The Coldest Fear. Debra Webb

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      So what had he been doing between Tuesday night and yesterday? At some point this past week she’d gotten the distinct impression he was on thin ice with his superiors. Something else they had in common.

      When he reached for the entrance door, she asked, “Are you on the Weller task force?”

      He hesitated, his gaze settling on hers. “Not officially.”

      Before she could ask the next question poised on the tip of her tongue, LeDoux headed through the lobby. The clerk, young and female, smiled as they passed. LeDoux gave her a nod. The clerk grinned, checked out Bobbie and then looked away. Whatever else he was, LeDoux was an attractive man with plenty of charm when he chose to use it. When he and Bobbie worked together the first time, he’d had a wife. She’d had a husband and a child. Ten months and a couple of vicious serial killers had changed everything.

      Without speaking, they took the stairs to the second floor. LeDoux stopped at room 216 and swiped his keycard, then held the door open for her. Bobbie stepped inside, tossed her bag on the floor and surveyed the room. Window on the far side. Drapes pulled tight. Desk, chair. Small sofa. King bed.

      One king bed.

      “You take the bed,” he said, noting her gaze there as he locked the door. He crossed the room and rummaged in the mini fridge, found a bottle of beer and collapsed on the sofa.

      “If you’re not officially on the task force, then you’re tracking Weller on your own.”

      He shrugged. “Aren’t you doing the same thing?”

      Rather than answer him, she pitched another question at him. “You’ve watched Zacharias since you arrived?”

      Her real question was pretty clear. How did he get away or get himself injured and maybe dead with you watching? God she needed a shower. And sleep. It was three-thirty in the morning. She couldn’t think clearly anymore. Maybe she hadn’t been thinking clearly in a long time.

      Rather than answer her question, he opened the beer and chugged a long swallow. When the need for oxygen overrode his desire for alcohol, he lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his other hand.

      Finally he said, “The local cops interviewed Zacharias on Wednesday, as did the Bureau. I tried to question him this morning—” he glanced at the clock by the bed “—technically yesterday morning, round eight. He wouldn’t talk to me. Just before dark, five-thirty maybe, a local courier service picked up a small package at his front door. I followed the guy to see where the package was going. By the time I got back to Zacharias’s house he was long gone or he appeared to be.” He shrugged. “I took advantage of the unoccupied house for sale across the street. I’ve been watching his place since, waiting for him to come back or for the right opportunity to get inside. At some point I guess I fell asleep. When I woke up I saw your car and decided to find out what you were up to.”

      “So you lied to me earlier,” she accused, “when you said you were already in the house when I arrived.”

      He waved off her charge. “There wasn’t time to explain all the nuances involved so I ad-libbed.”

      Bobbie let his lie go for the moment. The way he referred to the Bureau—as if his decisions and theirs were mutually exclusive—reiterated her feeling that Agent LeDoux’s career was like hers, teetering on the brink of disaster. Bobbie crouched down and dug through her bag for the clean underwear she’d packed.

      “So you never saw Zacharias when the courier went to the door?”

      “I did not. I suppose anyone could have given the guy the package.” He downed another long swallow of beer. “But I never saw anyone else go in or come out of the house.”

      She tucked the panties into her back pocket and got to her feet. “Who was the package addressed to?”

      He lifted his shoulders in another listless shrug. “Who knows? The courier refused to tell me the name.”

      “You stopped him?” Jesus Christ. LeDoux really was flirting with the edge.

      “I followed him to the service center parking lot, showed him my credentials and told him I needed to see the package. He told me to get a warrant.”

      “Did you inform the agent in charge of the task force?” The package could be headed to wherever Weller was hiding. Anticipation had her pulse pounding. “This might be a major lead in finding Weller.”

      Rather than answer, LeDoux finished his beer and went for another. Images of Weller’s numerous victims filtered one after the other through her mind like flipping the pages of a macabre family album. Randolph Weller, aka the Picasso Killer, wasn’t just another serial killer. He’d spent most of his adult life as a celebrated, highly respected psychiatrist whose secret hobby was mutilating the corpses of his victims and then painting macabre scenes of the carnage. More shocking, the sick son of a bitch had served as a consultant to the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit—still did, or at least he had until he escaped. Weller was also a father. Images of Nick flashed through her mind. Unlike his father, Nick had spent his adult life stopping the most ruthless serial killers, the ones no one else appeared able to find. He’d found the one who’d stolen Bobbie’s life. The Storyteller. She flinched. Hoped LeDoux hadn’t noticed.

      “The Bureau has no fucking idea where he is.” LeDoux grunted. “They’ve torn Atlanta apart. Can’t find him.” He shook his head and downed more of his beer. “Zacharias gave them zip. He’s sticking by his attorney-client-privilege bullshit.”

      “What about the package, LeDoux?” she repeated, impatience swelling inside her.

      He lifted a bleary gaze to hers and exhaled a big breath. “He wouldn’t tell me who the recipient was, but—” the hint of a smile tugged at his lips “—for a hundred bucks he gave me the address.”

      “Where?”

      The smile made a full appearance. “The same place I’m headed after a few hours’ sleep. Savannah. I would’ve left already but I guess I was actually waiting for you. I knew you’d show up eventually.”

      “Savannah?” She ignored the remark about him waiting for her. Why would Weller risk staying in the state of Georgia? Savannah was only three or four hours away. “That makes no sense.”

      “Who knows? But I’m damned sure going to find out.” LeDoux laughed, the sound as weary as she felt. “That’s why I brought my car back here and took a cab to Zacharias’s house. In case the courier grew a conscience and decided to report me.”

      At least that cleared up her question about how he’d followed the courier and why he didn’t have a rental car.

      “You’re here,” he went on, “we have a lead. You going with me?” He tipped up his second bottle of beer and finished it off.

      Either LeDoux had gone rogue or his new assignment was to keep her off track. Considering his apparent need to inhale those beers, maybe if she nudged him enough he’d slip up and reveal his true objective.

      She chose her words carefully. “The FBI is still suspicious of Nick?”

      Just saying the words out loud had anger stirring inside her. Bobbie had no idea exactly how many killers Nick had stopped in the past decade but the FBI СКАЧАТЬ