“So, an exterminator went into the hotel without noticing the grappling hook and tossed foggers down into a basement where a horde of rats were making this man into their midnight snack,” Dean offers. “Hell of a job, guy.”
“That’s what it looks like. The pool is at the back of the hotel, so it would be easy not to notice it.” I flip through the papers more and find the pictures of the tattoos. “Can’t say the same for these. There are pictures of the tattoos on the bodies and sketches of what they might look like complete.”
I look at Greg, who reaches for the papers. “Let me see them.”
He draws in a breath and squares his shoulders when he looks at the paper.
“That’s it,” he confirms. “I haven’t seen all of the different versions, of course, but I recognize details. I can draw the one that was on my back if you think that’ll help. But that’s definitely one of his tattoos.”
“But they’re still there,” Dean says. “You said Jonah removed the tattoos of the people he disposed of. Why would these men still have them?”
“I don’t know,” Greg says. “Like I told you, the only person I know of who got out of Leviathan alive other than me is Finn. I don’t even know if he’s still alive, to be honest. He would be the only person who would still have the tattoo and not be active in the organization. Mine was removed.”
“So, maybe Jonah didn’t actually have anything to do with these men dying,” Eric says. “It could be a coincidence.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t a coincidence. This wasn’t random. This is methodical, carefully planned out torture and murder. These two men were found in completely different areas of the hotel, and the killer took his time. He was confident no one would find him. He didn’t choose two random people. These men were chosen specifically and punished. This murder was about revenge. He didn’t take their tattoos off because it didn’t have anything to do with Leviathan. It was personal. He killed these men because he wanted them dead for a slight against him. Not the group.”
“Did they ever find any leads?” Dean asks.
“Not even a hair,” Eric says.
I look through the papers again to find the address of the hotel.
“This hotel,” I say, pointing at the address. “I know the name.”
“It was in Florida,” Eric says. “Maybe you saw it?”
I shake my head.
“No. That’s not it.” The realization explodes in my head, and my eyes snap up to Dean, then to Eric. “Doc Murray. This is the hotel where they found Doc Murray’s body.”
“The body wrapped in plastic?” Eric asks. I nod.
“There was another person wrapped in plastic?” Greg asks. “Like how they found me?”
“Yes. About a year after you disappeared. He was found murdered, wrapped in plastic with documents and pictures with him. No identification. There hasn’t been a positive identification, but the evidence suggests he was a man who was last seen in a cabin in a town called…”
“Feathered Nest,” Greg finishes.
Cold slides down my head and over my shoulders like water.
“Greg, what do you know about my mother’s death? Why did you have Finn put ‘Ron’ as your middle name at the funeral home?”
Chapter Thirty-Two Mariya
Seventeen years ago…
It was always nice when she didn’t have to pack more than one suitcase for a trip. The more bags she carried out of the house, the longer she knew she was going to be away from Ian and Emma. That night Mariya was excited as she packed. Like she always did, she’d laid out everything she needed in advance to make sure she wouldn’t miss anything. After as much as she traveled, it seemed she should be able to pack without even thinking about it. But she was always careful. When she got ready for a rescue, she wasn’t packing like someone going on vacation. She couldn’t just choose whatever clothes she wanted or think only about what might look good on any given day. She had to think about who she was going to be when she walked out the door.
Mariya couldn’t be herself when she left home. As soon as she left the house, she had to shed who she was and become someone else. That woman was the one who delved deep into the lives of people she would never otherwise know. These were women whose existences would never overlap with hers, whose paths she would never cross except for the brutal fact of them needing her.
That was why she had to become someone else. She couldn’t think about Ian or Emma. She couldn’t be the loving wife and mother she was at home. That person would never know these women; could never get close enough to deliver them safely from the torment. She adjusted herself to fit into their lives if only for the brief moments it took to get close to them. She couldn’t risk having anyone around them know who she was or what she was doing. Of course, the women knew. They were ready for her. At least, most of the time.
It was the people on the fringes of their lives she worried about. The moments leading up to their rescues were among the most treacherous they would ever face. They were more dangerous and more frightening even than being held in the grasps of their abusers. It was like standing at the edge of a cliff with a herd of wild animals bearing down and a mass of spikes at the bottom, with only the hope of a net there to stop the fall. The women had little choice but to jump. But those agonizing, paralyzing seconds at the precipice, with only the faint hope she would be there to catch them, were the worst of their lives.
At any moment, someone could betray them. Someone could shatter the thin shield of protection, and it wouldn’t just be
