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“Big street racing seen in Oklahoma?” he asked with a slight smile.
“Oh yeah,” she said, “believe it or not. It’s one of the top destinations for street racing in the country.”
“Really?” he said, “You learn something new every day.”
“So what about you?” Faith asked. “If you weren’t a therapist, what would you be?”
He chuckled softly. Then his eyes adopted a faraway look. He remained silent a moment, then said, “If I weren’t a therapist, I would be no one.”
“Wow,” Faith replied. “You are dedicated to your craft.”
"No, I don't mean that therapy is everything to me," he corrected. "I mean, that's what I would want to be."
“You would want to be no one?”
He nodded once, somberly. “I would go to a little cabin on the shores of some unnoticed bend of a minor river and live out my days fishing and hunting and watching the sun set over the trees, feeling the wind blow through my hair free of all of the smog and noise and dirty concrete smells of the city.”
“Wow,” Faith said again. “That’s a surprisingly romantic fantasy. I would have figured you more for the type to retire to an old country manor to spend your final days with your head buried in books.”
He smiled, “Oddly enough, I have a brother who lives in just such an estate, although it’s old Impressionist paintings he buries his head in, not books.”
“Still creepy,” Faith opined.
“Quite.”
A cabin in the woods near a small river. That could all be a lie that he made up on the spot to fit the character he played, but Faith didn’t think so. His expression had changed when he talked about it. Faith had thought it was simple wistfulness at the time, but looking back, she wondered if maybe it was a brief glimpse into his actual personality—a cold, misanthropic sociopath who detested the humanity that surrounded him constantly.
It was worth a shot.
Faith turned the tv off, then headed to bed. She stared up at the ceiling, and though she didn't sleep, she greeted the morning with more than enough energy for the task ahead.
Turk was waiting for her in the kitchen. She smiled down at him. “Let’s go catch a bad guy.”
A seed of doubt remained in her heart as they geared up and headed out. This could very well mean the end of her career. Was that really something she wanted?
She thought of Gordon’s body, broken and bloody. She thought of the taunting note West had left her. She thought of the months she had spent baring her soul to him, the moments shared with a man she thought was her friend but who turned out to be her worst enemy.
Yes. This was exactly what she wanted.
CHAPTER TWO
The cabin looked exactly as Faith expected it to look, clean, orderly and perfect. She had no doubt that the inside would be equally beautiful. Franklin West had retired. He had no need to store the tokens of his victims like a crazed hoarder anymore. Perhaps one day if left alone long enough, he might feel the urge again and slip once more into a life of evil, but for now, Faith was sure she would find a perfectly manicured living space.
Turk growled softly, and Faith reached down and ruffled his fur. "Easy boy," she said. “Let’s keep our cool. We don’t want him to know we’re here until we’re right on top of him. Remember, we’re Marines today, not FBI.”
Turk quieted, though his eyes remained deadly serious.
Both Faith and Turk had served with the Marine Corps prior to joining the FBI. Both had been wounded in battle, and both had earned medals for their valor. Faith felt a rush of pride and camaraderie for the dog. The two of them had suffered so much, both apart and together, but here they were, still strong, still undefeated, still able to fight.
She ruffled his fur again, then took a deep breath. When she released it, her smile disappeared.
It was time to work.
She and Turk proceeded quietly through the trees, taking a circuitous route around to the side of the cabin where no windows existed to allow Dr. West to spot them. When she was sure they were out of the line of sight, she crossed the distance to the cabin swiftly and stealthily, relying on the soft babbling of the river to mask the sound of their footfalls.
Turk kept pace with equal stealth, his body calm but coiled like a spring, ready to strike. When they reached the house, she stopped and lifted her hand for Turk to do the same.
They listened closely but heard no sound from inside the cabin.
