Worth Dying For (A Slaughter Creek Novel) (29 page)

If Agent Lucas was really that smart, she’d know Harlan was lying. He could use her mistake to his advantage, though, lie low and wait awhile for his next kill.

But he had better plans. He clenched the phone he’d stolen from Amelia in his sweaty hand.

He wasn’t like Harlan. He only took the lives of bad people, like the nurses who were supposed to take care of people but tortured them instead.

Heat simmered in his blood. There was one other who’d hurt him.

The Castor woman.

The truth hit him like a fist in the chest—he knew why she hadn’t been home.

That fucking profiler had warned her that he’d come for her.

Fuck. He wanted the Castor woman’s heart.

But Liz Lucas had gotten in the way. The damn woman had to pay.

She was smart.

He wanted her brain.

The brain . . .

Facts filled his head. The brain is responsible for movement and control, emotions and feelings, the senses, language and communication, thinking and memory. The skull is called the cranium. The four main sections of the brain are the cerebrum, the cerebellum, the pons, and the medulla. Thought processes are controlled by the cerebrum; muscle coordination and body equilibrium, by the cerebellum. The pons receives and sends impulses from the brain to the spinal cord. The medulla regulates breathing, heartbeat, and vomiting.

Six clapped his hands over his ears again—stop, stop, stop! But the sayings about the brain screamed in his head.

She has the brains of a gnat.

Going to beat her brains out.

He’ll blow her brains out.

He wants to pick her brain.

They were going to rack their brains.

She has shit for brains.

He’s brain dead.

An idle brain is the devil’s workshop.

The scarecrow went to Oz to get a brain
. . .

The singsong voice of the scarecrow echoed in his head—
If I only had a brain . . .

Laughter bubbled in his throat. When he had the Lucas woman’s brain, maybe he’d study it.

Maybe he’d even give it to the scarecrow.

Then he’d take the Castor woman’s heart, and his collection would truly be complete.

Chapter Thirty

A
fter the press conference ended, Rafe considered the details that still needed tying up. The fact that they hadn’t found the organs let doubts creep in.

And they still hadn’t found Truitt.

“I’ll follow up with the ME,” Rafe said.

Nick cleared his throat. “I’ll confer with the agents who searched the secretary of defense’s house.”

Jake looked sheepish. “If you guys don’t need me, I’m going to the cabin to see my family.”

Liz smiled at the hungry way he said it. Jake obviously adored Sadie and his daughter. They were lucky to have found each other. She’d heard the story about Sadie leaving town after high school, and she knew they’d had to overcome obstacles to be together. But in the end, their love had been strong enough to get them through.

Her heart throbbed with a dull ache. She wanted that kind of love with Rafe.

But what did she have to offer?

If he wanted a child, she couldn’t give it to him.

He didn’t even want to work with her.

She had to accept it.

Her heart heavy, she turned to leave. But just as she reached her car, her phone buzzed with a text.

She slid into the driver’s seat, then checked it. Maybe Rafe had changed his mind and wanted her to accompany him to talk to the ME.

But the text was from Amelia.

I’m ready to talk. Meet me at the old drive-in outside town.

Liz’s pulse jumped. Maybe Amelia was going to tell her Six’s identity now.

For a millisecond she considered calling Rafe to fill him in, but he’d dismissed her so easily that she refrained.

She quickly texted back that she’d meet Amelia, threw the car into gear, and drove from the parking lot.

She couldn’t rest until she tied up the loose ends of the Slaughter Creek case and made sure that Harlan was actually the Dissector.

Rafe stepped into the morgue with the ME, Dr. Bullock.

“Harlan definitely died from the knife wound,” Dr. Bullock said as he uncovered the body.

Rafe stared at the man’s ugly face, thinking how peaceful he looked in death, while in life he’d been a monster.

“It hit the main artery in his heart, and he bled out.”

Ironic that his heart had bled out when the man had no heart.

“You good with the chief?” Bullock asked.

Rafe nodded. “Self-defense. Harlan had a knife to Agent Lucas’s throat.” And he’d killed their child.

Now he understood Liz’s depression after the attack.

All his fault—he should have saved her
and
the baby.

Dr. Bullock scratched his forehead. “You know something else? I got word that Harlan was an organ donor. He specifically donated his brain for study.”

Disgust filled Rafe. “How arrogant. He thought we’d want to study his demented mind.”

“Might not be a bad idea,” Dr. Bullock said. “There are studies being done on the brains of serial killers.”

Rafe released a breath. “Let’s move on.”

Dr. Bullock gestured toward another steel table, and they walked over to it. A partial skeleton, organs in various dishes, tissues. “There were three bodies in that crash. The pilot and two others.”

Rafe thought back to the roof. He’d seen the secretary of defense. Had the other man been Blackwood?

“The other two bodies were blown to bits, and parts were burned beyond recognition in the fire. So far, I’ve identified organs belonging to the secretary of defense, along with a hair sample that belonged to him.” He shoved his glasses up his nose and indicated the finger in a separate dish. “This finger definitely belonged to Commander Blackwood. I also found hair samples and clothing with his DNA.”

“Which meant he was there in the fire.”

Nick and Jake would be relieved at the news. Now their families could feel safe.

“What about the DNA from the Ester Banning and Rusty Lintell scenes? Did it belong to Harlan?”

Bullock shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

Rafe went stone cold.

If Harlan’s didn’t match, that meant he hadn’t killed Lintell and Banning.

He’d lied about being the Dissector.

Which meant the sadistic mutilator was still out there, hunting . . .

Liz pulled up to the drive-in, her senses honed. It had been shut down for years.

As a teen she and her friends had spread blankets on the hoods of their cars or in the back of pickup trucks and shared popcorn and sodas while they watched the latest flick. Occasionally someone snuck in beer, and it turned into a party.

She’d forgotten about that time because it happened before her mother’s death. After her death, finding her mother’s killer had consumed all her thoughts.

The place was deserted now, had been for ages, but the metal posts that had held the speakers were still there, rusted and swaying as the rain poured down around them. The screen was torn, by weather or vandalism. And the shed where they’d bought refreshments was boarded up.

She scanned the parking lot, wondering why Amelia had chosen to meet here. It must be because she didn’t want anyone else to know she was spilling secrets.

Odd though, that she hadn’t turned to her brother-in-law, Jake.

Suddenly a vehicle rolled toward her, its brights on, and she opened her car door and stepped out. Still, her training kicked in, and she pulled her gun from her purse and slid it into the holster inside her jacket. If this was a setup, she’d be prepared.

The car stopped and the driver got out, but the headlights blinded her.

“Amelia, is that you?”

Tension coiled inside her as the shadowy figure approached. She had a bad feeling and drew her gun, but the figure lunged toward her, and for the second time in two days a stun gun zapped her, sending her body into spasms of pain.

She struggled to remain upright, but the voltage was too high. She collapsed into the dirt and fell into unconsciousness.

Amelia studied the newscast as the TV replayed the interview with Brenda, Jake, Nick, and the other agents, Rafe Hood and Liz Lucas.

Brenda looked beautiful as always. She had been a good friend to Amelia, even when she was all mixed up and the others
were fighting in her head.

But they showed a picture of a man with a scar on his face and eyes that looked like demon eyes, and her stomach twisted into a knot. The man was Ned Harlan. He had confessed to being the Dissector.

Deep inside, she’d been afraid Six was guilty. Not that he’d ever hurt her, but the Commander had done things to him that had warped his mind. He did have a violent streak.

And all the women who’d died had been nurses who’d tormented the children in the sanitarium. Nurses who should have helped them and loved them and reported what was going on.

Had she been wrong about Six?

God, she hoped so . . .

Her nerves on edge, she grabbed her cell phone and punched his number in. The phone rang three times before he answered. “Six, it’s me.”

“What do you want, Amelia?”

He sounded as if he was distracted. Angry that she’d phoned.

“I needed to hear your voice. Did you see the news?”

“Yes. Agent Lucas is here with me now.”

A muffled sound followed, as if he’d covered up the phone, and then a scream rent the air.

Amelia gripped the phone in a panic. Agent Lucas was with him . . .

“What are you doing?”

“I have to go, Amelia.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “As soon as I’m finished, we can be together.”

He disconnected the call, and Amelia paced the room. The voices started in her head again. Rachel’s.
You’re a whore. And now you’re helping him kill a woman.

Amelia pressed her hands over her ears. “No, stop it.”

You stop it, Amelia. You’re the only one that can. The only one who knows where he has the woman.

A sob wrenched Amelia’s chest. She didn’t want Agent Lucas to die. Liz Lucas had never hurt her or Six. She hadn’t been part of the experiment.

He’s going to kill her now if you don’t call someone
, Rachel whispered.

Amelia’s heart pounded so loudly, she heard the blood roaring in her ears. Rachel was right.

She had to do something. She had to save Agent Lucas.

Heart heavy, she ran outside to get Sadie.

Rafe was just leaving the morgue when his phone buzzed.

“Agent Hood, I got an address for that woman Truitt was accused of assaulting.”

“Text it to me,” Rafe said. “I want to see if Truitt is there.”

The deputy texted him the address, and Rafe crossed the mountain to the neighborhood where the woman lived. Her house was a weathered clapboard one-story hanging off the side of a ridge.

When he pulled up, chickens were roaming in the yard, and a mangy dog barked from where it lay beneath an oak, although it didn’t bother to get up. A pickup and Pathfinder were parked in front.

He climbed out, hurried up to the door, and knocked. The door screeched open, and a chunky woman in a faded shirt and jeans poked her head through.

Rafe identified himself. “I need to talk to you about J. R. Truitt.”

She cut her eyes to the side, nervous. “He didn’t kill them women.”

Rafe raised a brow. “Is he here?”

“No. But he was, and he’s all tore up, and scared you’re gonna lock him up.”