of men who could have known Penny whittled down to a few dozen. Much more manageable than the hundreds we had twelve years ago, and the nearly two hundred from yesterday. Let’s get on it.”
Nick stood. “I have some things to do.”
“What?”
“Nothing important. Just some ideas.”
“I’m here if you want to brainstorm. Bounce ideas around.” Nick looked defeated, something Quinn had never expected from his friend.
“Seriously, it’s nothing. But if something comes of it, I’ll call you. Keep following Penny’s associates. I’m probably chasing shadows.”
He left before Quinn could question him further.
Quinn frowned. Something was disturbing Nick, but maybe it was just the article. Still, maybe he should go with him and help with whatever he was looking into.
He looked down at the huge stack of files he’d picked up from MSU yesterday. They had culled out the men who no longer fit the profile. Fifty-two possible suspects remained. He needed to narrow it down further.
Quinn picked up the phone and started making calls.
She felt detached, as if she weren’t in her body, just watching the scene unfold like a movie on the filthy floor in front of her. She’d seen the same performance many times and it never failed to both arouse and repel her.
He panted over her, fucking her like a doll. The girl was only there because she was tied to a stake in the floor. He never had been able to keep the interest of a girl. It was as if after one date, his potential girlfriend sensed he harbored dark fantasies she wanted no part of. He hadn’t even dated since that first girl, in Portland. When she’d said no, he’d lost his mind. Broke into her house and raped her. The fool.
She alone understood his needs. An insatiable appetite for power boiled under her skin, searing her from the inside out, needing release. Watching him satisfy his craving gave her some measure of relief. But he was such a fool. When he raped these girls, they still had the power. Because he wanted them, needed them, they controlled him.
The girl had cried herself out.
It usually happened over time. An hour. A day. Sometimes longer. But eventually, the girl accepted her fate and lay still, not fighting, not screaming. Silent tears running down her face.
She almost laughed at the absurdity of the whole thing. He was like a bitch in heat, needing the women to satiate his growing appetite. But it was becoming harder and harder to get the same satisfaction; she could tell by the viciousness of his abuse. The last girl, before Rebecca Douglas, he’d beaten to death so she’d never even had a chance to run.
He slapped the girl, trying to get her to respond to him. The sound of flesh on flesh normally excited her, but today it didn’t have the usual effect.
For the first time in her adult life, a sliver of fear ran down her spine. She stepped out of the shack and breathed in the cold, fresh morning air.
She didn’t fear for herself as much as she did for him. He was her responsibility, and his rash decision to take another girl so soon on the heels of the last was stupid. She’d tried to talk him out of it, tried to manipulate him out of it, but he’d been adamant: He’d take the girl with or without her.
She couldn’t allow him to do it alone. He needed her. To watch. To cover his tracks. To protect him.
The other reasons she stayed with him this time were a little more complicated to discern, even for her. She felt compelled to watch, hating the thought of him on another woman without her involvement. If he ever thought his satisfaction was better, more complete, without her around, he would go after more women by himself. Every time he kidnapped another one, the threat of discovery increased. If he took more of them, he’d be found out. It was only a matter of time.
So she was protecting him. It had nothing to do with what these women had that she didn’t, right? All she was doing was watching out for him like she’d always done.
He could have these women, but only if she was part of it.
He was led around by an invisible leash by all the women in his life. Her. The girls he raped and killed. And especially by the one who got away.
She hadn’t let him kill Miranda Moore because her existence kept him more under her thumb than anything else. Fool. He was a fool. But he needed her.
Everything seemed to be running away from them. They were going to have to leave and find somewhere else to hunt. To protect him.
As soon as they were done with Ashley van Auden.
CHAPTER 21
Nick sat in the far corner of the Clerk and Recorder’s Office above the courthouse and pored over damn near a thousand parcel maps from the region of the county where the Butcher hunted.
While he had told Quinn he had an idea, he really had nothing more than a little hunch that the Butcher had a specific reason for choosing this section of Montana to hunt in. Maybe an idea would come from reviewing every land transaction for the past fifteen years.
He could have assigned a deputy to this tedious task, but after Eli Banks’s article questioning his competence and the fiasco of a press conference, he needed to step away.
He didn’t believe Quinn had called the Sheriff’s Department “incompetent.” But Nick’s ego was bruised knowing everyone in town was reading about the failure of the Gallatin County sheriff to catch the Butcher. His term was up next year, and at this point, he didn’t want to run again. Sam Harris was breathing down his neck, second- guessing each decision he made, and with Eli Banks back in town dogging his every step, the pressure was getting to him.
Nick had been second-guessing every decision he’d made over the last three years. It was completely unproductive. But last night, unable to sleep, Nick had made a list of every major turn in the Butcher investigation since he’d been sheriff. He wouldn’t have done anything differently; every avenue they’d explored was logical and followed the little evidence they had. But every path led to a dead end, and he didn’t see it changing now.
He was glad he’d called in Quinn. Though some of his deputies grumbled over bringing the Feds into their jurisdiction, Nick would use every possible resource to catch the Butcher. And with Quinn came a quiet confidence, natural leadership, and the presence of authority.
Nick couldn’t help but feel a little like a bumbling country cop when standing next to the sleek city investigator.
And then there was Miranda.
He’d gone to the Lodge last night just to confirm what he’d already suspected. That Quinn had reclaimed Miranda’s heart. That there was no hope that he could find a place back in her life. Regardless of her words, Nick knew Miranda. Her heart had always belonged to Quinn, and the time she spent with Nick was secondary.
It hurt because he loved her, but he’d get over it. All he really wanted was her happiness and peace. If Quinn could give that to her, then he’d accept it.
He had to focus on something productive, something that might make a difference in the investigation. He was tired of looking like a fool in the press. Of questioning every decision he’d ever made, not only since he’d been elected sheriff, but since becoming a cop.
He knew he was a good cop. But the extraordinary crimes of the Butcher pushed the limits of his experience.
He’d looked into land records in the past, but only current ownership. The seven victims, including Rebecca, had been found on land owned by different people. Three were on government land. What about ten years ago? Twenty years ago? Was there some commonality to the Butcher’s hunting ground?
Nick had his personal map at his side and began plotting ownership records. He pulled the history on every parcel himself because he didn’t trust the staff at the Recorder’s office to keep his interest in the property records
