A Deeper Grave

“You would sacrifice yourself toward that end?” The idea seemed to amuse him.

“I’m a cop,” she returned, “it’s what I do.”

“I’m not quite sure you comprehend the scope and magnitude of what I’m conveying to you, my dear Bobbie.”

“Why don’t you break it down for me then?” A blast of fury had her clasping her hands in her lap. She would not permit him to see how easily he rattled her.

“The Consortium is made up of the world’s most cunning and manipulative minds. They haven’t been caught for a reason. They take great care in every move. They cultivate connections that contribute to their success. Absolutely nothing is left to chance. They cannot be stopped.”

Bobbie wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the conversation. She wanted to get up and walk out. Somehow, she couldn’t do either. How was she supposed to help Nick from a danger she couldn’t measure much less find?

“Then why bother telling me?”

“Nick needs to see that he cannot win. It is imperative that he give up this quest and disappear before they find him.”

Bobbie shook her head. “He’ll never do it.”

“Then you must help him see the error of his thinking.”

“I have no idea how to reach him.” She had the number he’d used to call her but she’d never attempted to contact him. She imagined he changed numbers frequently. “How am I supposed to get a message to him?”

“Now,” Weller said, smiling as if she were a child and had just said something completely foolish, “the answer to that question is one you already possess. The message was relayed to both you and my son this very morning in a rather unoriginal however gruesome manner.”

Now she understood. “Seppuku.”

“Well done, Bobbie,” he conceded with a nod. “The Seppuku Killer was the first Nick took out of play.”

“The Seppuku Killer committed suicide.” Even as she said the words, she understood the man staring at her was privy to something she was not.

“The FBI had been looking for him for years,” Weller countered. “An anonymous tip gave the authorities his location. He merely made the choice to take his life rather than face the consequences of his lifestyle.”

“If Nick provided the anonymous tip, why would he leave a killer armed?” The Seppuku Killer had been holding a samurai sword when the police arrived. Nick would never send the police into a trap.

“My son almost always gives his prey the option of taking their own lives or facing prosecution.”

Before she could respond, he added, “He has never taken a life. That’s why he left the military and never pursued a career in law enforcement.”

“He won’t risk taking a life under any circumstances for fear of becoming anything like you.” She hadn’t intended to say the words aloud, and judging by the look on Weller’s face she’d hit the nail on the head.

“He’ll come to you, Bobbie. He will want to protect you. The Consortium has waited a very long time to find a weakness it can manipulate to reach him. You are that weakness.”

Before she could summon a response, he added, “Understand that they will show no mercy. He will suffer greatly before he dies.”

Dread or uncertainty—maybe both—expanded in her chest, but she refused to let him see it. Instead, she tossed the ball back into his court. “What plan of action would you propose I take to stop them?”

“You cannot possibly. All you can do is stop him. He will listen to you. He will do whatever necessary to protect you.”

Bobbie shook her head. “I’m afraid you’ve overestimated our relationship. We hardly know each other.”

“I know my son. In all these years he has not allowed himself to draw so close to anything or anyone...until you.”

She’d heard enough. Bobbie stood. “If I can reach him, I’ll pass along the warning.”

She turned away from Weller’s too-seeing eyes and headed for the door. She needed air. The very scent of the bastard on the other side of the room was making her feel ill.

“Make no mistake, Detective Bobbie Gentry.”

She paused at the door and slowly faced him once more.

“Do not romanticize your relationship with my son. However desperately he wants to be a hero, there will come a day, soon I fear, when he will be forced to kill. When that time comes he will learn the deep, dark secret he has denied for so long.”

Rather than give him the satisfaction of a response or a moment longer to analyze her, she turned her back and banged on the door.

“Once he has experienced taking a life,” Weller continued.

She didn’t want to hear another word. She pounded on the door again. “I’m done in here.” Open the damned door.

“He will not be able to resist killing again and again.”

Weller’s warning followed her out the door.

Gardendale Drive

10:30 p.m.

Bobbie slowed to a walk as she turned up the sidewalk to her house. D-Boy rushed to the front door ahead of her and waited, panting, tongue lolling after the long run. Bobbie stepped up onto the stoop and jammed her key into the lock. Before opening the door, she reached down and scratched the animal behind his ears. “Good boy.”

The brindle pit bull had belonged to a former neighbor. The single mother and her children had moved last month and she’d happily agreed to let Bobbie have the dog. For the most part Bobbie had been taking care of him since the day he moved into her neighborhood, and now he belonged to her. The first order of business had been a trip to the vet for a checkup and for shots. She had learned that he was two years old, had no health problems and showed no signs of abuse. Every evening since bringing D-Boy home she had worked with him, teaching him simple commands of obedience. So far he was an attentive student and a quick study.

Inside the door she silenced the security system and listened to the sounds of the place she called home. Though the day had seen a high of sixty degrees, it was only about forty outside now. The absence of the steady hum of the air conditioner left the house silent. The vague scent of scrambled eggs and butter from the breakfast she’d prepared that morning lingered in the still air. The security system was another new addition. The chief had been so happy when she had it installed that he’d insisted on paying for the first year of service. Rather than argue with him, she’d surrendered to his need to be the protective uncle. She’d learned over the years to choose her battles carefully.

Ever patient, D-Boy stared up at her. “Go ahead, boy,” she said, giving the animal permission to have a look around. Once he’d padded through the two bedrooms and one bath, he trotted to his water bowl in the kitchen. The first night she’d brought him home he’d watched her check the house and he’d been performing the duty himself since.

Nick had told her in August that she needed a dog. At the time she couldn’t possibly have allowed anyone or thing into her life. As if she’d spoken the thought aloud, D-Boy hustled back to where she stood. Water dripped from his mouth as he studied her expectantly. He was accustomed to her full attention in the evenings. Her unexpected trip to Atlanta had disrupted their routine.

Bobbie smiled. “I could use a drink myself, buddy.”

Door locked, she headed to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. D-Boy followed close on her heels. She checked his food and water bowls and then she latched the doggie door she’d had installed in the back door. Though she doubted anyone would get beyond the door with D-Boy in the house, no need to leave an open invitation. A quick shower and she intended to hit the sack early. Today had been a long one and tomorrow was stacking up to be even worse.

Her thoughts ventured to the meeting with Randolph Weller. The man was pure evil. How had such a sick bastard created a son his complete opposite?

He will not be able to resist killing.

Bobbie refused to believe that DNA made monsters as some believed. Maybe the twisted genes passed along tipped the scales in rare cases, but she rejected the idea that it started there. Every person was unique. No matter that Weller was a killer, that didn’t mean his son would be one any more than her mother’s singing like an angel in the church choir gave Bobbie the ability to carry a tune.

Weller might be an expert on human nature but he couldn’t see the future.

She flipped on the hall light as she made her way to her bedroom. At the door to the spare bedroom that had until recently remained empty, she paused. D-Boy glanced back at her and waited. Seven or eight boxes sat in the room, a couple of them open. The familiar ache that started deep in her chest was one she was reasonably certain would be with her the rest of her life.