Profile of Retribution: FBI Profiler Romantic Suspense (Profile Series #3) (3 page)

“What happens at these meetings?”

Kaitlyn’s faint smile had a touch of sadness. “People talk to each other about losing a loved one to murder—about what they’re feeling. There are very few people who have experienced violence close to home, so there aren’t many people we can talk to who really understand.”

“You said ‘we’. Does that mean you don’t think you can talk to me about what happened to your sister?”

“No, not at all. You lost Abby, too. Sure you’d broken up, but you must have had some feelings for her. I realize it’s not the same as losing a sister.”

“Then why haven’t you mentioned her since the funeral?”

“It’s not easy for me to talk about losing Abby.”

All the words she hadn’t said were reflected in Kaitlyn’s beautiful, pain-stricken eyes. Gabe knew the pain of her loss would hit sooner or later, but he’d hoped she’d want to share it with him, not a group of strangers.

Leaning toward her, he gently stroked her hair. “When you feel like talking, I’m here, Kaitlyn. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you.”

Glancing at him, she nodded. “I know that.”

“So let’s get back to why you need a private investigator.”

“Including my sister, there were seven young women murdered by Devan and Evan Lucas. Margaret and I want to reach the other six families to create the first group. It’s like we all have this common bond, as horrific as it is. Our losses were all caused by the same two men. The problem is we don’t know where the other families live and how to contact them. That’s where you come in. I want to hire you to get us the contact information for each family.”

“Honey, I’d be happy to get this info for you, but there is an easier way to go about this. Talk to Cam. It was his case. He should have the victims’ family contact information in the case file.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks.”

Gabe helped her carry the breakfast dishes to the sink, and then led her back to the table and pulled out her chair.

Sitting down, she looked up at him. “What’s going on?”

Instead of answering, he pulled a long tube-shaped package from the cabinet. “I have something to show you.”

Kaitlyn arched an eyebrow curiously. “What is that?”

He pulled a house blueprint from the tube, and used his hands to press it flat against the table. “If you approve, it’s our new house.”

Kaitlyn merely stared, tongue-tied before finally finding her voice. “
Our
new house?”

Gabe nodded and kissed her on the cheek. “This blueprint is a first draft from the builder, but if there is anything you’d like changed, it will be done.”

“But where would we build it?”

“Right here on Chase land. That’s what my mom and dad would have wanted, for their three sons to live close to each other with their wives so our kids can grow up together.”

“But what about Brody and Cam? How do they feel about this?”

“Mom’s will left the land to all three of us to be divided equally.”

“Have you talked about this with them?”

“Of course. They’re both really happy about it. Brody says that Carly loves the Honeymoon Cottage so much, she wants it to be their permanent home. They plan to build onto it as the need for space arises.”

“What about Cam?”

“Cam chose a piece of property on the other side of the lake where he fished a lot as a kid.”

“Where is the section of land for our house?”

“It’s a three-acre plot that starts at the lake and runs to the county highway south of here. There are a lot of trees, and a brook that runs through what will be our backyard. Plenty of space for that garden you want, and a lot of wildlife for us to feed and enjoy. What do you think?”

Kaitlyn jumped up and threw her arms around his shoulders. “It’s a house just like I always dreamed, with a front porch for a swing, and lots of yard for kids to play. I love the idea of living close enough so all our children can grow up together. I love all of it, Gabe. All of it.” She captured his mouth in a kiss that made his head reel.

As Gabe lifted her, she wrapped her legs around his waist and he headed for the stairs that led to their bedroom.

Chapter Six

Bradley

For the first time in years, Bradley Lucas had overslept. He rolled over to find Tisha’s side of the bed empty, and the digital numbers on the alarm clock read eight o’clock. He always arose before five. Always. After all he was the boss and had to be a good example for his employees. Never absent, never tardy was his motto. The endless nights of insomnia were taking a toll.

After he threw on some clothes, he ambled down the stairs and went to the kitchen to find his wife. Tisha wasn’t there. Krystle wasn’t there. Then he remembered it was the housekeeper’s day off. He went to the den, his office, and finally, he entered the darkened living room. He turned on a lamp, and saw his wife, Tisha, sitting quietly in a chair near the fireplace, fully dressed as if she’d been out. But that couldn’t be. She’d refused to leave the house since the funeral. The puffiness beneath her eyes revealed she’d been crying again, like she had for months, as the paralyzing grief that consumed her raged on.

It wasn’t that Bradley wasn’t grieving for the loss of their twin teenage boys, but Tisha was taking it especially hard. She’d built an emotional wall, and wouldn’t let him in. He felt he was losing her, and didn’t know if he could cope with another loss this soon. Sitting in the chair next to her, he grasped her hand, but she snatched it away as if his touch burned her.

She pointed at the fireplace. “Where are the framed photographs of the boys that were on the mantel?”

Ah, shit. He’d put them in a box in the basement two weeks before and she hadn’t said a word. He took her silence as agreement or that she’d understood why he’d removed the photos. Bradley opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted.

“What are you thinking, Bradley? That removing their photos is going to help us forget our sons’ existence? Seriously? Do you think anything will help us do that?”

“Honey…”

“Don’t use words of endearment to manipulate me. I feel what I feel. I don’t have your expertise in denial. What I feel is horror and shame. How could the boys we raised commit such atrocities? Were we such horrible parents?”

Bradley leaned back in his chair. How could he answer her questions when he’d asked himself the same countless times and gotten no answers? “I don’t know, Tisha. I don’t know, and it’s eating me up inside. Do you want to know what I feel? Like you, I’m ashamed, and the guilt is overwhelming. I always thought we were a normal American family. But how could a
normal
family produce such evil? Were we such horrible parents? I don’t know. I think we loved our sons and were raising them to be honest, productive adults. Obviously that wasn’t enough.”

Tisha looked at him for the first time since he’d entered the room. “There were signs they were different, when they were children, before they matured and learned to hide things so well. Didn’t you notice anything off about our sons? Ever?”

Surprised at her question, he turned to her. “No, they were active little boys. Sure they got themselves into trouble at times, but normal stuff.”

“Is it normal to kill most of our neighbors’ pets?”

“What are you talking about? How do you know they killed the neighbors’ pets?”

Her face flushed and she balled her fingers into a fist. “I know because the neighbors told me themselves, just before I kicked them off our property. I know because I read the guilt written all over our sons’ faces.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t I tell you? Seriously? Because you would have laughed it off. Boys will be boys you always said. And if you hadn’t denied they’d done it, you would have delivered one of your special military punishments, too severe for young men, let alone two children.”

Bradley twisted in his chair so he could meet her glare head on. “Jesus, Tisha, was I such a bad husband and father that you couldn’t trust me enough to talk to me about the boys’ behavior?”

Tisha jumped to her feet. “You have to be kidding me! Did I need a translator when I tried to talk to you in the hospital after Evan broke both his legs? Was I speaking a foreign language? Did you not decipher what I was telling you?”

“Tisha, please calm down.” Facing her, he lightly touched her arm and she flinched, which hurt as much as if she’d slapped him. “I don’t remember much about that time. I was too worried about Evan and if he’d ever walk again.”

“I tried to tell you that it wasn’t an accident! You wouldn’t listen. Devan either pushed Evan, or dared him to jump off the roof. I saw Devan leaning against a tree smiling as his brother writhed in pain near him. He was amused, Bradley, entertained by his brother’s agony. I told you this in the hospital hallway, and you dismissed me. You wouldn’t even listen to a word I was saying. Bradley Lucas, King of Denial, that’s you.”

Launching herself at his chest, she knocked the wind out of him, and made him stumble backward until he regained his balance. Running from the room, she dashed up the stairs. The slam of their bedroom door echoed throughout the house.

Sinking down to the chair, he braced his elbows on his knees and his chest heaved as he wept. He’d already suspected he was a miserable excuse of a father, but now it seemed he’d also failed as a husband. Was he such a hard man that his own wife couldn’t talk to him? How could she have known these things about their sons and not discussed them with him? Didn’t Tisha know he loved their boys as much as she did?

Rubbing his hands over his face, Bradley sighed. He could almost imagine Devan and Evan bounding down the stairs with their athletic gear going to yet another practice. He’d loved his sons, but wanted them brought up right, and had created strict rules to govern their lives. Rules he never dreamed they’d ignore. How and why their behavior had turned so deviant was a mystery he may never solve. Answers to questions he may never get.

How could the two boys he loved more than anything make a game of abducting and murdering women? Where had he and Tisha gone wrong? How could they have raised such monsters? If he could go back and change things, he’d do it without hesitation, even if it meant giving his life. But what could he have done differently? He had no clue where he’d gone wrong.

He remembered the day he searched for his sons after reporting them missing when they didn’t come home after a night out. Devan and Evan always came home. Always. They were teenagers—seventeen-year-old high school seniors. They knew the rules and what happened if they broke them.

He had no clue why he’d thought to look for his sons at the storage unit he’d given them to store their athletic gear. Once inside the unit, he’d noticed the bed with the soiled, stained mattress first, and then the leather restraints bolted to the wall just above the headboard. Repulsed, his mind spinning with confusion, he’d backed away from the bed, and slammed against a stack of large plastic bins that tumbled to the floor, spilling out women’s clothing, some of it stained with what looked like blood. A ring had rolled across the floor like a plastic disc from a Tiddlywinks game. Picking it up, he held it in his hand and realized it was an engagement ring, a circle of glittering stones surrounding a bigger stone in the center. The stones were diamonds, and he’d been certain they were real.

It was then he saw Destiny Cooke’s name written with a black marker at the side of the bin. Destiny Cooke? Wasn’t she the beauty queen who had been found murdered? Why would his boys have Destiny’s clothing and ring? His mouth flew open as his knees weakened, realization sending him crashing down to the cement floor. He spread his fingers out in a fan against his breastbone in a futile effort to slow his racing heart. Gripping the sides of his head, he tried to stop the voices of denial shouting in his mind. They couldn’t have killed Destiny. Not his sons. There must be another explanation.

But Bradley would have known the handwriting on the bin anywhere, there was no denying it. It was a crude combination of printing and cursive that grade school teachers had harped about at parent-teacher meetings for years. It’d been written by his son, Devan.

There were other plastic bins with names, a lot of them. Storage bins filled with women’s clothing, jewelry, shoes, purses and more. All neatly stored and cataloged. He recognized some of the names from a whiteboard in the sheriff’s conference room, included in a list of murder victims the detectives believed were connected by the same killer or killers.

Picking himself up, he headed toward the door. As a father, his decision was far from easy, but he’d do whatever he had to do to protect his boys. He’d hide his sons’ evil from the rest of the world. They were his boys, after all. It was his job to protect them no matter what they’d done. He’d come back in the wee hours of the morning and destroy the evidence. No one would have to know. He’d pull down the unit door, lock the contents and secrets away. But it had been too late.

He’d backed out of the unit and reached for the door to pull it down.

“Freeze!”

A gun barrel pressed against his back, he’d turned to see an armed deputy. There were two more in the parking lot, standing behind the front doors of their patrol cars, with guns aimed at his chest. They handcuffed him and shoved him in the back of a patrol car. He’d seen their expressions of disgust when they returned to the car after searching the contents of the unit. They sealed it off as a crime scene and the rest was history, once they discovered the storage unit was a treasure trove of evidence that his boys had tortured and murdered seven young women.