Winter Black Box Set 3 Read online

  The woman was no longer alone.

  There was only enough of the man’s skin visible to confirm that he was Caucasian, but otherwise, he was clad in black from head to toe. Even the eyeholes of his ski mask were covered with a pair of dark sunglasses.

  As the man approached his captive huddled on the concrete floor, Nathaniel could hear little over the pounding of his pulse. Bile stung the back of his throat, but he couldn’t so much as will himself to swallow. All his attention, all his energy, everything he had was fixed on the event unfolding on his computer screen.

  The stage lights glinted off the tear streaking down her flushed cheeks as the woman scrambled away from the man’s advance.

  Her effort was futile. She’d backed into a corner. There was no escape.

  As swift as a venomous snake, the man snapped one arm out and clamped a gloved hand around her throat.

  She shouted and tried to shove him away, but the attempted rebuff was in vain.

  Nathaniel didn’t know what to expect next. He didn’t know who the man was, and despite the close vantage point, he still didn’t recognize the girl.

  It’s a film project, he reminded himself.

  A film project.

  Silver flashed beneath the bright lights as the man produced a butcher knife from behind his back. With the same unnerving quickness, he pressed the blade to her throat.

  There was no audio, but Nathaniel could clearly make out the word “please” as she pressed herself farther into the corner. Unperturbed, the man clamped a gloved hand over her mouth, shoved her head back, and dragged the knife across her throat.

  “Jesus Christ!” Nathaniel exclaimed, jumping back from the laptop so hard and fast that his chair crashed into the wall.

  Blood. So much blood.

  As her head lolled and her lifeless blue eyes turned toward the camera, Nathaniel closed his own.

  It was a film project. It was a homemade horror movie, and the blonde was a damn good actress. Fake blood could be purchased by the gallons. Prosthetics used to mimic wounds of every size.

  Yes.

  That was it. That was the only possible explanation.

  A film project.

  It had to be.

  2

  Before he pressed the enter key to initiate the video call, Ryan O’Connelly raked a hand through his hair and sighed. For almost an entire year, he’d crept through life in the shadows. The darkness had become his new normal, anonymity his new mode of operation. If he kept his head down and stuck to the shadows, he had a chance to avoid detection by either the Federal Bureau of Investigation or any of the law enforcement agencies that’d be happy to take him down.

  He was used to life on the run, but he was used to worrying about one person and one person only. Himself.

  But now, he wasn’t alone anymore.

  Less than a week after the ordeal with Heidi Presley—a certifiable psychopath who’d left a trail of bodies in her wake as she went around the country to recreate a series of legendary heists—Ryan had received a desperate message from his little sister. That had been nine months before. At the time, Ryan had been able to get his sister and her children to safety. But to what end? So that they could fear that each knock on the door would be the law coming to get them?

  They’d lived in fear long enough.

  It needed to be over.

  He and his sister had grown up in abject poverty in the heart of Chicago, and they’d both been subjected to the violent whims of their uncle. The man was a drunk and a slob, but in all honesty, those were his two most redeeming qualities.

  For the time they’d grown up together, he and Lil had been inseparable. He’d watched her back, and she’d watched his. Ryan had thrown himself in their uncle’s line of fire to protect his sister more times than he cared to count, but after the bastard almost killed him when he was just a sophomore in high school, he left. He didn’t tell his friends, didn’t tell his sister, didn’t tell a single soul. At just fifteen years old, he limped out the door, swearing to return when he was able.

  When he did return months later, the shitty little apartment was filled with new tenants. Lillian was gone.

  It had taken him more than two years to find her again, and when he’d finally found the courage to face her, she’d punched him in the face.

  He’d taken the hit like a man, knowing he’d deserved it and more, but when he begged her to go with him, she’d refused. She had been about to turn seventeen, and she claimed that she was in love with a man nine years her senior. He’d keep her safe, she’d told him.

  Unlike my brother.

  Lillian hadn’t said the words, but he’d felt the weight of them, nonetheless.

  At the time, Ryan had taken the refusal as a personal slight. He’d tried, and he convinced himself that he had done all he could.

  When she still said no after he’d asked a third time, he did what he had to do.

  He left before his uncle could catch on to his presence.

  For the second time, he left Lillian without so much as a glimmer of hope.

  He’d been scared—scared of his uncle, scared of who Lillian had become while he was gone, scared of being forced back into that lifestyle. He was enough of an adult now that he could admit to the fright.

  Now, fifteen years later, he knew she’d done whatever was needed to survive. But back then, her refusal stung like a slap in the face. He hadn’t been at her wedding that took place just a few days after she’d turned eighteen years old. He also hadn’t been there when her husband died a few years later. It wasn’t until she was married a second time and became pregnant that they’d spoken again. She was a few months pregnant at the time, and despite the distance that had come between them, she proudly made him the godfather of her first child, a little girl.

  When he got Lillian’s panicked call a week after Heidi Presley’s reign of terror finally ended, he’d been determined not to leave her behind like he had when they were teenagers. Just as Ryan had sworn to himself years ago, he didn’t hesitate. He didn’t cast judgment. He just helped her.

  The most dangerous time in an abusive relationship—the time when the victim was the most at risk to be killed by their abuser—was when they were leaving. Unlike fifteen years earlier, Ryan was there for the long haul.

  Lillian was safe now, and he’d make sure it stayed that way.

  Flexing the fingers of one hand, he pulled himself out of the reverie and tapped the enter key. He’d already sent her a text to give her a heads-up for the video call, and she answered before the second ring had finished.

  With a slight smile, she pushed the strands of dark hair from her eyes as she offered a quick wave. “Hey, bro. How’s it going?”

  He laughed for the first time in what felt like a thousand years. “Bro? What, are we in a frat now?”

  Her pale blue eyes were brighter as she laughed, and for a moment, the shadows of weariness didn’t seem so pronounced. “If we were, we’d have to come up with a secret handshake.”

  Some of her mirth found its way to his face as he chuckled. “No doubt. Are Evan and Erin in there with you?”

  Glancing to somewhere offscreen, she shook her head. “No. They’re watching Pokémon. You were right, by the way. They’re hooked. I bought them each a stuffed Pokémon when we went to the store after school this afternoon. Erin got a little cat, and Evan got a little turtle.” She swung her legs off the edge of the bed and walked off screen. A few seconds later, he heard the soft click of a door closing.

  Ryan had to make a conscious effort to keep the strain from his smile when she returned, sitting back down on the bed. Lil, Evan, and Erin had settled in Omaha, Nebraska, and Ryan was clear out in Virginia. So far, his time on the East Coast had been lonely. It didn’t help that he was stalked by a pervasive worry that Lil’s abusive ex, James Lowell, would locate the three of them. At least if Ryan was there, he could do something about it.

  Even though Ryan’s so-called work took him all around the
globe, he had made a point to try to keep in contact with his sister after she’d given birth to Erin. But with each passing month, he’d felt like a riptide was pulling Lillian farther and farther away from him.

  Those last few times he’d traveled to Chicago to visit his niece and nephew, Ryan hadn’t missed the concealer Lillian used to cover the bruises on her arms.

  It was a misunderstanding, she’d told him. A one-off. James had been laid off from his long-time position as a welder, and they were stressed. Lil was enrolled in community college classes for the upcoming semester, but they had to put the plans on hold so she could get a full-time job to help support them until James found another position.

  Her explanation had been so hopeful and genuine that Ryan believed it. Only months later, long after the late-night conversation, did he realize that the line was the same used by countless other victims of abuse around the world.

  Lil’s voice snapped him out of the glum thoughts. “I can’t believe kids are still into that stuff. I mean, Pokémon was popular when we were in school, right?”

  He tried to appear thoughtful as he scratched his chin. “I suppose so, yeah. I remember kids trading the cards during lunch hour. I think it missed me by a couple years, though.”

  She spread her hands in a show of pensiveness as she took her seat. “It’s never too late.”

  “I’ll have to start my own Pokémon collection the next time we’re all together.” Even as he smiled, he didn’t miss the shadow that passed over her face.

  “I’m guessing that’s what you wanted to talk about?” Her voice had grown quiet as her blue eyes flicked back and forth between the door and the webcam.

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah. It is.”

  The shadow of concern had darkened, and she looked like she hadn’t slept for a full forty-eight hours. “You saw that poor girl in the video. You saw her eyes. I know it’s been a long time, but Jesus, Ryan.” She paused to rub her forehead. “We’ve seen someone die before. And…and her eyes. Those were dead eyes. There’s no actor who could fake that.”

  Ryan’d been hesitant to bring up the disturbing videos to his sister at first, but he couldn’t get the nagging guilt out of his head and had needed to talk to someone about it. Someone he could trust. Besides, Lil had been in the midst of getting her criminal justice degree when her first husband died, with a goal of becoming a forensic investigator when she graduated. His sister loved crime investigation shows and read CSI novels by the dozens.

  Plus, she was right. They’d both seen dead bodies before. Their mother’s drug overdose. Their father’s suicide. How could people do something like that with their children in the house?

  At first, Ryan had tried to pretend that he hadn’t seen the video, but after only a couple days, he’d broken down and explained to his sister what he’d found. He hadn’t wanted to burden her with the knowledge, but these days, she was his only friend.

  Clenching his jaw, he nodded again. “I know. And I know where I found it. That website, it’s a dumping ground for twisted people like Ted Bundy and that old bastard from out here in Virginia, Douglas Kilroy. It’s where those pricks go to kill time. None of the videos on there are fake. Whoever that girl was, she’s dead. And whoever that guy dressed in black was, he killed her.”

  Lil combed the stray strands of hair away from her forehead as she sighed. “Look, I know that plan I came up with is a long shot. I know that the FBI’s been after you for a while now, and taking this thing to them to try to get back in their good graces, or at least to get off their shit list, probably isn’t even possible. I know there’s a real chance that none of this will work out, but…” As her voice cracked, she brushed the tears away from her tired eyes.

  He hated how much of Lil’s self-worth that bastard had taken from her. Abusive pricks were all the same like that. They wanted their victims to sever all ties to family and friends, to be completely dependent on them.

  If Ryan was there right now, he could give Lil a hug and a bit of reassurance. But he couldn’t be there. He couldn’t risk putting Lil, Evan, and Erin in the FBI’s crosshairs. If the bureau found them, they’d charge Lil with harboring a fugitive or whatever other nonsense violation they could concoct.

  As it stood, she was already on shaky legal ground that had little to do with him.

  Lillian had been awarded custody of Erin and Evan, but the door was still open for their father to sue for visitation in spite of the abuse charges and restraining orders she’d filed against him. Winning sole custody and completely cutting one parent out of a child’s life was a difficult legal feat, even if the parent in question had been accused of violence.

  Ryan ground his teeth together. The stupid law had placed his sister precisely between a rock and a hard place. She’d had little doubt that the bastard would kill her if she stayed put in Chicago. Fleeing and not appearing in court meant facing charges ranging from a custody violation to kidnapping.

  With very little choice left and with Ryan’s help, she dropped off the face of the planet and changed all their surnames.

  But they still weren’t completely safe.

  If the Feds caught Ryan with Lil, then they’d send Evan and Erin back to their asshole father. And while Ryan was more than willing to risk his own safety in the pursuit of a better quality of life, he wasn’t willing to risk the safety of the only family he had left.

  Not again.

  Never again.

  Ryan shook his head. “No, Lil. Don’t say that. You’re right. I mean, I came here to make some money off these rich arseholes, but you’re right. If that video is the kind of twisted stuff they’re into, then someone needs to do something about it. And right now, it seems like I’m the only one who cares enough to do it.”

  With a light sniffle, she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “It’s the bystander effect.”

  He ran through his mental dictionary and came up blank. “What’s that?”

  She leaned closer to the screen. “When there are a lot of people around during an emergency, there’s a lot lower likelihood that any one of them will do something to help. They just assume the person beside them will jump in, or that someone else will see what’s happening and help. I learned about it in my intro to psych class a few years ago. The more people who are there, the less likely any one of them is to do something.”

  Ryan shoved a hand through his hair and heaved a sigh. “Jaysus. Yeah, I guess so. Sure seems like it here.”

  A week ago, his contact in a group of Virginia’s wealthy elite—a middle-aged widow whose husband had been a prominent member of the group—had come to him with a rumor she’d heard around their secretive club. According to that rumor, one of the members had a penchant for taking out their ire on a certain subset of the population—prostitutes.

  Just like Ted Bundy and the Cleveland Strangler, the man preyed on the most vulnerable members of society.

  His contact’s seat in the so-called secret club was largely honorary. Though her deceased husband was a founding member of the group, Mrs. N had never taken much of an interest in their activities. She’d shown up to the events with her husband, but otherwise, she’d steered clear of the other members.

  To her credit, Mrs. N kept up a convincing façade of indifference when they were at dinners or other social events. The men and women with whom they met were all the same. Wealthy and powerful. And as a public figure herself, Mrs. N couldn’t risk inviting their wrath.

  Ryan cleared his throat and returned his attention to the laptop. “You’re right. Someone needs to do something, and this is the best chance I’ve got at clearing my name with the Feds.”

  After a jaunt down to the dark underbelly of the world wide web, Ryan found an entire forum dedicated to the voyeuristic pursuits of stalkers all around the globe. They swapped information, shared photos, helped one another plan, all of it.

  And there, he found the video of a blonde woman. Watched in horror as her throat was slit, her blood pooling a
ll around her.

  He’d seen firsthand the damage a psychopath could inflict if they were left unchecked. Heidi’s brutality was still fresh in Ryan’s mind, and he wasn’t sure he could cope with the guilt of knowing he could have prevented any more innocent deaths.

  It was Lil’s turn to sigh. “Why does it have to be you, though? Why did this Mrs. N woman have to tell you about it? Shouldn’t she have been the one to go to the cops?”

  He bit back a groan. “She’s a state senator. She’s got an image to uphold, and apparently, even though she’s got a little bit of a conscience, she doesn’t have enough of one to risk her career and her cushy life. You want my guess about why she told me and not someone else in that group?”

  Lil nodded.

  Ryan shifted in his seat. “Because she personally knows all those other people, and she knows better than to try to talk to any of them. She wasn’t about to tell any of them that she thought one of their ranks was kidnapping and murdering prostitutes at the edge of town. Wasn’t about to tell them that her prostitute sister was scared because some of the women had been disappearing.”

  Lillian’s expression darkened. “She probably doesn’t even want them to know that she has a sister, does she? My god, those people are all the same, aren’t they?”

  Ryan finally let out a weary breath. “They are. And apparently, a lifelong thief has more of a conscience than any of those arseholes. Even the ones that actually have a conscience to speak of.”

  With a quiet snort, Lil shook her head. “Apparently. You’re going to do it, then? You’re going to the FBI?”

  If the fear in Mrs. N’s eyes hadn’t been so prominent when she told him about the rumored disappearances, Ryan wouldn’t have bothered to try to research the claim. Sometimes, he wished he’d listened to the devil on his shoulder, and not the angel.

  After all, he’d connected with Mrs. N and her elite friends to steal from them, bit by bit. Not turn into some do-gooder willing to risk his hide.

  But here he was.

  Even as his stomach dropped, he nodded. “Yeah. Soon, real soon.”