Prologue
The lights from the D.C. skyline reflected into his rearview mirror. There was something about the city that had fueled his primal instincts for years. Part of it was due to his upbringing. He’d been taught to kill by one of the best. . . long before Edward Buckley came into his life.
Blood zinged through his veins like electricity. He felt alive for the first time ever. For years, he’d lived in the shadow of someone else. First his father. Then Buckley. Now, it was his time. He was free to create his own legend, and he intended to make it spectacular.
He’d carefully studied the art of killing from the masters. Surpassed their talents. This moment had been a long time coming. Soon the world would see who the real Van Gogh Killer was. Buckley talked a good game, but he wasn’t the one in the trenches. He wasn’t the one working the tools of the craft like a violinist masters the strings of his instrument to create beautiful but haunting music.
Despite the chill of the night, he rolled the window down and stuck his head out, breathing in the glorious scent of the countryside—his old stomping grounds. Where it all began.
It was only fitting that he chose this place to launch his solo act. He’d picked the perfect victim to be his first. One that would lead them back to her. A smile spread across his face despite the freezing temperature and the snow coming down strong. His excitement transcended momentary physical discomfort.
Snow danced in the car’s headlights as they picked up the dilapidated fence that marked the beginning of the property. Like a wolf, the desire to hunt grew stronger with the setting sun. The need for revenge on his mentor--on his father—could no longer be denied. He was ready to unleash it. And he would.
A scream came from the back of the car. She’d woken up and was pounding against the roof of the trunk to get someone’s attention.
“Shut up,” he yelled loud enough for her to hear. A whimper followed, then silence.
He slammed his fist against the steering wheel while self-loathing threatened to reduce him to that young man who had once been a victim himself. He’d made a huge mistake. Used the wrong dosage of ketamine. And because of it, she was awake.
A deep growl escaped past his bared teeth. His mentors would be yelling about his failure with rage and indignation on their faces—he could feel their wrath. And pain. There was always a price to pay for letting both down.
He cocked his head and listened. Only a faint whimpering from the back, barely enough to be heard inside the car’s interior. His shoulders relaxed. Attention returned to the goal at hand. The games he would play with her. The torture he would inflict.
She’d been easy. So trusting—like the others. He’d watched her for days. Knew her routine well. Couldn’t wait to make her his. Only his. Forever.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the place he knew so well. For years he’d had nightmares about it. He’d wake up in a cold sweat and was right back here. But no more. Now, he would exorcise all the ghosts that still lived here and he would create his own nightmares. Everything had been ready for days. The only thing missing was his victim.
And now he had her.
He got out and opened the barbed-wire gate before driving through. Once the gate was secured, he continued down the long and pitted dirt road of his childhood.
This was his maiden kill, but he wasn’t afraid. He’d been preparing for this moment his whole life.
Through the windshield the old house appeared, the surrounding woods slowly reclaiming it. For a second, he was that scared little boy again. Too afraid of what awaited him on the other side of the door to go in. Instead, he’d hide out in the woods. But he always found him.
The house was falling apart, but it had been for years. Most wouldn’t give it a second look nowadays. They hadn’t back then either. All the proper folks around the county had overlooked him and his family. Ignored what was happening and allowed a monster to have his way.
He still remembered the day Edward Buckley showed up at his house and took care of the family problem once and for all. He’d thought Buckley was a hero, until it became clear he was just a different kind of wolf. For someone like him, the decision had been simple. He wanted to live, and so he followed Buckley’s lead.
Climbing from the car, he breathed in the chilled air, and excitement flared again. Calming it was not easy. His instincts craved killing.
More pounding came from the trunk.
You’re a failure. Can’t you do anything right? Buckley’s nasty words came back to taunt. You will never amount to anything without me.
He reached into the backseat for another needle he’d prepared and stormed to the back of the vehicle.
The trunk popped open. Her frightened eyes latched onto his. She screamed at the top of her lungs and tried to kick him, her arms flailing all around.
Failure. . . his mentor’s voice taunted his mind. He hadn’t secured her hands and feet. His own incompetence angered him.
He grabbed her around the neck and drug her up to within a few inches of his face before he jabbed the needle in hard. The terror inscribed onto her face slowly faded into nothing. When she grew limp under his hold, he lifted her into his arms and carried her inside. The box created by his father waited in the decaying basement.
Power in the old house had been shut off for decades. The only known relative lived in another state. But he didn’t need electricity. He knew every inch of the place by heart.
Working on the instincts of the animal he’d been taught to be, he carried her limp body down the steps to the basement. A lantern was set up in preparation for this moment. He laid her on the cold floor and lit it.
With the pale light illuminating the space, he opened the special box his father had once used on him. Holes drilled in the top of the metal lid would allow her enough air to breathe. He didn’t want her to die before her time.
He turned to the woman who was unaware of the games they would play, her appearance nothing like the others. A smile spread across his face as he reveled in the intricate web of deception he’d created for those who would try to stop him.
With her hands and feet secured with zip ties, he placed her inside the box. Shutting the lid, he clamped the lock into place. The table was ready. He couldn’t wait to begin. But first, there was something he must do. Only fitting to meet the monster she’d helped unleash.
He pulled up the photo he’d taken of his latest victim and sent it to her.
This is all because of you. . . he typed and smiled at the message. Once it went through, he turned the phone off. A lesson he’d learned from his mentor. Edward Buckley had been a hard taskmaster, but he’d taught him everything he needed to succeed. And he would. Oh yes, he would. He would surpass his mentor and become the greatest serial killer of all time.
Chapter One
FBI Director Robert Holden stormed into the room where the team of agents working the Van Gogh case were combing over evidence obtained from past crime scenes.
Agent Asher Lackland glanced up from reading the first Van Gogh victim’s file and did a double take when the director stopped in front of him and his former partner, Declan Rutherford, with his eyes flashing.
“Where is Grayson and the rest of Strike Force?” The man who had recently been appointed to the director position of the FBI practically barked the question to Asher. Until a few days ago, no one at the agency had heard of Holden. He wasn’t an agent. Didn’t work his way up through the ranks like everyone else.