the victim’s right eye. “Blue. And then...” She opened the left eye.
“Blue.” Macey was frowning.
“That’s what it looks like.” The ME smiled. “But right before you arrived, I realized that our vic was wearing contacts. Or, rather, she is wearing one contact.” Very carefully, she removed the contact from the victim’s left eye and placed it in an evidence bag. “And now you have brown.” Again, her voice held a thread of excitement. “She’s just like you, Agent Night! I mean, that must have been what set him off, right? To find another victim with eyes just like yours. That’s probably why he started killing again after all this time. The Doctor found a victim he couldn’t resist. He found—”
The door to the exam room flew open. Immediately, Bowen tensed and his hand flew toward his holster. But the man standing there, breath heaving, wore a brown deputy’s uniform. A star gleamed on his chest. Bowen recognized the guy immediately. Deputy Coleman Quick. Quick had been sent to meet them at the airport. The deputy had been their escort in Hiddlewood, the small town that bordered North Carolina and Tennessee.
“We’ve got another one,” Coleman said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “The sheriff wanted me to take you two out to the scene right away. Said you had to see it.”
Another one? Already? Shit, that wasn’t good. Two kills so close together showed definite escalation on the part of the perpetrator.
But...
It also means our killer is still here. We can get the bastard because he hasn’t fled the area yet.
Without a word, Bowen lunged toward the deputy and he knew Macey was right on his heels.
* * *
A SWIRL OF blue lights illuminated the scene as the deputy braked his vehicle. Macey and Bowen were right behind Deputy Quick in their rented SUV and, when their vehicle stopped, Bowen quickly killed his engine. Macey reached for the door handle.
But Bowen grabbed her wrist, holding tight. “You don’t have to go in.”
What? Her head whipped back toward him. He couldn’t be serious. She’d come to finally stop this particular nightmare from playing out again and again.
“It’s going to be...” Bowen huffed out a breath. “You know it’s going to be bad inside. After the last vic, I just... It may be too personal for you.”
Because that victim had been so similar to Macey. The eyes. God, her eyes are just like mine.
“I can handle this,” Bowen continued, his voice grim. “I can check the scene and report back to you.”
“I can handle it,” she told him flatly. She wasn’t about to be cut out of this investigation. Yes, it had hurt to see Gale Collins and the wounds on her body—too familiar wounds. But the pain that woman had endured—it had just made Macey all the more determined to stop Daniel. As I wish I’d stopped him years ago. She swallowed. “We have work to do. Let’s get moving.” She pulled her wrist free of his hold and jumped from the vehicle. Voices were rising all around her. Other deputies were already at the scene, and she was sure the sheriff was inside that little cabin. Such a nondescript place. Not high on a mountain, but nestled down low, in the middle of the woods. In the middle of nowhere.
They’d traveled down an old, winding graveled drive to get to the place. And now...
The sheriff appeared in the doorway. His grizzled face was grim and the star on his chest gleamed dully in the light. When he saw her, he tensed a bit, and then his gaze slid behind her to Bowen.
“FBI Special Agents...Night and Murphy, right?” he said. He offered his hand to them. “I’m Sheriff Burt Morris.”
Macey shook his hand. She could feel his calluses beneath her touch. His shake was strong, but not too hard.
He briskly shook hands with Bowen, then said, “I never seen anything like this in all my whole life.” A Southern twang slipped in and out of his words. “And before I retired up here, I worked homicide in Atlanta. But this... Jesus H. Christ. How does someone decide to do this to another human being?”
Daniel’s motivations were still shrouded in mystery. Macey still didn’t know exactly why he’d one day switched from saving victims to killing them.
Morris ran a hand over his face. “You two are the ones who study these guys, right? Take a look and tell me how a person could do that shit. Tell me how. Tell me why.”
Macey squared her shoulders and hurried inside. Her gaze swept over the small living room, and she saw what looked like some kind of makeshift medical office. There were rows and rows of medicine bottles, some medical instruments, even an exam chair.
Was he practicing off the grid? Setting up a practice out here, out of his damn home? A practice and a torture parlor—all in the same place.
“Bedroom,” Morris said from behind her, his voice cracking a bit. “Go in there, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She could smell the odor coming from that room. The distinct scents of blood and death weren’t easy to miss.
The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet. She lifted her chin as she entered the room, squared her shoulders and prepared to find another woman, cut, tortured but—
The Doctor.
Macey took two steps inside the bedroom before she froze.
There was blood. There was so much blood. It was on the ceiling. On the walls. The victim had been restrained, but not on top of an operating room table, as was Haddox’s MO. Instead, the victim in that back bedroom had been tied to the four-poster bed. Thick ropes were around the victim’s wrists and ankles.
There were wounds on the victim’s arms. Long slashes from wrists to elbows. There were deep cuts on the victim’s face. On the torso. Horrible, deep abrasions. But...
“That’s fucking him, isn’t it?” Bowen’s whisper. His breath blew lightly against her ear and she could only nod.
They weren’t looking at a female victim. They were staring at a male who’d been horrifically tortured before death.
And Macey knew the victim in that bed. The man who’d been murdered...the man who had been a helpless victim, who’d known pain and anguish in his last moments.
That man was the notorious Doctor.
She was staring at Daniel Haddox. The killer she’d been so desperate to find was right in front of her. Only...
Someone else found him first. And that someone had made absolutely certain that Daniel would never kill again.
Goose bumps rose to cover Macey’s skin, and she couldn’t look away from the dead man on the bed.
SHE STOOD IN front of the motel room door. Door number seven at a small, no-tell-motel-type place. The paint on the door was chipped. The light to her right kept flickering, and Macey knew she should turn
