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1:54 a.m.
“Up, up, up, my garden girls.” He clapped his hands, then pressed the remote button as his favorite musical score, Saint-Saëns’s Danse Macabre Op. 40, began to play. Absolute sheer brilliance! Gorgeous staccato strings. Oh, death had come at midnight with his fiddle! He air-bowed and glided among his hanging baskets, ignoring that a few were empty.
Now Camellia’s was void too. She’d been the feistiest of flowers and he wished he could have kept her longer—see how long until she surrendered. But letting her go at the perfect time had been worth it to see Agent Granger’s knees buckle, his team’s cries.
He imagined himself fiddling Granger’s death. With every bow, Granger’s time shortened. The Artist held his life in his hands. He’d been in charge from infiltrating the agent’s team members and settling on the easiest score—Cami. A stage-five clinger, it hadn’t been hard to jump through her security hoops. He’d been everything she’d wanted and then some.
But who would fill his sassy camellia’s place? He’d rather liked the challenge she’d presented. A feisty flower would only suit taking her place.
Tonight wouldn’t be focused on all the empty baskets needing to be filled with new garden girls. No, he was elated! He’d gotten everything he’d wanted. Tiberius Granger and his team had followed the crumbs he’d laid out like Hansel and Gretel, and he had reaped the benefits. Right there under Granger’s nose yet again, and still he had no clue who he was looking upon. The power the Artist wielded. But the agent had felt the power. Felt his own helplessness.
And it had been euphoric.
“Dance, my girls. Bloom, my flowers.” He watched their bodies take form, lovely and enticing. “Ah, you are beautiful.” Perfection and grace. His blood pumped hot and hard and fast through his veins as he watched their long, slender arms arc above their heads, up on their toes, their calf muscles protruding.
But the beauty he’d created surpassed the beauty of their born flesh. The lines perfect, the shading... He kissed the tips of his fingers. Superb. Vibrant colors.
Waltzing between the cages, he continued to bow his invisible strings, taking pleasure in his pretty dancing flowers. Unspeakable joy, not only in his hunt and the ripe plucking, but in the truth that they were made for him to remake. To bring him glory.
He ached with anticipation as the crescendo began. “Faster. Faster. Faster! Keep with the time. Keep with the time!”
Throwing his head back, he inhaled the fragrance of the garden, the scent of his girls and the glory of his supremacy. And as the piece slowed, he dropped to the floor, spent, his heart beating out of his chest and his thoughts trailing back to Agent Granger. He was going to destroy him.
Blue Harbor
SCU beach house
Friday, September 7
7:55 a.m.
Storms normally lulled Ty into slumber, but not last night. He tossed and turned to the tune of dread and impending doom. And when the power went out at two a.m., it mirrored this entire investigation. Powerless and in darkness. Like a huge vortex he’d been sucked into with nothing to secure him from whirling into utter chaos.
He had to get ahead of this storm, and the killer’s storm brewing.
Thankfully at five a.m. the power returned, but it was nothing short of a prelude to what was coming. Ty trudged to the second floor and the scent of fresh coffee.
Bexley sipped her cup at the table. “Last night was rough and today doesn’t look any better.”
Asa and Fiona were already gone. Ty heard the shower running when he’d walked past Owen’s room. Where was Violet? Wasn’t like her to not be up and working before dawn.
“I watched the five o’ clock news, Tiberius. Hurricane Jodie’s moving up the Georgia coast and not slowing, just sticking around long enough to cause serious damage. Governor’s declared a state of emergency. Tens of thousands are without power and people are evacuating in droves. They’re predicting a cat 3 to hit us within twenty-four hours.”
Not the news Ty wanted to hear. Would Cami have lived longer if the hurricane wasn’t expediting the killer’s plans? Ty might have found her given a few more days—a week.
Jodie would derail the investigation. Businesses would close and many people would leave the island until the weather cleared. At some point they’d probably close the bridge—or it would flood first—and once that was done, they’d be stranded on the island. No way out. No control.
“Bexley, you and Josiah can’t stay on the island. Nothing can be done anyway. If people evacuate, we lose potential witnesses or anyone we need to interview. Local authorities will be dealing with other things. He might be crazy enough to evacuate the women he’s still holding—if he’s holding them on the island.”
“I can’t leave her.”
They all needed to evacuate, but if she refused he couldn’t leave her here alone. “Reconsider or at least let me send Josiah with Owen and the rest of the team. They’ll secure a hotel outside the danger zone and return as soon as it’s safe. And in a week if she’s still not been found, I’ll stay. If I have to quit my job and do this alone, I won’t leave until we find her, find all of them.” Ty couldn’t walk away, and he had a strong suspicion this UNSUB wouldn’t let him leave. He had an agenda for Ty, and he wasn’t the type to let it wash out to sea. The question was, could Ty endure it? Could he get a jump on this guy? Turn the tables and make him his puppet for once?
His phone rang.
Asa.
He slid the bar across his phone and answered.
