Nevada heard the bitterness and anger in her voice and knew then it was time to pivot. “We found a red rope in the trunk of your car, Ms. Roberson. Did you put it there?”

“I found it in the bushes by my bedroom window. I wasn’t sure where it came from, so I tossed it in the trunk and forgot about it.”

“Finding a new length of rope in the garden seem a little odd to you?” Macy asked.

“I figured my roommate dropped it.”

“Who is your roommate?”

“Beth Watson.”

“When we knocked on your door yesterday, there was no answer,” Nevada said. “And I drove by last night and didn’t see any signs that anyone was home. Where is Beth?”

“That’s weird,” Debbie said. “Beth said she’d be home. I should go by the house and check.”

“We’ll send a deputy by,” Nevada said.

“You thought something bad happened to me, and it didn’t. Don’t you think you’re getting a little weird about nothing?”

“Do you have somewhere else to stay tonight?” Macy asked.

“Why? I want to go home.” Debbie’s voice amped up a notch.

“I’ll send a deputy with you,” Nevada said. “If he gives the all clear, we’ll consider this case closed.”

Debbie rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“And remain available,” Macy said. “I might have more questions.” She stepped into the hallway, dragged a shaking hand through her very short hair as Nevada followed behind her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

In a lower voice she said, “Her no-big-deal attitude just pisses me off.”

“Join the club.”

“No matter what she thinks, finding that rope by her window is a red flag.”

“Deputy Rogers should be here any moment to accompany her home.”

Macy blew out a breath. “I want to get buccal swabs from all the members of the Dream Team. We know Decker isn’t a match, and I still need samples from Younger and Shaw.”

“There were a lot of guys on that team,” Nevada said.

“We’ll start with the stars.”

“Sounds good.”

“Younger next.”

“I’ll get a kit,” Nevada said. He returned minutes later with a sealed vial that contained a cotton swab. “Remember, you get more flies with honey.”

Macy grinned. “I can be very sweet.”

“I’m not touching that one.”

They both entered the room, and when Debbie looked up and saw Macy’s expression, she realized how angry Macy was. Good.

“Mr. Younger, I’m hoping you can do me a favor,” Macy said.

Younger shifted in his seat. “Sure, if I can.”

“Would you allow me to test your DNA?” Macy asked.

He sat a little straighter. “Why?”

“So we can confirm you weren’t involved in what happened all those years ago.” She made a point not to mention the rapes or murders. “You strike me as a good guy, and when I speak to the media, I can say right up front that you weren’t involved once I have the test results.”

He glanced toward Debbie, who shrugged. “Sure. I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” Macy pulled on gloves, opened the vial, and when Paul opened his mouth, she swabbed the inside of his cheek before resealing the swab in the glass tube.

“That’s it?” Younger asked.

“That’s it. I’ll send this off to the lab, and you can just get on with your life.”

“Can we go now?” Debbie asked.

“Sure,” Macy said.

The two rose and left without comment.

Macy held up the vial to the light. “I’ve seen offenders rise to a DNA challenge only to run as soon as they leave the station house. We’ll need to get this analyzed as quickly as possible just in case.”

“I’ll have a deputy drive it down to the lab in Roanoke,” Nevada said.

“I’d also like a swab from Bruce Shaw,” Macy said.

Nevada looked taken aback for only a moment. Bruce might be a respected doctor in town, but they both knew that didn’t mean much right now.

He drove down the quiet country road that he’d traveled a dozen times in the last couple of months. He had not had a body in his trunk when he’d done his recon work, but he had fantasized about it. How many times had he measured the inside of his trunk? How many times had he loaded bags of sand into his trunk to see how his car handled with the extra weight? And when he had realized he had to kill, he had carefully lined the interior with plastic.

He slowed as he pulled to the side in a small turnaround that most folks used when they realized they’d made a wrong turn. The road saw enough traffic to ensure she’d be found soon.

He put the car in park and got out. He could bury her in a grave, and that would buy him years. It had taken the cops fifteen years to find Tobi, and that had been dumb luck. But he wanted this one found. He wanted to see the media swarm, to hear the faint whispers of fear, and to watch the Keystone Cops chase their own tails in circles. He was smarter than all of them put together. He was throwing down the gauntlet.

The plastic crinkled when he hefted the corpse out of the trunk and cradled her cold body close. He had forgotten how unwieldy dead weight could be.

After laying her on the ground, he removed the plastic and then shoved it in a large garbage bag, which he stowed in his trunk. Kneeling, he brushed the hair from her eyes and smoothed his fingertips over her pale cheeks.

He took care to straighten her large T-shirt and made sure its hem covered her private parts. No need to be crass, and he certainly didn’t want the world to think he was a pervert.

He removed a disposable phone from his pocket and dialed a familiar number. It rang three times before he heard a gruff “Hello.”

“It’s me.”

A long pause followed, and then, “What do you want?”

“An alibi.”

More silence. “I did that once before.”

“And you were generously rewarded.”

“The stakes are higher now.”

Rising, he stared up at the bright half moon. “The stakes are always high. That’s what makes it interesting.”

He wouldn’t make threats. They both knew that one word to the cops would bring their house of cards tumbling down.

“What do you want?”

Smiling, he drew in a deep breath and relayed exactly what he needed said if anyone should come asking about him. When he ended the call, he stared up at the bright sky and thought about the next woman.

He had his eye on several, but there was one that rose to the top of his list. Already he imagined his fingers around her slender neck and the final moments they would share.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Tuesday, November 19, 10:00 p.m.

When everyone left the conference room, Macy sat in silence and dropped her face into her hands. Since she had rolled into town, she had learned precious little. And at the rate she was going, she would drive back to Quantico empty handed and out of a job.

Nevada pushed through the door. “Let’s take a break.”

“I don’t need a break. I need to solve this case.”

“Two hours won’t make a difference, and getting away from the station might help clear your head.”

“I’ve barely gotten started on this investigation.”

He picked up her backpack. “Break. Food.”

Knowing her mind was running in circles, she realized an hour or two might be what she needed. Macy followed him out the back door of the station and got into his car. He started driving, and she didn’t pay close attention to the passing buildings until he took a road leading out of town.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To my house. I’ll make us a meal, and then we can get back to it in a few hours.”

“To your house. I’m not sure that’s smart.”

“Afraid you can’t keep your hands off of me?” he challenged.

She studied his amused profile and realized how much she’d missed his sense of humor. “Your honor is safe with me, Sheriff.”

He laughed and turned down more roads, following a series of smaller and smaller side streets until he took a hard right onto a freshly paved blacktop driveway. It snaked up the side of the mountain, winding around a switchback curve, and then pushed up to the final stretch.

The house waiting for them was not what she had expected when she had heard farmhouse. It was large and at least a five-thousand-square-foot extravagance of stone, tall glass windows, and a wide covered porch that wrapped around the entire front of the house.

“Wow, Grandpa rolled large,” she said.

“He built roads for a living.”

“And made a small fortune.”

He hit a button on his visor and a garage door on the side opened, allowing him to pull in. He shut off the engine. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”

“Why not?”

A combination lock opened the door leading from the garage into the kitchen. She paused to study the neat display of mountain bikes, hiking gear, and ski equipment precisely arranged along the walls.

“How long did he live here?” she asked.

“Forty years.”

“This gentleman was also Ellis’s grandfather?”

“No. I’m related to Ellis on my mother’s side. George, my grandfather who built this house, was my dad’s father.”

“You were close to George?” She’d slept with the guy, but neither had really talked about their pasts.

“My grandfather raised me from age fifteen onward after my parents died.”

“You never told me that. How did your parents die?”

“Car accident. Hit head-on by a drunk driver.”