The Grave Between Us by Tal Bauer

Chapter Fifteen

He was sobbingwhen he finished, his forehead digging into the steering wheel, his hands gripping the leather so hard his knuckles burned. He couldn’t look at Noah. His lungs ached and his throat was raw, and he kept sucking in giant, heaving breaths.

“It was all my fault. My fault he escaped. My fault he killed McHugh and Hillary.” The official investigative report, from the DOJ’s Office of the Inspector General, laid the blame squarely at Cole’s feet.

FBI Special Agent Cole Kennedy provided Prisoner Ingram with a pencil during the interrogation, which Prisoner Ingram covertly bit shards off of, concealing them within his mouth. During transport, Prisoner Ingram spat the pencil shards into his hands and used the wood to pick his handcuffs and effectuate his release.

It was on the interrogation tape when they played it back. Ian had gnawed on the pencil right there in front of Cole, moving pieces of wood to the far side of his mouth as he wrote down his tortures. Cole never saw a thing.

In the car, Ian freed his hands and reached over the seat, strangling McHugh as he drove. They crashed, and in the chaos, Ian got hold of the shotgun. He put Hillary on his knees and shot him point-blank. McHugh had broken his ankle in the rollover, and he’d limped away as fast as he could, calling Cole as he did, before Ian tackled him.

He sliced McHugh open before he was dead. Showed him his own organs before strangling him.

There was something horrifically poetic about that, Ian opening up an FBI agent who’d tried to open him up. Cole understood Ian’s message immediately, and that made him want to tear out his own eyeballs.

The OIG recommended Cole be fired, but Michael had gone toe to toe with Director Harper on his behalf. If he’d asked Cole, though, Cole would have said he didn’t want his job to be saved, or his reputation, or even his life. He wanted to wallow in the stink of his own failure, in the knowledge that he’d gotten two good men killed and let an evil man escape justice.

He spent his month-long suspension in his apartment, staring at the walls.

At night he dreamed of Ian. He’d be on his back on the pavement like McHugh, or in the dirt like Brenden Roundhouse or Paul Mason, or on a boat, his head being forced into a propeller, like Shane DeGrassi. He saw Ian above him, his eyes like the dark side of the moon. Ian was the night sky, blocking everything over Cole, the blackness swallowing the world as his hands clenched tight around Cole’s throat. Cole would wake gasping, curling around himself and crying into his knees.

We belong to each other now, Cole. We’re united forever.

He heard Ian’s voice in every one of his thoughts. Felt Ian’s presence behind him every moment of the day. Saw him out of the corners of his eyes, in the shadows of his apartment and the stairwell and the back seat of his car.

The FBI collapsed the Ingram investigation, boxing everything up as if it had never happened. The failure was too huge, their failure upon failure upon failure magnified in the OIG’s confidential report. Director Harper had a choice: admit a serial killer had operated with impunity for almost two decades, the FBI unaware of him or his victims—and then admit that, after being arrested through sheer chance, the killer had manipulated the BAU, playing mind games until the FBI couldn’t tell up from down and hadn’t seen through his ploy to gain his freedom. That he’d escaped, unwittingly aided by an FBI agent, and was on the loose.

Or wipe it away as if Ian had never existed. Avoid the congressional investigations and the public censure. Rewind time, reset to before Ian had skidded out on that icy mountain road. Except for McHugh’s and Hillary’s deaths, of course.

Every scrap of information, every case note, every interrogation report, every video was classified Director’s Eyes Only. They buried Ian and everything he’d done, along with their failure, beneath the crushing wheel of the FBI bureaucracy.

Days turned into weeks turned into months and years. Cole went from being a pariah, trying to scrub off the stench of failure that clung to him like an open grave, to being told “Well done” and “Good job” again. Profilers came and went, and eventually, Michael was the only one left who knew about Ian and what Cole had done. Director Harper never spoke to Cole again, never shook his hand, never even looked his way when they crossed paths at headquarters or the BAU.

Ian’s voice eventually faded from Cole’s mind, and one day he realized he wasn’t just surviving anymore, he was living. And it felt good to live again. He’d worked hard, racked up the miles and the TDYs, and started spending some of the money he’d stockpiled. Better hotel rooms when he traveled, for one. And then, a few years after that, he went to Vegas for the FBI’s annual conference and saw a man on the other side of the bar who changed his whole world.

“Cole,” Noah breathed, when Cole’s hiccups slowed. Noah’s face was a mask, carved into a rictus of pain.

“All these years,” Cole whispered, “I thought the FBI was still hunting for him. I knew they boxed up the case, but still, I thought somewhere, someone must be searching—but no. No one was. He’s been out there, taking men. Killing men. And now he’s here. He’s targeted you. And I can’t—” A new wave of sobs choked him.

Noah held his hand and said nothing, just stared out the window.

At home, Cole pulled out the photos Ian had sent to the BAU and, hesitantly, showed them to Noah. First the rifle sighting on Noah’s car, then the crash. He almost didn’t show Noah the final two pictures, but he did, then buried his face in his palms as the tears came again. Noah stared at the photos for a long, long time, then set them down and walked away.

Noah was quiet and withdrawn for the rest of the weekend. Cole shut himself in their office, poring through the case file, through missing persons reports, through file after file after file of missing men over the past eight years. He didn’t eat. Didn’t even sleep Saturday night, and Sunday afternoon he collapsed in their bed and passed out.

He could hear the thump-crunch, thump-crunch, thump-crunch of Ian’s shovel as it slammed into the dirt, feel the cool fog enveloping his skin, sliding down his throat. He could see Ian’s shape in the mist, working the shovel, digging the grave. There was a human-sized lump by his feet, a man’s body lying on his side, a paper crane resting on his cheek. Cole tried to scream, but when he did, paper cranes fell out of his mouth instead. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything. He was frozen, watching Ian dig the grave and bury his secret victim, powerless to do anything to stop him.

He woke with his heart racing and his lungs burning, a scream lodged in his throat but unable to break free, like something was blocking his shout. Noah was wrapped around him, his face buried in Cole’s neck, arms around his waist, holding as tight as he could while he slept.

Cole stayed in bed for twenty minutes, counting Noah’s heartbeats, before he slipped away, back to his office and the men who waited for him to unearth their bones and bring them home.

* * *

“Didyou get any sleep last night?” Noah handed Cole his coffee mug as they buckled themselves into the SUV on Monday morning. It was their first day back at work, but Cole felt like he’d died, and Noah didn’t look much better. They were grumpy, close to snapping at each other. “I woke up at three and you weren’t there. I never got back to sleep.”

“Sorry,” Cole grunted. He chugged his coffee, cool enough with the cream to down as fast as he could. His head throbbed. “No, I didn’t sleep much.” How could he? “I think I closed my eyes at my desk for a few minutes.”

Noah stared out the passenger window as Cole backed out of their driveway.

Two stop signs and a right turn later, as Cole was winding out of their neighborhood, he exploded. “Where is he?” he shouted, braking hard enough to engage their seat belts. “Ian is a predator. He spends his life hunting men. So where is he? Where did he go after Virginia? Where did he hide? He spent the sixteen years before that highly mobile, moving from place to place, seeking out different hunting grounds. There’s a cluster of missing men in upstate New York from six years ago. Was that him? A cluster in North Dakota from five years ago. Michigan's Upper Peninsula two years ago.”

“Cole—”

“You know where there’s not a cluster of missing men? Iowa. But the one place I can definitely place him, after escaping on Mountain Pass Road in Virginia, is on Iowa 141 two weeks ago!” He slammed his palm on the steering wheel.

“The Bureau didn’t catch him before,” Noah said. “He slipped up, and a highway patrol officer happened to be there to see it, in the right place at the right time. What makes you think you can track him now, when the entire FBI couldn’t find him then?”

Because I know him. Cole’s fingernails dug into his palms. His stomach lurched. I got inside his head, and I saw him.

You only saw what he let you see.

“You’re not the lead agent on this, right? The BAU, they’re running the investigation. Your old boss is in charge.”

“Michael King. Yeah.” A horn honked behind him, someone finally appearing on their quiet residential road and getting annoyed with the SUV stopped in the middle of the street. He waved behind him and started forward. “He asked me to take a look at the old case file and see if I could remember anything. See any patterns now that I didn’t then.”

“You did what he asked. You looked at the case file. Now let them do their jobs. Let them run the case.”

“I have to find him. I have to stop him—”

“You’re running yourself ragged. You’re on the edge—”

“He’s targeted you, Noah!” Cole snapped. “He’s hunting you! He stalked you! Shot you off the road and put your own gun to your head! He touched you—”

His voice shattered, and he slammed his lips closed as he merged onto the highway. The blinker clicked, the motor roaring when he floored the gas. “I have to put him down.”

How the hell could he let someone else take over the chase when it was Noah’s life in the crosshairs? When Ian had put his eyes and his hands all over the man Cole loved? Who else would hunt Ian the right way, never stopping, never letting up? Who else knew what was at stake?

If he lived to be one hundred and never saw another paper crane in the same state as Noah, it would be too soon.

“I’m okay, Cole.” Noah’s voice was an odd blend of steel and concern, like he was a hostage negotiator trying to talk someone off a ledge. “Ian took us by surprise with that attack, yes. But I’m okay, and Jacob is okay, and now that we know he’s out there, we can take precautions. We can be on alert. Be careful.”

“The men Ian took were careful, too. None of them were high-risk individuals. They never thought they’d be kidnapped and murdered. Never thought something like that could happen to them.”

“I’m a trained FBI agent—”

“So were McHugh and Hillary.”

Noah sighed. “What do you want me to say? I can’t figure out what you want—”

“I want you to be safe! I want you to be alive.” Noah’s jaw had snapped shut after Cole’s shout. “You don’t know what Ian is capable of,” Cole said, his voice dropping until he was almost whispering. “You didn’t hear the things that he did to those men. You didn’t open one of his graves, see what—”

His molars scraped together so hard his jawbone screamed.

Cole pulled into Noah’s preferred spot in the middle of the FBI office’s parking lot, at the front of the building. He turned off the ignition and reached for Noah’s hand. “The thought of him doing those things to you—”

“Don’t think about it,” Noah said. “Don’t even go there. Don’t let those thoughts in. You’re letting him in when you do. You’re letting him mess with your mind.”

Cole brought Noah’s hand to his lips. He inhaled, running his lips and nose over Noah’s wrist, under the cuff of his button-down.

Noah turned his hand over, cupping Cole’s jaw. He turned Cole’s face to him and stared into his eyes. “I can help you, if you want?”

Cole dropped a kiss to Noah’s palm. He shook his head. “Ian is an infection. Pure evil. I don’t want you anywhere near him or his darkness. I’ve seen what it does to people.” I know what it did to me. Ian emptied me and put his darkness and his voice in the hole he’d scraped out of me. “I’m going to keep you safe from him in every way, Noah. I swear.”

“I don’t want to be safe if it means I’m alone.”

Cole kissed his palm again, then folded Noah’s fingers over his hand. “Are you ready to go in?”

They walked in hand in hand. Cole kept his head on a swivel, searching every corner, every bush, every micron of the lot. His breath was shaking when they got into the elevator, and Noah pulled him close, pressed his forehead to Cole’s, and squeezed his hand.

The office had organized a welcome-back party for Noah and Jacob, who’d arrived back to work himself a few minutes before. There was a banner strung across the bullpen, and Sophie had picked up doughnuts and pastries on her way in. Everyone was on their feet applauding as Cole and Noah walked into the room. Jacob already had a doughnut in his mouth, but he pulled Noah and Cole into a big bear hug, giving Noah a crumb-filled kiss on the forehead.

The group spent over an hour together, reconnecting, talking about their respective families and weekend fun and the work they’d done while Noah and Jacob were recuperating. By unspoken agreement, they didn’t discuss the shooting or the investigation that the BAU had ripped out of Des Moines’ hands.

Cole stayed by Noah’s side, and Noah leaned into him, their fingers tangling as they leaned against the lateral filing cabinets. Physically, at least, they could say what they couldn’t in the car. Eventually, Noah said he had to at least step inside his office and check his emails, put in an appearance for Omaha. Everyone grumbled good-naturedly but got back to work. Cole walked Noah to his office and gave him a kiss at the door before veering to his own cubicle.

From his desk, he could see into Noah’s office, and he watched his lover power on his computer, start riffling through the pile of mail that had stacked up in his absence. The late-February light slanted in through the windows behind him, hitting Noah’s face and making him narrow his eyes. It brought out the shimmering strands of gray starting to highlight Noah’s temples. A little frown appeared, a vertical line between his eyebrows, a moue to his lips as he started reading emails. He was beautiful, so breathtakingly alive it stopped Cole’s heart. Noah had a thousand different aspects, cast a million refractions of light on the world. Father, lover, FBI agent. Quietly confident in so many ways, uncertain of his own worth in others. He wanted the best for everyone around him and wanted to be the best man he could be.

Cole couldn’t imagine any life for himself that didn’t include Noah, include the two of them growing old together. He’d protect that future with everything he had.

Cole blazed through his emails, deleting the junk, delaying the case updates and court notifications, and scanning for anything from the BAU or Michael. Nothing. His palms itched, restlessness coursing through him. Ian was out there, somewhere. Virginia, Mountain Pass Road, and then Iowa 141, eight years later. Fifty states and hundreds and hundreds of potential victims later.

He pulled up the local crime reports, sifting through the sheriff’s offices and police departments across the state, searching for missing persons reports. He found the usual: mostly missing kids, reported as being taken by one divorced parent from the other. Teenagers who stayed out past curfew and then showed up the next morning, much to their parents’ and the police’s relief. Three missing women, two of the files noted as likely missing voluntarily/ran away. He paged through to the next county—

Dallas County. West of Des Moines, along Interstate 80. On the way to Anita, where he and Noah had dropped Katie off with Lilly.

Missing: Brett Kerrigan, male, twenty-nine years old.

His eyes skipped over the report, leaping ahead and jumping back as if he couldn’t take it all in at once. A pit opened inside him as he read, darkness reaching out and grabbing hold of his heart.

Kerrigan reported missing by his fiancé, Kari Wenger, at 2200 hrs, after Kerrigan failed to show for a planned dinner with friends and family. Kerrigan was last seen with Wenger as they looked at wedding venues and had lunch at the Oak Haven Meadows bed and breakfast—

Paper cranes soaring through the twinkling dust of the barn. Orange and blue and yellow, bright against the muted leathers and worn woods, held aloft in the hands of children.

Paper cranes. He’d known as soon as he’d seen them. He’d known, damn it, he’d known.

Cole pulled up the photo of Brett Kerrigan. He was an all-American man, sun-tanned Iowan, with a corn-fed solidity and a square jaw, freckles dotting his broad face. He was smiling in his driver’s license photo, and there was an open, easy friendliness to him. He would lend a hand to little old ladies loading their groceries. He was probably marrying his college sweetheart, and they already had a small house, were dreaming about starting a family. Hope burst from his eyes, a simple happiness that said life had been good to Brett Kerrigan. He was happy.

He was exactly the kind of man Ian would go for. He’d want to mess up that happiness, wipe that smile off his face, turn those bright, joyous eyes into pools of terror.

Cole’s hands shook as he called up the detailed report from the interagency database. He closed his eyes before he read, whispering a prayer to a God he didn’t believe in that this was a coincidence. That it wouldn’t fit the pattern, wouldn’t match Ian’s MO. That the paper cranes had really been a school field trip’s arts and crafts project.

Kerrigan last seen leaving Oak Haven Meadows B&B in his own vehicle, a Nissan Maxima, returning to the home he shared with Wenger to feed his dogs before meeting Wenger and friends for dinner. There is no indication Kerrigan ever made it home. The dogs were not fed when Wenger returned home, nor had the home’s alarm system been deactivated since the couple left that morning. Kerrigan’s vehicle has not been located. His cell phone is powered off and is not transmitting a GPS signal. There has been no activity on any debit or credit cards since 1300 on Saturday at Oak Haven Meadows.

He dialed Michael’s number with trembling fingers. Michael picked up before the first ring had finished, barking Cole’s name. Cole spoke with a calmness he didn’t feel, relaying the details of Brett Kerrigan’s disappearance and the paper cranes at the bed and breakfast where he was last seen.

“How do you know about the cranes?”

“Because I was there, too.”

Jesus, had he seen Kerrigan? The times overlapped. Kerrigan had to have been there, he and Kari, either in the barn eating or at the bar. Or maybe they had stepped out to look at the different ceremony sites. Maybe they had wandered down to the oak grove, where Noah wanted to—

Cole cleared his throat. “Noah and I were there at the same time. We were looking at wedding sites on Saturday. I saw a couple kids playing with paper cranes while we were there.”

He felt Michael’s sigh over the phone line.

“We’re on our way,” Michael growled. “We’ll be there in two hours. Go out there, scour the scene. See if you can find anything he left behind. Try and find the intersection point.” The intersection, where victim and abductor crossed paths and the abductor made the choice to take the victim. “Try and determine how he abducted Brett and where he might have taken him. Ingram likes to play with his victims, and there’s a chance, albeit a slim one, that Kerrigan is still alive. If we can get a lead, any lead, we might be able to save Kerrigan’s life.”

“I’m on it. I’ll talk to his fiancé, too. And the police.”

“Focus on Ingram. We don’t need to muddy the waters with theories from the locals that Brett ran away or got cold feet about his wedding. Maybe that’s the case, and in a few days, that might be the investigative angle. But right now, we run this like it’s Ingram and we throw everything at tracking him. They don’t know what we know.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll call you when we land.”

Cole slammed the phone down and grabbed his keys. He rushed to Noah’s office, shutting the door behind himself and collapsing against the wood. Noah, phone in his hand, initially frowned at the intrusion, but as he took Cole in, he hit mute on his call and set the receiver down. “What is it?”

“I think I’ve got a lead on Ian.” He forced himself to explain Kerrigan’s abduction, stumbling when he had to tell Noah Kerrigan had been at the same bed and breakfast they were at, looking at the same wedding venues, at the same time, on the same day. That Kerrigan had most likely been taken from there, and that the paper cranes had been a sign, Ian’s signature.

“A sign to who?” Noah asked softly, when Cole’s voice faded away. “No one thought the paper cranes were significant, except for you.”

“Exactly,” he hissed. “They were a sign forme, Noah. Those cranes were for me. He was there. God, he was there with us, and I didn’t see it!” He turned away, facing the wall as he put his hands on his hips and stared at the carpet. “He was right there.”

Close enough to touch. Close enough Cole should have recognized him. He’d seen Ian in his nightmares for years, but those images were from eight years ago. How much had Ian changed since then? How had he disguised himself? To be able to be near Cole, so close he took a man right from under his nose?

“I’ve got to go out there. Search for evidence, for any sign of Kerrigan. I need to find something. If I can find something, we might be able to track Ian, and if we can track him, we can finally stop him.”

Noah nodded. “I’ll call BAU and report—”

“I already called it in.”

Noah blinked. “Oh,” he said. He took a deep breath. Held it. “Okay. Call me with what you find. We’ll work this together. And—” He stood and came around his desk to stand in front of Cole. “Be careful.” He took Cole’s face in his hands and tilted his chin up until their eyes met.

“I love you,” Cole whispered.

Noah kissed him. “I love you, too.”