Ramie knew that was a tenuous hope at best. The killer was getting smarter, not more careless, as he escalated. Most killers probably did get more out of control and more convinced of their invincibility as time went on. But not this one. And Ramie found this kind of killer to be the most frightening of all. What could be worse than a man who couldn’t be found or apprehended? Free to kill and torture at will. How could any woman ever feel safe again with men like this out there? He could be a neighbor, a member of the same church, a schoolteacher or even a pastor.
There was no limit to the possibilities and Ramie already knew the killer looked?. . .??ordinary. Good-looking even. Neat and clean. Precise in his movements and meticulous in his dress.
Most women would find such a man harmless in appearance and would be liable to feel comfortable and at ease around him. He was, no doubt, charming and likeable.
What kind of world was it when such monsters lurked in seemingly benign waters?
“I’ll take her in,” Dane said. “One of our men and one of the county sheriff’s deputies. Touch as little as possible but as much as you need, Ramie. We want to nail this guy for good this time.”
Ramie nodded, her chin trembling with the effort.
“Not without me,” Caleb bit out.
Ramie turned, resting her fingertips on his wrist. “It will be easier if you don’t. I need to focus. It could look?. . .??pretty bad.” She grimaced and then lifted her gaze to meet his. “You wouldn’t like it. You may even interrupt or intervene.”
“Damn right,” he said vehemently. “The minute this goes south, I’m getting you the hell out of here.”
She gently shook her head. “No. We need to catch him this time. I have to try to look deeper than the surface. I have to see beyond what he wants me to see and see the things he doesn’t. It’s our only chance of taking him down. He’s too smart to slip up and make a mistake.”
Before he could argue further, and because he would argue the point into the ground, she turned and hurried toward the dilapidated wooden steps that were built onto a small square front landing.
The bottom step cracked as soon as she put her weight on it and her hand flew up to grasp the railing to prevent her falling. Dane gripped her other arm.
“Are you all right?” Dane demanded.
A loud roar burst through her ears, as though a hundred freight trains collided at seventy miles per hour. She swayed precariously and then sagged to her knees, her arm stretched upward because she still had a death grip on the metal handrail and her knuckles were white and straining.
A barrage of images, messy and chaotic, flashed rapid-fire in her mind. They were jumbled and confusing, no apparent rhyme or reason.
Fear had a chokehold on her. Not her fear. The victim’s fear.
Pain. Also the victim’s.
Triumph. The killer’s.
Unfettered glee and satisfaction. Also the killer’s.
She honed in on the killer, regretfully shoving aside the tumultuous explosion of the victim’s cries for help and justice. She knew, as she’d known with the last one, that it was too late. There was no sense in focusing her energy there when she needed all she could get to unravel the layers surrounding a maniac. A very intelligent, cunning psychopath.
Each random flash was like having still photos cataloging the entire gruesome crime. She studied and quickly absorbed each, much like she was thumbing through a photo album containing memories. Only these were not meant to be saved, cherished or remembered.
Underneath the thin overlay of each chronicled step the killer had taken with his victim was a hazy image that Ramie couldn’t quite make out. She concentrated harder, trying to bring it into focus.
Every time it seemed she’d manage to go beyond the carefully orchestrated fa?ade, pain seared through her head, choking her with nausea.
It was camouflage. Despite the intensity of the pain and overwhelming nausea, excitement lit a spark inside her. One that couldn’t be extinguished by the killer.
Where before she would have been deterred by the macabre sight of blood, suffering and death, she now braced herself and forced herself to push past it. He was hiding traces of?. . .??one of his thoughts? What was it he didn’t want her to see?
She sensed victory and it imbued her with strength she hadn’t imagined she had.
Her head ached so vilely that she was afraid one of the blood vessels would burst. She shoved her face into her hands, scrubbing, trying to refocus on the blurry memory strategically hidden behind the images of the victim, bloody, eyes glassy with the knowledge of her own demise.
Then she smelled blood. Felt it on her hands. She frowned because that wasn’t what she was seeing. It took a moment to realize that she was the one bleeding. From both nostrils.
The pressure in her head was mounting. The pain was becoming unbearable. And yet she refused to back down and retreat. Not when she was so close to?. . .??something. She just had no idea what.
In the silent battle of wills, Ramie was determined that this one time she wouldn’t lose. She wouldn’t fail.
Damn it, what did he not want her to see!