Cynthia Eden - Into The Night

A knock sounded at the door. It opened a moment later to reveal Captain Harwell. “Local news is here. They’re going to be running the pics of Patrick.” His jaw hardened. “You two going to tell that woman in there the truth about her boyfriend before the press conference?”

Yes, they were. Because Macey didn’t want Lydia finding out when she turned on a TV. Macey nodded, once, and relief flashed across the captain’s face. She knew he was relieved he wasn’t going to be the one who had to shatter that woman’s world.

The FBI has a lead because of Patrick’s real identity. The serials go to us... And they were going to be the ones to reveal the truth to Lydia. The captain exited and Macey squared her shoulders. She took a step toward the door—

Bowen moved into her path and she couldn’t help but tense.

But he didn’t say anything personal, didn’t bring up the night before, and she tried to act as if she couldn’t still feel him on her skin.

“She’s not going to believe you, not at first.” His voice was quiet. “People never want to believe that they’ve chosen the wrong lover.”

She eased out a slow breath and forced herself to hold his stare. I knew exactly who I was choosing when I went to you last night. “I have pictures. We’ll make her believe us.”

His jaw hardened. “Lydia told the captain she’d been living with Patrick for over a year. A year, spent with a cold-blooded killer. And she never had a clue.”

“I think some people are very, very good at hiding their true selves.”

His lashes lowered over his eyes. “Yes.” That was all, just that one word. Something about his tone nagged at her, but Bowen had already turned away and exited the room. She followed him out, hurrying her steps, and soon they were walking into the interrogation room. As soon as they entered, Lydia looked up, hope on her face.

That hope is about to turn to horror.

“Lydia,” Macey began, trying to keep her tone kind. “I didn’t get to properly introduce myself earlier. My name is FBI Special Agent Macey Night.” She pointed to Bowen. “And this is my partner, Bowen Murphy.”

Lydia frowned at them.

“We were brought to Gatlinburg because we were actually looking for a man named Patrick Remus.” Macey set her manila file on the table and pulled out the first photo to show Lydia. “This man.”

Lydia stared at the picture and a furrow appeared between her brows. “That’s my Pat. Patrick Grace.” She pushed the photo back toward Macey as she gave a nervous laugh. “Him with a whole lot more hair.” She shook her head. “But you’ve got his last name wrong. Get that right before the reporters go live—”

Macey pushed the photo back toward her. And this time, she pulled out another photo, a crime scene photograph that showed the remains of Patrick’s first victim.

“What in the hell?” Lydia shot to her feet. The chair slammed to the floor behind her. “Why are you showing me that? Are you crazy?”

“That is a photo of Patrick Remus’s first victim, a thirty-nine-year-old father of two named Kent Powell.” She tapped the photo of Patrick once more. “And this man...this man is Patrick Remus.”

Lydia shook her head, frantically. “No, no, you’re wrong. You have the wrong man—”

“Patrick Remus is a serial arsonist,” Bowen said, his voice quiet and calm. Unrelenting. “He’s wanted in connection with the murders of five people.”

All of the color bled from Lydia’s face. “That’s...that’s Patrick Remus. Not my Pat. Not my—”

“They’re the same man,” Macey interrupted. “And we have reason to believe...” She swallowed. “We believe someone found out who your Patrick really is...and that individual has taken him.”

Lydia scrambled back. “He took the wrong man!”

No, he took the right one.

“You needed to know the truth,” Macey continued. “Before the reporters arrived.”

A tear leaked down Lydia’s cheek. “Not my Pat...”

Macey stared at her and she saw the horror that began to grow in Lydia’s gaze.

* * *

BOWEN GAZED AT the dark cabin. Sunset had come fast in the Smoky Mountains, and the night had chased its way across the sky. He’d spent the afternoon and evening searching for Patrick Remus—and for the man who’d taken the infamous Pyro.

Lydia had told them her story, again and again. She’d gotten a notice in the mail that she’d won a cabin in Gatlinburg. A three-day getaway. She hadn’t remembered entering the contest, but she’d been too excited to question the win.

Bowen had figured that if the killer had lured Patrick and Lydia to the mountains with the cabin that had been taken off rental rotation, then perhaps he’d been using another, similar cabin as base. A cabin that was off the beaten path, a place that would give him privacy... Another cabin that was empty because it was part of the rental program, but perhaps a place that had also been removed from potential listings because repair work needed to be done on it, too.

Using that criteria, Bowen had hoped to compile a small list of possible locations.

But this was Gatlinburg...and there were dozens of rental agencies in the area. The simple search had turned up results that had taken hours to evaluate. He’d divided up the local law enforcement team and sent them out while he and Macey also searched. So far, they’d all turned up nothing.

“It doesn’t look as if anyone has been here lately,” Macey said, her quiet voice breaking into his thoughts. They were right beside their rented SUV, and she’d already pulled out her weapon as she stared at the little cabin. Nestled at the very top of a mountain, they’d spent twenty minutes going up the twisting, winding roads that led to this place.

No other vehicle was parked near the cabin. All of the lights were out. Macey was right, the place did look empty.

Just as the others had.

But they were still going to search it. He took a few steps toward the cabin, and the wind seemed to shift as he felt the breeze stir against his cheek and then—

“Gasoline,” Bowen rasped. He could smell it. His eyes strained to see in the darkness. The cabin didn’t appear damaged in any way, but he could sure as hell smell that gasoline odor. His nostrils flared as battle-ready tension swept through him.

An empty cabin shouldn’t smell like gasoline.

He motioned to Macey, indicating that they’d be heading toward the front door. She moved quickly with him, their steps silent as they approached. And when they drew closer, he was able to tell that the front door was ajar, just a bit. Barely an inch.

This is the place. Bowen flashed another quick signal to Macey. He’d go in first, and he knew she’d cover him. Bowen pulled the flashlight from his pocket even as he silently counted down. Three, two, one...

He went in fast, crouching low. He kept the flashlight above his gun as he swept the room, sending out the light to check the corners and the darkness, and he heard the faint rustle of Macey’s footsteps behind him. The scent of gasoline was even stronger inside the cabin. He glanced down and saw that the floors were...

“Wet,” Macey whispered.

Not from water, though, not based on that smell. Someone had soaked the place with gasoline.

Fuck. That was Patrick’s MO. He’d always poured gasoline all over the places where he kept his victims. On the floor, on the walls, on the furniture.

“Stay alert, Mace,” he rasped. She wouldn’t need the warning, of course, but, shit, he had to give it. This scene had nightmare written all over it. Bowen followed that trail, snaking down the narrow hallway and then turning right into a room at the back—

His light swept inside and fell on the slouched figure of the man in the chair. The guy’s head hung forward and Bowen could easily see the blood that dripped from his wounds. “Patrick,” Bowen said even as he rushed forward. His hand immediately went to the man’s throat.