“Wyatt wore it.”

“You are sure? Rebecca Kennedy said her attacker wore Beacon cologne.”

“Yeah. The guys used to tease Wyatt about it. They were always taking the bottle and tossing it in the trash. They said it made him smell like a pretty boy. I saw the bottle more than a few times.”

Kevin had not given DNA, and now she had a witness who said he wore the rapist’s scent. “Wyatt would have been under a lot of pressure during the Dream Team years.”

“He’s always had a lot on his shoulders,” Sullivan said. “Father wasn’t around much, and his mother isn’t wrapped real tight.”

“Deputy Sullivan, go by Wyatt’s house again,” Nevada said. “If he’s there, bring him in.”

“Yes, sir.”

Macy and Nevada each donned latex gloves and booties, gave their names to the officer standing watch at the crime scene tape, and then entered.

Now that she really had time to look at the room, Macy could see it was freshly painted and the floors had been refinished in the last couple of years. There was a stone fireplace, with freshly stacked wood on the grate.

The furniture was new, though nothing fancy, and the flat-screen television wasn’t connected to cable. Beside it was a DVD player and a stack of movies. Macy perused the titles, which featured older heroes who were former athletic stars and were trying to make a comeback. Blackout curtains were installed over all the windows.

“Sheriff Nevada.”

They both turned to see a man in his fifties wearing a state police forensic jacket. His hair was neatly trimmed, and he had a clean-cut look that was reminiscent of a Boy Scout. “I’m David Holland from Roanoke. I was called in to run this crime scene.”

Nevada shook hands with him. “Appreciate you coming in. This is Special Agent Macy Crow. What do you have?”

“I’d like to show you the journals we found in the second bedroom,” Holland said.

The three entered the small bedroom, which was equipped with floor-to-ceiling shelves on the far wall. The shelves were filled with hundreds of black-and-white marble composition notebooks. Along the thin spine of each were dates: June 2004. September 2007. November 2019.

“How far do the journals date back?” Macy asked.

“Sixteen years. The first, from what we can tell, was written in April of 2003. The author of the books was making notes on Cindy Shaw.”

“What does he say about her?” Macy asked.

“Rather intimate details of her daily routine. He’s also drawn sketches of her, and in many of the pictures she appears to be dead.”

Macy moved to one shelf with an array of small trinkets lined up in a neat row. Many were single earrings, necklaces, panties, and single high heels. She spotted the princess pepper shaker missing from Beth Watson’s home.

“Are there journals from Baltimore or Atlanta?”

“It appears so. And several other cities.”

Nevada drew in a breath. “Are names listed?”

“Yes. He not only lists his target’s name, address, and phone number, but also a detailed description of likes, dislikes, schedules, and pictures.”

“Any containing Deputy Bennett?”

Holland lowered his voice. “Yes. And some of it dates back to when she was a teenager.”

Eventually, the evidence of Bennett’s rape would come out. “She’s going to need time to heal,” she said. “Give her a chance to regain some of her strength before she has to publicly deal with this. Keep a tight lid on what you can.”

“Bennett’s one of our own, and we’ll protect her in any way we can. Every man and woman here is prepared to stay on the scene until this guy is found.”

“Did he write anything about himself in the journals?” Macy asked.

“Surprisingly, no. But with all this collection, there have to be fingerprints and DNA linking Shaw or whomever is responsible.”

Lights flashed from the other room, drawing Macy and Nevada into the space where Bennett had been held. The walls in the windowless room were padded with an extra barrier for soundproofing. There was a foul scent in the room, and the carpeting was stained in multiple places.

“He’s got to be feeling out of control,” Holland said. “His world was turned upside down, and we have a direct link to every crime he’s committed.”

“And that’s going to make him extremely dangerous,” Nevada said. “He’s got absolutely nothing to lose now.”

Rage was too tame a word to describe what he was feeling. He coiled the red rope around his hands while he watched the images from the camera he’d mounted on the tree outside of his special house. They’d found it, Brooke, and all the journals he’d worked so hard to create over the years.

He looked down at his hands. He’d cut off the blood supply, and the skin not only was pale but also tingled. If he kept this up much longer, he’d do some real damage.

Macy Crow was not going to make him look like a fool. She’d destroyed what he had worked so hard to build, and she would pay dearly for it.

The house she’d invaded had sentimental value to him. It was a safe place to hide when he needed it. It had been the place where he’d become a man for the first time. It had offered him sanctuary when the world just got too loud.

And now it had been desecrated.

He glanced at the revolver in his hand. Carefully, he opened the chamber and counted six bullets. It wasn’t his preferred method, but it was effective. “Macy, if you wanted me to come after you, then you shall get your wish.”

By the time Macy and Nevada left the crime scene, it was nearly midnight. Instead of feeling fatigued, her body was still in high gear, but she knew that wouldn’t last forever.

They drove to the Wyatt house, where a collection of county and state vehicles was parked. Their lights flashed, illuminating the darkness, and several neighbors had gathered outside their homes.

Nevada strode up to Sullivan. “Any sign of Wyatt?”

“No,” Sullivan said. “The house is empty.”

“What about Tyler?” Macy asked.

“I called his cell and he answered. He says he’s in Texas with family. He said his brother put him in a hired car and sent him down to Roanoke to catch a plane earlier today.”

“When is the last time the boy was in contact with his brother?” Macy asked.

“They haven’t spoken since Wyatt put him in the car.”

“Did the boy say if his brother appeared off?” Macy asked.

“Tyler said his brother was calm and cool like he always is. The kid has no idea what’s going on,” Sullivan said.

“And Wyatt’s mother?” Nevada asked.

“I left her a voicemail message. No call back.” Sullivan flipped through his notes. “I called his family dentist. He did have his front tooth repaired in July of 2004. He’d chipped it during a football practice, but he had it repaired within a week.”

“So Ellis was right,” Macy said.

“Appears so.”

All the arrows pointed to Kevin. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Wyatt’s in the wind.”

“We’ll find him,” Nevada said. “It’s a matter of time.”

Thick clouds covered the sky, blocking out the stars and the moon. After they spoke to several other state officers, the two got back in Nevada’s car. The energy she’d felt less than a half hour ago was waning fast.

“I’ve got to get a couple of hours’ sleep,” Macy said.

Nevada backed out of the long drive until he reached the road, where he cut his wheels hard. “You can sleep at my place. I don’t want you in that motel room alone.”

She laid her head against the headrest. Though she now suspected that Kevin was the primary offender, Bruce was involved in some capacity. “The whole point is for me to be alone so that Wyatt or Shaw will come for me.”

“You’re not up to catching anyone tonight. We need to sleep, regroup, and figure out our plan of attack in the morning.”

She saw the wisdom of Nevada’s logic. “But Wyatt and Shaw are out there and may have another woman.”

“There’s a statewide BOLO out for either man’s arrest,” Nevada said.

“Both are too smart to trip a BOLO.”

“In the morning. I promise,” Nevada said.

She relented and they drove to his house. By the time they arrived, the adrenaline had abated and she was more tired than she had realized. She struggled to hide her stiff gait as the pair approached the house.

“Take a hot shower,” he said. “Want a drink?”

“Beer.”

“Corona, right?”

“Good memory.”

He locked the front door behind them, and she walked into his bedroom and turned on the hot water in the shower. As the steam began to rise in the stall, she stripped out of her clothes, laying them on the bed before stepping under the hot spray. She turned her back to the shower and leaned against the cool tile. The water’s heat felt wonderful and seeped into her aching bones.

The door to the shower opened, and Nevada stepped in behind her, resting both hands on her hips. She straightened and leaned back until she felt his chest rub against her skin.

He lathered his hands and began to rub the tense muscles along her lower back and right hip. A soft moan rumbled in her throat at the pure pleasure.