“Nobody deals drugs at the cove. It’s a private beach.”
“But the killer dumped the body there. No telling where the supposed drug deal took place.”
Darcy edges her door shut so Hunter doesn’t hear.
“That’s insane. The branding on her neck should be all the proof they need.”
“It’s hard to scream serial killer after one murder, especially in a place like Genoa Cove. Until they ask for our help, my hands are tied. But…”
“Yes?”
“There’s nothing stopping us from checking up on our old friend in New York.”
“Wait,” she says, shifting the phone to her other ear. “You’re interviewing Rivers?”
“Tomorrow. I’m taking Dagliesh with me.”
“Do you think Rivers will talk?”
“Unlikely. But it’s a chance to meet with the warden and talk to the guards. If Rivers has a regular visitor, they’ll give us the lowdown.”
CHAPTER TEN
The FBI’s trip to New York is a failure. Michael Rivers hasn’t spoken a word since his capture, and video footage shows him shuffling through the yard in a zombie state. He barely eats but somehow maintains his strong physique. The warden believes the killer’s mind has shut down, and the staff psychologist agrees.
The log shows no visitors besides the tabloid media intent on interviewing the legendary murderer. It seems the nation has forgotten the terror the madman brought to Virginia and North Carolina three years ago.
The killer’s favored moon phase passes, and Halloween arrives without another murder. It is easy to let their guards down, but the quiet doesn’t fool Darcy. It only ratchets up her suspicion that something terrible is about to happen.
Bronson, who spends increasing time at the house, provides Jennifer’s escort to Kaitlyn’s party. Reading a magazine in the truck, he waits outside and ensures she doesn’t leave without him knowing. Afterward he drives her home.
Amy’s shell cracks and reveals hints of the outgoing, vibrant girl she was before she encountered the Full Moon Killer. No longer regressing, she seems to mature before Darcy’s eyes and spends more time working around the house and less with Jennifer. On a clear, windless afternoon, she helps Darcy reposition one of the cameras to capture a wider swath along the side of the house.
Even Hunter seems to brighten. He confides with Darcy he wants to write and is looking at colleges. He turns eighteen at the end of October, and though he refuses a party, Bethany brings him an ice cream cake and a stack of DVDs. Jennifer and Amy each take a slice. Hunter and Bethany consume the rest, and Darcy leaves the living room to the two of them, where they watch movies until two in the morning. She hasn’t watched Hunter laugh that hard or look so happy since he was in grade school.
A week into November, Bronson joins Darcy on the deck on a crisp autumn day. Amy is inside, browsing nearby universities on an iPad.
Remnants of a dying hurricane spin off the coast, and the black clouds in the distance draw a sharp contrast with the endless blue overhead. The cyclone is a long way off but serves as a reminder of the fury storms unleash on the coast.
“What time should I get the kids?” Bronson asks, huddled in a hooded sweatshirt. Between the two of them, they’ve driven Hunter and Jennifer home each day. Neither teen worries about serial killers anymore or senses the black clouds on the horizon.
Darcy checks the time—four o’clock.
“Six, if you don’t mind. But I can get them if you have other things to do.”
“Sit tight. I’ll get them.”
Teeth chattering, she rubs her legs together as the wind whips around the house and arrows toward the cove. He folds his arms and surveys the cameras, one of which focuses on the deck.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he says, cupping his hands and blowing into them. “If it’s too personal, say the word.”
“Okay.”
“Do you ever wish you’d stayed with the FBI?”
Darcy flicks at a fly.
“I miss the work, but I doubt they would let me near the field after the stabbing. I love participating in the kids’ lives, but sometimes it gets lonely while they’re at school and practice. And I worry I wasted my education.”
“You could go back. Maybe consult.”
“Can’t go back. That door closed at least a year ago. Besides, they gave me a generous severance after the attack, and though I don’t talk about it much, Tyler had a large life insurance policy. The kids are set for college, and that’s the only financial concern I have.”
“Well,” he says, lifting a beer to toast. “Here’s to a lifetime of sunny days and no bosses barking down our necks.”
She closes her eyes and leans her head back. The sun fights a losing battle to burn through the cold as thunder rumbles over the sea.
Later, darkness creeps across the neighborhood, oozing between the trees and houses as Darcy sits alone in the kitchen. Bronson will bring the kids home soon, then she’ll be able to relax. The moon will grow into a waxing gibbous in three days, nearly full, and the terrible waiting game will begin anew.
Her phone rings. It’s an area code she doesn’t recognize. Anticipating a telemarketer, she presses ignore and opens her laptop. The phone rings again. Same number.
“Hello?”
Quiet. Static follows like faraway lightning on an AM radio.
“Is anyone there?”
“I’m going to gut you, Darcy.”
She fumbles the phone and swings her head around. Night presses against the window. It wants to come inside.
“Who is this?”
“You know who I am.”
It can’t be, yet it is. She recognizes the voice of Michael Rivers.
“How did you—“
“We have unfinished business, the two of us. You took away my life, and now I’m going to take everything that matters to you. How about I start with little Jennifer?”
“I can’t imagine how you managed to make a phone call from prison, but I’ll make sure it never happens again.”
“Will you now? You’re not FBI anymore, Darcy. Just another suburban pig mother lined up for slaughter. How thoughtful of you to bring Amy into your home. It will make it easier for me.”
Darcy races to Jennifer’s bedroom and throws the door open. Startled, Amy jumps up from her chair. She mouths, “What’s going on?” The girl’s eyes are white saucers.
Darcy shakes her head and eases the door shut, but as she backs away, Amy follows her into the living room. It’s too late to conceal the caller. Amy reads Darcy’s terror and catches herself on the couch before she crumples.
“I’m tracing the call, Rivers.”
“No, you aren’t. You don’t have the means, nor does the retired oaf you bring into your house. Do you think he can protect you, Darcy?”
She throws open the door and steps into the yard without considering how exposed she is. The dark embraces her with cold, clammy fingers. Caresses her neck and whispers horrors into her ear. Rivers couldn’t have escaped. She would know by now. So who gave the maniac a phone?
“You’re making a big mistake. The FBI will talk to the warden, and he’ll find out how you called me. Why make a life sentence more difficult?”
“What makes you think I’m behind bars, Darcy? Did you ever worry you caught the wrong man?”
A shadow moves behind the vacant house and vanishes. Darcy steps inside and locks the door.
“I’m calling the police.”
“Go ahead. They’ve had four years to catch me.”
The call dies. Amy’s mouth works silently as she rises off the couch.
“It’s okay, Amy. Someone gave him a phone, but he can’t get to us. Never again.”