Chapter 5

The voicemail telling me to leave a message was all I got after multiple attempts to call Alan. Every single one ended in failure. So I sent desperate texts, hoping that at some point he’d wake up, grab his phone, and see that I needed his help. The hands on my wristwatch pointed to three in the morning. Alan was probably in bed with his wife, getting the rest he deserved after the horrors of his job. I didn’t have time for rest. Not when a killer was waiting for me in the forest. I ran to the empty cruiser across the road and searched for the officer’s radio, but there was nothing inside the car except an empty McDonald’s wrapper. The bastard had taken the radio with him. I pulled on combat boots, swapped my pajamas for dark jeans and a leather jacket. My gun and knife were secured inside the inner pockets. I sprinted to my car. I didn’t need a GPS to guide me to the most familiar trail in Grimwood’s forest. I knew exactly where I had to go. I’d visited that same trail countless times with my father when I was younger—where he taught me how to shoot, where we hunted together. I could find it blindfolded. The road was deserted, houses dark with every light turned off, no sign of civilians anywhere. Grimwood wasn’t the kind of town that stayed up late. No one went out at dawn. No one with any sense, at least. Obviously, I didn’t fit into that statistic. I belonged more to the kind of people who ended up in crime videos titled: Meet the 10 dumbest serial killer victims in history. The worst mistakes that led these victims to death—and how to avoid them. Learn how Evelyn Cross died, so you won’t be next. They’d talk about how I was a reclusive, antisocial woman with no relationships or lasting friendships, someone who preferred the company of books to people—while the viewer watched a narration of my horrific death like it was another episode of a TV series. As I got close to the trail, I switched off my headlights, blending into the night. Instantly, pure, impenetrable blackness flooded around me, the full moon the only light in the forest. I parked the car deeper in the trees so I wouldn’t draw attention. I smoothed my jacket to make sure my gun was still in place and grabbed the flashlight from the glove compartment. I inhaled as deeply as I could, searching for a shred of courage. I didn’t find it. But I got out of the car anyway. A man’s life was in my hands that night. And my next actions would determine whether I saved a life—or condemned one. I turned on the flashlight, illuminating my cautious steps along the trail. The familiar sounds of crickets and owls sang above my head, muffling the noise of my thick soles snapping dry branches underfoot—but also muffling the danger signal screaming at the back of my mind. A signal I chose to ignore completely. I walked until I entered the massive empty clearing. It was like being thrown back in time. My eyes fell automatically to the spot where my father’s body had once been sprawled in the dark grass, a diagonal cut across his neck. Five years ago. Now, in the present, there was no corpse on the ground. Instead, there was a man unconscious in a police uniform—tied to a tree. Thick rope cinched his torso, legs, and arms, making it impossible for him to move or escape. “My God,” I cried in horror, starting to run toward him. Until a knife appeared at his throat—pressed there by a figure hidden in the shadows. The shape stepped sideways and the moonlight caught him, revealing a man dressed entirely in black, as dark as the forest itself. A mask covered the upper half of his face, exposing only the sardonic smile stretching across cruel lips. I faltered, taking a wary step back. My hand flew in a reflex arc toward the gun inside my jacket. “I wouldn’t make another move if I were you,” the Grimwood Ripper said, pressing the blade tighter to the unconscious man’s throat. A thin line of blood slid down his skin, but the officer didn’t stir. “My knife could slip and cut him by accident. And one of us wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?” I planted my feet in the soft grass, unsure what to do. “What do you want?” I asked through clenched teeth. There had to be a reason for this performance—for calling me into it. If I gave him what he wanted, maybe the man would leave alive. I couldn’t save my father. But maybe I could save this stranger. Was that why he’d done it? To make me relive my father’s murder? “You’re different from the last time we met, Evelyn,” he said, scanning me from head to toe like he was determined to memorize every inch of me. “Stronger. Grown. Confident.” “And you haven’t changed at all,” I answered, haunted by the truth of it. “Not even a little.” His smile tugged to one side. “Take the gun I know you’re hiding under that jacket and kick it to me.” I calculated my chances. I didn’t have enough time to draw and aim in the dark—not without risking hitting the hostage. And before I could pull the trigger, the psychopath’s knife would open another throat in less than twenty-four hours. As if he could read my racing thoughts, the Ripper added: “Don’t try to be a hero, Evelyn. We both know that role doesn’t suit you.” I clenched my fists. I had to swallow my pride and do what he asked, or only one of us would walk away tonight. Slowly, I slid my fingers inside my jacket and drew my gun by the barrel—leaving the knife deliberately where it was. I set the pistol down in the grass and kicked it hard until it stopped near the tree where he held the man tied up. He stopped it with his foot. Picked it up in a gloved hand and tilted his head, examining it with unsettling care. “A Glock 17,” he murmured. “A semi-automatic pistol. Small, but effective—lethal in trained hands. Suits you.” “Nice observation. Now let the man go.” “Who taught you to shoot?” he continued, showing no interest in my demand. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” “Then I suppose it was your father.” “What do you want?” I repeated, this time with less patience. My shoulders sagged, heavy with exhaustion. “Just say it and end this.” His smile widened, revealing his teeth. His canines were disturbingly sharp—like a bloodthirsty monster’s. And strangely… they looked like they belonged in his mouth. I shook my head at myself, forcing those thoughts away. This was not the moment to think about the appearance of the man I meant to kill.