Night Stalker

Instead, he let his hand drop away, settled back into his chair. He was tired, his muscles stiff from too many hours sitting. When he wasn’t working, he liked to keep active—running, hiking, rock climbing, kayaking. Being still and quiet wasn’t his thing and never had been.

“You should go for a walk,” his boss, Wren Santino, said, breaking the silence.

“You’ve made that suggestion a dozen times in the past couple of hours,” he responded, meeting her dark eyes.

“And?”

“I haven’t done it yet.”

“If you had, I wouldn’t have to keep suggesting it,” she replied reasonably.

“I want to be here when she wakes up.”

“Because you’re hoping to question her?” It was a legitimate question. Adam had planned to travel to Whisper Lake after he’d received a call from the Maine State Police saying that they might have another victim of the Night Stalker. One that had survived.

At the time, he’d had no idea that Charlotte was involved. All he’d known was that a young nurse had been abducted from the Whisper Lake Medical Center, that she’d escaped thanks to a Good Samaritan who’d been shot while intervening. That she fit the profile of the victims of a serial killer Adam and the FBI’s Special Crimes Unit had been pursuing for years. The Maine State Police thought it was possible—even probable—that her abductor was the Night Stalker.

Adam had been ready to travel to Whisper Lake to speak with the local police, interview the nurse and decide for himself whether the case fit the Night Stalker’s MO. He’d shoved aside thoughts of Daniel and Charlotte. He’d reminded himself that he had a job to do. He’d already had his vehicle packed for the trip when Wren had called him into her office and shown him the case file she’d received from the state PD. That was when he’d seen Charlotte’s name. That was when he’d understood just how personal the Night Stalker case had become.

It was also when Wren had informed him that he wouldn’t be part of the FBI team traveling to Maine. She planned to keep him in the loop but felt that it would be better for him and for Charlotte if he kept his distance.

He’d argued.

She’d insisted, so he’d taken personal leave and headed to Whisper Lake against her wishes.

Because he couldn’t not be there.

It didn’t matter that he and Charlotte were divorced. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t seen each other for five years. He wouldn’t let her lie in a hospital bed without family to advocate for her. He’d known that with her grandparents gone, she’d have no one.

Now she had him.

“I take it you’re not going to answer?” Wren said, taking a sip from a carryout cup of coffee.

“She may have seen his face,” he responded, sidestepping the question.

“I suppose this would be a good time to remind you that you’re on leave.”

“You’ve reminded me every hour on the hour since we arrived.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” she said with a half smile.

“Not much of one.”

“You know this guy’s MO better than anyone. You should be lead on this case,” she responded. No judgment. Just a statement of the facts as she saw them.

“Charlotte has no family. She needs someone in her corner.”

“She has our team. We’re not going to let anything happen to her. And not just because she’s a possible witness.”

“She needs someone she’s familiar with. Someone who knows her.”

“I could argue that she has people she’s familiar with and who know her. This is a small town. If we let news of her injury leak out, she’ll have plenty of friends standing in her corner.”

“If her identity leaks out—” he began.

“You don’t have to explain, Adam. We’re all aware of how dangerous that could be.”

Law enforcement had kept Charlotte’s identity quiet. Aside from her neighbor, Bubbles, only medical personnel knew she was the person who’d intervened in the attempted abduction. The less information available to the public, the less information available to the Night Stalker and the easier it would be to ensure Charlotte’s safety.

“Just so you know,” he said, “I’m not planning to leave Whisper Lake until she’s recovered enough to know what’s going on and what her options are.”

“Which options are we talking about? Because the way I see things, the only option she has is to cooperate with the investigation.”

“You gave Bethany Andrews the choice of staying in town with police protection or going into witness protection until the Night Stalker is apprehended.” The young nurse had chosen to enter witness protection. She’d been terrified that the man who’d abducted her after her shift at Whisper Lake Medical Center would come after her again.

“She and her fiancé are entering the program together. Currently, Bethany is in a secure location while she waits for medical clearance to travel. She did sustain a concussion and some memory loss from the attack. Charlotte’s situation is different.”

“How so?”

“She was never the Night Stalker’s intended victim.”

“She was the person who stopped him from getting what he wanted,” he pointed out.

Wren nodded her agreement. “True, and if she saw the shooter, we may be able to close this case quickly.”

“Quickly? We’ve put a lot of time and manpower into stopping the Night Stalker.” Five years. Four states. Nine victims. All emergency room nurses who had been abducted after late-night shifts. All killed by single gunshot wounds to their heads, their bodies discovered weeks to months after they’d disappeared. Ballistic testing had proved that the weapon used had been the same with each victim. A savvy Boston police detective had noticed the link. He’d contacted the FBI to help the investigation into what was obviously a serial killer. The case had been handed over to the Special Crimes Unit, and Wren had chosen Adam to put together the Night Stalker’s profile—white male working in a sales field, a loner in his mid to late twenties who lived somewhere in New England. Someone without connections who could come and go without suspicion.

The criminal profile had been circulated to every law enforcement agency in the northeast, but the Night Stalker remained at large. Bethany would have been his tenth victim. She fit the profile of his victims perfectly—emergency room nurse with dark hair and blue eyes, slight build, outgoing personality.

There was a difference, though.

Unlike the Night Stalker’s other victims, Bethany worked at a small-town hospital. The other nurses had worked in city hospitals—Massachusetts General, Rhode Island Hospital, Brigham and Women’s Hospital, Yale New Haven Hospital.

Whisper Lake Medical Center was a tiny hospital sitting on the outskirts of a tiny town. Its only claim to fame was the level-four trauma center that had been opened several years ago. Something about that bothered Adam, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were missing something important.

“Even with the trauma center, it’s still a small hospital in a small town,” he murmured, reaching for a disposable cup and pouring coffee from the carafe a nurse had brought in hours ago. “I wonder why he changed his MO.”

“You’re not on the case,” Wren reminded him.

“Just thinking out loud.” He took a sip of the cold brew and grimaced.

“Why don’t you go get us some hot coffee?” Wren suggested.

“I’ve already had too much of the stuff.”

“You can’t stay here forever, Adam.”

“I can stay here until she wakes up.”

“Then I hope River gets back from Boston soon. I hate cold coffee.” She set her cup down.

“I thought River and Sam were on protection duty here at the hospital.”

“They are. I sent River back to Boston this morning to double-check the ballistic results on the bullet they took from Charlotte.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s as much an expert as anyone working in the lab.”

“That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it. Why did you feel the need to have the ballistic results checked?”

“Because I’m wondering the same thing you are. Why the Night Stalker suddenly changed his MO. Why he chose a victim who worked in a small town at a small hospital. Before we pour more resources into this case, I want to make sure we’re not dealing with a copycat—someone who had a bone to pick with Bethany and thought mimicking the Night Stalker would help him get away with murder.”

“That’s a stretch, Wren. Especially since the initial ballistics results are a match.”

“River is going to give his own expert advice. And not just because I don’t want to waste resources. Nine women are dead. When we catch their murderer, I want to make sure we have every i dotted and every t crossed. I don’t want any doubts, any reason for a jury to hesitate.”

Wren leaned forward, her suit jacket swinging open to reveal her holster. “It’s not just about the case to me. I hope you know that, Adam. It’s about seeing the victims get the justice they deserve. It’s about seeing the survivors heal and move on.”

Her phone buzzed and she pulled it from her pocket, read a text message and then tucked it away again.

“River is back,” she announced, standing and stretching her nearly six-foot frame. She was model-slender, her build belying the strength Adam had seen her use during self-defense training.

“And?”

“You’re not on the case, so I shouldn’t tell you.”

“But you’re going to,” he guessed, and she nodded.

“The bullet taken from Charlotte matches the ones taken from the Night Stalker’s victims. This is a go.” She was suddenly all business, her dark eyes flashing with barely banked energy. “River is on the way up to the room. He’ll be out in the hall. I have a meeting scheduled with Sam and some local and state law enforcement. Call me if she wakes up.”

She was gone before he could respond.

He waited until she closed the door, then turned his attention back to Charlotte. She’d been his first love and his last. He’d walked away from her when she’d needed him most. He could do it again. It would be the easy choice: go back to Boston, pick up the case where he’d left off, let Wren, River and Sam handle things on this end.

That would require no emotional commitment, no trips down memory lane. No drives past the graveyard where Daniel’s tombstone had been set. No visits to the cottage on the lake. It required him to do nothing but the job he’d been trained to do.

He couldn’t do it, though.

He’d taken the easy path five and a half years ago. He’d failed Charlotte, and he’d failed himself. There was a big part of Adam that felt he’d also failed God. He hadn’t been a Christian when he’d married Charlotte. They’d both been wild teens who’d lived by their own set of rules. Maybe if God had been part of what they’d been building together, the foundation would have been strong enough to withstand Daniel’s death.

Still, Adam had taken vows.

He’d broken them.

In the years since, he’d learned what faith was. He’d learned what mercy and grace were. What he hadn’t learned was how to forgive himself for what he’d done. He couldn’t go back and change things, but he could do this.

He settled in the chair again.

“It’s going to be okay, Charlotte,” he said, patting her lax hand.

Her fingers moved—a tiny twitch that made his heart jump.

He waited, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest beneath white hospital sheets, the flicker of her closed eyelids.

“Charlotte?” He touched her cheek, his palm resting against cool dry skin.

She opened her eyes.

He’d forgotten how beautiful her irises were—deep purple-blue rimmed with black. He’d forgotten how it felt to watch her wake, the haze of sleep slowly dissipating, the softness of her features sharpening.

“Why are you here?” she said, her voice raspy and raw, her eyes closing again.

“I thought it was time I was finally around when you needed me,” he responded honestly, certain she’d already lost consciousness again.

“I don’t need you,” she whispered so quietly he almost didn’t hear, and then she was unconscious again, the soft beep and hiss of machinery the only sounds in the quiet room.

He could have left then.

He’d done what he’d said he would. He’d stayed until she woke. She’d been lucid enough and aware enough to know who he was and to know she didn’t want him around.

That shouldn’t have hurt.

He told himself it didn’t.

But there was a piece of his heart that still belonged to Charlotte. He might have failed her after Daniel died, but he wouldn’t fail her now. Whether she needed him or not, he was there to stay until the Night Stalker was found and he knew for sure that she was safe.

TWO

Nine days.

That was how long Charlotte had been cooped up in the hospital. There’d been a steady stream of visitors during her stay. County police. Town sheriff. State police. FBI. All of them asking questions, most of which she couldn’t answer.

She hadn’t seen the face of the man who’d shot her.

She had seen his truck.

Just enough of it to know it was old. Big. A pickup with two doors.

She’d seen him, too. The man the FBI called the Night Stalker. She may not have seen his face, but she’d seen his height and breadth and the gleam of his eyes through the darkness.

She shuddered, pushing the image away.

She’d almost died.

Everyone who walked into the room reminded her of that.

Except for Adam. Her ex-husband. The one person she never would have expected to see sitting beside her hospital bed. In the earliest days of her recovery, she’d thought she was dreaming his presence, dreaming the shorter haircut, the fine lines near the corners of his eyes, the somberness in his gaze.

Only, Adam hadn’t been a dream.

He’d been as real as the wound in her chest, the tube in her side, the surgical staples in her skin. The tube had come out. The wound was healing, the staples were gone, but Adam was still in Whisper Lake.

It still seemed impossible, but all she had to do was glance at the reclining chair he’d slept in the past few nights to know he’d really been there. He’d left his jacket lying across the arm, a duffel on the floor beside it. She wasn’t sure where he’d gone, but she was certain he’d be back.

Charlotte’s calm, predictable life had turned to chaos. She wasn’t sure how it had happened or why. She only knew that she had to get things back on track. That meant going home to the cottage, sitting by herself, thinking through her options and making her own decision about where she wanted to go and what she wanted to do.

If law enforcement had its way, she’d be taken to a safe house the minute she was discharged. Special Agent Wren Santino had outlined the plan for Charlotte earlier that day. They’d let her return home to collect a few personal items, and then they’d fly her out in a private jet, whisking her off to some destination only a few people were privy to.

And, of course, Clover would be with her.

That seemed to be the common theme. Everyone she spoke to about the FBI’s plan had assured her that she could take her dog along. As if she were a child who would be persuaded by that. As if there’d ever been a doubt or question. Of course she’d bring Clover wherever she went.

If she went anywhere.

She had more than Clover to think about.

She had her teaching job at the community college, her dog-training class that met every Saturday morning. She had Bubbles to think about, too. Her neighbor wasn’t getting any younger, and if Charlotte wasn’t around, there’d be no one to keep an eye out for her.

The fact was, Charlotte had no reason to believe the Night Stalker knew who she was, where she lived or if she’d survived. Based on what she’d learned from Wren and Adam, she thought it was more likely that he’d gone on his merry way and was currently searching for a new victim somewhere far from Whisper Lake.

Of course, she wasn’t law enforcement. She was just someone who’d been in the wrong place at the right time. Someone who’d gotten mixed up in something that had almost gotten her killed. She could be very wrong in her thinking. It was possible the serial killer did know who she was and where she lived. It was also possible that he planned to pay her back for ruining his plans to abduct his tenth victim.

She frowned. Maybe she did want to leave town for a while, go into hiding, let the FBI protect her.

Maybe.

But she needed to think about it, and the best place to do that was home.

She eased out of her hospital gown and into the loose-fitting jeans and sweater Bubbles had brought her. It took longer than it should have, and she was shaking when she finished, but she’d accomplished the task.

Now all she had to do was get home.

She thought about calling Bubbles and asking for a ride, but she didn’t like the idea of her elderly neighbor driving out to the hospital at midnight. Besides, Bubbles had been spending her days at the cottage, taking care of Clover and sending away friends who’d been wondering why Charlotte hadn’t shown up for meetings or training sessions. The FBI had coached her carefully, and Bubbles had told everyone who cared to know that Charlotte was on vacation. Unplanned. Spur of the moment. Just one of those things that young people did.

That was plenty for a woman in her eighties to deal with. She didn’t need to be dragged out of bed at midnight to ride to Charlotte’s rescue. Besides, if the Night Stalker was still out there, Charlotte didn’t want Bubbles to be in his crosshairs.

She shivered, her thoughts going back to that moment on the road. The bright headlights. The dark form. The woman dropping to the ground.

The explosion of sound and of pain.

She’d been assured that she was safe. That the Whisper Lake Sheriff’s Department was working with the state and federal police to keep her that way.

She believed she was safe.

But she was still afraid.

“That doesn’t mean you’re staying here,” she muttered. “You’re going home. You’ll make decisions about whether to stick around once you’re there.”

“Are you okay, Charlotte?” someone called from the other side of the closed door.

Someone?

Adam. She knew his voice like she knew her own. Even after all these years.

“Charlotte?” he called again.

“I’m fine,” she called back.

“Were you talking to someone?” The doorknob turned, the door opened and he was there. Standing in the threshold, his dark gray eyes a shade darker than she remembered, his hair just a little shorter. His shoulders were broader, too. The twenty-four-year-old kid he’d been had grown into his lanky frame.

“Just myself,” she admitted, turning away so she wouldn’t have to look into his eyes and see the concern and compassion there. Since they’d divorced, she hadn’t spent much time thinking about how the years would change him. She’d been too busy trying to forget what they’d once had.

Now, though...

Now she could see what time had done. He was the same, but better. Calmer. Steadier. More patient. More willing to listen.

At night, when he thought she was sleeping, he’d sit in the recliner and read a leather-bound Bible, the thin pages rustling as he turned them. She’d wanted to ask him about that. She’d wanted to tell him about the church she’d joined and the comfort she’d found there. She’d kept silent, afraid to open doors that were better left shut. Her heart had been broken once. She wasn’t sure she’d survive having it broken again.

“You still talk to yourself, huh?” She could hear his footsteps on the floor as he walked toward her, but she still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Old habits are hard to break.” She grabbed the bag of clothes and toiletries Bubbles had brought, wincing as the healing wound in her chest pulled tight.

“Let me.” He took it from her hand, his fingers grazing her knuckles, his touch as familiar as sunrise. She could have leaned into it if she’d wanted to, leaned into him and let all the things that used to be wash over them. But they’d been divorced for longer than they’d been married. They were nothing more than strangers who had once known each other.

If she remembered that, she’d be just fine.

“Thanks.”

“You look like you’re planning to go somewhere,” he commented as she grabbed her purse from the table beside the bed. Bubbles had brought that, too.

“I am.”

“That’s not a good idea, Charlotte.”

“I don’t see why not.” She reached for a sheet of paper that lay on the table, the flowery stationery covered with a scrawled thank-you note from Bethany Andrews. Wren had delivered it in a plain white envelope. No hint of where it had come from or who had sent it. Charlotte had read the note several times already, the ER nurse’s heartfelt thank-you reminding her that everything she’d been through had been worth it. Hopefully, they’d have a chance to meet face-to-face one day. She had a feeling she’d get along well with Bethany. She sounded like a sweet young woman.

Young? According to Wren, Bethany was twenty-five. Just three years younger than Charlotte. They’d attended Whisper Lake High School together for one year. Charlotte had ended her senior year six months pregnant, and she didn’t remember much of her last year of high school except for the fact that she’d worn baggy shirts and oversize dresses, hoping to hide her growing belly.

Needless to say, she didn’t remember Bethany.

She folded the note and slid it into her pocket, making the mistake of meeting Adam’s eyes. He was watching, his shoulder against the wall, his expression neutral.

Whatever he was thinking, he hid it well.

“What?” she asked, breaking the silence because it felt too thick, too heavy and too filled with words that should have been said years ago.

“You’re an intelligent woman, Charlotte. I’m sure you know exactly why leaving the hospital isn’t a good idea.”

“The Night Stalker doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t know where I live, and as far as law enforcement can tell, he left town and hasn’t returned.”

“Law enforcement has no idea who he is or where he lives. For all anyone knows, he’s your next-door neighbor.”

“Bubbles is my only neighbor,” she pointed out.

“I’m aware of that, Charlotte. We did live together for four and a half years.”

She hadn’t needed the reminder.

Sometimes when she couldn’t sleep, she’d think about how it had felt to have someone lying in bed beside her. She’d remember what it was like to be wrapped in a solid embrace, or to reach out in the middle of the night, knowing that someone would reach back.

She missed that.

She was honest enough with herself to admit it.

“Wren said the Night Stalker probably hunted for his victims far away from home. If that’s the case, he doesn’t live anywhere near here,” she commented.

“He changed his MO when he went after Bethany. He’s always taken women from large hospitals. This time, it’s different.”

“That doesn’t mean he lives close by.”

“It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t,” he pointed out.

She grabbed the Bible that Bubbles had brought to the hospital. The leather cover was cracked with age, the pages thin, wrinkled and highlighted with pink and yellow and lime green. Charlotte’s grandmother had spent hours studying scripture. The Bible had been hers. In the years since Daniel’s death, Charlotte had pored through it, seeking comfort in the words her grandmother had highlighted years ago.

She tucked it under her arm and reached for the slip-on shoes that Bubbles had set on a chair. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Adam.”

“I want you to say that you’re going to follow the team’s plan.”

“What plan? The one where I get on a private jet and travel to an unknown destination?”

“Yes.”

“Were you part of making it? Is that why you want me to agree to it?”

“You know I’m on leave,” he said. “I have nothing to do with the plans that are made.”