I Can Kill: An FBI Thriller (The O'Reilly Files Book 1) Page 3

  “That’s true,” Shaun replied.

  Brianna finished printing the pages and passed the documents to Aidan.

  Jones went on to tell them Maya was well-liked. She was soft spoken, didn’t get into confrontations.

  “Thank you,” Aidan told them. “If you remember anything else, don’t hesitate to call us or the sheriff’s office.” He left his card and they turned to leave.

  6

  HE WATCHED AS news reporter Jordan Blake recounted what the federal investigators released so far. As usual, it was nothing. He’d always been much too careful to leave evidence that would lead to his capture. After all, he was a professional. They only knew what he wanted them to know. Once, he left a riddle for the local law enforcement, but they weren’t smart enough to crack it. Or maybe he was smart enough to write a riddle stumping even the best of the best.

  Either way, they never grasped it.

  Well, not in time, anyway.

  He had tried to give them just enough time to save one of his targets before she demised, but they were an hour too late.

  It was a shame. But it still brought a smile to his face.

  So far, the reporters didn't seem to realize the new girl—according to the reports her name was Maya Gibson—was his newest woman.

  He was sure the police knew about it. They had to know. Especially since Special Agent Aidan O’Reilly more than likely told them. Law enforcement had that irritating habit of hiding things from the public.

  But he’d soon change that.

  He wanted to be sure the world knew he’d returned.

  He wanted the world to fear him.

  They needed to know he could—and would—strike anyone at any given time. He’d make the women wish they were dead. Then he liked to watch as they squirmed on the floor, trying to escape.

  It never worked out for them.

  Still, they never seemed to learn.

  They always—always—pleaded for him to let them go.

  I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Just please let me go home. I have a family. Please.

  Waaaa.

  It was funny how the tears of the women were like clockwork.

  Why were they like that, anyway? Why did people cling onto hope when they knew there was none? Why did people pray when they knew it wouldn’t be answered?

  He’d asked one of his targets a few years ago.

  But all she did was whimper and try to crawl away.

  He hit her across the temple with the tire iron, then demanded an answer from her. But still, she offered none.

  It was irritating.

  He was only naturally curious about why people hoped bad times would turn out good. What good was it when you knew, when you just knew, you’d die anyway?

  Maybe there was a hidden answer to that riddle of life after all.

  Maybe because they knew they were going to die anyway, the only thing left to do was hope.

  A paradox.

  It was a very interesting and curious concept.

  Anyway.

  Back to Jordan Blake.

  He could tell the reporter was getting ready to sign off.

  He knew the reporter’s birthday was in a few days, so he planned on leaving a card for him. He planned it so that shortly after receiving the card, Blake would get a text on his phone.

  And all he would have to do is watch as Jordan Blake—a young man eager and desperate to make a name for himself—told the world The Carnations Killer had returned.

  People like Jordan Blake were such easy targets.

  They were also the most fun to use.

  And easy to blame if ever it came to the time he needed a fall guy.

  The key was to always plan the escape.

  And he did so to the tiniest detail.

  It was a game, really.

  Much like playing chess.

  You can’t play a game without first understanding the rules. It was no fun otherwise. And in order to understand the rules and play the game well, you have to know the move you’re going to make long before you make it.

  Before he took—what was her name again? Ah, yes, Maya something. Before he chose her as a target, he had already started developing a plan for Agent O’Reilly. It was only polite, wasn’t it? After all, they’d worked together for almost ten years. It was even their anniversary coming up in a few months. It was a milestone, so he needed to do something for the agent.

  Something special.

  It was going to be the going away gift.

  He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do yet, but he had a few ideas to sort through.

  But first, things must fall in their natural order. Those were part of the rules. Jumping the gun would only cause him to make a mistake, and he knew Agent O’Reilly was smart. O’Reilly had done very well in his career, which made him both a threat and a thrill. He helped bring down not one, but two drug trafficking schemes, and he’d arrested a serial arsonist who killed four men and one woman. Those were only a few of O’Reilly’s commendations.

  Yes, he enjoyed playing with O’Reilly.

  Games were no fun unless you had a worthy opponent, and Agent O’Reilly was the perfect pawn. After he encountered him for the first time, he saw something in the young agent.

  He saw dedication.

  He saw passion.

  He saw himself.

  The news report was now over, and while Jordan talked to various people, he gathered his things and headed for the reporter’s office.

  It was time.

  7

  Jordan Blake stepped into his office and found Kent, his cameraman, holding an envelope to the light, trying to get a read on its contents. The glare of his wire-rimmed glasses bounced off the white packet, making it a little more difficult for him to see what was inside.

  He glanced over at Gary Short, one of the news station's field technicians, and rolled his eyes.

  “What are you doing?” Jordan demanded of Kent.

  Kent dropped what he was holding and spun on his toes, his hands clamped across his chest. His eyes seemed to bulge from his head. When Kent realized it was Jordan, he closed his eyes, letting out a breathy curse. “Man, Jordan. You scared the living daylights out of me.”

  Jordan arched his left eyebrow and crossed his arms. Next to him, Gary chuckled.

  “Well, then, maybe if you weren’t in my office trying to read my mail, I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of scaring you so much.”

  “Sorry,” Kent replied. He scratched his auburn head of hair and leaned down to retrieve the envelope and passed it over. “I saw some guy slip this under your door. I was just curious. Usually, it’s a hot redhead that’s fawning over you with those ridiculous love notes.”

  “As much as I'd love to stick around and watch you beat each other up,” Gary began, his voice laced amusement, “I'm going to take off. Promised my girl I'd stop by the store for some bread and whatever else she needs.”

  He patted Jordan's shoulder and headed down the hall, leaving the news reporter glaring at his cameraman.

  “Ever hear of ‘curiosity killed the cat?’” Jordan snatched the object from Kent and made his way to the small desk.

  “Good thing I’m not a cat, then,” Kent replied. He motioned to the mail. “What is it?”

  Using his letter opener, Jordan sliced through the top of the envelope and pulled out a card. It was a custom-made greeting card. The sender had taken the time to cut out block letters and glue them to the front.

  “Hmm. It’s an early birthday message,” he replied, grabbing a strawberry from his fruit basket a young fan sent him yesterday afternoon. “‘Happy happy birthday to you. Here’s to a great day. Have you heard of The Carnations Killer? Listen to what he has to say.’”

  Again, Jordan’s eyebrow rose, this time with curiosity. He grabbed another strawberry and opened the card to read the typed message.

  “Dear Jordan,” he began.

  Kent moved to peer over Jordan’s shoulder. He cleaned off his glasses
with the tail of his shirt and slipped it on the bridge of his nose.

  Jordan continued reading. “I’ve watched you for a while and I decided I want you to be the first to know. In a few minutes, you will receive a text with the exciting news.”

  “Intriguing,” Kent muttered. “Do you really think The Carnations Killer returned? Do you think he was the one who killed that girl at the lake?”

  Jordan wasn’t paying his cameraman any attention. He gnawed on a Granny Smith apple as he slipped deep into his thoughts, his mind reeling over why The Carnations Killer would want to send him a cryptic birthday card.

  And why send a text? Why not just tell him in the card?

  “Yo,” Kent said, shaking Jordan’s shoulder. “You’ve got a text.”

  Jordan snatched his phone from the table, his mind still thinking about the mysterious card. When he looked at the cell, he almost dropped it.

  Do you want to make a name for yourself? Help me help you. Tell the world The Carnations Killer is back.

  Jordan looked at Kent, whose eyes grew. It was obvious he had read the message as well.

  “Man, that’s…scary,” Kent said.

  “Who did you say left this card?”

  Kent shrugged. “Didn’t see his face. Kind of tall, black hair, something like that. His back was to me.”

  Jordan rose so he could look into Kent’s eyes. He was half an inch shorter than the cameraman. “Well, looks like he’s giving us the big break we’ve been looking for.”

  “I don’t know,” Kent said with a frown. “Maybe you should go to the cops first. See what they want us to do.”

  Jordan shook his head with fervor. “Going to the cops could ruin our chance at a breaking story. He wants us to go on the air. And besides, doesn't the public have the right to know? You know how cops are. They wait until it’s too late. That agent at the scene today told us ‘no comment.’ We know something now. Don’t you think we owe it to the people to comment?”

  Kent frowned, and Jordan knew he hit the spot with his cameraman.

  “Fine,” Kent replied. “You’re right. They should know.”

  Jordan tossed the half-eaten apple into the waste basket. “Well, then, let’s get ready to go on the air.”

  After Jordan finished with his makeup artist, he double checked his reflection in the mirror to be sure he was camera-ready. He ran his fingers through the thick mass of black moussed hair and checked his teeth to be sure nothing was in them.

  Standing in front of the blue backdrop, he took in a deep breath and released it.

  Kent stood behind his camera. “All right. Ready when you are.”

  Jordan pulled in one more deep breath and pushed it out. “Great. Let’s do it.”

  After Kent counted down with his fingers and pointed at Jordan, he flashed his trademark smile for the camera.

  “This is Jordan Blake, reporting live at WJFX News. A few moments ago, I received a very interesting birthday card under my office door. And here’s the kicker: it was sent to me by the infamous Carnations Killer himself. He wants us to know he’s back.”

  Jordan went on to tell the camera and the people who watched his news station what had already been previously released to the public about The Carnations Killer. He informed them no other information would be released at the moment, but to stay tuned.

  He ended in saying, “Our recent victim—Maya Gibson—fit the profile for The Carnations Killer to a T. Could he really have returned? Or is it a copycat playing games? Do the police suspect The Carnations Killer? If so, why do you think they are reluctant to tell us? After all, the FBI stated earlier this morning, a statement would be released to the public this afternoon. When this afternoon, agents? It’s almost two o’clock now, and the public is anxious to know whether or not their lives could be at stake. This is Jordan Blake, and you heard it here first.”

  After he signed off, Kent let him know it was okay to break character.

  “How was that?”

  “Perfect,” Kent told him. “But you do realize nothing good will come of this? This guy's probably only seeking attention.”

  “In this world, my friend,” Jordan said, “we’re nothing unless we have attention. This guy’s the most sought-after serial killer since the Green River Killer. And we’ve got the breaking news. How can we not run with it?”

  As he spoke, Jordan saw his boss appear around the corner. By the look on his face and the stride of his gait, he didn’t appear happy.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” His booming voice carried into the room.

  “Making sure I have longer than fifteen minutes of fame,” Jordan replied with a shrug.

  “Next time you want to run with a story, you come to me first. Thanks to you, I just got a call from the FBI.”

  “That was fast.”

  “And they aren’t happy at all.” His boss crossed his arms. His cheeks flushed red as they always did when he was angry. “They’re on the way. They want to know more about this card of yours. And for that matter, so do I.”

  “Sure,” Jordan answered matter-of-factly.

  “I don’t want any more surprises. I mean it.”

  “What are you going to do, Thomas? Fire me?” Jordan taunted.

  “That’s exactly what I’ll do. You think you’re irreplaceable? Well, you’re not.” Thomas turned on his heels. “Be in the conference room in twenty minutes.”

  8

  Cheyenne had called to let Aidan know she’d arrived at her sister’s, so after he was situated with a bureau vehicle, he headed to Laura’s house.

  His eyes growing heavy with each tick of the clock, Aidan wished he had time for a cat nap, but he knew it wouldn't be possible. There was too much to do. There were a lot of pros and cons that came with the job. Lack of sleep and few vacations was definitely a con.

  He knocked on the door, and Cheyenne’s younger sister, Laura, appeared in the frame. When she saw him, her grin stretched wide across her face.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite FBI agent.”

  “Laura,” Aidan said, reaching out to wrap her in a tight hug. “It’s been a while.”

  Though they only lived three hours from each other, with Laura’s job as a traveling nurse, it was a rare treat they were able to see her. She was always one of Aidan’s favorite people. And one of the wildest.

  He pulled from the embrace. “Where’s your other half?”

  Laura tilted her head. “Out on the deck. We’re having lemonade. Would you like a cup?”

  “No, thank you,” Aidan replied. “I won’t be able to stay long. I didn’t get to talk to Cheyenne before I left this morning, so I was hoping to make it up to her.”

  “Yeah, she told me,” Laura stated, swatting his shoulder. “That wasn’t very thoughtful of you, O’Reilly.”

  They made their way through the house to find Cheyenne. As they did, Laura told Aidan they would have the house to themselves because she was heading to Florida for a few months. Aidan asked when she was leaving, and she informed him early Monday morning.

  When they stepped into the heat, Cheyenne regarded Aidan, smiled, and jumped from her chair. He pulled her into his arms for a kiss. She released a contented sigh as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “I’ve been missing you today.”

  “Not nearly as much as I missed you,” Aidan told her.

  “Let’s call it a draw,” she purred against his lips.

  “Get a room, guys,” Laura said in mock disgust as she sat.

  “Do you hear something?” Aidan asked Cheyenne.

  “No, not really. I think it’s just white noise.” She kissed him again as his cell phone vibrated in its holder on his pants. “Is that you, or your phone?”

  “Aww geez,” Laura muttered.

  Aidan laughed as he reached for his cell to see who was calling.

  It was Shaun.

  “Sorry, love,” he told Cheyenne. “I’ve gotta get this.”

  She frowned but nod
ded her head in understanding. He answered the call as she turned to resume her conversation with her sister.

  Aidan didn’t hear what Laura whispered, but Cheyenne laughed, and play punched her in the shoulder.

  “Yeah, Shaun, what’s up?”

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  Aidan narrowed his eyes. “Another victim already?”

  “No.” A sigh. “I think you better turn on the TV to WJFX.”

  Aidan hurried into the house, making his way to the living room. He found the remote on the coffee table, grabbed it, then turned the television to the channel. He watched as a reporter talked about The Carnations Killer’s previous victims and suggested that Maya Gibson was his latest. He ended his report by accusing law enforcement of withholding information the public had the right to know.

  Aidan’s blood began to boil.

  He recognized the young reporter as the one at Maya’s crime scene earlier. He was the one who jammed the microphone into his face and had asked whether or not a serial killer was on the loose.

  “I didn’t miss the press conference, did I?” Aidan asked, knowing it was not the case.

  Cheyenne and Laura must have taken notice of his haste to come inside because they lingered in the doorway, watching, eyes wide.

  “No,” Shaun said. “Apparently, someone slipped a birthday card underneath the reporter’s office door. And now he just told 2.2 million people the card was from The Carnations Killer claiming he’s back.”

  Aidan threw out a round of angry curses. Cheyenne glared at him through her square-rimmed glasses, her hands on her hips. But Aidan didn’t care. There were reasons they kept certain information silent until they were ready to announce it to the public. Now because of a certain reporter, the city would be in chaos, the FBI and local police were shamed, and they’d have to figure out how to provide damage control.