AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“This isn’t connected to the task force’s case.” He said it so matter-of-factly, she almost believed him. There was something in his voice, in the way he moved. Subtle. Trusting. But could turn deadly in a split second when provoked. “The victimology doesn’t match.”
She knew that. Because there were too many differences. It was what led her to believe Gresham Schmidt, Michelle Cross, and Roxanne Jennings had been targeted and murdered by someone familiar with her brother’s case. Not the man she believed had killed him. Her awareness felt Chandler rounding behind her, instinctually telling her he’d noticed the toy soldier on the bed. “It doesn’t have my name carved into the bottom. I think whoever really killed those boys twenty years ago took Carter.”
“Why?” The federal investigator slid into her peripheral vision. “It’s been twenty years. Why after all this time?”
“Because someone is replicating his life’s work.” She looked up at him then from her position on the floor, saw the heaviness that came with an investigation like this in his shoulders, in his eyes, and understood it right down into her bones. “He’s been at the top of the food chain for so long, he feels threatened by someone bigger and badder coming to take his place. Whoever killed our three victims is stronger, faster, and can take down adult targets without leaving a trace. He’s proven his position because he simply doesn’t have to go after children.”
“You make it sound like a territorial fight,” Chandler said.
She considered that for a moment. “It is, in a way. Add to that, the unsub killing these latest victims is doing so with another killer’s MO, and that makes it personal.”
“You think the unsub is recreating a twenty-year-old case to get a reaction out of the original killer?” He settled against the dresser.
“I believe these recent murders are a way to bring the veteran out into the open.” Leigh turned her laptop toward him. She didn’t know why she felt the need to share with him what she’d found other than carrying the weight alone was getting to be too much. “And it’s working.”
Chandler crouched to meet her, small lines creasing between his brows as his eyes ping-ponged across the screen. “Michael Agutter missing three months from his backyard in Fruitland, Montana.” A small shake of his head told her the details weren’t significant. “The investigation is still active. You think there’s a connection?”
“I think Carter Boucher’s disappearance is a response from the same person who killed Troy Brody and Derek Garrison, and while Lebanon hasn’t seen a murder for two decades, serial offenders don’t just stop cold turkey unless they’re in the middle of a cooling off period. They have to adapt so as not to bring attention to themselves.” She turned the screen back toward her and opened the collection of newspaper articles she’d put together the past few days. “Such as moving to a small town across the country. Maybe even changing their name, but there are things they can’t run from. Opportunity, especially.”
She pointed to a photo taken from Michael Agutter’s home, one police highlighted as a possible entry and exit point from the house. A crawl space access in a bedroom next to the victim’s.
“One case.” Chandler’s knees popped as he shoved to his feet. “You’re going to need more than that to get the director’s attention. And until you do, we’ve been ordered to step back from the Boucher search. The lieutenant, too. Livingstone wants Lebanon PD to take point.”
That got her attention, but Leigh refused to give in to the fear carving out her insides. “They’re not trained to handle a disappearance like this. Look what happened the first time. Carter Boucher doesn’t have weeks. We’ve got three days to bring him home before he turns up dead.”
“That’s not our call, Agent Brody. Three people are dead, Boucher’s son was just taken, your house was burned to the ground. This case is bigger than all of us, and it’s going to take us working together to figure it out. Before it’s too late.” He disappeared down the hall as quietly as he’d approached. One moment there, gone the next.
Together. She supposed he had a point. From the moment she’d stepped foot in Lebanon, she’d committed to connecting these cases to her brother’s and Derek Garrison’s. Whether the unit supported her or not. Because she’d been the only person she could rely on. No one had believed her after her father’s arrest. No one wanted to admit Troy could’ve survived his abduction. All they’d wanted was closure—her parents, the police, this town—leaving her to fight alone.
But she wasn’t alone anymore. At least, she didn’t have to be.
The words on the screen blurred together. Her hands were shaking from the grip she’d kept on her laptop. No. She wasn’t going to lose it. Boucher needed her focused. To bring his son home. Michelle Cross, Gresham Schmidt, Roxanne Jennings—they were all part of this puzzle, but she couldn’t help them now. She could help Carter.
She read through one of the newspaper clippings published a week after Michael Agutter had gone missing. Wait. She checked the date three times. “A week.” Leigh scoured through the rest of the articles. There wasn’t a single local newspaper or story she’d found that reported a body had been discovered. The investigation was still active. There were rewards being offered, tip lines open, search teams still in place. It didn’t fit. Any of it.
Both her brother and Derek Garrison had gone missing three days before they’d been brought back to their homes, stabbed, drained, and missing their mouths. But the crawl space connection said Michael Agutter’s disappearance was the work of the same attacker. It had to be. Which meant either Chris Ellingson had disposed of the body too well, or… “He’s still alive.”
An expansion in her chest had her holding her breath as she skimmed the final few news reports she hadn’t gotten the chance to review. The killer would’ve tried to establish a relationship with Michael Agutter, just as he’d done with the others. Chris Ellingson had gained access to hundreds of potential victims by positioning himself as a school psychologist. It was possible old habits died hard.
“You would’ve wanted to help with the investigation.” Just as he’d offered that night outside the hardware store then again after her house had burned down. Maybe Fruitland police had taken him up on that offer. She ran through the last article, her attention honing on a single name toward the bottom. “Local Elementary School Psychologist Vows to Recover Missing Boy.” She read through the article. “Harvey Gehrig has stepped in to organize search volunteers, assist police with possible psychological markers of the abductor, and console the boy’s parents in a vow to bring one of his prized students home safely.”
Possible psychological markers. Were those the same markers Chris Ellingson had been all too willing to educate her about four nights ago? Leigh highlighted, copied, and pasted the name and ran it through the FBI’s database. Montana was one of only twenty-one states that gave federal law enforcement access to resident driver’s licenses and identification photos for facial recognition when connected to a crime.
Her heart shuddered as a familiar face filled the box on the right of her screen.
She was right. Chris Ellingson had assumed an alias, positioned himself inside a public school, and put himself front and center in another boy’s life.
Acid collected at the back of her throat. “Bastard.”
It was enough for a search warrant.
Leigh sent everything she had to Livingstone and slammed her laptop closed. Her instincts screamed they’d already wasted too much time, but she’d do whatever it took to make sure Carter Boucher had a chance at survival.
She raced down the hall and out the front door of the house. The sun spread out in the front yard, and it was only then she realized Boucher had taken his vehicle last night. Of course he had. Most of the department was in the woods, searching for any sign of their lieutenant’s boy, but they weren’t going to find him out there. Not yet. Only one officer remained behind on scene security. Donavon Pierce. “Shit.”
She was stranded at the edge of town with no one but a Lebanon PD officer waiting for the day she ended up behind bars or six feet under. With his help. Leigh approached Pierce. That ten-year-old boy was counting on her, and she wasn’t going to fail him. She couldn’t. “Officer Pierce, I need to get to Chris Ellingson’s home as fast as possible.”
Disbelief hardened that bruised jaw as Pierce stared her down. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, Brody, but I don’t work for you, and I sure as hell ain’t doing you any favors. Not after you embarrassed me in front of the department. Call a ride share.”
