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“I don’t know.” The pizza churned in his gut, sending fiery reflux into his esophagus. He searched for the man who had moseyed by with no reason to bump into him other than to distract him and Bexley.
“Should I open it?” she asked, concern raising her voice a few notches.
“No. Let’s get out of the frenzy first.” After dropping a fifty on the table, he snatched the envelope in one hand and Bexley’s in the other, then led her through the throng of people and outside onto the deck overlooking the water. He sat on a bench, wishing he had a pair of gloves.
His nerves hummed as he cautiously opened the envelope. Inside was a solid white note card identical to the ones nailed to the victims’ palms. He turned it over to see the same black lettering as well.
Don’t be so sure in your confidence, Agent Granger. I got you here, didn’t I? I plan to keep you here until I’m finished with you. Plan to suffer.
PS My work’s a step up from painted lips and nails, don’t you think?
Chapter Six
Blue Harbor
SCU beach house
Saturday, September 1
8:55 p.m.
“It’s him. The Fire & Ice Killer.” Ty paced the floor and threw up his hands.
Asa cut off his worn path. “We don’t know that. He said his work was a step up from painted nails and lips. Implication, not fact, Ty. We focus on facts.”
Ty didn’t buy it. It was him. Who else could it be? “I shouldn’t have given the press conference earlier.” He shot a glare at Violet. It had been her brilliant idea. “I know it was him who bumped me and left that envelope. He probably tossed some cash to a kid to pull the alarm and cause the panic, which kept me distracted. Exactly what he wanted.” He pounded his fist into his palm. “I could have had him. He was right there.”
“I stand by my assessment,” Violet said, sipping herbal tea that smelled like lemon and freshly mowed lawns. “The killer has targeted you. He wants to make you suffer. I said seeing you confident in a press conference would infuriate him and cause him to play his hand. He did.”
Fiona and Asa sat on the love seat with laptops resting on their legs. Owen sat at the breakfast bar, tapping an ink pen against his chin.
Would Asa make him recuse himself from the case now that it was even more personal? He couldn’t leave. He had Josiah now. He’d quit his job before he’d go home without revealing to Josiah he did have a father who loved him.
Violet cupped her mug and held his gaze. “It appears he might be targeting people you love from your past, starting at the beginning with Ahnah. She’s an easier mark, and she has a flower in her name. The question is how long he’ll keep her alive and when will he escalate, because rest assured, Tiberius, he will.”
How long did he have until this killer plucked another loved one from Ty’s grip? Bex. Josiah.
Violet. No one had mentioned she had a flower name, and they were close—as close as one could be with Violet.
Ty had no clue what kind of research the killer did to discover he’d once loved Bexley and knew and cared about Ahnah too. “Where’s he keeping them?”
“Somewhere they can’t escape while he’s working on them,” Owen said. “I’ve found three tattoo salons in Blue Harbor alone. He’s a tattoo artist or he was. He can’t keep them in his own shop. Too many risks. But he could be hiding them in his home. I asked Selah to do a search across the Outer Banks and as far as Wilmington and Charlotte for abandoned tattoo shops. In case they go with him willingly. Know him. Travel that far with him.”
Ty nodded. “Good. Good. What about this Skipper?” He’d given Asa the sketch as soon as he’d blown through the door after dropping off Bexley. He’d asked her to stay here, but she refused with the excuse she needed to be home when Josiah arrived or if Ahnah returned. She was holding on to hope, but the letter had thrown her into a tailspin, and Ty wasn’t able to answer her endless questions. He had questions of his own.
“Skipper,” Asa said, “is a nickname for an Ethan Lantrip. He’s a boat captain with a legit business license. Lives in Blue Harbor. Thirty-four. No rap sheet on him. A few speeding tickets.” Asa held up a photo they’d printed, stood and walked toward the whiteboard to place it and the sketch Josiah had done—which was a remarkable likeness. “Found this on his website. I think the amount of tattoos on his body is interesting.” He had an ink sleeve of nautical tattoos on his right arm, snaking up the side of his neck. Skipper, aka Ethan Lantrip, looked like a fisherman with weathered, tan skin. Dark eyes. Brown hair that was a little long and pulled back in a short ponytail. Decent-looking for a dude, he guessed.
“Any photos of him with Amy-Rose Rydell on his social media accounts or hers?”
Asa shook his head. “No. If they were dating, they kept it private.”
“What twentysomething woman doesn’t shout to the internet when she’s in a relationship?” Ty asked, frowning. Didn’t make sense.
“Maybe he wanted her to keep it private. No record doesn’t mean he isn’t nefarious. It means he hasn’t been caught.” Violet stood and carried her empty tea mug to the kitchen, rinsing it and setting it in the sink.
“Where is he? You’ve had all day to find him,” Ty barked.
Asa arched a lone eyebrow.
