A Deeper Grave. Debra Webb

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      When the doctor remarked that she looked well, Bobbie thanked him and excused herself. She stepped a few feet away from the room and made the call to Lieutenant Owens to bring her up to speed on the Parker boy’s needs and what he’d told her. A female officer would replace the one on duty ASAP. After ensuring the officer on duty understood the new arrangements, Bobbie couldn’t get out of the hospital quickly enough. She took the stairs and headed for the maintenance exit to avoid the reporters loitering in the visitors’ parking lot. Plowing through the crowd and fending off their questions would be pointless. She had nothing she was authorized to share just yet. Fern’s picture was in every paper, on the internet and on the television news. Hotlines had been set up for callers who might have seen or heard anything useful. Marla Lowery had gone on the local news and offered an urgent plea for help as well as a reward for any information about her niece.

      As true as it was that the passing hours lessened the likelihood of finding Fern still breathing, Bobbie intended to stay focused on the idea that she was alive out there somewhere and needed to be found.

      Her right leg protested the hustle down the flights of stairs. The pain was a consistent reminder that she was lucky to be alive. She opened the door into the morning sun and headed across the asphalt to where she’d parked her car amid the vehicles belonging to hospital employees. The man leaning against her Challenger stopped her in her tracks and very nearly stopped her heart.

      Nick Shade. The stranger who’d made such an impact on her at a time when she believed her life was over.

      The blue button-down shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up his muscled forearms, the well-worn jeans hugged his body. He wore black work boots as usual. His dark hair was a little shorter, not quite touching his collar now. The way he watched her as she approached startled her all over again, the same way it had the first time they met. There was just something about those dark eyes...as if he could see her thoughts, could sense her feelings.

      “Good morning, Detective.”

      That voice. His voice had haunted her well before he showed up at her door to tell her to stay out of his way in the hunt for the Storyteller. She hadn’t known at the time, but he had visited her in the hospital while she was in a coma recovering from her first encounter with the Storyteller. She’d been at her worst, refusing to fight for her life. She’d wanted to die. Come back, Detective Gentry. His words had somehow drawn her back to the land of the living.

      She smiled, couldn’t help herself. “Morning.” What was he doing here? She hadn’t gotten around to calling him. “You’re about the last person I expected to run into today.”

      He straightened away from her car. “We need to talk. Do you have a few minutes?”

      Devine was back at CID lining up today’s interviews. She had a few minutes. “Sure.”

      “Take a ride with me.”

      She nodded. “All right.” He led the way to a midsize black Chevrolet truck. Beyond the illegal tint on the windows, the vehicle was fairly nondescript. “What happened to your car?”

      He opened the passenger-side door for her. “I trade frequently.”

      She opted not to mention that the routine was in all probability a smart move considering he hunted serial killers using methods that skirted the law more often than not. “Where’re we going?”

      He slid behind the wheel. “No place in particular.”

      As he pulled away from the hospital’s rear parking she studied his profile. Nick Shade was an attractive man and...as damaged as she was. He, too, had survived a ruthless serial killer—his own father. She doubted either of them would ever have a normal life. At least she had experienced a glimpse of what a real life was supposed to be. She would cherish those memories the rest of her days.

      Would Nick ever allow himself to have that?

      “You look good.”

      His deep voice drew her back to the present. “Thanks.” It had taken her a long while to be able to accept a compliment. “You, too.”

      Silence settled between them as he drove. Back in August they’d spent a lot of time exactly like this, driving and hoping they would find a lead that would break the Storyteller case. Nick had been there for her during those shattering days before and after her partner’s death. God she missed Newt.

      As if he’d read her mind, Nick asked, “How’s Carlene?”

      He did a lot of that, too. Read her mind. “She’s okay. She sold the house and moved to Nashville to be near their oldest daughter who just found out she’s pregnant. Carlene’s really excited about being a grandmother.” Newt would be so happy. Bobbie swallowed at the lump in her throat.

      “Tell me about this new case. The Seppuku copycat.”

      So that was why he was here. His father’s warning echoed in her ears. She should tell him...in a minute. She wasn’t sure how he would react when she announced that she had visited Weller. They hadn’t discussed the connection between him and Weller. Instead of dropping that bomb, she gave him the details of the double homicide on her plate. “We have a survivor, the son. And hopefully the sister. She’s still missing.”

      “This case is why you went to see him?”

      So he knew. She didn’t know why she was surprised. Nick Shade missed nothing. “No—at least not that I was aware. His attorney called and insisted that I come.”

      Nick braked for a light. He turned to her. “You know who he is.”

      His statement was not a reference to Randolph Weller’s infamous reputation as one of the most prolific serial killers alive today. “I do.”

      He stared at her for five endless seconds. “Why did Weller want to see you?”

      Bobbie braced herself against the stony look in his eyes. From the moment she discovered his father’s identity she instinctively understood that there would be no love lost between the two, and for good reason. “He wanted me to warn you.”

      The light changed and Nick looked away, moving forward with the flow of traffic. “Why didn’t he have his lawyer call me?”

      “He said you wouldn’t listen to him.” Bobbie took a deep breath and gave him the rest of the details. “I stared at my phone for hours last night.” When she should have been sleeping, she kept to herself. “I planned to try and contact you today.”

      “You have my number,” he said without looking at her. “What stopped you?”

      Was he angry or disappointed that she’d done what she thought she had to do? Instead of responding to his question, she said, “He suggested the murders were a message to you. That these organized serial killers—he called them the Consortium—are coming for you. He’s concerned they’ll try using me as a way to get to you.” She stared out the window and said the rest. “That’s why I hesitated before calling. I didn’t want you to come to Montgomery.”

      I knew you’d come.

      He pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store. “You couldn’t hope to stop me.”

      Bobbie stared out the windshield СКАЧАТЬ