49
WHEN SHAUN FIRST saw Aidan, he questioned his appearance. Aidan knew he had black circles around his bloodshot eyes. His hair was also half combed—he was too tired when getting ready to take care. Aidan admitted he couldn’t sleep. Because Shaun knew Aidan had insomnia as a rule, he didn’t question it further, and Aidan was thankful.
Aidan didn’t want to bring up the dream—or vision—or waking nightmare he had. He didn’t ever want to think of it again.
It fell quiet again over the next few weeks. Aidan hadn't received additional notes or phone calls from the offender. He remained in Augusta working with Shaun and Agent Douglas on finding links to Jane and Maya or anything they may have missed.
They had two briefings, one which Zane and Hansford attended.
Douglas suggested it was possible the offender had gone underground. Aidan disagreed. Something in him convinced him the offender wasn't finished. After evading capture for ten years, whoever was kidnapping and killing these women believed he was invincible. He had a process and never failed to stick with it.
The Carnations Killer wasn't finished yet.
“Agent O’Reilly?” He looked away from the computer to see one of the new interns standing in front of his desk. She bit her lower lip. “Sorry to bother you. I was trying to get your attention.”
Aidan shook his head to clear it.
“I’m sorry, I was lost in my thoughts. Allison, right?”
“Ashlee,” she corrected, her voice soft.
“Right.” Aidan offered her a smile. “What can I do for you?”
She reached her hand toward him, passing over an envelope. “Someone asked me to give this to you.”
Aidan accepted the item and opened the letter.
It was handwritten, just like the other letters he'd received from the offender.
Aidan looked at the intern. “Who gave this to you?”
“He was wearing a hat and sunglasses,” she replied. “Maybe a little taller than you?”
“Okay, thank you,” he told her. “That’ll be all.” He waited until Ashlee turned and disappeared around the corner before reading the letter.
FBI Special Agent O’Reilly—
It was a close call last time, wasn’t it? I assure you it won’t happen again. How did you find me, anyway? That was very good investigative work if I do say so myself. Well, I wanted to drop by and say I’m still here. I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten your surprise. Keep an eye and ear out. It’s going to be magnificent! But first things first…
Your friend,
The Carnations Killer
Rereading the letter, Aidan rose from his chair and made his way to Shaun’s cubical.
He found him rummaging through his desk. Aidan dropped the letter in front of Shaun and leaned against the edge.
“He’s still here.”
Shaun stopped what he was doing and read the letter. After he finished, he muttered a curse.
“Have you told Monroe yet?”
Aidan shook his head. “One of the interns brought it over a second ago. I came straight here.”
“’First things first,’” Shaun recited. He frowned. “I don’t have a very good feeling about this.”
“Me either.”
“Let’s go talk to Monroe.”
Shaun and Aidan headed for Monroe’s office and met her as she stepped out with Zane.
“Agents O’Reilly and Henderson,” he said.
Shaun and Aidan nodded their heads in acknowledgment. Aidan glanced at Monroe, who folded her arms across her chest.
“The Carnations Killer contacted me again.”
Zane raised his eyebrow. “He did? How?”
Aidan informed him how he received the letter, then showed it to him. His eyes widened with surprise.
“Curious,” he muttered. He looked away from the letter. “You still have no clue what he means by ‘surprise?’”
“No, sir,” Aidan told him.
“Well,” Zane said as he handed back the letter. He lifted his reading glasses to the top of his head. “Looks like you’re going to find out.”
50
HE WATCHED AS she stared at her tire by the gated dumpsters at the end of the cluster of townhouses. The daylight was quickly waning, and the bulbs from the street lamps were out. He made sure of that. He couldn't risk anyone happening by and him not notice.
It was time to bring his new target to her final home.
She shouted out a curse and kicked the front tire twice.
He’d disguised himself with a gray wig and beard. When he checked himself in a mirror before leaving home, he was pleased. His own mother wouldn't recognize him.
He made a beeline toward her, holding a grocery bag which held his supplies in one hand.
“Are you having car trouble, ma’am?”
She frowned but didn’t look at him. “Yeah. As if my day couldn't get any worse. I only came to take the trash out so my husband wouldn’t have to do it. When I came back, it was flat. Of course, it had to happen to me. When it rains, it pours, right?”
She punished the tire with another kick.
He smiled at her. “Well, I’m no expert or anything, but I don’t think kicking the tire will put air in it. Do you have a donut?”
She looked at him dubiously.
“A spare,” he explained.
“Oh,” she said with an embarrassed giggle. “I think so.”
She popped the trunk and moved a few things aside, then lifted the board that hid the spare tire and jack.
“My husband insisted I keep it, but I’m sorry to say I haven’t a clue how to change this thing.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he assured her. “I’ll take care of it.”
He lifted the tire from the trunk and tossed it on the ground, then used the jack to remove the tire he’d stabbed the knife into a few minutes ago.
“Thank you for helping me,” she
