Can they outsmart a killer …who’s already escaped justice?
The Kentucky Ripper is in prison…or is he? When no one will
help Teagan Ray find the man who really abducted her, former profiler Bryson
Anton agrees to investigate. But soon their search takes two jolting
turns—brutal attacks from a cunning suspect…and a powerful mutual attraction.
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Long before
the shadow fell across the end of the dock and hovered over Bryson Anton’s
wheelchair, he knew the man was there. Motion sensors and security cameras had
made Bryson’s watch buzz against his wrist when the man parked his car in the
driveway. More messages warned when the man crossed the back patio. And again,
when he’d descended the gently sloping lawn that ended at the creek. Bryson
didn’t care who was now standing behind him, as long as he didn’t have to
engage in conversation.
“Nice
place,” the man’s voice rang out. “Probably one of the highest views in the
Tennessee side of the Smoky Mountains. I’ll bet at night you can see nearly
every light in downtown Gatlinburg from here.”
Bryson
sighed but didn’t turn around. “My former boss took pity on me after I got
myself hurt on the job. He gave me a boatload of money, and I was selfish
enough to take it and buy this property. But that doesn’t mean he can drop by
any time he wants.”
“I’m still
your boss. I haven’t accepted your resignation.”
“That’s not
how it works, Mason. I resigned, whether you accept it or not. I’ll never be a
Justice Seeker again. I’m not going back to Camelot. You and your knights of
the round table are better off without a washed-up former profiler jacking up
your investigations.”
“Is that why
you’re sitting out here drinking like a fish, because you think you jacked up
everything?”
“Something
like that.” Bryson grabbed a can of beer from the cooler beside his wheelchair
and popped the top. He took a deep long swallow, more to irritate his unwelcome
visitor than because he wanted it.
Mason
retrieved a beer and eyed the label, then tossed it back unopened. “Fish
biting?”
“Do you see
a fishing pole around here somewhere?” Bryson emptied his can in the water and
dropped it on his lap before wheeling around. “Enjoy the view as long as you
want. You paid for it.” He rolled his chair up the flagstone walkway toward the
house.
“Dalton and
Hayley missed you at their wedding last week.” Mason fell into step beside him.
“Yeah, well.
I didn’t have time to learn the latest dance steps.” He stopped at the sliding
glass doors and tossed the empty beer can in the recycle bin. When he reached
for the door handle, Mason leaned past him and held it closed.
Bryson
swore. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you
to do your job. A new client came to Camelot yesterday. She specifically wants
to hire you.”
He scoffed.
“You expect me to believe she asked for a washed-up former FBI agent to screw
up her case so someone else will die? If she did, send her on over. I can
accomplish that without lifting a finger.”
Mason leaned
back against the door. “That’s a heck of a guilty conscience you’re nursing. Or
are you just feeling sorry for yourself?” He waved toward the wheelchair. “If
you’d actually go to your physical therapy appointments instead of being a
no-show half the time, you’d be out of that thing by now. Don’t look so
surprised. I pay your insurance premiums. I see what’s billed. And there’ve
been a surprising lack of medical invoices lately. You’ve given up, Bryson. The
question is why?”
“Why?” he
gritted out. “Let me remind you that when I was the FBI’s golden boy, everyone
treated my profiles like biblical text. So when I presented them with a profile
for the Kentucky Ripper, they focused all their efforts on Avarice Lowe, the
suspect at the top of my list. Meanwhile, Leviathan Finney—the real Ripper—was
no longer under surveillance. To celebrate, he kidnapped and gutted another
woman. Because of me, he was able to kill again.”
“Because
of you, the police were able to significantly narrow their list of
suspects much faster than they could have otherwise. The choices they made
after that weren’t your fault. Hell, Bryson. If it wasn’t for the work you did,
it would have taken far longer to catch the Ripper and put him in prison.”
“Tell that
to the family of the last woman he killed.”
Mason shook
his head. “I hear someone anonymously sends money to the last victim’s family
every month. While I admire the generosity and kindness of the gesture, that
person is making payments on a debt he doesn’t owe. The only person responsible
for that woman’s death is the man who killed her—Leviathan Finney.”
Bryson
fisted his hands on the arms of the wheelchair. “Are we about done here? It’s
getting late.”
“Big plans
tonight?”
“I have to
wash my hair.”
Mason let
out a deep sigh. “Just explain one thing, then I’ll go. Why now? You left the
FBI over three years ago and started working for me as one of the Justice Seekers.
Why is the Ripper case bothering you again after all this time?”
Bryson
stared at him incredulously. “Bothering me again? It never stopped bothering
me. But I tried to make something good from the bad, atone for my sins by
working investigations for you. And what did I do? I nearly got Hayley killed,
got myself shot and here I sit with shrapnel they can’t dig out of my hip
without risking the loss of my leg. Do I sit here feeling sorry for myself? No.
I don’t deserve anyone’s sympathy, least of all my own. The people who deserve
sympathy are the ones I’ve hurt, those who nearly died because of me, and the
one who did. Accept my resignation and leave me alone. I’m not going to
risk hurting anyone else. I’m done.”
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