Darcy jumps back from the car as he guns the motor. The black sedan bullets into the night, flying around corners until she doesn’t hear the motor anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Two pills. One Glock with a .40 caliber Smith & Wesson cartridge tucked under the pillow.
Darcy awakens to hazy light at the window and a bender headache that makes her question if she only took two. She wants to stay in bed, pop another anti-anxiety pill for breakfast like she did during those dark days after Michael Rivers came into her life. But staying in bed makes her a sitting duck, and medicating her fears away won’t save her from the wolf at the window.
She dresses in sweatpants and a windbreaker and walks the neighborhood until she wraps her head around last night’s encounter. Aware of the lunar calendar, Darcy assumes the killer must strike soon. The moon reaches waning gibbous in two nights. He’s running out of time.
That the police aren’t beating down her door suggests she scared Aaron Torres into silence. Thankfully, none of her neighbors are outside as she breaks into a jog.
Rousing Hunter and Jennifer out of bed proves difficult, but she ignores their protests and drags them down the highway to the river walk, a boardwalk-style shopping and restaurant area. Hunter discovers the coin-op video game arcade, where he blasts zombies and aliens into the netherworld. Jennifer falls in love with the designer shoe outlet. Afterward, they enjoy burgers, fries, and extra-thick milkshakes on a park bench overlooking the river. It’s a rarity for her children to smile and forget their real life horrors, and Darcy wishes she could bottle the moment.
When they return, Eric Hensel’s rental is in the driveway. Hunter lowers his head and passes Hensel without acknowledging him. Jennifer is too busy dragging shopping bags into the house to notice.
Darcy sits with Hensel in the kitchen while the kids return to their caves. The judgment he passes is cold and unforgiving when she tells him she chased off Aaron Torres.
“You could do time for that, Darcy. You can’t pull a gun on an unarmed kid and expect the judge to understand.”
“Torres wanted Hunter to come outside,” she says, slicing an orange and handing him half. “He would have hurt my kid if I hadn’t been there to stop him.”
“In your opinion. Good luck proving his intent.” He tosses the peel into the garbage and wipes his hands on his pants while she rolls her eyes. “Look, I get it. We both know Torres wanted a fight. All I’m saying is you’ve finally earned some goodwill with the local police. Don’t give them a chance to turn on you.”
“This morning was the first time I’ve seen my kids happy in weeks. Coming home, it was like popping a balloon. I should have kept driving, Eric. Screw Ames and his edict to stay in Genoa Cove.”
“That wouldn’t solve anything. You think this killer won’t follow you to another city? He tracked you to the Carolina coast.”
Deep inside she knows Hensel is correct, but Darcy pictures the car windows down and the California sun beating through the windshield. The other side of the country or the other side of the world. A moving target is harder to kill.
“I may have underestimated Ames,” he says.
Darcy looks up.
“What makes you say that?”
“He’s sharper than the just-another-career-cop-nearing-retirement routine he sticks to. You can count him as an ally.”
“You really believe that?”
Hensel rinses his hands at the sink.
“I do. We’re closing in on the killer.”
“Any suspects?”
“A few.”
“But you’re not sharing.”
“Not until I’m sure you won’t try to take him down by yourself,” he says, winking. He glances at his watch. “Which reminds me, I need to get back to the station. You haven’t heard anything from Bronson Severson, I hope.”
“Nothing.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Hensel dries his hands and pockets his wallet. “You’re still the best profiler I ever worked with. You should be the one giving briefings to the locals.”
A memory surfaces like a lost wedding ring in a shallow pond, and Darcy recalls the many profiles she gave to police and sheriff departments during the hunt for the Full Moon Killer.
“Let me see the suspect list, and I’ll be happy to help.”
“Nice try.”
For the rest of the day, Darcy evaluates her home’s security and searches for black box devices meant to disrupt the power. Then she returns to the cardboard box in the bedroom and thumbs through the Full Moon Killer case files. Knowing Bronson paged through her notes sets the hair on the back of her neck on edge. What did he hope to find?
Shadows grow long by dinner time. After Hunter and Jennifer finish putting away the dishes, she wants to throw them in the car again and drive, Hensel’s advice be damned. And never stop driving. The minute she puts down roots, the killer will track them down again, so she’ll just keep going.
Hensel calls ahead to warn Darcy. Detective Ames and Julian are en route to her house. She welcomes them inside, but neither Jennifer nor Hunter want anything to do with them. Looking like he finally grabbed a few hours sleep in recent days, Ames confers with Julian in the living room over a list of names. These are the recent home renters Officer Faust located. Darcy wants to trust Ames and Julian, but the wounds from their accusations run deep. She senses suspicion when they watch her from the corners of their eyes, and Darcy worries Julian and the detective are only here to gather evidence on Hunter.
Ames spies Darcy staring and breaks away from Julian to speak with her.
“I’m putting undercover surveillance on the house tonight. See the blue sedan at the end of the block?”
Darcy rests her hands on the sill and follows Ames’ arm.
“The Camry?”
“That’s the one. Officer Faust is in the car, and another officer will relieve her after midnight. If anyone approaches your house tonight, we’ll see them coming.”
Darcy doubts they will, though she keeps the thought to herself. The killer evaded the cameras before he disabled them, and none of her neighbors noticed. Not that Gibbons or any of the others would want to help Darcy, but she’s certain they’re always watching.
Dusk is deep at the window, the color of ocean waters a hundred fathoms beneath the surface. The nearly full moon is a red giant over the village, its light harsh as it washes out the trees.
Intending to head to the station, Ames is halfway out the door when Darcy’s phone rings. Another unknown number. She answers in the hallway and freezes. It’s Bronson.
The detective steps inside and edges the door shut. The police haven’t set up a trace, but when Ames reads Darcy’s eyes, he calls headquarters and gives them her phone number.
Bronson sounds drunk, his speech slurred and lethargic.
“You used me, Darcy. I protected you, and you threw me out of your life. You’re a little cunt, you know that?”
Darcy swallows.
“You invaded my privacy and went through my belongings.”
Bronson laughs, a sound like brittle claws dragging across weathered board.
“Paranoid as always. What use do I have with the Full Moon Killer case files? You’re losing your mind.”
Ames winds his arm in a circle, a signal to keep Bronson talking.
“You lied about the newspaper article. That guy’s arm you broke. You hurt him on purpose, and that’s why the department forced you to retire.”
“Someone is listening to Detective Ames. Is he there, Darcy? Tell him I’ll break both of his goddamn arms along with his pencil neck.”