But if she hid under her warm comforter, the Butcher would still be out there. Ashley van Auden would still be strapped to the ground, cold and in pain, certain she was going to die and that no one cared, no one would save her. Nick would still be missing. Was he dead? Please, no.
But how could he be alive? Why would the Butcher keep him alive? He wouldn’t. He’d kill him and dump his body. They might not find him until after they caught the Butcher.
She’d always wondered whether she’d be able to face the man who attacked her. After all these years, the nightmares, and the sacrifices, perhaps at last she was on the verge of finding out.
“Let’s go,” Quinn said to Miranda.
She looked up. She hadn’t noticed the room had cleared out, or that Quinn was standing in front of her.
“Where?”
“The University. To talk to Mitch Groggins.” He glanced at his watch. “I just talked to the cafeteria supervisor. He’s there until nine in the evening. We should be able to catch him.”
“Me?” She blinked. He didn’t actually mean for her to go with him? To be only feet from the man who might be the Butcher?
Quinn stared at her. His face was blank, but his eyes questioned. “Weren’t you paying attention for the last ten minutes?”
“I guess-my mind wandered. I don’t know how good I’d be to you.”
She wanted to go, desperately wanted to face each of the four men and have them speak. Close her eyes and listen to the cadence of his voice. She would know which man was the Butcher because she’d heard his voice in her nightmares.
This could be it-if Mitch Groggins was the Butcher, they’d have him behind bars today. Why was she hesitating?
Quinn sat beside her, took her hands. They were alone; everyone else had gone off on their assignments. Miranda didn’t want to feel so inadequate, so scared, but couldn’t help it.
“You’re shaking,” Quinn said quietly.
“What if Groggins is him? I-” She paused. “Maybe you were right all along.”
“Excuse me?”
“About me. I’m not cut out to be an FBI agent. I don’t know if I can face him and not either scream or scratch his eyes out. I always thought once I knew who the Butcher was, once he was behind bars, I could stand there and spit in his face and tell him he was going to be injected with poison, that he would die and go to hell. And somehow, that would make me feel whole again.”
“Miranda, I-”
“But,” she interrupted, not wanting to hear excuses or little white lies to make her feel better, “now that we are actually getting close, that I believe for the first time in twelve years that we are going to stop him, I don’t know if I can look him in the eye knowing what he did to me.” Her voice cracked, and she turned away from Quinn. “You were right to have me booted from the Academy.”
Quinn touched her chin, forced her to look at him. She blinked back tears, expecting to see I told you so written all over his face. Instead, his jaw clenched and his eyes flashed in anger.
“You can handle anything, Miranda. I never doubted your strength, I never doubted your ability. You would have made a great FBI agent-I just felt at the time that you wanted it for the wrong reasons. That you never would have been content to head down to Florida and work bank robberies, or political corruption in D.C. I thought that you would only have been satisfied as the permanent agent here, in Montana, working this investigation.
“I wanted you to take a year to really think about what you needed in your career. You were so positive you could find the Butcher once you had a badge. Your choices were all about him, not about you. I was so proud of what you’d accomplished at the Academy. You should be proud. Not only were you an exceptional student there, you’ve been an outstanding asset to the Sheriff’s Department here.”
“Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve become, is because of him. I don’t know who I am.” Miranda tried to turn away, but Quinn didn’t let her.
I never stopped loving you.
She didn’t deserve Quinn. For ten years she’d blamed him for what happened at the Academy when all she had to do was look into a mirror to stare at the guilty party.
Quinn’s eyes swam with emotion. “I know who you are, Miranda. And I’ve never admired anyone more than you.”
“I don’t-”
“We have to go. You can do this. I’ll be there with you. I will never let him hurt you again.”
She found herself nodding. She didn’t know if she believed him, but he had faith in her.
She vowed not to disappoint him. Or herself.
Mitch Groggins wasn’t the Butcher.
While he was the general height of her attacker-which Miranda had loosely guessed at between five eleven and six two, along with half the male population over eighteen-he was skinny. He didn’t have the same build.
Yet, it had been twelve years since she’d seen his silhouette.
As soon as she heard his voice, the whiny, nasal tone, she knew beyond a doubt he wasn’t the Butcher. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared.
But she’d done it. She’d faced a suspect and hadn’t screamed or shot him. She’d been terrified, but she’d faced him and felt stronger for it even though Groggins was innocent.
Quinn grew worried about Miranda as he drove her Jeep back to the Lodge. She didn’t have to tell him she was worn out, physically and emotionally. Preparing herself to face Groggins as the Butcher, then realizing it wasn’t him, had drained her. He wished he could gather her up and hold her, help her find her strength.
Her courage was there, he knew. He hoped she realized it. Facing Groggins was the first step.
The police in St. George, Utah, called his cell phone when they were halfway to the Lodge. They’d spoken to the construction company owner, Younger, and he was belligerent. But the fact he was in southern Utah at present put him at the bottom of the list, if not completely off it. He claimed he was at his office all day, and the local police were following up on his alibi.
The only way Younger could have made it back to Utah from Montana in the seven hours since Nick’s truck had been discovered would be to fly. Quinn called the Bureau and had someone work on flights in and out of Las Vegas, the closest major airport to St. George, as well as the private airports in the area.
He checked in with Colleen Thorne, his on-again, off-again partner, who was already in Grand Junction on her way to see Palmer, Penny Thompson’s boyfriend at the time of her disappearance.
“Palmer’s now at the top of the list,” he said when she picked up her phone. He filled her in on Groggins and Younger. “Proceed with caution.”
“Will do, but don’t you think if he’s the Butcher he won’t be home?”
“It’s not that far from Grand Junction to Bozeman. Ten hours, maybe. He could return to throw suspicion off. But if he’s not there, we’ll put an APB out on him for questioning.”
“I’ll let you know. We’re almost to his house. I also spoke to the president at the university in Denver,” she said.
“And?”
“He’s more than happy to help. He’s contacting the head of the wildlife biology department to find out what projects Larsen is assigned to, and we should be able to talk to both the director and Larsen tomorrow morning. It was after hours, so it took a little time to track them down. But I have Larsen’s address-he has a small apartment near the university-and an updated photo from his employee ID. Do you want me to send it to you?”
“Now?”
“I have it on my Blackberry.”
Quinn smiled and shook his head. “Modern technology. Sure, shoot it through to my e-mail. I’ll download it when I get to the Lodge.”