Chapter 49: Chapter 48

“I had a deputy double-check property records,” Trace said, striding back into the room. “There’s nothing. He’s got the apartment in town, and that’s it.”

Hell. I wanted Trace to find something, anything that would lead us to Rho. Just thinking her name had pain stabbing deep. Images flashed in my mind, horrific what-ifs rooted in other realities. It made the imaginary slideshow that much more devastating. Each image was a possibility, even a probability.

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I needed that flare of pain to keep me grounded. “What about any LLCs or corporations registered in his name?” I asked. “It’s possible to hide ownership that way.”

Trace flipped open a laptop on the conference table and began typing. “Running a search in the State of Oregon’s database.”

I fought the urge to stand, to pace. But movement wouldn’t alleviate the agony coursing through me.

“Nothing. Not a damn thing,” Trace growled.

I glanced at Shep, who sat across from me at the conference table. His expression was completely blank. He’d locked down everything he was feeling so tightly that no emotion had a prayer of breaking free.

“What about places Silas frequents?” I asked Shep. He wouldn’t take Rho to a new place. He’d go somewhere he knew, someplace he was comfortable.

Shep squeezed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. He’s into fishing. He always used his vacation days to take trips for that sort of thing.” Shep’s expression finally changed, but it looked as if he might be sick. “There wasn’t any fucking fishing, was there? He was using those trips to go on his twisted murder sprees, wasn’t he?”

A weight settled in my gut, not for me this time but for my friend. Helena and I had worked the timeline. The best we could figure, all the recent victims had been killed on weekends. And all incidents had occurred within a nine-and-a-half-hour-drive radius of Sparrow Falls. Close enough that Silas could make the journey and be back for work on Mondays.

“We don’t know. Not yet.” But my gut screamed it was him. “If you have a list of those dates, the BAU team can work on matching them to the murders.”

Shep nodded slowly, but there was such defeat in the movement. “Yeah, I’ve got software I track all that in. I can give them the login.”

“That’d be good. But now, I need you to think. There must be places around here that Silas went to often. Comfort spots,” I prodded.

“I doubt he took her to the fucking bar. And that’s the only place I know of,” Shep snapped.

I struggled to control my temper. Shep was hurting, and worse, he felt responsible. “Tell me about Silas growing up.” If there wasn’t a spot linked to Silas today, maybe it was somewhere from his past.

“I don’t fucking know,” Shep growled, shoving his chair back and running a hand roughly through his hair.

“I do.”

The voice was quiet, barely audible, but it still made everything stop.

Fallon hovered in the doorway to the conference room, her face pale and hands gripped tightly together.

“Fallon, what are you doing here?” Trace asked.

She swallowed hard. “Shep said you were looking for Silas.”

Trace sent Shep a scathing look.

“We needed as many eyes on the lookout as possible,” Shep shot back.

I stood, crossing to Fallon. “Did you know him growing up?”

She nodded slowly. “He was a year above us but in our bigger group of friends. You know, not the ones you’re super tight with but the kind you do things with.”

“Sure,” I assured her. “What do you know about his homelife?”

Fallon twisted her fingers like she was wringing out a towel. “I remember his dad left when we were young, maybe third or fourth grade. I think his mom had a hard time with that and making enough money to keep them afloat.”

“What makes you say that?”

“His clothes were always a bit worn, and sometimes they were a size too small,” Fallon said softly.

“How did he get along with his family? Do you know?”

Fallon licked her lips nervously as she thought. “He had an older sister who he said was hard on him. I got the sense his mom annoyed him. But that’s true for most kids.”

She was right there, but that sort of disdain could be a clue to something.

“Where are his mom and sister? Can you bring them in?” I asked Trace.

He shook his head. “They moved to Florida about six years ago.”

That prickle along my scalp lit. “You have confirmation of that?”

Trace frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Has anyone talked to the mom and sister since they moved?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t have real deep ties. Carina, the sister, had a best friend, but she moved to Idaho last year,” Trace said.

I glanced at Helena, who’d been typing away on a laptop but had stopped to listen to these latest developments. “Have someone run them. I want to know if there’s any evidence of them actually moving.”

Helena jerked her head in a nod. “On it.”

“What are you thinking?” Trace pressed.

“Six years ago, Silas would’ve been twenty-two or twenty-three. That’s right around the point where we see escalation in psychopaths. It would not surprise me if his mom and sister didn’t move at all.”

Trace gnashed his teeth together. “You think he killed them.”

Fallon sucked in a sharp breath, her face paling further. “Oh, God.”

Shep crossed to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, Fallon. Why don’t I get you home? You shouldn’t be here for this.”

She jerked out of his hold. “You sound like Kye,” she snapped. “I’m not weak. Stop treating me like I am.”

Shep reared back as if she’d slapped him. “I don’t think you’re weak.”

“You wouldn’t know that by how you all treat me.” Fallon turned to me. “What else do you need to know?”

I did my best to ignore the family drama playing out and focus on what was important. Each sliver of information was another puzzle piece on the board. “Where did his mom and sister live?” If they owned property, it was likely sold, and that would require a paper trail.

“They stayed in the house Silas grew up in. From what I heard, it was a pretty rundown place up in the mountains. A ways out of town.”

I turned to Trace, whose fingers were already flying across the keyboard. He frowned at the screen. “It’s still in Lucinda Arnett’s name, but the property taxes haven’t been paid in”—his head jerked up—“six years.”

Hell. I was right. He’d killed them both. They were likely his first hands-on kills. Up close, more than setting a fire that took people out in its path. Something must have set him off and made him snap. “Where?”

The prickly sensation across my scalp intensified. The house was the place. I knew it in my gut. It was where he’d brought Rho.

“I’ve got an address,” Trace said. “Let me call in SWAT and get blueprints sent to our phones.”

I shook my head. “There isn’t time for SWAT. We’ve got Feds and county deputies. We go now.”

Helena stood, shoving her chair back. “You aren’t on the job anymore, Anson. And this is a conflict of interest anyway.”

I struggled to hold back the choice words I wanted to spit at her. “I’ll go on my own if I have to. You know better than anyone that every second matters. And you know that I’ll never forgive myself if I’m not there.”

Helena cursed. “You stay back. You do not engage. But you can be there when we bring her out.”

I didn’t argue, simply moved. Officers spat orders, and radios crackled, but I was already heading toward the rented Suburban I knew would be Helena’s. I climbed into the front seat while Trace took the back. I knew he was trying to sneak in under the radar, but he’d also come prepared.

“Take it,” he said, handing me a set of body armor. “Just in case.”

I pulled the vest on over my head and secured it while Trace did the same.

Helena scowled at us both as she climbed into the SUV and started the engine. “You both stay back, or I’ll put you in cuffs myself.”

We grunted in response.

“Men,” she huffed.

The parade of law enforcement vehicles raced down the two-lane highway, but none used a siren. The only sound was the discussion of our approach to the property. The plan was to park a ways back and make the assault on foot, hoping for an element of surprise. But no one knew exactly what we’d be walking in on.

Trace and I studied the blueprints that arrived. It was a two-story cabin plus a basement and attic. Lots of little hidey-holes. And that was never good.

Helena made a right onto a winding gravel road. Each hairpin turn made my gut twist tighter, and Rho’s face played on repeat in my mind. The way her eyes lit when she laughed. Her wild waves falling across her face as she sank her hands into the dirt. The way her lips parted as I sank into her.

Pain ground into my chest, followed quickly by a dose of fury—at myself for failing Rho and not telling her what she meant to me. At Silas for everything he’d done and what he was doing now.

Helena jerked the SUV into park as other vehicles filed in. Hushed orders were whispered, and everyone went radio silent.

Trace and I both checked our weapons as we followed behind Helena and her new partner. The climb to the property was steep, and my thighs started burning a few minutes in. I relished the sensation. It was a reminder that I was alive and had me believing with everything I had that Rho was, too.

Helena held up a hand as we reached the edge of a tree line, and I froze. There was no house in front of us. Just a burned-out shell of what had once been an old cabin. But there was more.

There was Rho.

And Silas had a knife pressed against her throat.