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He turned to the hulking corrections officer waiting to escort them to Kane’s cell. The sooner they sorted through the cell, the sooner he could get Rees out of this godforsaken place. And the sooner he could track down the serial killer. “Let’s get on with it.”
The guard nodded and turned to Risa. “Ready to go, Professor?”
Risa looked into the guard’s weary eyes and forced a brave smile to her lips, a smile that trembled slightly at the corners. “Lead the way, Duane,” she said, her voice a little too chipper, a little too eager.
The guard returned her shaky smile with a reassuring one of his own and started down the well-worn main hallway. Trent strode behind, Rees falling into step beside him.
“Before we reach the cell, I want to warn you.” Trent projected his voice above the bars clanging behind them and the steady tap of their footsteps on scuffed tile.
“Warn me about what?”
“I don’t know what we’re going to find in Kane’s cell. Probably what he wants us to find. And Kane is one twisted bastard. You may have to face some very ugly things.”
She set her chin and strode forcefully forward. “I’ll manage.”
“I hope so.” He didn’t even bother to censure the doubt in his tone. “Because I’m bringing you along against my better judgment.”
“You have to use every tool at your disposal, Trent. To save Dixie’s life. To save other lives.”
“That’s the only reason you’re here, Rees. Believe me. If I could, I’d toss you over my shoulder, haul you back to the car and hog-tie you so fast it would make your head spin.”
She shot him a hard look. “If you did, there would be hell to pay.”
He tore his gaze from her and strode down the corridor behind the guard’s hulking shoulders. “There’s always hell to pay. Believe me.”
After walking for what seemed like an eternity, Duane stopped to turn his key in the control panel and opened the last set of barred doors at the entrance of the first cell block. They stepped through, and the doors clanged shut behind them. The sound echoed through the vast two-story structure like the slamming of the doors of Hades.
Trent had never visited this particular prison before, but it was much the same as the countless others he had. A long hallway stretched on either side of them, barred windows black with night on one side and two stories of cells on the other. The scarred bars and dingy beige walls and floors looked like something out of a nightmare. A smattering of murmurs, shouts and catcalls erupted as they stepped forward into the cell block. Thankfully, it was the middle of the night. Otherwise the jeers and obscenities would be worse. Much worse.
Rees tensed beside him. He longed to slip a comforting arm around her, to press her body against his side, to protect her from the scum leering at her from behind barred doors. But this was not the time or the place. That time and place didn’t exist. Not anymore.
Between the open shower rooms in the center of the structure, a steel staircase rose to the second floor. They followed Duane up the stairs, their footfalls making the metal hum like a tuning fork.
When they reached the second tier, Duane led them past two uniformed police officers and down the walkway overlooking the floor below. The cells in this section stood unoccupied, evacuated, their doors yawning wide and cavernous. Trent exhaled with relief. At least Rees wouldn’t have to face the prisoners’ jeers up close and personal.
Two men in suits stood outside Kane’s cell. The taller of the two wore a double-breasted Armani suit and French cuffs with the pomposity of a man eager for people to think more of him than he thought of himself. If Trent had to hazard a guess, he’d peg the man as the prison’s warden. Though where he’d come up with the cash to dress in designer suits on a prison warden’s salary, Trent couldn’t answer.
The other man he knew, though not well. Pete Wiley had been one of the senior detectives on the case the last time they’d met—back when Kane was still an unknown subject, or “unsub” as they were usually called. Unfortunately, the detective had been one of many local law enforcement officers that Trent ran into in his work who were resentful of the FBI. To put it mildly, Wiley hadn’t been the model of cooperation between agencies.
Now the blond mop-topped detective shifted from scuffed loafer to scuffed loafer like a little kid itching to go out and play. Or, if Trent remembered the squirrely cop correctly, an adult suffering from nervous tension and too much strong coffee.
The warden shook his balding head dramatically. Though he was talking to Wiley, his voice carried down the row of empty cells. “…and maybe this is for the best. Maybe now the Department of Corrections will give us money for improvements and extra guards instead of funneling all the state’s resources into the new Supermax and into shipping prisoners to Tennessee and Oklahoma prisons.”
For the best? He hoped the warden was referring to something trivial like the boiler failing or the maintenance crew running out of wax for the dingy floors. He surely couldn’t be talking about the escape of a serial killer as being for the best, could he? Trent eyed Rees. The last thing she needed to hear was that some jackass in a fancy suit thought the danger Dixie faced was for the best.
Hands balled into fists by her sides, she glowered at the warden’s back. A muscle worked in the smooth column of her throat, as if she was doing her best to swallow the damn fool’s words.
Anger churned in Trent’s gut. She shouldn’t have to swallow this garbage. Any of it. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to just stand by and watch it happen. “What the hell is for the best?”
The men spun around as if to pinpoint the question’s source. A wary smile broke across Wiley’s face. “Special Agent Burnell.” He nodded in Trent’s direction then turned his baby blues on Rees. His brows lifted in surprise and then lowered, as if he recognized her and disapproved of her presence.
“This is Risa. Risa Madsen,” Trent informed him.
“I know who she is.”
Trent raised his brows at the detective’s hostile tone. Strange. As far as he knew, the two had never met, and yet Wiley behaved as though he held something against her.
After more introductions, the warden shook Trent’s hand and then grasped Rees’s. “I’m sorry your sister was involved in this, Ms. Madsen.”
“Thank you, Warden Hanson. I appreciate it. Now I’m wondering the same thing as Trent. What were you talking about when we arrived? What is for the best?” She nailed him with a challenging stare.
Trent almost smiled at her pluck.
The warden’s face flushed pink. “Not for the best, exactly. That was an unfortunate choice of words. But something big had to happen to get the DOC to acknowledge our funding problem. Heaven knows, they haven’t been listening to me.”
He gestured widely with his bony hands, his face animated. “I hold the lack of funding responsible for Kane’s escape. I warned our state representative just last week we were short money for overtime and to update security.”
He frowned and shook his head sadly, but no amount of acting could hide the I-told-you-so gleam in his eye. “The state legislature can’t ignore the problem any longer.”
Anger rumbled in Trent’s chest. What a pompous fool. How could he be so insensitive as to even hint he was celebrating the extra funding Kane’s escape would bring? He glowered at the warden. “With Kane on the loose, more innocent people will die. In comparison, I can’t dredge up much sympathy for your prison’s funding problems, Warden.”
At least the pompous money grubber had the decency to appear ashamed. “Yes, of course. I was just looking for the silver lining.”
“There is no silver lining that I can see.” Trent glanced down at his watch. They had already wasted enough time on the warden. Time they didn’t have. “Let’s get on with this, Wiley.”
The warden shot Trent an annoyed look and smoothed a hand over the front of his suit coat. “Yes. You’ll have to excuse me. I have some administrative details to attend to. Good luck, Special Agent Burnell. Professor Madsen.”
“Thank you,” Trent said pointedly. He turned from the retreating warden and toward the cell.
Wiley stood in the cell’s open doorway, glaring at Rees. “Why is she here, Burnell?”
He leveled Wiley with a no-nonsense stare. “Do you have a problem with Ms. Madsen, Wiley? As a professor of psychology—someone who has studied Kane intensely—and the sister of Kane’s accomplice, she will provide insights that will be valuable. Now let’s get on with this.”
Trent couldn’t help catch the grateful look Rees shot him. A grateful look he hardly deserved. Some nice guy he was, letting her in to see whatever gruesome surprise Kane had left for them. He could only hope she did have some valuable insights. He could only hope he wasn’t exposing her to this whole damn nightmare for nothing.
Wiley’s frown deepened, but he led the way into the cell. Rees and Trent followed him inside. The guard who had escorted them remained by the door.
Kane’s cell was small and nearly barren, with a built-in cot on one wall, a storage unit on the other and a toilet with a sink above on the third. The hall had smelled a little like sweaty gym socks, but Kane’s cell reeked of something harsh and slightly minty. “Disinfectant. Kane has been up to his usual compulsive cleaning, I see.”
Rees piped up from beside him. “He talked about it often. He cleaned his cell several times a day. He also said he found nothing as clean and pure as fresh, flowing blood.” Her voice quavered with the memory.
Trent clenched his teeth at the tone of fear in her voice. Damn. Cleanliness was only part of Kane’s compulsion. Only part of the fantasy of control he lived each time he killed. The main part of Kane’s fantasy—the vital part—was the fear he caused in his victims. Their panic as he chased them through the woods. Their screams as he plunged in the knife.
The bastard would have relished the fear in Risa’s eyes when he’d talked about clean, flowing blood. He would have devoured it. And hungered for more.
What the hell had Rees thought she was doing interviewing Kane? Why had she left herself open?
He knew the answer before he’d finished asking himself the question. She’d wanted to understand why Trent had withdrawn from her while working on Kane’s case. Why he’d broken their engagement a short time later. And she’d gone to Kane to find the answers.
He’d delivered her right into Kane’s waiting arms.
And now he was about to bring her deeper into the sordid labyrinth. Deeper into Kane’s twisted mind. Deeper into the world of pain and fear and human evil.
And unless he was willing to risk lives, he couldn’t do a damned thing to stop it.
He turned to the gray wooden storage structure on one wall of the cell. Comprised of shelves, cubbyholes and a writing surface, the unit was filled with stacks of letters, neatly folded magazine pages and a few trinkets. Trent glanced at Wiley. “Has anyone gone through this?”
Wiley shook his head. “When I heard you were on your way, I thought I’d better wait to get your interpretation. I certainly wouldn’t want to step on delicate toes.”
Trent ignored the jab and turned back to the cubbyholes. He reached in, drew out the magazine pages and unfolded them.
Rees peered around his shoulder to get a good look.
The most vile, sadomasochistic pornography Trent had seen in a long time stared back at them. A small gasp escaped Rees’s lips.
Trent zeroed in on her, searching her face with a pointed gaze.
She drew herself up. Deliberately wiping all traces of abhorrence from her face, she met his eyes. “It just surprised me, that’s all.”
Surprised her, hell. She knew the kind of reading material Kane favored. She hadn’t been surprised, she’d been horrified. As well she should be. This kind of filth would horrify any normal person, whether she expected to see it or not. Unfortunately he’d seen more depraved things than this. And not just in pictures. The real scenes were worse. Much worse.
Rees swallowed hard and turned to the detective. “How did Kane get this…stuff?”
Wiley glanced at the pages. His mouth quirked with distaste. “It had to have been smuggled in. Probably by your sister.” The venom in his voice was clear.
Trent tensed. Wiley definitely had some sort of problem with Rees. And whatever it was, he wasn’t about to listen to any more.
But before he could come to Rees’s defense, she nailed Wiley with a challenging stare of her own. “You obviously don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Detective. Dixie would never have anything to do with filth like this.”
Wiley shrugged. “She married Kane, didn’t she?”
“Yes. She married him after he convinced her that her love made him into a better person. I doubt he could continue that charade if she saw this garbage.”
So much for defending Rees, Trent thought. She could do it just fine herself where Wiley’s barbs were concerned. He made a mental note to find out exactly what Wiley’s problem with Rees was and directed his mind back to the real threat—Kane.
Setting the pornography aside, Trent plucked a stack of letters from one of the cubbyholes and began paging through them. He scanned each page individually, handing it to Rees when he’d finished reading.
Most were from Dixie, long opuses declaring her undying love for the serial killer, her unflagging belief in him and her bitter resentment of her older sister.
“She always has to be right, always has to be better than me…Miss Ph.D. thinks she’s so smart, but she has no idea…”
Trent almost flinched at the hurtful words in the letters. Dixie was envious of Rees, that much was clear. Envy was probably normal for a troubled younger sister like Dixie. But he knew Rees wouldn’t write these cruel words off as mere sibling jealousy. Not Rees. She would accept them like tender flesh accepts a sharp blade. She would internalize them. She would bleed over them.
Gritting his teeth, he kept handing her the pages.
She bit the inside of her bottom lip as she read, her expression carefully neutral, her breathing carefully even, but her eyes shone overbright.
Trent dragged his attention to the next pile of letters. To his relief, this stack wasn’t from Dixie, but from a woman named Farrentina Hamilton. Where Dixie’s handwriting was loopy and childish, the hand that composed these letters was pointed and bold. But save the jabs at Rees, the content of the letters was similar. Declarations of love. Promises of care packages. Plans for Kane’s future outside prison—a future his multiple life sentences were supposed to prevent.
Trent held up the letter he was reading and focused on Wiley. “What do you know about a woman named Farrentina Hamilton?”
“Widowed. Inherited a pile of dough from hubby. Visited Kane regularly. Several detectives are on the way to her house now.”
Trent nodded. Handing the last pile to Rees, he homed in on the trinkets still left in the storage unit. He fingered a lock of platinum hair, Dixie’s probably, and a small pile of cigarettes. Then his hand moved to a stack of photographs lying facedown in one of the cubbies. He picked up the pile by the edges and turned the photos into the light. The first photo was a wedding shot of Kane and Dixie. The bride was dressed head-to-toe in frothy white, the groom in his prison jumpsuit.
Rees leaned in close to see the pictures. Close enough for him to catch a wisp of her gentle lavender scent over the sharp stench of disinfectant. Close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.
Her body tensed when she saw the reminder of her sister’s union with Kane. A reminder she surely didn’t need.
Trent hurriedly moved on to the next photo. The next three were snapshots of a brunette posing seductively in red lace lingerie, complete with garter belt and stockings. Uneasy tension descended over his neck and shoulders. Something was not right about the pictures. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Flipping the photograph over, he read the inscription on the back. Enjoy! Love, Farrentina. No surprise. The seductive photos and red lace went with the bold script and contents of her letters, all right. But there was still something that bothered him.
He shuffled past head shots of several blondes, women obviously attracted to the danger and notoriety of Kane. Women he would never understand. Finally his fingers grasped the last photo.
It was a snapshot of Dixie and Rees in the foyer of Rees’s home. The two of them were posed on the antique bench, surrounded with teddy bears, silly smiles on their faces.
But the photo was marred. A precise slit was cut from the locket around Dixie’s neck to her thighs. Drops of something thick and dried and brown obscured her sweet smile.
Drops of blood.
Rees gasped for air and swayed into him.
Trent dropped the stack of photos on the storage unit and grasped her upper arms. Damn. Damn. Damn. This was just what he’d feared would happen. Kane would never pass up the chance to leave a blatant threat for whoever searched his cell.
And Trent had allowed that person to be Rees.
She trembled violently under his hands and drew in breath after breath as if she was in danger of drowning.
He grasped her tighter, pulling her close, talking into her ear. “Rees. Remember, this is Kane’s game. Manipulate, control, dominate. He guessed you’d come to the prison with me. That you’d search through his things. He put that photo there for you to find. To hurt you. To scare you. Don’t let him win. Hold on to me. Breathe.” He drew in deep breaths and slowly exhaled.
She followed his lead, her gasps becoming slower, more controlled until she was breathing almost normally.
He pulled back to look at her, to make sure she was all right.
Her heart-shaped face was pale as death, her dark eyes wide and glistening, but at least she wasn’t going to pass out on the floor of the cell.
No thanks to him.
Anger rumbled through him. Anger with Kane. Anger with Dixie. And, most of all, anger with himself.
Rees was strong, but she wasn’t strong enough to stand up to Kane’s twisted manipulations. How could she be? How could any normal person face such an overt threat to the life of someone she loved? How could a normal person face such evil? “I’m getting you out of here.”
She shook her head emphatically, her long dark hair lashing her cheeks. “No. I’ll be all right. I—”
“Like hell you will. I shouldn’t have let you come. I’m taking you back to the entrance. Now.”
Ushering Rees out to the walkway, he cursed himself again for good measure. They had been through nearly everything in the cell, and she hadn’t remembered one thing that would lead to Kane’s whereabouts. She hadn’t magically come up with the answers he was looking for. He’d risked her peace of mind for nothing.
