Into The Night. Cynthia Eden
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Remus is a serial arsonist,” Bowen said, his voice quiet and calm. Unrelenting. “He’s wanted in connection with the murders of five people.”
All of the color bled from Lydia’s face. “That’s...that’s Patrick Remus. Not my Pat. Not my—”
“They’re the same man,” Macey interrupted. “And we have reason to believe...” She swallowed. “We believe someone found out who your Patrick really is...and that individual has taken him.”
Lydia scrambled back. “He took the wrong man!”
No, he took the right one.
“You needed to know the truth,” Macey continued. “Before the reporters arrived.”
A tear leaked down Lydia’s cheek. “Not my Pat...”
Macey stared at her and she saw the horror that began to grow in Lydia’s gaze.
* * *
BOWEN GAZED AT the dark cabin. Sunset had come fast in the Smoky Mountains, and the night had chased its way across the sky. He’d spent the afternoon and evening searching for Patrick Remus—and for the man who’d taken the infamous Pyro.
Lydia had told them her story, again and again. She’d gotten a notice in the mail that she’d won a cabin in Gatlinburg. A three-day getaway. She hadn’t remembered entering the contest, but she’d been too excited to question the win.
Bowen had figured that if the killer had lured Patrick and Lydia to the mountains with the cabin that had been taken off rental rotation, then perhaps he’d been using another, similar cabin as base. A cabin that was off the beaten path, a place that would give him privacy... Another cabin that was empty because it was part of the rental program, but perhaps a place that had also been removed from potential listings because repair work needed to be done on it, too.
Using that criteria, Bowen had hoped to compile a small list of possible locations.
But this was Gatlinburg...and there were dozens of rental agencies in the area. The simple search had turned up results that had taken hours to evaluate. He’d divided up the local law enforcement team and sent them out while he and Macey also searched. So far, they’d all turned up nothing.
“It doesn’t look as if anyone has been here lately,” Macey said, her quiet voice breaking into his thoughts. They were right beside their rented SUV, and she’d already pulled out her weapon as she stared at the little cabin. Nestled at the very top of a mountain, they’d spent twenty minutes going up the twisting, winding roads that led to this place.
No other vehicle was parked near the cabin. All of the lights were out. Macey was right, the place did look empty.
Just as the others had.
But they were still going to search it. He took a few steps toward the cabin, and the wind seemed to shift as he felt the breeze stir against his cheek and then—
“Gasoline,” Bowen rasped. He could smell it. His eyes strained to see in the darkness. The cabin didn’t appear damaged in any way, but he could sure as hell smell that gasoline odor. His nostrils flared as battle-ready tension swept through him.
An empty cabin shouldn’t smell like gasoline.
He motioned to Macey, indicating that they’d be heading toward the front door. She moved quickly with him, their steps silent as they approached. And when they drew closer, he was able to tell that the front door was ajar, just a bit. Barely an inch.
This is the place. Bowen flashed another quick signal to Macey. He’d go in first, and he knew she’d cover him. Bowen pulled the flashlight from his pocket even as he silently counted down. Three, two, one...
He went in fast, crouching low. He kept the flashlight above his gun as he swept the room, sending out the light to check the corners and the darkness, and he heard the faint rustle of Macey’s footsteps behind him. The scent of gasoline was even stronger inside the cabin. He glanced down and saw that the floors were...
“Wet,” Macey whispered.
Not from water, though, not based on that smell. Someone had soaked the place with gasoline.
Fuck. That was Patrick’s MO. He’d always poured gasoline all over the places where he kept his victims. On the floor, on the walls, on the furniture.
“Stay alert, Mace,” he rasped. She wouldn’t need the warning, of course, but, shit, he had to give it. This scene had nightmare written all over it. Bowen followed that trail, snaking down the narrow hallway and then turning right into a room at the back—
His light swept inside and fell on the slouched figure of the man in the chair. The guy’s head hung forward and Bowen could easily see the blood that dripped from his wounds. “Patrick,” Bowen said even as he rushed forward. His hand immediately went to the man’s throat.
Blood. Blood every-freaking-where. They’d arrived too late. Patrick was dead.
A rough exhalation escaped from Bowen as he stared at the man’s body. Jesus Christ. Burns covered him. His skin—what remained on his arms—was red and raw with oozing blisters. Blood had spilled down his shirt because the bastard’s throat had been cut. And the wounds in his head...
Bowen’s light slid over them. Patrick’s head was shaved, just like in Lydia’s picture, but there were two distinct wounds on his forehead. At first, Bowen thought those might be bullet wounds.
“Nails,” Macey said, and there was horror in her voice. “Just like with Daniel.”
Damn it. The press didn’t know about the nails. Their team had been careful not to leak that information. And for this guy to use them on Patrick Remus...
Same perp. We are absolutely looking at the same man who took out Daniel Haddox.
Shit, shit. It was—
Whoosh. He heard the sound and his blood iced. That whoosh of air was low and long and the very cabin itself seemed to tremble around them. He looked down at that stain of wet gasoline on the floor. It was a trail that led right to the dead man.
Patrick’s body was fucking soaked in gasoline. Dripping with it.
So when he heard that whoosh, Bowen didn’t stop to think. He just reacted. He grabbed Macey’s hand and he yanked her with him as they ran toward the window in the back of the room.
The fire was coming. The perp who’d killed Patrick? He’d set a trap for Bowen and Macey. He was burning the cabin down, sending the flames running through the whole place.
He was going to bury his victims in the flames—just like Patrick had done. His victims... Patrick. Macey. Me.
This SOB wants to take out FBI agents.
The window wouldn’t open. The damn thing had been nailed shut.
Organized killer. Planning, always two steps ahead...
Since the window wouldn’t open, Bowen just broke the glass. It shot outward as he used his gun to knock out more chunks. He could feel the flames heating the air, and Bowen was afraid the whole cabin would go down at any moment. Get Macey out. Get her to safety. Take care of Macey first.
He pushed her toward the window. “Go!” Smoke was already thick in the room. The flames—Shit, they are everywhere!
She coughed as she jumped through the window. He started to follow her, but Bowen glanced back.
The flames were destroying Patrick Remus.
“Bowen!” Macey shouted.
And those flames were coming for him.
He followed Macey through the broken window. There had been too much gasoline in that cabin. Too much. They ran together, rushing toward their vehicle, racing away from the scene—
The explosion seemed to rock the whole mountain. The blast’s impact came flying at Bowen.