Pound.

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Pound.

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Pound.

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He tossed an arm over his head to drown out the noise. All he wanted was some sleep. For the past three months, sleep had remained elusive. Staring at the ceiling, on edge for the slightest sound. Most nights he wasn’t even in bed but working in his office. Researching all he could.

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Pound.

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Pound.

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Lucas moved his arm and opened his eyes. The damn sound. He rolled over to peek at the clock on his nightstand.

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11:05 AM.

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Another round of banging occurred.

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Shit.

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Someone was at the door.

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He wished the annoying sound would’ve been a nightmare, nothing but his imagination trying to increase his misery. He didn’t feel like dealing with anyone.

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He threw the covers off when the knocking persisted again. Then he grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of sweats from the floor, slipping them on, not being quick about it. Without hesitation, he reached for his police-issued firearm from atop his nightstand and made his way to the door. These days, he was hypervigilant and wary of most things. His gun was never far out of reach.

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This better be good. When sleep came, he reveled in it.

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Lucas approached the front door and peered through the peephole, the weapon snug in his hand.

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Double shit. The last person he wanted to deal with.

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Elle Conners, the investigative reporter from California.

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She wore a sleek, black pencil skirt and a white elegant blouse, standing firm and confident in black stiletto heels. A predator looking for her prey. She had tried to corner him yesterday as he left the police station, but he managed to skate by her unscathed.

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“Geez.” Lucas lowered his weapon and took a deep breath.

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He opened the door.

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“How did you find out where I live? It’s way too early in the morning.”

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She glanced at her watch. “It’s eleven o’clock. I have a few questions, Officer Dalton.” Her gaze trailed to his hand that held the weapon.

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He stared at her, unfazed by the slight fear that entered her eyes.

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“Sorry for waking you.” She paused, eyeing the weapon again. “Are you going to shoot me?”

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Lucas glimpsed his gun, then whipped his eyes to the pen and pad already in her hand, ready to jot down any word he might say. “You can never be too careful answering the door. Never know what might be lurking on the other side.” He smirked. “I have no comment. It’ll always be no comment.” Without waiting for a response, he tried to swing the door shut.

​

But Elle slammed her hand forward, stopping the door in its track. “You never made a statement about what happened with your sister and the investigation. We have the right to know. The world needs to know. What progress have you and the FBI made finding the Trick Killer?”

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This woman was like a damn bulldog.

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He liked bulldogs—just not this one.

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He opened the door a little wider and took a step toward her. She flinched but didn’t move back. “No comment.”

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“You can’t hide from this. We—”

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“Are vultures.” Patience thinning, he gritted his teeth to stop himself from spewing vulgar words. His mother raised him with manners, especially toward women. “Do you think by asking questions he’s going to magically appear? That’s not how it works. I’m trying to do my job here in Veston and help my family move on from a horror that walked into our lives. Stop calling him by that ridiculous nickname. His name is Clarence Owens.”

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“Why so defensive? Are you hiding something?” She arched a brow as her hand slid to her hip.

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“Stay away from me and stay away from my sister. I won’t hesitate to slap a restraining order on you.”

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Again, he didn’t wait for a reply and slammed the door in her face. The shock on her face—he almost felt bad for slamming the door. Almost. That woman had been nothing but a pain in the ass since she showed up. She didn’t deserve his remorse. None of the reporters that hounded him and his family over the past year did.

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Lucas flipped the deadbolt and headed for the kitchen.

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He had been sleeping for once. To be woken up like that—damn! He slammed the cupboard shut after grabbing the coffee grounds.

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Who did that woman think she was? Ruining his sleep. Asking questions he refused to answer. Jerking the faucet to turn the water off, he filled the coffee machine to the very top.

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All he wanted was some sleep. Some peace. Instead, he had to be hounded by an annoying reporter who didn’t understand the word no.

It was his day off. Damn her!

​

For the past ten years, he had worked for the Veston Police Department. After walking through the door last night from a long and tiring shift, instead of going to bed, he did what he normally did. He went to his office and pored over every piece of evidence concerning Clarence and his escape.

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He lied to Elle Conners. Not that he cared. Unofficially, since his escape, he had been working with the FBI to find Clarence.

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About a year ago, Clarence had waltzed into his sister’s life. Maddie had been remodeling a library in Neptune, about an hour away from Veston, when several murders rocked the small town. Jake Anders, now his partner in Veston, had been the officer assigned to the murder cases. He also started dating his sister at the same time.

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They were overprotective of Maddie because of the murders. Murder rarely happened in their small towns. He couldn’t help but worry and become overprotective. To make matters worse, someone had started to stalk her.

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Goose bumps traveled up and down his arms remembering everything. The stalker had been the least worrisome. Clarence turned out to be the true nightmare.

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He still felt the terror thinking about the night his sister disappeared. The frantic search it took to find her. How they almost lost her.

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He never wanted to feel like that again.

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The scars ran deep, etching onto Maddie’s soul by the deceit and horror of being attacked. Jake was her rock, her motivator when she felt like giving up or when the horror slipped back into her veins by a simple thought. She survived and she healed.

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It hadn’t been easy, especially with the reporters flocking to northern Minnesota to get the juicy details. They refused interviews with the media and always deferred everything to Chief Maldune, Neptune’s Chief of Police. They didn’t want to talk about it. Relive the horror.

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The FBI had taken over when they found the chest full of evidence. Clarence had taken three lives in Neptune. The trunk held answers to multiple murders around the country. Based on the contents hidden, they could tie him to ten murders in California, two in Arizona, and four in Nevada. Mementos he saved from each killing. No one wanted to contemplate how many other people were killed without him bothering to snatch a memento.

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Before they found Maddie, Lucas had stepped inside the secret room, disturbed not only by the chest but by the other material that littered the room. Multiple wigs, clothes of all varieties, and a tremendous amount of makeup and prosthetics waiting for the masquerade to begin.

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Special Agent Keith Tomlison, the FBI agent in charge of the case, had said after putting different wigs on Clarence that he would speak in a new voice. Yet, not every voice would identify who they were. Lucas recalled vividly Keith’s voice when he talked about it, describing it as one of the most frightening things he had ever encountered.

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The case had been moving along—processing the evidence, building their case—then California wanted to extradite him. He had to pay for his crimes. Minnesota relented, even though he hadn’t been to trial yet for his murders in Neptune. One can never understand how the criminal justice system works. Lucas and Jake hadn’t been too concerned or upset. California had the death penalty. Minnesota didn’t. They wanted to see him get what he deserved.

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Until they lost the chance.

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Three months ago.

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A day he hated to think about.

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Clarence escaped police custody while they were attempting to transfer him to California.

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They hadn’t gotten that far out of Minneapolis when the vehicle veered off the road and crashed. Clarence managed to attack the agent sitting next to him, took his gun, and shot everyone in the car. From there, he removed his shackles with a key and ran on foot.  Disappearing into thin air.

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Since that day, they’d been on high alert.

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Three whole months.

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No sightings.

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No evidence leading them anywhere.

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No surprise there. Clarence was a master of disguise. It was why the media dubbed him with the ridiculous name—the Trick Killer.

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Like that, the media came back in full force with the news of his escape.

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Vultures.

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Nothing but damn vultures.

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The only polite name Lucas could think of. He hated them all.

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Within the last month, for the first time in a long time, peace had reigned in their lives with no reporters hounding them.

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Until yesterday.

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When Elle Conners arrived.

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It was the first time he’d ever seen her. He could rattle a name off by picturing their face. The reporter from the same newspaper, who always showed up before her, had been Cory Jackson.

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Why was she popping up now? Why wasn’t she here in the beginning?

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It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be answering any of her questions. He never answered the questions by any reporter. The facts could be found elsewhere. They didn’t need his personal experience—or his sister’s. He would always protect his sister no matter what. Just as Jake would.

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He poured himself a cup of coffee and made his way to the spare room turned into an office. Until recently, it had teetered on the edge of emptiness, he had never gone in there. Since Clarence escaped, he never left the room. Papers upon papers covered the walls and floor.

Keith had given him and Jake information concerning Clarence’s other murders. If they hadn’t been the ones to catch Clarence and live the horror he dished out, Lucas didn’t think Keith would’ve handed anything over.

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He worked for the FBI, and they were small-town cops. But they had fallen into an easy camaraderie with him. Keith wasn’t delusional. Clarence might try to come back and attack Maddie. Unfinished business, after all.

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Lucas had been trying to find a pattern in his method of killing, hoping that if he scoured the country for new murders, he could locate Clarence that way. Lucas knew he would never stop killing. Nothing would stop Clarence. He was a monster with no compassion, no remorse, and no hesitation to take another life.

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So far, nothing stood out.

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Lucas sat down at the computer. His phone pinged.

 

Jo: Did you know during the American Civil War they used acorns as a substitute for coffee?

 

Lucas chuckled as he read the text from Jake’s best friend, Victoria Johansen, a detective who lived in New York. She’d been visiting last year when Maddie had gone missing. Her and her friends had helped find his sister. He’d grown close to all of Jake’s friends from New York. Since Clarence had escaped, Jo had been reaching out to him more than she normally did.

 

Lucas: Well, I’m thankful we don’t do that now. I can’t even imagine what that would taste like.

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Jo: You should try it. No imagining then.

 

Lucas: *laughing emoji*

 

No doubt this was her way to distract him from what he wanted to do. Find Clarence. Something that consumed him.

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Shit. Her text reminded him he’d better call Jake and warn him of the possible Elle Conners attack sure to ensue.

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The fact she was a reporter dampened his spirits.

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Yesterday, as she approached him, her beauty had wrapped around him, punching him in the gut. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d reacted that way in regard to a woman.

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Her chocolate-brown hair that nearly sat on her shoulders, every strand precision straight. It tempted him to want to mess it up. Her bold hazel eyes had whispered to him. Begging him to come closer to learn all her secrets. Her mouth had curved in the most delicious way when she smiled. As if saying, if he did venture closer, she wouldn’t be liable for her actions. The way she filled out that outfit she wore yesterday—even today—would make any man weak in the knees.

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Then she spoke. Identified herself.

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His opinion had changed in an instant. Talk about a disappointment. He didn’t have time for a woman anyway. Work took front and center in his life.

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He wiped her beauty from his mind as he listened to the phone ringing in his ear. “Hey, Jake. You got a problem headed your way.”