Winter's Web Page 8

  My mom always used to say that my father had been a disorganized slob when she met him. Over their years together—before they had me, anyway—she’d converted him into a clean freak. It wasn’t surprising that Maddie and I picked up on the same penchant for cleanliness.

  Scooping the remote for the expansive television from atop the coffee table, I dropped down to rest my back in the corner of the couch. Just as the screen flickered to life, I caught a glimpse of movement in my periphery.

  At seven in the evening, the staff had gone home, and Maddie had already left for a friend’s house when I got back from my afternoon class.

  “Nathaniel.”

  My greeting was as crisp and professional as if I was addressing one of my instructors. As far as I was concerned, I only had one parent, and she had been dead for over a decade.

  With a weary sigh, Nathaniel loosened the black tie around his neck. Though his face was perpetually clean-shaven, flecks of silver were visible amidst the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks. As his light brown eyes met mine, the shadows on his face made him look every bit his forty-four years of age.

  The corner of my mouth twitched, and I didn’t try to disguise the smile.

  The decision to leave the flash drive for him to find had been made at the last minute, but when I saw that defeated look, I was glad I had.

  Though I half-expected him to turn around to make his way back upstairs, he stood his ground. “I need to talk to you, Cameron.”

  Shrugging, I turned my attention back to the television. “Then go ahead and talk.”

  I could almost hear his teeth grind together at the flippant remark.

  “You want to explain that flash drive you left in my office?”

  I shrugged again, but I didn’t turn to face him. “Thought you might find it interesting.”

  He scoffed. “Interesting? Yeah, that’s one way to put it. What is wrong with you? Where did you get that?”

  I almost laughed. As much as I wanted to come right out and tell him that I’d made it myself, the moment didn’t feel quite right.

  Nathaniel’s time was coming. It wouldn’t be long before he discovered firsthand what I’d learned to do over the years.

  For the third time, I shrugged noncommittally. “Got it on the internet.”

  “Really?” His incredulous tone was tinged with indignation. He looked mad. Pissed, really. For a moment, it even looked like the good judge might be able to kill me.

  Unbidden, I remembered there was a handgun—a forty-five, if memory served—stashed in a false bottom drawer of the end table by my feet.

  Nathaniel was a public official, after all.

  Such a position came with its fair share of security risks, and my father had always been a gun aficionado. If someone with an ax to grind with Virginia State Supreme Court Judge Arkwell barreled through the front door and into the great room, the great man would be able to defend himself.

  I finally pried my attention away from the flickering screen as I pushed myself to sit upright. If I wanted, I could scoot to the end of the chaise, pull open the drawer, and retrieve the handgun before Nathaniel could even close the distance between us.

  Sure, he was a veteran, but he’d been out of the Navy for more than twenty years. Two decades was plenty of time for rust to slow down his reflexes.

  Rather than leap for the weapon, I feigned an exasperated sigh. Killing the asshole would take away much of my fun.

  “It sounds like you don’t believe me. Then again, that wouldn’t be new, would it? You’ll believe everything Maddie tells you, though, right? You know where she is right now, don’t you? Did she tell you she’s at her friend Katie’s house? Because that’s not where she actually is.”

  When the familiar spark of ire flickered to life in my father’s eyes, I had to make a concerted effort to keep my expression neutral.

  Maddie had always been the golden child, but Nathaniel didn’t know that his perfect little princess had matured into another degenerate high school tramp just like all her friends.

  Before I could go on, Nathaniel cut me off. “Actually, Cameron, I do know where she is.” Though calm, there was an unmistakable anger that simmered beneath the words. “I know where she is because she told me. She didn’t tell me she was at Katie’s, she told me the truth. Because that’s what she does. She tells me things. She’s with her boyfriend. Well, she’s not sure if they’re officially dating yet, but yeah, I know who she’s with. Besides, Maddie isn’t the one who left a video on my desk of a girl getting her throat slit, is she?”

  My heart knocked against my chest as the chill of apprehension and excitement rushed through my body. “You know she’s been having sex with him, right?”

  Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, last I knew, that’s what seventeen-year-olds do with their boyfriend or girlfriend. Are you trying to tell me you’re saving yourself for marriage? Because that’s bull.”

  I reflexively glanced to the end table, but I tore my gaze away and fixed Nathaniel with a petulant glare. I didn’t need him to know that I had figured out his secret firearm stash in the living room. There were undoubtedly other hidden caches around the house, but I hadn’t found those yet.

  If Nathaniel had learned that I was screwing around with a girl during my senior year of high school, I would have never heard the end of his lectures. But now that it was Maddie, of course it was fine.

  As the warmth of rage settled in beside the adrenaline, I shoved myself to stand. If I stayed here for the rest of this conversation, there was a distinct possibility I would venture down a path from which there would be no way back.

  That forty-five had started to sing a siren’s song, and I was its only audience.

  Not that I cared if Nathaniel lived or died. I didn’t. But he was useful. He’d proven that when he decided to keep the contents of that flash drive to himself.

  I’d handed him a video of me slitting a whore’s throat, and he hadn’t even mentioned it to the authorities. The hallowed judge had kept the video of a prostitute’s murder to himself.

  Without bothering to turn off the television, I spun on my heel and stalked to the other end of the room.

  “Where are you going?”

  I glanced over my shoulder, but Nathaniel hadn’t moved. “I’m going out,” I replied. “Maybe I’ll go fuck around with my girlfriend.”

  “Where did you get that video?” His voice cut through the air like a boomerang.

  “I told you.” I painted an uncaring expression on my face as I turned to him. “I found it on the internet.”

  Before he could let loose another volley of questions, I strode through the arched doorway to the kitchen. As I passed the stainless-steel appliances and granite countertops, I caught a glimpse of the block of knives.

  The wooden block was new, and the old matte black knives were nowhere to be found.

  My dick began to fill with blood at the realization.

  When my pulse rushed through my ears this time, it was driven by a sensation just shy of outright giddiness.

  I didn’t have to tell Nathaniel. He already knew.

  He knew, and he’d gotten rid of the evidence.

  Just like I knew he would.

  The FBI had been kind enough to provide Ryan with a laptop he could use to aid them in their investigation. But if Ryan was honest, his stomach turned every time he pulled up the forum where he’d found the video of Dakota Ronsfeldt’s murder.

  The entire scenario was too familiar, and the irony hadn’t been lost on him.

  Heidi Presley had gone to some lengths to ensure she had a front row view of Ryan’s demise during the final portion of her sadistic plan. Apparently, she wasn’t the only sociopath out there who liked to immortalize their handiwork. At least the video of Ryan’s ordeal hadn’t been uploaded to the internet.

  As the door of the hotel room creaked inward, Ryan snapped himself out of the daze and shifted in his seat.

  The suite was outfitted with a be
droom, a small living area, and even a kitchenette. Though leftover pizza from the night before was still stashed in the miniature refrigerator beside the entertainment stand, Special Agent Bobby Weyrick arrived bearing a late dinner.

  Ryan had been prepared to make do with ramen noodles and instant oatmeal, but for the last two nights, Agent Weyrick had provided real food.

  “You really don’t need to bring me food.” Even as he made the half-hearted protest, Ryan rose to accept the plastic bag of Chinese takeout.

  Agent Weyrick shrugged as he dropped down to sit at the other end of the couch. “No, but I was hungry, and my mama didn’t raise me to be a jackass. I’m not going to sit here and shovel crab rangoon and lo mien in my mouth while you sit a few feet away from me with nothing.”

  Despite the grave situation, Ryan chuckled at the Southerner’s unfaltering hospitality. “Well, I appreciate it. Thank you.”

  With a slight smile, the agent nodded. “No problem, man. I get to write it off as a business expense, anyway. Means I get a free meal out of it too.”

  Ryan returned the quick smile as he moved his laptop to the floor.

  They spread out the veritable feast in silence, the quiet din of the television the only sound. The hotel might not have been the luxurious real estate to which Ryan had become accustomed in his years of illicit work, but he would give credit where it was due. He had yet to hear any of the neighboring guests.

  “You were born in Chicago, right?” Agent Weyrick asked.

  Nodding, Ryan turned his gaze away from the generous portion of fried rice to meet Agent Weyrick’s curious glance. “I was, yes. Born and raised.”

  The agent looked thoughtful as he took a bite of an eggroll. “How’d you wind up with an Irish accent then?”

  Ryan dumped some of the fried rice on a paper plate. “My uncle raised me and my sister, and he didn’t move to the States until he was twenty-something. He lived in Belfast all his life before then, so I just picked up on how he talked. My sister’s a little younger than I am, so she never really caught onto it as much as I did. There’s a little of it there when she talks, but nothing really that noticeable.”

  Bobby took another bite as he nodded his understanding. “That makes sense.”

  “The neighborhood we lived in was home to a bunch of other Irish immigrants and their families, so all the kids we played with had accents. I think that probably had more to do with it than anything.”

  Another slight smile made its way to Bobby’s face. “Fair enough.”

  Ryan’s pulse picked up as a question began to form on his lips. So far, he hadn’t mentioned the deal he’d intended to cut with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The silence wasn’t a wise move on his part, but if he was honest with himself, he still wasn’t sure he was ready to hear their answer.

  The phrase “ignorance is bliss” had never sat well with Ryan O’Connelly. Even if the truth was dire, he’d rather know than be left in the darkness of not knowing.

  But this was different. There were too many unfamiliar variables—the poor woman he’d watched die on camera, his sister, her children, and their precarious living situation—for Ryan to operate under his normal high stakes mantra.

  Normally, if he was involved in a sticky situation like his current standing with the FBI, he had the option to bail out altogether. The ankle monitor that the Richmond SAC had given him was as technologically advanced as monitoring devices came, but it wasn’t infallible. Ryan still hadn’t figured out a way around it, but he knew there was a way.

  But this was different.

  Lil, Erin, and Evan were counting on him. If he failed to follow through with his end of the bargain with the FBI, Lil would become a person of interest in the capture of a fugitive. That fugitive, of course, would be Ryan.

  Even if the prosecutor decided not to press charges against Lil for hindering an investigation, obstructing justice, harboring a fugitive, or any other crimes they could think to toss out, they would still seek her out to ask questions.

  And if they found her, then it was only a matter of time until James found her. Ryan wouldn’t put it past the son of a bitch to press charges for her leaving the state without notifying the court.

  Even though Ryan was bound to his fate, he still wanted to know what that fate was. Because ignorance was not bliss, and at the least, he wanted to know what his future held.

  He glanced to Bobby Weyrick, and then back to his fried rice. “Can I ask you something, Agent?”

  From the corner of his eye, Ryan saw Bobby nod. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I know this is in the US Attorney’s hands, but have you heard any update from them? It’s only been a couple days, but I was hoping maybe you’d heard something.” He bit off the rest of the query.

  He didn’t want to ramble. Rambling made a person sound desperate.

  But he was desperate, wasn’t he?

  With a quiet exhale, Bobby set his egg roll down on a paper plate and wiped his fingers with a napkin. “I haven’t heard anything, no. I’d tell you if I had. SAC Osbourne hasn’t had a chance to sit down with the US Attorney to hash it out yet. I don’t know if you’ve heard of Augusto Lopez, but the US Attorney is trying that case right now. If I had to guess, I’d say that’s why he hasn’t had time yet. It’s an open and shut case, but the publicity on it is a nightmare.”

  Nodding, Ryan scooped up another bite of fried rice. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him. He was the guy who went around killing rapists and murderers, wasn’t he? Ex-Army Ranger, or something like that? The media called him The Norfolk Executioner. He’s not all that popular on the forums where I found these videos.”

  Bobby snorted. “Considering Lopez would leap at the opportunity to kill just about anyone on that website, and especially considering the fact that there’s probably nothing any of them could do to stop him, no. I don’t imagine they’re real keen on him.”

  Ryan managed a chuckle. “Exactly.”

  Though Ryan knew better than to vocalize the sentiment, he wished Augusto Lopez was a free man. Maybe if Lopez hadn’t been caught, he’d have beaten Ryan to the punch and wiped out the voyeuristic creep who had taken to abducting and filming helpless young women.

  Maybe Ryan would get lucky, and Augusto Lopez would be his cell mate if the Feds decided to send him to prison.

  The bleak thought wiped out what little of his appetite had remained, but he shoveled the fried rice into his mouth nonetheless.

  This wasn’t about him.

  Until he was guaranteed Lil’s safety and comfort, this was about her.

  It was about her, and it was about finding justice for the young woman whose murder had been posted to a website for the express enjoyment of a group of scumbags.

  The reminder brought him a minimal measure of comfort, and he only hoped the US Attorney would see the virtue in Ryan’s decision to risk himself to stop a killer.

  12

  A week after Winter and Noah had gifted Dan Nguyen with a bag of chocolate croissants and a mocha latte, Winter held the exact same order in her hands as she approached a couple young women seated on a park bench.

  Though the shade of a number of large trees was plentiful, the walking trail and handful of other features throughout the grassy space had seen better days. Then again, the girls were only a few blocks away from their usual place of business. Winter was in an area that some referred to as “the wrong side of the tracks.”

  One of the two, a petite blonde with large blue eyes, glanced over as Winter approached.

  During the Augusto Lopez investigation, the girl had met up with Winter and Levi Brandt—an agent from the Victim Services Division—at a diner. Though she’d introduced herself as Alice, both Winter and Levi had known that wasn’t her real name.

  Since then, Winter had learned that Alice’s real name was Elenore Alice Thompson. She’d always thought that Elenore sounded too old-fashioned and highbrow for her liking, so she preferred to go by Alice.

  When Win
ter thought back to the explanation, the first hint of a smile touched her face.

  “I know, I know,” Alice had said, waving a hand. “It makes me sound like I should be sitting here in a blue and white dress with a Cheshire cat on my lap, doesn’t it?”

  Despite the grim nature of their investigation, Winter couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of Alice’s tone.

  The prostitute was smart, witty, and had a great sense of humor. In all honesty, she reminded Winter of Autumn.

  And like Autumn, Alice had been dealt one bad hand after another in her short life.

  Where Autumn’s father had shoved her headfirst into a coffee table and nearly killed her, all Alice’s injuries were invisible. And though Autumn wound up in a foster home run by two kind people who had adopted her at thirteen, Alice’s only option to escape her abusive, drug addicted parents had been to run away.

  Like so many other runaway teens, Alice had resorted to prostitution to cover her basic expenses.

  Pushing aside the cloud of thoughts, Winter raised a hand to wave to Alice and her friend. As the young women glanced over, Winter held up the two lattes and the bag of pastries. Alice’s friend tucked a piece of ebony hair behind her ear and smiled.

  Levi Brandt and Bree Stafford both had a great deal of experience talking to young women like Alice and her friend. One of the first tricks Winter learned from Levi was to be personable and offer token gestures like food or coffee. It was one thing for her to reassure the girls that she wasn’t there to arrest them, but it was another for her to offer them chocolate croissants and a latte as proof that she was there in peace.

  Alice’s fair face brightened as Winter closed the distance. “Hi, Agent Black. You didn’t have to bring us coffee. You’re so nice.”

  Winter shrugged and passed a latte to each of the girls. “It’s the least I can do.”