Cut & Run (47 page)

Ty didn’t follow Zane’s lead. Instead, he paced at the end of the other bed, pen in hand, drumming it against his thigh as he moved. He was thinking about the welcome party, about his inability to be horrified by the gore. His frown deepened the more he paced.

“Why are you pacing?” Zane muttered after several minutes. “Can’t you sit to think?”

“No,” Ty snapped in answer. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

Zane sat up, obviously peeved. Growling quietly, he stalked over to his jacket and pulled out the cigarettes and lighter before turning to the door.

Ty watched him go, glowering at the cigarettes in his hand. Zane yanked the door open, shoved the latch over to block it open, and stepped out onto the concrete walkway as he lifted an unlit smoke to his lips.

“Why would he set up the scene like that?” Ty called after him before the door could close.

Startling slightly, Zane almost dropped the lighter. He pushed the door back open partway. “The scene?” he asked, cigarette between his lips as he spoke.

“He set up the murder weapon like an offering,” Ty answered, voicing what had been bothering him. “Like a … gift.”

“On a silver platter, yeah. I wasn’t amused,” Zane said, blowing the smoke away from the door. “I bet
he
was.”

Cut & Run | 285

Ty blinked at him and his lips parted slightly as if he was surprised at what Zane had said. He looked down to the thin carpet and blinked again, mouth working silently for several moments. “We haven’t been amused,” he mumbled.

Zane watched Ty, confused. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

he asked mildly, the snap and frustration gone for the moment.

“I think I completely missed the profile,” Ty answered dazedly.

Zane blinked in surprise. He stuck the unlit cigarette behind his ear and reentered the room, shutting the door behind him and turning the bolt.

“Tell me,” he prompted.

“We’ve been assuming he was playing games, flaunting how good he was and waiting for someone worth playing the game against,” Ty answered quickly as he began pacing again. “Burns said there was an overall feeling that the killer was depressed after we left, despondent and silent. We assumed—because we’re FBI and ego is a requirement—that it was because he thought we were good enough to play the game. But why would he think that?” he posed as he stopped and looked at Zane. “We were here for a grand total of, what, seven days? We made no progress, no more than any of the others, and the only thing we succeeded in doing was almost getting killed.

He’s not trying to
play
. He’s trying to
please
.”

“Trying to please? You mean to keep us busy? To give him our attention? And then when he lost it, he was unhappy?” Zane asked.

Ty shook his head. “You read crime novels and watch detective movies, right?” he said eagerly. “The stereotype in almost every one is a bored cop; he wants something exciting to sink his teeth into, wants action, wants…a big case to work on,” he rambled almost excitedly. “Right? For all his intelligence and talent, this perp has bought into that image. He admires law enforcement officers,” he went on, beginning to form a new profile as he spoke. “His dad or father figure might even have been a security guard or some sort of pseudo-policeman type. That’s why he became a Fed, if he is one. He admired them. He wants to please the people he admires, give them something worth their time.” He closed his eyes and lifted his chin, raising his face to the ceiling.

Zane bit back a smile. He glanced to the stack of crime and suspense novels he’d bought. “Okay, I can see that. So, he’s hoping to give us a good game. So if we figure it out, what’s to stop him from changing the game?”

“He
has
to change it. He’ll be well-schooled in forensics and profiling. He’ll think he’s hiding by switching his MO, but he’s still got that 286 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

pattern. He may have picked it because it offered so many different methods.

Or it may have more special meaning to him. He killed the Poe Toaster in Baltimore, we can be sure of that, either as a jumping-off point or practice. He had to have picked him because of who he was. Poe is the playbook he’s sticking to in order to stay safe. He’s not killing for the pleasure of the kill, not like normal serials. What he enjoys— his real ritual—is the after-effects,”

Ty explained as the profile unfolded before him like a road map over his mental steering wheel. “What he craves is the attention of the authorities afterward. Not the press, not the public. Just the cops and Feds. He doesn’t just return to the scene of the crime; he lives it. He soaks the mayhem in afterward, either by being physically present or thriving on the official reports. That’s why he’s sending stuff in the mail; he’s helping the people he admires try to solve him.”

“So, it might not be someone at the Bureau, but maybe a cop from the city who’s got access,” Zane realized. “Someone who works both sides of the case, although in a minor role. Like the Steves are attached to this case.” He tossed the cigarette pack on the table and sat back down on the bed. “I wish we had that damn list of all personnel who’ve touched anything to do with this mess.”

“The new profile screams cop with an inferiority complex,” Ty agreed. “But with the access he has, I’m still saying FBI. It also makes me think that something we did, the two of us, told him that we were enjoying what he was doing,” he went on more tentatively. “We may have expressed admiration for his skill somehow or shown interest in how or why he did something that none of the other agents had noticed. Whatever it was we did, he thought he’d finally found someone who was enjoying the fruits of his labor.”

Zane’s face was blank and then he blanched. “So he’s been doing this

… specifically to amuse
us
? You and me?”

“Not at first,” Ty answered with a shake of his head. “And not even now. To assume that would be to assume he knows we’re back. The two of us, specifically. I think he heard somehow that the Bureau was sending in a new crew. That, back there? That was his welcome party.”

Zane closed his eyes, feeling slightly ill at the thought. That had been perhaps the most gruesome scene he had ever witnessed, and he’d seen a lot, but Ty seemed to be thinking of it as merely another stepping stone to finding their killer.

He opened his eyes again and looked—really looked—at Ty, studying him, catching on to the slightly detached air he had about him. He’d had it Cut & Run | 287

ever since they’d been reunited. Even back at his home in Baltimore. He remembered Ty’s reaction to the woman being found in his hotel room all those months ago, and experience with psychology told Zane what was going on. Ty was still in shock. He’d gone through the treatment like a good little soldier, but he hadn’t really processed any of the therapy. He had basically severed any links to deeper emotions to avoid anything hurting too much.

Ty snorted and continued to pace, oblivious to Zane’s study of him.

“We should call Henninger,” he finally murmured. “Tell him to change the profile.”

“It’ll be several hours ‘til he’s off the scene and able to talk,” Zane reminded. He felt for Ty. Not just aching because Ty was so removed, but in other ways as well. It scared him, and his chest tightened as he watched his partner pace.

“Call him anyway, this shit is important,” Ty grunted in annoyance as he patted himself down for his own phone.

“All right. Call Henninger, then what?” Zane asked. “We need somewhere bigger than this to spread out the files he’s supposed to bring us and give them a good study. We should probably change hotels anyway, just in case.”

Ty was very still, letting the last words sink in. “You think he knows we’re back?” he asked neutrally.

Zane swallowed, thinking back to what they’d talked about minutes before. “Yeah.”

“Us, specifically?” Ty asked quietly.

Meeting Ty’s eyes, Zane wondered if the curling anxiety showed in his own. “Yeah.”

“Me too,” Ty responded in the same quiet, calm voice.

“Won’t be long until he—”

“He needs us,” Ty interrupted confidently. “He needs us to make him feel as if he’s doing well. He won’t try to hurt us again. I’m sure of it,” he lied.

The lie didn’t go unnoticed, but Zane had no plan to comment. He looked up at Ty sadly, wanting to say something, anything other than the soft words crowding in his throat. He swallowed on them again. He didn’t know how much more “speaking” they could do. Finally, a sentiment broke free in a rasp. “I won’t lose you. Not now.”

288 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

“I don’t plan to get any more lost than I am,” Ty answered roughly.

He turned quickly, pacing away from the bed as he flipped open his phone.

Zane squeezed his eyes shut and cursed silently. Curling his hands into fists, he got off the bed, put on his jacket, and retrieved his lighter, sliding the cigarette from behind his ear as he walked toward the door again.

Ty watched him go from under lowered brows, waiting for Henninger to pick up. When the younger agent answered, Ty quickly told him about the change in profile and the pattern they had discovered.

“Poe?” Henninger asked in a low voice, obviously trying not to be overheard. “You’re sure?”

“The latest murder pretty much clinches it,” Ty answered. “We got one of those damn anthologies; we’re going to go through it and see what we find. Did you get a chance to gather those personnel files for me?”

“Not yet,” Henninger answered hesitantly. “I’ll have them by the morning,” he promised quickly. “You wanted anyone who worked or lived in Baltimore between 2000 and 2002, correct?”

“That’s right,” Ty answered with an unconscious nod. “Now, go get the word out about the pattern, get Bureau analysts all over this shit. We have to get ahead of him.”

“Right. But how do I go to them with this?” Henninger asked worriedly. “What do I tell them?”

“Make up something. Take the credit,” Ty instructed.

“What?” Henninger asked in a slightly stunned voice.

“Tell them you figured it out with this latest murder; it’s pretty damn obvious when you think about it,” Ty suggested. “Tell them about the murder in Baltimore and how you made the connection from there. If they ask,” he was careful to instruct. “They probably won’t, so don’t offer any information you don’t have to. They’ll probably just be glad to have something to go on. If you get in too deep, just tell them you got a tip from a buddy in the Bureau who didn’t want to be named. Give them my name and number in Baltimore if they demand it.”

He waited until Henninger got a notepad and gave him the number in case he needed it.

“Anything else?” Henninger asked with a heavy sigh.

“Just be careful. We suspect he may know we’re back, and if he does, he may connect you with us,” Ty warned worriedly. He didn’t like the thought Cut & Run | 289

of being responsible for any more innocent lives. He still saw Isabelle St.

Claire’s face when he slept.

“No worries, sir,” Henninger murmured. Ty ended the call and sighed unhappily. Despite what should have been considered two major breaks in the case, he didn’t feel as if they’d made any progress.

Zane stepped back into the room, smelling of smoke and looking troubled. “Time to move?” he asked Ty.

Ty nodded wordlessly, and they began gathering their small amount of things and carrying them out to the rental car. The feeling that the killer was on their trail, rather than the other way around, sat heavily on both of them. They didn’t say another word to each other as Zane got behind the wheel and began driving with no particular destination in mind.

Finally, Ty glanced over at him and watched him for a long moment.

“We could just cut and run,” he suggested softly, watching Zane closely.

Forcibly keeping his eyes on the road, Zane pressed his lips together hard, and his hands curled tightly around the steering wheel. “It’s a nice dream,” he finally answered, his voice as unsteady as the rest of him. “But I’d never be able to sleep. And neither would you,” he said softly.

Ty couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah,” he responded as he looked back out the window.

They were silent for several more minutes as they sat in midday traffic.

“Okay so, change of venue,” Zane said suddenly in a slightly louder voice than he intended, hoping to dispel the funk that had settled over them.

“How about a jazzy place in Greenwich? Good restaurants. Great bars.”

“You talking hotels?” Ty asked dubiously.

“More bungalow-type setups. Rent by the week. Artsy places,” Zane explained. “It’s different.”

“Do I look like an artsy type to you?” Ty asked, bristling on principle.

It didn’t even faze Zane. “You look like sex on legs to me. You’ll blend in, no problem.”

“I swear to God, if you try to put me in leather pants or some shit like that I’ll kill you,” Ty warned with a point of his finger at Zane.

“I was thinking along the lines of no pants, baby,” Zane said with a smirk. “In our room, anyway.”

290 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

That gave Ty pause and he pursed his lips to consider. “Yeah, okay,”

he finally agreed with a smirk.

ZANE found an eclectic neighborhood with bohemian shops, art galleries, and people all over the place. They lucked out and found a furnished studio apartment for rent rather than a hotel, and the landlord was happy to rent to them for an unspecified amount of time as long as it came with the hefty down payment they offered, no questions asked. Hundreds of people drifted in and out of Greenwich each year. These two men were nothing special.

The three-room apartment that was half of the third floor of an old brownstone was decorated in warm colors and comfortable fabrics. There were no electronics, except for a phone, but there was wireless Internet coming from somewhere, probably the small café across the street.

Zane dropped his bag and box on the round table in the front room.

He turned to see Ty surveying the room warily, and it made him smile.

“Coming in?”

“I don’t know,” Ty frowned. “Does it smell like hemp and incense?”