebrow at me, as if challenging me to speak first. If she killed a man and waltzed into this place…she’s a fucking psychopath.

No. I’m just too emotional.

I walk away, ending the staring contest, deciding to get some answers. She came with Logan, so she’ll be here for a while. No way is he leaving until he has answers.

But I plan to get some different answers.

I practically sprint to my car, and I’m on the road when my phone rings with an incoming call from Leonard. I start to not answer, but decide to. I’m sure it’s about the sick son of a bitch I let terrorize innocent children by never looking deeper than the surface once I became an FBI agent.

“What’s going on?” I ask seriously, clearing my throat from the sob that’s on the tip of my tongue.

“Our castrating mutilator killed Ferguson,” he says so calmly.

I almost drop the phone.

“What?” I ask in disbelief.

“He didn’t want us linking it to him, but he left the kid with Lindy May Wheeler, who, surprise surprise, once lived in Delaney Grove.”

“That doesn’t make sense. You guys profiled him to be a sadist, and a sadist wouldn’t—”

“We’re revisiting the profile. He’s a revenge killer. Not a sadist. Everything we thought we knew is about to change. We think he feels a kinship with you. He somehow knew about Ferguson and…your past,” he says, the last part spoken with regretful hesitance.

I squeeze the phone tighter, driving faster.

“Okay. Keep me updated,” I say stoically, my voice not betraying the whirlwind of emotions stirring within me.

As I hang up, I count the ways I’m losing my mind. I suspected Lana to be the one who killed that son of a bitch, but that’s insane. I’m too close to this case, not thinking rationally.

But he said the killer knew about my past, focused on it. I gave Lana a reason to focus on me when I stupidly alerted her to my suspicions. She was too calm. Too underwhelmed by my accusations.

It’s like she was prepared for those questions.

If it was Lana who killed Kenneth, then Lana would be our serial killer who has been killing men twice her size with psychical domination. There’s no possible way I’m right.

So why am I still driving to her house? Why am I still not convinced that she’s not the angel Laurel spoke of?

Logan will hate me forever if he learns I’ve gone crazy enough to accuse his girlfriend—that he finds perfect—of something so bizarrely impossible, not to mention grossly heinous.

The police are gone as I drive into her driveway, trying not to dwell on how insane this all is. It’s currently all-hands-on-deck for this case. The PD are looking for dozens and dozens of bodies left behind by a devil I should have killed.

The house is dark, and I carefully twist the knob, surprised to find it unlocked. I leave it unlocked as I head inside. Logan has been in her room, so I skip it, knowing she’d be smart enough to hide all her dirty little secrets.

I ignore the nagging part of my mind that is calling me crazy for suspecting her. She’s not even close to being capable of these things physically. Killing Kenneth would have been a hell of a job. First she’d have had to lug him out of the basement. Then push him up the hill that leads to the beach. There’s just no way.

But I continue on, letting my gut override my mind.

There’s something about her…something eerily composed that Logan doesn’t see. Something dark in her eyes when she looks into your soul.

But how dark can a person be if they save a child?

I’m so confused.

I find a door that’s locked, and instinct has me immediately picking it. My skills make it easy, and the door pops open in seconds. But it’s empty.

Why lock an empty room?

Only four bookcases are against the walls, and all four are empty.

Confused, I turn around, but a scream tears from my throat as a large body suddenly rushes me.

I grab for my gun, but it’s too late. The beast collides with me, slamming me into the wall, dazing me as an agonized scream leaves me again.

My gun is stripped from me, tossed to the ground, and another pained sound escapes me as I’m shoved against the wall, feeling my hands wrenched behind my back as a warm breath floats over my skin with a minty smell.

“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise, Agent Grace?” a man’s voice asks, eliciting a chill that runs up my spine.

“Two for the price of one,” he goes on, still keeping me pinned. “Too bad I’m waiting for another. You’ll have to wait your turn. I’ll even overlook your red hair.”

My breath seizes in my lungs as realization hits me hard and fast. With all the chaos, Logan probably didn’t even think about the cops being pulled off babysitting detail. There’s only one person who would be here right now.

“Tell me, Agent Grace,” he says, binding my hands tightly with my own handcuffs as I remain immobile, pinned as I struggle in vain, “are you afraid of the Boogeyman?”

My stomach lurches, and I try to scream again just as he throws me to the ground. He comes down on top of me, laughing as I scream for help. He laughs louder.

“Scream! Scream all you want!” he taunts. “This is the best place in the world to scream, because no one can hear you, Agent.”

My feet jerk up, and I realize he’s tying them to my hands, forcing my back to arch as he lifts off me to finish the process.

“But you can’t scream when my guest arrives,” he goes on, smirking in the darkness. My eyes have adjusted, and I see his bald head as he shoves something into my mouth.

I try to fight, but he digs his fingers into my jaw, wrenching it open. He ties the gag, securing it, then I hear the telltale rip of duct tape seconds before it covers my mouth.

I struggle again, fighting, but with my hands and feet bound together. He laughs again as he lifts me, carrying me effortlessly down the stairs, intentionally dragging my head against the wall.

I cry out, only hearing a barely-there, muffled sound through the layers of gagging he’s secured. My head slams against the side of the wall when he turns sharply.

“Oops,” he says, snickering.

He drops me to the ground, and I whimper, the sound not escaping at all as my elbow hits too hard, along with my hip. The creaking of two folding closet doors becomes noticeable as I see the doors swing open, and he slams his foot into my stomach hard enough to crack some ribs and kick me into the small space.

He kneels as he slides me in the rest of the way, and I twist my head away when he tries to brush the hair from my eyes.

“Enjoy the show, Agent Grace. At least you’ll know what’s coming next.”

With that, he slams the doors shut, and the small, blind-like centers let me see through the slats as his feet move away.

Music filters through the house, a soft, classical song. I can see the front door from here, and I watch, wishing I had never suspected her of anything.

A tear rolls from my eye, feeling like fire licking against my skin.

Logan will be with her. He’ll die right in front of me. And I can’t even warn him.

I can feel my phone in my front pocket, taunting me—so close, yet so far away. No matter how I twist, I can’t reach it.

It seems like hours later the door is finally opening, and I try to scream. Try to warn her. But the small sound I’m able to make is drowned out by the music in the house.

It’s just her as she shuts the door; no Logan. No hope of being saved.

It happens fast.

Plemmons blindsides her, punching her right in the side of the face. She drops the keys and phone she’s holding and slams into the wall from the impact, dazed and confused.

He throws his body against hers, and she cries out as he twists her hand that she tries to hit him with, while simultaneously choking her with his arm. Despite the music, I can hear every word he says.

“Feisty. I like that. And so pretty. Agent Bennett picks them well,” he taunts. “He left you all alone finally. Tell me, princess, are you afraid of the Boogeyman?”

He lifts off her and throws her into the wall across from him. She hits hard before bouncing to the ground.

What has my ears perking up is the sound of her laughter as she slowly lifts herself from the ground.

“Boogeyman,” she says, looking up at him. “Took you long enough.”

His footsteps pause as confusion mixed with anger crosses his face. He gets off on fear. On pain.

Yet she’s acting immune.

Did Logan coach her on how to act?

Or is she really that fucking stupidly unafraid?

He charges her, kicking her in the stomach, before grabbing her by the hair of the head, jerking her up to her feet.

A strangled sound of pain escapes her, and he pushes her into the wall with enough force to crack something. Her face is to the side, and she’s smiling as he comes in behind her.