“Yes, sir.”
Ames exhales and jots Chilton’s name on the pad when the door opens. It’s Officer Faust with Julian standing behind her in the entryway.
“Detective, you better look at this.”
Ames opens his mouth and stops. Faust’s body is rigid, her face pale.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Ames says, following the officers through the doorway.
Darcy hurries to catch up, earning her an angry glare from the detective.
“Stay inside, Ms. Gellar.”
“This is our house. Whatever happened, I want to know about it.”
Security lights flare the backyard like a noonday sun as Faust’s flashlight dances over the exterior. Ames rounds the house and studies the wall. As he reaches for his radio, Darcy pushes past him.
The Full Moon Killer’s sinister grin drips in red paint on the side of the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The overnight bag packed and waiting inside the bedroom door, Darcy rubs her eyes and watches the CSI team through the window. Sun brushes the trees in hostile oranges and reds, the long night over. Pulled back to her FBI days, Darcy observes as they dust for prints and investigate the yard, one of them bending low and placing an item in a plastic evidence bag.
They won’t find anything. The killer is a ghost, a shape-shifter.
As the CSI crew packs their belongings, Detective Ames reappears with a fresh cup of Dunkin in his hands. Of the three officers who responded last night, only Julian remains.
Darcy steps back from the window before Ames notices her, but it’s too late. He nods and raises a second cup, offering it to her. She shakes her head and twirls around when the floor squeaks. It’s Hunter.
“You packed?” she asks.
He yawns and tilts his head at the gym bag beside the front door.
“We’re coming back for the rest of our stuff, right?”
“When it’s safe.”
“When will it ever be safe, Mom?”
He rustles the mop of hair atop his head and returns to his room. Visible through the open bedroom door, Jennifer curls asleep on her bed. Arm and leg twitches indicate her dreams aren’t peaceful.
Vehicle doors close and an engine rumbles. Watching through the window, Darcy waits until the CSI van pulls out of the driveway. Julian sits in the cruiser. When Ames walks up the driveway toward the door, Darcy opens the closet and stuffs Hunter’s bag inside. She waits three full breaths after he knocks.
“We finished up. I have to be honest, I doubt the crime techs found anything we can use.”
“I’m not surprised,” Darcy said, poking her head through the open door so he doesn’t think she’s inviting him inside.
“Look, I can’t rule out anything. The killer could have painted that face, or it might have been kids screwing with you.”
“You think kids figured out how to disable the security cameras?”
He glances down at his shoes and rubs his shoulder.
“Not likely. I take it your system is up and running again?”
“Just like magic, isn’t it? The police arrive, and the security cameras suddenly work.”
“It only takes a signal jamming device and a little know-how to disable your cameras. Many of the new systems use proprietary frequencies so they aren’t easy to jam, but criminals always find a way.”
As if the detective’s theory summons them, the Gilmore Security Systems technology team arrives, parking their van behind Ames’ cruiser. Julian watches them through the mirror as they pile out of the van with their testing equipment.
“And Ms. Gellar,” Ames says, moving aside for the workers. “Remember what I said about not leaving Genoa Cove.”
How did he know she planned to flee? Darcy and Hunter waited until the police went outside before packing.
Marylin, the young, blonde girl leading the team, is apologetic, and her willingness to help diffuses Darcy. As her crew members drag a ladder across the lawn, Marylin promises Darcy she’ll give Scott a full report of their findings.
But as Darcy expected, the Gilmore crew finds nothing wrong with the cameras or the alarm system. An hour later, they finish packing the van while Marylin stands with Darcy in the driveway.
“The police suggested somebody used a signal jamming device to disrupt the cameras,” Darcy says. “Does that sound right to you?”
“We use our own frequency settings at Gilmore, so while it’s possible, it’s unlikely someone figured it out.”
“The house switched over to generator power right before we lost the cameras.”
“That wouldn’t affect the security system. Have you experienced frequent power outages?”
Darcy rubs the morning cold off her arms.
“More than I’d prefer.”
“Huh. I interned with Genoa Electric before I got the Gilmore job. I’d be happy to look at the breaker.”
“I’ll show you where it is.”
“Derrick, I’m going inside to see the breaker box. I’ll be back in a second.”
Derrick waves to Marylin and tosses his bag into the van.
Darcy leads Marylin to the laundry room. The breaker sits between the wall and the washing machine, and Marylin needs to squeeze through sideways. Despite the bright confines, she flips the box open and shines a flashlight over the breakers. Her brow arches.
“What is this device, Ms. Gellar?”
Darcy edges through the gap and crowds beside Marylin. A small black box is affixed to the main breaker. Every few seconds, a green light flashes. A chill rolls down Darcy’s back.
“That wasn’t there when we moved in. What is it?”
Marylin scratches her head and angles her face beside the black square. She reaches out and pulls her fingers back, afraid to touch the device.
“I have no…honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Darcy gives Marylin room as the girl wiggles away from the breaker box. “You should call the police back. That looks like an explosive.”
Darcy is certain it isn’t a detonation device. She worked alongside bomb squads and can recognize a detonator, but she doesn’t blame Marylin for panicking.
“I bet anything it sends a surge.”
Marylin nods as she edges toward the hallway.
“That could disrupt your power. Like I said, Ms. Gellar, you really should call the police.”
Craving answers, Darcy tells Hunter to watch the house while she drives to the station. During the ride, she kicks herself for not teaching Hunter to fire a gun. Twenty-four hours ago, she would have relied on Bronson to keep her kids safe. Never again. In the past, she didn’t make grave judgment errors. She would have identified Bronson’s violent tendencies from the first time she met him. Now she groped blind through the darkness, her learned skills fading. Eric Hensel and the FBI cannot arrive soon enough.
Detective Ames tells the front desk to send Darcy into his office the moment she arrives. She finds him behind the desk, eyes weary and a fresh cup of coffee in his hand.
“You haven’t slept, have you, Detective?”
“There will always be time for sleep.”
He sets down the coffee as she slides the blinking device in front of him. She’s wearing protective gloves, not the high quality brand the FBI and crime scene investigators use, but sufficient to keep her prints off the evidence.
“What the heck is this?” He reaches into his desk and slips on his own pair of gloves, then he picks up the little box and tilts it under the light.
“I found it attached to the main breaker. If I’m not mistaken, it disrupted my power.”
“For what purpose?”
“To cause confusion and make people think I’m insane, I assume.”
He places the box to his ear.
“I don’t think you’re insane, Ms. Gellar.”
“No, but you think I raised a murderer.”
Darcy’s skin crawls. The killer broke into her house and bypassed the security system. Ames sets the box aside and picks up his phone. A moment later, a thin man wearing a CSI windbreaker retrieves the unknown item.
“You have a cousin in Georgia. Laurie?”
Darcy’s back stiffens.
“How did you know that?”
The detective steeples his fingers and rests his elbows on the desk.
“I put myself in your shoes. Where would I go if my kid got into trouble and my family was in danger?”
“We are in danger, Detective.”
“Which is why I’m asking you not to run. Leave Genoa Cove, and I can’t protect you.”
“You’re doing a helluva job protecting us now. The killer painted his signature on my house, our friend is dead because the police targeted the wrong suspect, and my son spent a night in the hospital with a brain bleed and a concussion. And now my neighbors are harassing us. What are you doing to keep my family safe?”
Ames squints at Darcy.
“Who is harassing you?”
Darcy recounts Gibbons following her through Smith Town.
“He made it clear Genoa Cove residents wouldn’t let Hunter get away with murder. They’ve convicted him without a trial. Who knows how far they will go?”
“I’ll talk to Gibbons.” Noting the incredulous expression on her face, Ames raises his hands. “You worked for the FBI and understand I have no grounds to arrest Gibbons. But having the police show up on your doorstep adjusts your attitude. In the future, I suggest you don’t go anywhere alone.”
“I promise I won’t go anywhere unarmed.”
He clears his throat and drums his fingers on the desk.
“Regarding what happened to Hunter…” Ames opens his desk drawer and studies a sheet of paper. “Aaron Torres is out on bail.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. When did you release him?”
“Last evening.”
“So he spent what—a few hours in jail?”
“We’re monitoring Mr. Torres, but I wanted you to know.”
“Aaron was out in time to vandalize our house last night.”
“Unlikely he’d take that risk, considering the scrutiny he’s under.”
“And if I see Torres and his running mates drive past my house…”
“You’re to call us immediately. But he won’t get away with what he did to Hunter. He’ll stand trial, and so will his friends.”
Ames’ assurance rings hollow, and it takes less than an hour for the harassment to begin again. Darcy turns into her driveway in time to catch Eric Hensel wrap his arms around Hunter on the front lawn. He holds Hunter from running off as Darcy screeches the tires and leaps from the car.
“Hunter? What’s wrong?”
The boy’s earbuds crank a speed-metal beat, his face twisted. A killer’s face.
“I don’t know this guy. Tell him to let go of me!”
“Easy, Hunter,” Hensel says. Though the FBI agent is slight of build, his arms ripple with muscle. “Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
Hunter fights until Darcy grips his arms. She barely recognizes her son. Finally, the boy collapses in Hensel’s grip.
“They’re gonna hurt Bethany,” he says, his head hanging, chin against his chest.
Darcy lifts his chin.
“Who? Who’s going to hurt Bethany?”
One arm grasping Hunter, more to keep the boy from falling than holding him back, Hensel hands Hunter’s phone to Darcy. The text came from an anonymous number, but Darcy is certain Aaron Torres sent the message.
If she is too stupid to stay away from you, she’s next.
“I’ll kill him!” Hunter screams, fury lending him the strength to fight again. It takes both Hensel and Darcy to stop the boy. “I swear to God I’ll tear him apart.”
“Get him inside,” Darcy says, and together with Hensel, they drag Hunter to the door.
One last glance over her shoulder confirms what Darcy suspected. Gibbons is on his front lawn watching. And he’s recording Hunter’s outburst with his phone.