I Can Kill: An FBI Thriller (The O'Reilly Files Book 1) Read online

  They continued to flash before his eyes until they merged together, and Aidan couldn't tell one from another.

  “Please, God,” he found himself praying out loud, “Please make it stop.”

  He remained in the shower until the temperature of the water turned lukewarm.

  When he got out, he dried himself off, his mind whirling.

  After pulling on a tank and shorts, he slipped out of the bedroom, went down the stairs and left the house for an early morning jog to clear his mind.

  27

  Ben Ridgeway stepped into the police station, wondering where he should go. There was no one around to help him. He needed to find someone now. His wife was missing—she had been missing for two days. He’d tried to call the police on the phone, but of course, they were of no help. They wouldn’t help him unless Jane had been missing for forty-eight hours.

  Well, now it’s been forty-eight hours, and someone had to help him.

  He hurried to the glass window where he figured somebody should be. Banging on the glass, he cried out, “Hello? Anybody there? Please, I need someone to help.”

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  The tone from the short dark-skinned woman sounded annoyed with him, but Ben didn’t care. She sat between the security alarm and the conveyer belt.

  “My wife,” he told her through his tears. “She’s missing. I heard—I-I heard...”

  He fell to his knees as the feeling in the pit of his stomach told him the man the media referred to as The Carnations Killer took his wife.

  “Please help me,” he begged. “My wife didn’t come home from work the other night. I’m worried something might have happened to her.”

  With her irritable tone, the woman told him she’d find an officer to help.

  Ben stayed on the floor, not caring whether people saw him or not. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stand, anyway.

  Finally, a tall man came his way.

  “Sir, I’m Lieutenant Davis. You say your wife’s missing?”

  Ben told him yes, that she didn’t return home after work like she was supposed to.

  The lieutenant nodded slightly and instructed him to follow, so Ben did.

  He was led to a private room and was instructed to sit in a chair.

  Ben followed his orders.

  “What’s your name, sir?”

  “Ben Ridgeway. My wife is Jane.”

  “And she’s missing? When’s the last time you saw or spoke to her?” Davis was scribbling in his pad as he spoke.

  “Two days ago,” Ben said. “I got home from work in time for her to leave. She’s an assistant manager at HomeGoods and was working nights every day this week.”

  “I see,” the lieutenant muttered. “Have you contacted her friends? Other members of her family?”

  “Yes. No one has heard from her.”

  “Is everything going okay in your marriage?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ben said. “We’re still honeymooners. I heard on the news that someone is killing blonde women. My wife is a blonde.”

  “Do you have a photo of her?”

  Ben pulled one from his wallet and passed it over. “Please help me find her.”

  “I’ll let the FBI know about this, okay? I just need you to calm yourself. Go home, and we’ll contact you as soon as we know something. All right?”

  “You’ll find her?”

  The lieutenant stared across the table at Ben. “We’ll do everything we can, sir.”

  Ben hesitated before rising from his seat. But he realized there was little to do except wait. He left the police station to go to his empty house. He didn’t want to, but he had nowhere else to go.

  28

  The next week went by slowly. They were at a standstill where the investigation went. They heard a report about a woman named Jane Ridgeway vanishing, and since she fit closely with The Carnations Killer’s MO, Aidan wanted to keep an eye on her case.

  Jane was born January 30, 1983. She worked as an assistant manager at HomeGoods. She was married with no children. There was no sign of her vehicle at the store, no trace of her, period. The police interviewed the employees that saw her last, but no one could offer any leads.

  Ever since the night Aidan had the waking nightmare of Maya Gibson coming toward him in his room…the night he felt her blood and the coldness of her breath…he'd been afraid to sleep. He had never had something so real happen like that, and it unsettled him.

  He did what he could to avoid Cheyenne. She wouldn’t understand. There was nothing he would be able to tell her that would make her understand. And Aidan wasn’t sure he wanted her to, after all.

  Shaun was another story.

  Aidan could feel his probing stare throughout the days.

  Aidan knew Shaun wanted to bring it up, but at the same time, he knew Shaun understood what was wearing him down.

  Aidan was on the phone giving Hansford an update when Shaun strolled toward his desk. He waited patiently until he slipped his cell in its hook attached to his slacks.

  “Come with me,” Shaun requested.

  Aidan arched an eyebrow.

  “Where are we going?”

  Shaun tilted his head in the direction of the door. “Just come with me. I want to show you something.”

  Curious, Aidan followed him into the humid afternoon.

  They climbed into his car and Shaun began driving.

  “I understand this investigation is difficult for you,” he began, his eyes on the road. “It’s hard for me as well, knowing Maya’s death was at the hands of someone who has murdered fifty women in ten years.”

  Aidan looked sidelong at him to see him frowning.

  “I mean, fifty’s a lot of women, don’t you think?”

  “Well,” Aidan replied, “Ted Bundy killed at least thirty women in four years. Patrick Wayne Kearney killed about thirty-two homosexuals in two years.”

  “It’s a lot to deal with,” Shaun continued before Aidan could go on listing other serial murders.

  “What are you getting at?” Aidan asked as Shaun turned onto a new street.

  “When I was first at Quantico,” Shaun told him, “there was this instructor who told us that sometimes we see things we wish we didn’t have to. It comes with the job. But if you let it fester, you’ll end up going stir-crazy.”

  He parked the car, and Aidan realized they were at a boxing gym.

  Without a word, Shaun turned the ignition off and climbed out, so Aidan followed him.

  “Remember when I told you I liked to hit things when I’m stressed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well...when I have to deal with something I can’t handle—whether it’s personal or work—I come here.”

  He opened the door and they entered the building. Aidan could hear punches, karate shouts, and he could smell the sweat oozing from the walls.

  A few men and some women called Shaun out by name. He introduced Aidan and told them he was a friend, and they had better be nice. They pretended to be scared of his empty threat, and then either shook Aidan's hand or slapped him hard on the back, welcoming him to their humble abode.

  Shaun led Aidan to an empty punching bag. He motioned toward it with his hand.

  “What?” Aidan asked sheepishly.

  “Go on,” he urged. “Hit it.”

  He did.

  A deep, amused laughter erupted within his friend. Once he composed himself, Shaun said, “Do it again. This time, like you mean it.”

  Rolling his eyes, Aidan set one foot in front of the other, bent his knees in a fighting stance and held his fists in front of his face. He threw another cross punch as hard as he could muster.

  “Again.”

  Aidan followed his instructions, knocking the bag with a jab.

  “Again.”

  Aidan did, then slammed his fist against the bag once more.

  Then again.

  And again.

  By the time he stopped, minutes had flown by and his hair st
uck to his scalp, his face drenched with sweat. Aidan's fists throbbed, his breath heaved. He put his hands on his knees, hunching over, trying to slow his heart rate.

  Shaun slapped a monstrous hand on Aidan's back, almost knocking him unsteadily to his knees.

  “Feel better?”

  Aidan looked at him, trying hard to catch his breath and told him he did.

  In fact, he felt a whole lot better.

  Aidan returned home after work and found Cheyenne sitting on the deck out back. She had a bottle of red wine on the table and a glass next to her. She turned the page in the book she was reading, then reached for the wine glass. She took a sip and set it on the table.

  Aidan shut the door, careful not to make a sound, then leaned forward to kiss her neck.

  Her first reaction was a gasp, then she let out a contented sigh.

  “You seem to be in a good mood tonight,” she whispered.

  “I am,” he told her. Aidan took the book from her hand, set it on the table and pulled her to her feet. “In fact, I'm in a very good mood.”

  He swept her off her feet and Cheyenne let out a shrieking giggle. Opening the door, Aidan carried her inside, up the stairs and to the master bedroom. He tossed her on the bed and climbed on top of her.

  “You're sweaty,” Cheyenne muttered as he lifted her shirt over her head.

  “Yeah, Shaun and I went to a boxing gym,” he explained. “Worked up a sweat.”

  Aidan peered into her eyes as he worked to undo her shorts.

  “Want me to take a shower first?”

  “Yes.” She propped herself with her elbows and planted a kiss on his lips. “But I'll join you.”

  Aidan's lips curved in a smile and released a low growl. He peeled off his sweaty shirt as Cheyenne started the shower. As Aidan continued to undress, his cell phone rang.

  He grabbed it from the dresser. The caller ID read unavailable.

  “O'Reilly.”

  “Oh, good, I caught you.”

  Aidan heard a scream in the background.

  The hairs on the nape of his neck stood at attention and chills rolled up his back. His throat closed, and he couldn't swallow.

  “Who is this?”

  Cheyenne appeared in the doorway from the bathroom. The expression on her face told him she knew something was wrong.

  “Please,” a weak voice begged in the background.

  Aidan heard a sound that sounded like a baseball bat splintering against a wooden fence. Next, came the cries of pain.

  “Stop it!” he exclaimed into the phone. “Let her go.”

  “I just wanted you to know, we’re having a marvelous time. Are you?”

  His heart hammered in his chest as he stood in Laura's bedroom, helpless to stop him from hurting the woman. Aidan heard the cracking sounds and cries a few more times before the call was lost.

  Aidan's hands shook, and his knees became weak. It was then gravity failed him and he fell to the carpet. Cheyenne rushed to his side.

  “Aidan!”

  He couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He could only hear the sounds of pain echoing in the air.

  Cheyenne, teary-eyed, consoled him for a few minutes until he found his voice.

  “I need to call Shaun.”

  29

  AIDAN woke SATURDAY morning to the smell of pancakes and the crackling of thunder. Climbing out of bed, he made a beeline for the window and parted the curtains to see the rain coming down in torrents. It was light out, but the sun remained hidden behind thick, dark clouds. Lightning struck the sky in one long bolt across the starless heavens.

  He still wasn't able to get the phone call from the night before out of his mind. Aidan had a feeling that soon they would be informing Ben Ridgeway his wife, Jane, was dead.

  Aidan had spoken to Shaun for two hours last night, discussing the phone call. The conversation didn't need to be long. There wasn't much to do about it except have the lab guys trace it, only to find the offender used a burner. Although minutes seemed to stretch into hours, the phone call from the offender only lasted thirty-five seconds.

  Aidan took a quick shower, dressed, and headed down the stairs.

  “Something smells good,” he commented.

  “Good morning,” Cheyenne said. Although he couldn’t see her face, Aidan could hear the worry in her words.

  He wrapped his hands around her body and she sank into him.

  “I wish you could stay home with me today.”

  “I do too,” he told her.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He kissed her temple and moved toward the coffee pot.

  The thunder resonated through the morning.

  “Were you able to sleep last night?” Cheyenne asked as she turned the pancakes over.

  Aidan poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter.

  “A little.”

  As they spoke, his mind drifted to what he needed to do at work.

  His first order of business would be to find out if they'd been able to trace the call to his cell.

  After breakfast was made, Cheyenne and Aidan sat at the kitchen table, blessed their food and the day. He chewed his first bite when his cell phone rang.

  It was Shaun calling.

  Stuffing another thick square of pancake into his mouth, Aidan answered.

  “Are you sitting?” he said.

  “Yeah.” Something in his words snagged Aidan's attention. He swallowed the pancakes with a big, uneasy gulp.

  Shaun hesitated, then sighed. “We’ve got another one.”

  The fork slipped through Aidan's fingers and clattered to his plate.

  “Where?”

  Shaun said it was the woman who had been reported missing earlier in the week: Jane Ridgeway. She had been killed in the same manner as the others and dumped at the Lady Antebellum Pavilion. An elderly couple had found the body.

  Aidan closed his eyes tight, drawing in a shaky breath. After pushing it out, he released a soft curse, which was drowned by the rumbling thunder.

  The offender called Aidan as he was killing her.

  A chill crawled through his spine.

  “Here’s the interesting part,” Shaun continued. As Aidan listened, he pushed his chair back and rose. “The female witness claims to have seen a man leaving the scene.”

  Aidan had begun to pour the remaining of his coffee in a thermos, but Shaun's words gave him pause.

  “She did?”

  Shaun confirmed but said the woman seemed confused, so he wasn’t sure if she’d be a valid eyewitness. Aidan told him it was at least something to go on.

  It may be the break they needed.

  The break that would end the search for a ruthless serial offender that had been terrorizing the states over the past ten years.

  Once he ended the call, Aidan grabbed his keys and turned to Cheyenne.

  “Sorry, love,” he told her. “But I’ve got to run.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “Be careful.”

  As he kissed her on the cheek, he promised her he would, and then rushed out the door.

  The Lady A Pavilion had been sectioned off by the police when Aidan arrived. Lieutenant Christenson saw him in the distance and made a beeline toward him.

  “It’s a mess,” he said.

  The rain was still falling hard, the thunder sounding as though it was moving closer.

  Aidan used the hood of his raincoat to keep his head dry, absentmindedly noticing Christenson didn’t seem to care whether he was dry or not. He wore a windbreaker, which he had zipped, but that was all the protection he had from the rain.

  “Shaun said an elderly couple found the body? What were they doing out in the storm?” Aidan asked.

  Christenson shrugged. “It wasn’t raining like this when they arrived.”

  Aidan followed him to where the body was. They had covered the remains with a tent in an attempt to preserve the crime scene. Federal agents and the police were combing the area for
evidence that was likely not there.

  “The husband—,” Christensen glanced in his notepad, “—Mr. Gibbs has health problems, and his doctor suggested walking a little more, so they’ve been walking around the track. Before they were going to leave, they went to the restroom. It had begun raining right after we got the call.”

  They reached the tent and Aidan opened the flap to peer inside. The medical examiner was inspecting the body as Shaun watched.

  “What do we have?” Aidan asked.

  “I guesstimate TOD was last night by eleven. Same as the last victim.”

  Jane Ridgeway’s body was white, amidst the cuts and purplish bruises. Aidan could tell she’d suffered broken bones, probably more so than Maya. The offender’s mistreatments usually became worse after each victim. Aidan imagined the first was always his warm-up.

  Jane had two markings on the side of her neck, indicating she’d been tased.

  She wore a black dress and her hands held a bouquet of white carnations over her chest.

  This time, he didn’t leave a note. But, then again, he did call the previous night, so Aidan presumed it was a note of sorts.

  “I don’t know if the offender got lucky, or if he planned on leaving her in the middle of a storm,” Shaun said over the thunder.

  Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the premises.

  “Luck,” Aidan said. “It wasn’t supposed to rain today. I’m going to go talk to the couple that found her.”

  Aidan crawled out of the tent and headed toward the restrooms, where an elderly couple stood underneath the awning. Shaun followed behind.

  As they walked, Aidan silently cursed the rain for disturbing his crime scene.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs?” he began as he approached them. “I’m Special Agent Aidan O’Reilly.”

  “How do you do, young man?” Mr. Gibbs’ voice was shaky and betrayed his age, as did his white hair and walker. His wife looked a few years younger, her hair bright red. She wore a large pair of bifocals. She squinted at Aidan, and he could tell she wouldn’t have been able to see anything much. Not from a distance, anyway.