what he needed.
Maybe the guilt will finally stop. If he could stop enough serials. If he could make a difference, if, if, if.
“You all know that there are currently 25 to 50 active serial killers hunting in the United States.” Her lips thinned. “Or at least, that’s the number we’re supposed to be working with.” The number that the FBI bandied about to the media.
“I think there are more,” Bowen said, his voice rumbling. “I think there are hunters who are so good at killing, the authorities have no idea they’re out there. They’re flying right beneath the radar, picking victims that no one will miss, and they’re getting away with murder.”
“That’s where we come in,” Samantha said with a nod. “Part of our job will be to try to find those unknown killers. We will unmask the ones who are hiding in shadows. We’ll find the victims that they don’t want anyone to know about.”
“That’s easier said than done,” Macey murmured.
Samantha smiled. “Yes, it is.” Her shoulders rolled in a shrug. “But I think we’re up to the challenge.”
Tucker didn’t speak.
“That’s part of our job,” Samantha continued in that mild, calm voice of hers. An oddly soothing voice. “But another part...another part is immediate mobilization when we think local authorities have uncovered an active serial. At the first hint of serial involvement, a team will immediately deploy to the local area and begin cooperative action with the authorities there.”
He liked that. Damn straight they needed immediate action. When it came to serials, the locals were often in way over their heads, and time lost meant lives lost.
“That brings me to the reason I called this meeting...” She glanced at the watch on her slender wrist. “At seven p.m. on a Friday night.” She headed toward her laptop and pressed a few buttons. She had a projector hooked up and a screen had already lowered from the ceiling. “Agents, we have our first target.”
And an image appeared on that white screen. Even though he’d prepared for it, Tuck’s whole body tensed. No, hell, no. Not happening. It shouldn’t be happening—
“Is she...frozen?” Macey asked.
“Yes,” Tucker gritted before Samantha could speak.
Because the crime scene photo they were staring at...it showed a woman with skin that appeared almost blue. Her lashes were covered with small ice particles. Her lashes, her lips, the tip of her nose. He could see the slices on her body, slices that were wide and deep, obviously from a big knife. And her body—
Samantha hit a button on her laptop. Another picture appeared. This one wasn’t as close up. Instead, it was a distance shot of the crime scene, and it showed the victim’s body perfectly.
She was inside an open freezer.
Tucker wanted to jump to his feet. He wanted to snarl... No fucking way. This can’t be happening. Not again. But he knew Samantha was watching him. He knew Samantha needed him.
And he knew he was going to give her exactly what she wanted.
“The Iceman.”
He could feel the other agents staring at him.
He rose to his feet and headed toward the screen. He stared at the victim’s arms, her bare torso. Her neck. “The angle of the cuts...it appears to be the same.” Because the Iceman had enjoyed inflicting maximum pain on his victims. “He’d start easily, just little flicks of the blade. Then he’d go deeper. Starting with the arms. The stomach. Then driving the blade into the shoulders. The right first, then the left.” And the guy had only been getting started at that point. His torture would last much, much longer.
Tucker stared at the victim’s face. “She’s in her early twenties. A young, pretty female. Just his type.”
Only it wasn’t possible.
“Uh, yeah...” Bowen cleared his throat. “I was under the impression that the Iceman died seven years ago.”
Tucker forced himself to turn away from the victim. “You’re not the only one who thought that.” He’d been under that same impression, until Samantha Dark had given him a heads-up when she first told him about the meeting. She hadn’t wanted him walking into that room blind. And, in fact, she’d given him the option not to come in at all.
He’d been late to that meeting for one reason...because he’d gotten lost thinking about the ghost of his bastard brother.
There were some things a man couldn’t forget, and there were some things that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, hide from.
“The original Iceman was Jason Frost, and, yes, I’m the man who shot him one long-ago Louisiana night.” He kept his voice flat with an effort. Tucker valued his control above all else. “It’s safe to assume that we’re looking at the work of a copycat. It could be as simple as some jerk who wanted to get rid of his girlfriend, so he thought he’d imitate the work of an infamous killer, or—” he rolled back his shoulders “—it could be one of those guys who gets obsessed with a serial killer’s work. Who tries to imitate and duplicate the kills.” Of the two options, that was the one that worried him more. If someone was duplicating Jason’s work, that meant there would be more death coming.
They couldn’t have that.
Macey’s fingers tapped lightly on the table. “If I remember correctly, Jason Frost’s body was never recovered.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Though dive teams had searched for days. “But his body isn’t the first to disappear into the Mississippi, and it won’t be the last.” By the time the cops had arrived, his brother’s body had been long gone. It had taken two hours for the cops to get there...mostly because it had taken a very long time for Tucker to call them in. If he’d called sooner...
Then maybe we would have pulled him from the water. But my priority was elsewhere then.
“If they didn’t get a body—” Bowen’s head tilted as he studied Tucker “—then how can you be certain he’s dead?”
He didn’t let his expression alter. “I’m a former SEAL. When I shoot at something, I hit it. Before he went into the water, I shot Jason Frost three times.” The breath he inhaled felt cold. “With my last shot, I was aiming for his heart.”
Bowen’s eyes narrowed. “But he was your brother. Your blood.”
Blood is all that matters.
“In that last second,” Bowen continued, his brown eyes narrowed, “are you sure you didn’t hesitate?”
“Yes.” He stared straight at Bowen. “I’m sure.”
“Fair enough.” Bowen’s gaze slid from his and focused once more on the woman’s image. “Do we know who the victim is?”
“Right now, she’s listed as a Jane Doe,” Samantha replied. “She doesn’t match with any missing person’s report, and her fingerprints haven’t turned up any hits in our system. But this is still early in the investigation, so I’m expecting to hear more news soon.”
Macey swiveled her chair toward Samantha. “Just how early are we talking?”
“The victim was discovered less than twelve hours ago.”
Bowen gave a low whistle. “That is early.”
Samantha nodded. “And that means we have an advantage. Luckily for us, one of the detectives who is working on this case in New Orleans was familiar with the Iceman’s work. He knew instantly what he was seeing, and he put in a call to my office.”
When the Iceman’s crimes had first been uncovered, his kills had been flashed on every news channel in the United States. But then time had passed and other killers had taken his place. More tales of gore and death had pushed the Iceman out