Pitch Black Read online

  BWI Airport. South of the city. Even farther from Wilmington. So he circled the entire beltway and then drove back to Delaware, damn it.

  Sounding hopeful, Alec asked, “Was it the first one? Did he post from home, then think better of it and go out to find a more secure location?”

  Sam was less hopeful. Because she did not want to think this bastard might live so close.

  Agent Stokes shook her head. “Uh-uh. The third. A brand new ISP was assigned within minutes of his post.”

  Sam, who had been listening quietly, talking only in her head, couldn’t help muttering, “You guys are good, taking it all the way to street level so soon.”

  Jackie Stokes shrugged. “We’ve got access most people don’t. Amazing how quickly a federal warrant goes through when bodies start to fall.”

  “No doubt.”

  “All right, give me some good news,” said Blackstone.

  “Well, the good news is, if we ever do have a suspect, we’ll be able to prove all this through his laptop’s history. Without one, we’re shooting in the dark.”

  Wyatt’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me one of those connections was in the vicinity of a surveillance camera.”

  The other woman, a pretty blonde who had been busily typing on her keyboard, lifted her head. “Already on it, sir. The residential area, no go, but it’s possible he was seen by a late-night dog walker or nosy neighbor.”

  Blackstone nodded. “Note the area, please.”

  “Already sent the information to your BlackBerry, sir.”

  He sighed, saying, “We really don’t need the sirs in this office, Lily.”

  The woman stammered an apology, which her boss waved off. “Continue,” he said.

  “The hotel is part of a budget chain. They might offer free wifi, but they don’t put any money into security. It is across the street from a bank ATM, though. Depending on where he parked, it could have caught something.” The blonde, Lily, didn’t sound hopeful. “And the Baltimore auto repair shop he used to send the middle post is located near an intersection with a red-light cam. I’ve already contacted the locals to get the ID of the specific camera, and can pull it up for examination.”

  “Excellent.” Blackstone turned his attention back to Alec and Sam. “But obviously it’s not enough. So we’re going to have to proceed with the backup plan. Are you certain you’re willing to do this?”

  Sam nodded. “But we need to get going.”

  “Alec, this is your show. I assume you know the best way to deal with the psyche of this unsub, so why don’t you write out the initial response.”

  “All right.” Alec turned to face her. “If you had gotten up this morning and read these messages, how would you have dealt with them? Would you address the first comments first, or skip right to the ones that . . .”

  “Made my blood boil?”

  “Exactly.”

  She thought about it. “I always give a nod to my regulars before diving into any debates.”

  He sat beside her and pulled a pen from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Okay, you go ahead and respond to those and I’ll write down what to say to the Professor.”

  She lifted a brow. “He’s a professor?”

  “It’s not important. For all intents and purposes, you know him as Darwin.”

  “Got it.”

  Seeing the way her own fingers shook as she touched them to the unfamiliar keys, Sam closed her eyes for one moment, trying to hear her own normal, daily voice, wondering if her fear sounded as loud when she spoke as it did inside her head.

  Doesn’t matter as long as it doesn’t come through in the writing.

  Swallowing down the nervousness, she began to type. She addressed the first few messages in one bunch, since they were all agreements with her column. A couple of other visitors had related their own horror stories, which she tackled next. She didn’t have to feign the sadness she felt for the man whose teenage daughter had run away with an abusive rapist she’d met on MySpace, or the man whose wife had been robbed and beaten when she’d met with someone she thought was selling a dining room set.

  She gave a shout-out to those who begged her not to feed the troll—Darwin. Then she was finished. There was nothing to do but find something to say to the man who thought people should be allowed to be slaughtered without anyone else’s interference. “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Alec?” Blackstone said. He had been watching from the end of the conference table, sitting quietly, one leg crossed over the other, his hands, fingers entwined, resting casually on his lap. She sensed the man saw quite a lot with that dark, intense stare, but neither his pose nor his expression revealed his thoughts.

  “Got it,” Alec said. He cleared his throat, glancing at Sam as if to ask her one more time if she really wanted to do this. When she nodded slightly, he lifted his notebook and read aloud the words he’d written.

  She listened, thought about them, then said, “Okay, if I had decided not to blast him off the Internet, that sounds like something I might say. Might need to tweak a word or two.”

  He pushed the paper over. “Fine.”

  She took it, but didn’t write, waiting for a final go-ahead from the guy in charge. When Blackstone nodded once, she jotted her changes on the page, her small, neat print nearly lost in Alec’s bold, spiky handwriting.

  There was a metaphor in there somewhere. She knew it. Something about her small, neat life being sucked into his big, bold one.

  God, she hoped she wasn’t making a mistake.

  “Go ahead, Sam.”

  She began to type.

  Dear Darwin . . .

  Chapter 7

  You’re a first-timer, aren’t you? Welcome, glad to have you. Can’t say I agree with your theory, but it’s a free country, right? I understand it can be frustrating that some people don’t learn from their mistakes. But do you really think the answer is to do nothing at all? Pretty harsh view, isn’t it?

  Interesting comments, hope you stick around!

  In his quiet office, behind a closed door, Darwin leaned back in his chair and stared at Samantha’s words. They were, he had to admit, more than he’d hoped for. He’d read them several times since they’d shown up an hour ago, searching for more—hidden messages, private meanings. Something to indicate she knew how important this interaction was.

  Hope you stick around.

  That said it all, didn’t it? Of course she knew.

  “You never disappoint me,” he told the screen, his gaze shifting between it and her photo on the inside back cover of her book. Her beautiful face, the intelligence shining from her eyes—they weren’t a disguise for a woman with no substance. She might be naive, and foolishly kind, but she was open-minded and smart.

  Smart enough to recognize a kindred spirit, even if, on the surface, their views seemed quite different.

  “You had me worried for a while,” he admitted. “Keeping me waiting as you did.”

  That worry had made him refresh the computer page every minute or two throughout the morning. A man not used to feeling impatient over anything, he had found the reaction disconcerting and had to leave the office for a while because he could not focus.

  The delayed response had not angered him; he could never be angry at someone who took the time to evaluate all options before speaking or acting. But he couldn’t deny a moment of worry when he’d thought he was being intentionally ignored.

  He would not tolerate being ignored.

  Finally, she had spoken, and the weight of wondering had been lifted. It just remained to decide how—and when—to respond.

  When a knock sounded, he minimized the screen. “Yes?”

  His office door swung open and one of his employees entered, a subservient, wishing-to-please expression on his face. “Got a minute?”

  He nodded. “Of course, Steve; you know my door is always open.”

  Even though it almost never was. Not in the literal sense, anyway. But Steve wasn’t wired to think so
literally. Not stupid at all, oh, no—the man was cunning. Above all, he was loyal. And these days, loyalty outweighed everything else. “What can I do for you?”

  “I want to thank you for the overtime hours. I know you pulled some strings to get them for me.”

  A simple phone call, nothing more, and it had earned him one more layer of gratitude from someone who might be of use someday. “It’s nothing.”

  “Well, it’s something to me. The extra money’s great with the baby coming. So thanks again.”

  Offering a slight smile, he murmured, “You are quite deserving. It’s nice to have people we can count on around here.”

  “You can count on me!” Vehemence laced his voice, and an almost slavish devotion was visible in the younger man’s eyes. “And on everyone who works here.”

  They might not be quite as supportive if they realized how thoroughly he disliked most of them. But he kept his opinions well hidden. He was as good an actor as he was a . . .

  “Killer morning, huh?”

  Appropriate terminology. Though considering he had never really killed anyone, merely set their inevitable deaths in motion, he wouldn’t bestow such a stark title upon himself. Nor was he an executioner, for the same reason. Or even a punisher—he didn’t choose to punish his victims, or to change them.

  He simply wanted them gone.

  “Did your meeting go okay?” Steve asked.

  Knowing the man referred to the fictional meeting he had used to explain his sudden departure this morning, Darwin nodded. “Yes, indeed. Things are looking much better now.”

  Much better.

  “Glad to hear it. Well, guess I’ll get back to work.”

  “Fine, fine.” Wanting to free up his schedule, to prepare for the evening he had planned, he added, “I do have another appointment this afternoon. It will require me to leave a few hours early today. Far too much running around, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s why they pay you the big bucks!” Steve-the-sycophant said with a grin. “Have a good one, and stay warm. It’s cold out there.”

  Master of the obvious.

  Nodding pleasantly, he watched the subordinate leave, shutting the door firmly behind him, then brought up the Web site again. “I didn’t mean to ignore you, my dear,” he whispered. “Though you gave me a fright thinking you were ignoring me.”

  Her lack of response to his comments had bothered him less during the night than it had this morning. But still, it had bothered him. Enough that, after he had posted his first two comments and seen no reply, he’d driven to her home. Seeing her car parked in one of the spots in front of her building and noting the absence of any sign of life behind the pitch-black windows of her apartment, he’d assumed she was asleep. A normal assumption, given the late hour, though he knew Samantha to be a night owl, often staying up until three a.m.

  Not last night, though. She must have exhausted herself working up her useless cautionary piece for people who would never learn from it.

  She had not been ignoring him at all. Samantha had simply not been awake to read his messages and realize he’d opened the most important line of communication of her entire life.

  How wonderful it had been to sit outside in the night, studying her bedroom window. It hadn’t been the first time, though he wasn’t foolish enough to become a frequent visitor to this neighborhood. He satisfied his craving once a week at most.

  On one occasion last summer, he had seen her moving behind the gently billowing sheers as she prepared for sleep behind an open window. He’d held his breath as her silhouette was spotlighted by the bedroom lamp before she’d flicked it off. And had continued to hold it when she moved even closer to the window to turn on the small night-light plugged in directly beneath it.

  How nice that he no longer had to wonder what that night-light looked like. It was colorful, stained-glass, delicate. Closing his eyes, he could see it, as well as the pretty jewelry box on her dresser and the framed sunflower print on the wall. He remembered the softness of her bed, the shape of each pillow.

  His familiarity with everything in her apartment added depth and texture to his nighttime visions as he sat outside and pictured what she was doing.

  Fortunately, she had gone to spend the night Christmas Eve at her mother’s home. Because Darwin had then been able to spend his Christmas Eve indulging in a thorough overnight exploration of Samantha’s.

  He had often pictured her in bed, her golden hair against the cream-colored linens, her face softly lit by the glow from the night-light. Imagining climbing inside, surprising her awake, he hadn’t known which he would want to do first: converse with her about philosophy or fuck her until she sobbed.

  His body had stirred at the possibility. He had never been a man overpowered by physical needs or messy lusts. But with her, it was different. He wanted her mind, wanted to bend it, even to the point of breaking, if he had to, until her thoughts matched his own.

  He also, however, wanted her body. Wanted to bend it to the point of breaking as well, if only he could satisfy the unrelenting craving he’d felt for her for so long.

  “Soon,” he whispered, still smiling. “Now that we’ve begun I will most definitely be ‘sticking around.’ ”

  Closer than she’d ever imagined. He’d already begun inserting himself in her life in ways she could not even comprehend. Preparing for the inevitable, when he’d have to strip away the dregs who kept her down: her friends, her family, all who prevented her from reaching her fullest potential.

  “Not much longer,” he reminded himself, frustrated that he could not reply to her, not yet, anyway. Certainly not from here.

  But perhaps it was fortunate after all. She’d kept him waiting; now he’d give her a taste of the same frustration. Let her think about Darwin, grow more interested in him. Until she was almost aching with curiosity by the time he came back around.

  “Perfect,” he mused, liking the visual.

  It wasn’t as if he had nothing else to do today. Already nearly two—he had preparations to make. Though he had originally intended to dangle his little telephone operator friend for another week or so, he had decided to free himself of that encumbrance. Wendy Cramer was a distraction. Furthermore, she was a loose end.

  Not for much longer. The plan for her disposal was in place. While off-site this morning, he had contacted her and set it in motion. Once that was done, he could clear his mind and give all of himself to Samantha. He would be free to reach out to her, to put her out of the torment she would be feeling after a full day of his silence. And he would be so close when he did it.

  How fortuitous for him that both women lived in the same city. He could kill two birds with one stone.

  Well, literally speaking, only one bird would die tonight.

  A bird. He chuckled under his breath at his own wit. Because how his little Wendy was going to fly. She just didn’t know it yet.

  Anticipation lifting his spirits, he quickly tidied his desk, removing every item, every bit of paper, until it was entirely bare, as he liked it. His step held a jaunty bounce as he walked to the closet to retrieve his coat, and he couldn’t recall a time when he’d felt more certain about what he was doing.

  It was all coming together. Things were truly starting to happen. Tonight, he would reach out to Samantha Dalton again, and continue with his two-part plan.

  Teach her. Then take her.

  Nothing.

  An entire day in a cramped, musty conference room with visible dust motes filling every breath of air, and they had heard absolutely nothing from the unsub they were trying to engage.

  What a complete waste of time.

  Alec did his best to hide his frustration and his impatience. Samantha had done everything she’d been asked to do and had cooperated fully. The last thing he wanted was for her to think the failure of their plan was in any way her fault. This had been his idea, and the responsibility belonged squarely on his shoulders.

  “He posted late last night,” she
said, hiding a yawn that punctuated her weariness. They had sent out for lunch, and taken only brief breaks from chairs about as comfortable as park benches. “Maybe he’s a shift worker; he might not even be home from work yet.”

  That was a possible explanation, and one he’d already thought of. But it didn’t offer much solace. “Trust me, from what we know about him, he doesn’t sound like a blue-collar shift worker pulling the noon-to-eight. I believe he’s a professional, an executive even. Someone used to power and being in charge. Someone who enjoys controlling other people and has gone from managing their jobs to managing their deaths.”

  She blinked, thinking about it, then said, “Don’t give up; it’s still possible. Okay, so he’s a nine-to-fiver, a professional. But if he’s an executive, he works late. And if he’s a commuter and there’s an accident, he could still be sitting on a highway with all the other poor slobs running the rat race.” A slight hint of irony in her voice, she added, “Or maybe he’s home playing perfect husband to an unsuspecting wife, waiting for her to get busy doing something else so he can sneak out and do his nasty laptop business.”

  The comment interested him, given everything else he knew about her, especially the golf club-versus-laptop incident she’d mentioned earlier. In other circumstances, he might have asked her about it.

  Besides which, she was right. Something like that could have prevented the Professor from returning. Maybe his damn laptop was broken, too.

  There were, however, a few other, less comforting possibilities. For instance, maybe Darwin wasn’t the Professor after all.

  He is. Alec truly believed it.

  Still, maybe their unsub wasn’t interested enough to come back and hadn’t even realized she’d responded. His posting could have been a one-time thing, a break from the boredom of not killing anyone last night.

  At least, they hoped he hadn’t killed anyone last night.

  There was also a chance he was suspicious about something in Sam’s responses. So far, she had addressed him twice. They had come up with a reason for her to bring him into the conversation again at around five o’clock, after several hours had gone by without any acknowledgment about the first posting. It hadn’t been hard. Her regular visitors had had a lot to say about Darwin’s comments. Not to mention the lack of heat in Sam’s response.