01 Only Fear (14 page)

She reached out to check the card. Ethan took her wrist to stop her from touching them. “Any credit card receipt? Cash? Okay. Maybe a description of the person who purchased them?”

“I can help you there,” the messenger said, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed under Ethan’s glare. Ethan ended his call and turned all of his attention on the boy.

“How can
you
help?” Ethan growled.

The boy’s chin shot forward in defense. “I took the order when it came in. It came by phone. Woman’s voice.” He looked toward the floor. “I think.”

“You think?” Ethan advanced a step.

Maggie stepped forward and knelt by the messenger. “What did she say?”

“Just asked for a traditional funeral bouquet and said the money would be delivered, along with the card to be included.” The kid shrugged, suddenly looking ten years old as he hunched his shoulders. “I just did my job. But the voice sounded a little off—like when a guy impersonates a woman, you know?”

“Who delivered the money and note?”

“A kid. I remember I was surprised to see him, since he’s from our neighborhood, but he just said some guy paid him to drop it off.”

Maggie paled. Fearmonger was involving kids now? Why not? He’d obviously felt no compunction about preying on a mentally ill person like Deborah. The flowers weren’t from her, but her name was used. Surely, that had to be part of his message. Her heart pounded against her breastbone, and she forced herself to breathe regularly.

“What’s this kid’s name?” Ethan growled.

Maggie smiled encouragingly to the messenger, glancing at his nametag. “Todd, we’re just trying to figure out a little mystery.” He returned her smile with a wobbly one of his own. “I promise the kid won’t get in trouble. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Kenny,” Todd blurted out. “I don’t know his last name, but he’s always playing basketball down the street from the flower shop.”

Her smile widened and he actually seemed to perk up a little. “Thanks, Todd. You’ve really helped us out. You can go now.” On shaky legs, the kid stood, tossed one final wary glance at Ethan, then rushed out the door.

Ethan shook his head. “If you think you’re touching that bouquet, you’d better think again.”

“Then what do we do?”

He pulled some nitrile gloves out of his jeans pocket and reached inside the bouquet for the card that was clipped to a plastic stick. Opening it, his mouth pressed into a firm line. He held it up for Maggie to see. Not touching it, she moved closer so she could read over his shoulder.

“‘Fear me,’” she read. It was written in bold red letters. Thankfully, it appeared to be everyday red ink. Not blood. “It
is
from Fearmonger, then.”

Ethan nodded. “He’s written either
Fear
or
Fear me
everywhere, like in the tunnels—”

“The tunnels?”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“It won’t help to protect me. At least not from information like that.” Still, her chest was beginning to hurt. “But why pretend they’re from Deborah? And who’s next? If he targeted her, anyone I’ve ever been connected to is in danger. If he’s stepping things up, what’s to say he won’t go after my family next?”

“I’ll speak to Damian about getting added protection for your family. At least they’re all aware of the danger.”

“Are they?” Maggie snapped. “They don’t have a clue what could really happen. Brad was different. The woman who shot him wasn’t in her right mind. This guy is cold and calculating. He truly
stalks
prey and takes great joy in torturing them.” Her pulse pounded, echoing in her ears.

“From everything I’ve seen and heard, your family loves you. They want to help.”

Maggie turned away. God, she was going to lose it. She could feel the weight crushing her chest. She was starting to feel lightheaded as her breath came in shorter and shorter gasps.

“Wait, what’s this?” Ethan, who seemed oblivious to her mounting anxiety, had turned the small card over. “‘Rest easy, Red.’ What the hell does that mean? Maggie?”

She was losing control. She lunged for the door, only to feel Ethan’s steely arms come around her from behind. She tried to pry his grip loose with her fingers, but he held on tight.
God, I have to get out of here.

“You can’t go.” His voice came from right next to her ear. At the sound of it, she stopped clawing at him. “We don’t know if he’s out there, just waiting to upset you enough to go off on your own.” He turned her in his arms to face him, his brow wrinkling in concern. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“P-panic,” she tried to say.

“Panic attack?” He sat her in a chair. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He raced out the door and returned a second later with a paper bag with the logo of a nearby fast food place on it. “I snagged it from a kid in the Quad.” At his insistence, she breathed in and out of it. It smelled like she was breathing in oily French fries with every breath, but it slowed the hyperventilation.

“You’ll be okay.” Sitting down beside her, he pulled her into his lap, soothing her with long strokes along her back and crooning nonsense until her racing heart slowed and she regained control of her breathing.

She lay with her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as her world righted itself. The recovery period had been easier, faster this time. Because of him? Probably, but that didn’t stop the flush of embarrassment that spread over her neck and cheeks.

Expecting a demand for an explanation or a barrage of questions, she was surprised when he continued to rub her back in long, lazy circles as he spoke. Somewhere along the way, he’d managed to peel off his gloves, and his fingers were warm and strong through her shirt.

He kept his voice quiet and soothing. “One time, when I was guarding the vice president’s family—” she realized with a jolt that he meant
the
vice president, but had little energy to do anything more than file the fact away for later, “—some crazy guy with a gun and a radical political agenda cornered us as we left a meeting. It was my first experience truly guarding someone with my life.”

Long and slow, the lazy circles at her back continued. As the cadence of his voice lulled her, Maggie let herself totally relax against him. Her head lay against his shoulder, and she felt the rumble of his words. His heart thumped steadily beneath the palm she laid on his chest.

“It was the first time I saw someone get shot. One of my fellow Secret Service agents. He died. After that, every time I saw a gun, I got shaky. Took a few months before they let me guard again, but I was so young, so green at the time.”

His chest moved as he took a deep breath.

“I still think of that whenever I’m out on the job. About how unexpected events can impact your world and you’re never the same.” He pulled back to examine her face. “You have a right to lose control once in a while. You’ve been through so much.”

He wavered before her as her eyes filled with tears. He wasn’t judging her. She was a psychiatrist. She’d told herself she shouldn’t be having panic attacks. She knew deep down that wasn’t true, yet she held a high double standard for herself.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

As he leaned forward, she met him halfway, taking solace in the tender understanding of his kiss. His hand stopped circling her back to cup her at the nape, cradling her as she accepted what he offered. For all its softness, when he pulled back they were both panting for air.

He gave a quiet, husky laugh that fanned her face. “That’s the way I like to see you breathless.”

She smiled, but it was brief, quickly replaced by a frown. “I’ve had panic attacks since Brad’s death, but they’ve been better lately. Until now.” She gripped his shirt as she remembered. “Oh, God. Deborah.”

It was his turn to frown. “What? She’s dead now.”

“The words. On the back of the card.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed on her, then back to the card where he’d dropped it on the desk when she’d had her episode. The confusion in his eyes cleared as he remembered. “‘Rest easy, Red’?”

Goose bumps rose on her skin. “That’s what Deborah said the day before she brought a gun to our normal session. She’d begun to see herself as my protector. She told me to rest easy. And she called me Red the day she…”

Ethan’s arms were like life support as he wrapped them around her. She felt like she’d start shaking and never stop—or at least not until she broke into a thousand little pieces.

Ethan didn’t know everything. Oh, he knew she’d lost someone important to her that day Deborah Frame had come to her office with a gun. But he didn’t know what Deborah had done to
her
afterward. If she kept on this path with him, if she got closer to him and allowed him more intimacy with her, she’d have to share the entire story. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

“And now Fearmonger’s taken that protector role upon himself?” Ethan said, his words a rumble against her cheek.

“I think it’s his way of telling me he knows more about me than I thought. He knows about my family, about my past.” He knew everything.

Ethan’s chest tightened as Maggie spoke to her sister, making dinner arrangements for that night when it looked like she’d rather hole up in her house and shut out the world. After she hung up the phone, he put a hand on her shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she replied, but every few seconds she pressed a hand to her breastbone.

Panic attacks. He never would have thought she suffered from them. She hid it well. Her secret vulnerability made him all the more determined to protect her.

“At least I know my family is safe.” She frowned. “For the moment. And thank goodness Marconi’s willing to run another recorded show tonight so I don’t have to face the microphone.” Or the possibility Fearmonger would call in. Ethan was feeling relieved about that, too.

His phone rang and he was relieved that the caller ID indicated Noah was finally getting back to him. “Anything?”

“Just left the state hospital,” the detective replied. “They found some letters Deborah had hidden away in her mattress. Looks like Miss Frame had an unusually close relationship with a male pen pal named Owen. I’m guessing the name’s not a coincidence. If his letters are any indication, he was quite the motivational speaker, encouraging her to ‘break out’ and embrace her desires. The guy’s a real charmer.”

Ethan turned toward the window, away from Maggie, who was now speaking with her parents. “Can your source get us a copy of those letters? Maybe we can lift some prints or match his handwriting or something.” He’d take any lead at this point.

“Working on it.”

“Any ideas how Fearmonger broke Frame out?”

“Like I said, the guy’s a real charmer. He apparently has connections and some serious cash. That’s how he got the letters to Deborah without anyone screening them. There’s a guard missing. According to her fellow employees, she’s been boasting about some extra cash flow lately.”

“Bribed?”

“Sounds like it. Until we find her or check her bank statements, we won’t know for sure. Last night she left her post, and no one’s seen her since.”

“Fearmonger has to have been working on this for a long time,” Ethan said. “Which means he’s holding all the cards. He’s in control.” And that scared the shit out of him. No way was he letting Maggie out of his sight. He was instituting a twenty-four-hour-a-day lockdown, of sorts, and too bad what anyone thought of it. “But why target Maggie at all?”

“Well, there is her radio show. She’s something of a local celebrity. And she’s attractive.”

Right. Like any man in his right or wrong mind wouldn’t want Maggie in his bed. But why obsess about teaching her about fear? She’d already been through some damn scary situations. “There has to be some connection we’re overlooking. There’s a reason he’s toying with Maggie. Let’s hope Lorena has a profile ready when we get back.”

As Maggie looked over the students entering the classroom and taking their seats, she wondered for the hundredth time what a serial killer looked like. If Fearmonger were so intent on being near her, wouldn’t he pull just such a stunt—enrolling in one of her classes? And Abnormal Psychology would probably be right up his alley.

Most of the students were in their early twenties, but some were older. With a medical school on campus and an outreach program designed to bring more “seasoned” adults back to college, she frequently got older students mixed into the crowd.

Her eyes found an older man, probably around forty, smiling at her. She smiled back but knew the welcome didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Fearmonger would likely be around that age. By Maggie’s count—and she’d done some in-depth studies of violent offenders after Deborah’s attack—he would be at least in his early thirties, but could be in his forties. Probably a white male, since serial killers often stayed within their own race and ethnicity.

This man fit the rough profile she’d created.

The class was settling, looking expectantly at her. Becca was in the crowd, blending in with her jeans and T-shirt, but near the front, where she could defend Maggie if need be.

Maggie began her lecture and soon lost herself in the material. An hour and a half later, the class was filing out. There had been no incident. No need to defend herself. And Maggie was beginning to feel ridiculous. Was she on a witch hunt? But then the man who’d smiled at her earlier approached, and she felt her heart drop into her stomach.

“I’m looking forward to the class, Dr. Levine,” he said, smiling as his light blue eyes surveyed her. Was he mocking her? Was he the killer? Little lines formed around his eyes as he squinted. “Is something wrong?”

Concern. The man was concerned. Surely a sociopath wouldn’t—couldn’t—express concern. At least not in a way she, as a trained professional, couldn’t see right through.
Right?
Becca, sensing her distress, stepped forward, neatly inserting her smaller body protectively between Maggie and the student.

“I’m Becky,” she said, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “Looks like we’ll be in class together. And you are?”

His smile appeared genuine as he shook her hand. “Robert. It’s been a while since I’ve been in school. Got married young. Had kids. You know how it goes.” He laughed. “Well, maybe you don’t. What are you, nineteen?”

“Twenty.” Becca gave a disarming smile. Only Maggie knew that Becca was really several years older. “And I could use some help with all the notes I’m sure Dr. Levine will be giving us. Let me know if you hear of any study groups, will ya?”

“Sure thing. See you next class, Dr. Levine.” And then he was gone. Maggie supposed she’d made the appropriate goodbye response, as he hadn’t seemed concerned anymore.

“Thanks,” she whispered to Becca.

“Just doin’ my job, ma’am,” she said, tipping her imaginary hat to Maggie. “Seriously though, I’ve got your back. You did fine.”

“Thanks,” she said again.

She wanted nothing more than to return home and sink into a bubble bath. Relaxation. She needed it desperately. She wasn’t going to get it, she reminded herself. She had a dinner date with the family, and “home” was currently Becca’s apartment.

At three o’clock, Damian began another SSAM meeting. Everyone appeared more fatigued. Their previous meeting had been only twenty-four hours ago, and there was one more dead body. One more person connected to Maggie had been brutally murdered.

“Deborah Frame is dead,” Damian began without preamble, “and the authorities are almost certain Fearmonger is responsible, though he didn’t leave his signature message behind this time.” Damian’s long fingers steepled under his chin as he leaned back, surveying the group before him. “He only wrote
For Maggie
this time. Nothing about fear.”

“But we’re certain it’s Fearmonger,” Ethan added. “According to the delivery Maggie received, he’s basically admitted he had been in contact with her previous stalker.”

“Stalking her stalker,” Maria mused. “Adds a whole new dimension to the sport, doesn’t it?” She grimaced with distaste.

It chilled Ethan to think that Maggie was in the middle of all of this. It had touched something deep inside him when she’d fallen apart in his arms earlier in her classroom. It had felt good to hold her. Never before had he wanted, needed, to help someone so badly. And when he’d leaned in for a kiss, hesitating as he rethought his decision, his heart had melted when she’d moved forward to claim him.

She’d tasted of sweetness. Goodness. And he wanted to taste her again.

She sat ramrod straight, quiet as midnight, next to the university president, Bellingham. What was she thinking about, with her lips pursed like that?

“Do we have a profile yet?” Damian asked Lorena.

“I do.” She passed around a stack of thin folders. “I’ve conferred with Noah and Maria, as well as with a couple other mindhunters here at SSAM, and this is what we came up with.”

Maggie opened the material with long, slender fingers. Shaky fingers. She was hiding her anxiety well from the others, and he imagined she’d had a lot of practice in the past year.

“I believe he’s a white male, between the ages of thirty and forty,” Lorena said, highlighting the pertinent details from her report. “Probably drives a nondescript, well-maintained car or van. A model with a big trunk or plenty of room in the back, away from windows. When we reviewed the case files for Fearmonger’s victims of ten years ago, they were each transported from one location where he abducted them, to the place where he tortured and killed them.

“He’ll appear normal,” she added. “He might even have a girlfriend or wife. He’s proven he can charm women into places and situations they wouldn’t normally enter. He likes being in control. He enjoys being in power, and, of course, taking the teacher role. He may even be a teacher, but in a field where he doesn’t feel they appreciate his full potential. Or, he may have been rejected for a teaching job, which explains why he’s obsessed with instructing others. Perhaps to prove himself. If you saw his house, it would be neat and tidy, perhaps obsessively so. His appearance is probably neat and tidy, too. He’ll hold a steady job, or at the least be responsible in his work ethic.”

Maggie spoke up. “So, he’s an organized serial killer.”

Lorena nodded, looking surprised that she knew the term. “He’s highly intelligent and has shown an ability to plan and carry out those plans over a long period of time. Very methodical. He’s probably already selected, if not taken, his next victim, judging by the accelerated rate of recent behavior. Something, some kind of stress, triggered this recent period of killings.”

“So why is he targeting me?”

“He has an avid interest in psychology—as evident in his rants on your show and his constant need to challenge you openly. And he’s familiar with the university grounds. He may know you from some activity here on campus. Something made him latch on to you, Maggie, and it might not make sense to us. But I guarantee it makes sense to him. There are deep personal issues at play here. Perhaps family or job stressors. Something that messed with his sense of control. Something that happened about a year ago that made him focus on you and Deborah Frame.”

“That was all over the news,” Maggie said, looking deflated. “Everybody in this town knew what happened.”

“If you think of anything that stands out from that time, let us know. It could be crucial to identifying this guy.”

“What about his connection to the state hospital?” Ethan asked. “Any leads there?”

“He’s a master manipulator. And he has access to money. Those are the two things we can conclude from his ability to bribe the guard for months, as well as his skill in luring Deborah Frame where he wanted her to go.”

Bellingham leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “And you got all of this stuff in the profile from what? How do we know it’s accurate?”

“I’m well trained,” Lorena said, her back suddenly stiff with defensiveness.

Damian claimed the president’s attention. “I have the best mindhunters outside of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Each crime scene is like a fingerprint,” Lorena explained. “The perpetrator leaves behind clues to his behavior. From his behavior, we develop a picture of his personality. I’ve reviewed the files from ten years ago, and the details of the current crime scenes. Add all of that together and you get a pretty substantial pattern of behavior.

“But there’s more,” the mindhunter said, her midnight eyes glittering black. She met Damian’s gaze. “I just heard back from my contact at the FBI this morning. There were two unsolved murders that fit Fearmonger’s fingerprint during the ten years he was quiet in the Chicago area.”

Damian leaned forward eagerly. “Where was he?”

“If this is the same guy, he was in Cleveland.”

“What makes you think the murders are linked?” Ethan asked.

“The murders in Cleveland four years ago were definitely linked to each other. The victims were sisters, found dead together. As for linking them with the crimes here in Chicago, not only was
Fear me
written on the walls in the victims’ blood, but they were drained the same way Sharon was, so that he could use the blood as, well, ink.” She passed around a couple photographs.

“He wanted to prove his point about fear.” Maggie was a deathly shade of white as she spoke, her eyes wide.

Ethan fought the urge to go to her. He knew she’d fall apart in his arms if he did. And she’d never forgive herself—or him—for doing it in front of the group. She had her pride. He tried to catch her eye, but she was looking at the photographs on the table in front of her. He could almost see her counting to ten, concentrating deeply on breathing in and out.

That’s it. You can do it. Fight the panic.
He breathed a sigh of relief as she slid the photographs toward Becca, who was next in line around the table.

“He strapped the two sisters to opposite walls and made them face each other as he tortured and killed them,” Lorena explained.

“They were twins?” Maggie asked. “He’s recreating his victims’ worst fears.”

Lorena confirmed her theory with a humorless smile. “That’s the conclusion I came to, too. They had just finished a semester of school at the local community college, were renting an apartment together, and all reports say they were still, and always had been, inseparable.”

“So he separated them.” Maggie blew out a breath. “I should have known. He’s been insisting on teaching me about fear all along, I should have known he was doing it with others.”

“You, however,” Lorena pointed out, “are being stalked. That’s new for him. He’s targeting people associated with you.”

“Great, so he’s adapting,” Maria muttered.

“He did this fear thing with the other victims, too?” Maggie asked. “It seems like it would take time, that he’d really have to get to know his victims before he knew what they were afraid of.”

Was this guy someone Maggie already knew, Ethan wondered. But then, her life had been exposed to the general public in the past year, thanks to the news media.

Lorena flipped through a large file marked
Chicago PD
and withdrew more photographs. “These are the other three crime scenes, from ten years ago, here in Chicago,” she said, sliding more photographs toward Maggie. “They took place within a year of each other, each at a separate crime scene within a fifty-mile radius.”