Chapter Eight

The atmosphere inside City Hall reminded Rand of his father's funeral. He'd rather be anywhere but here at the moment. He hugged his mom, and next Martha, Tom's mother. Bloodshot eyes filled with tears gazed into his, and the woman looked paler than a carton filled with milk. Rand scanned the crowded room, filled to capacity with grieving and worried parents. The local clergy sat on one side—a priest, their long-time pastor, and some type of offshoot denomination minister in a brown hooded robe and Grecian sandals. Reps from the colleges were present, staff members, deans and several professors.

In the front row, the parents of the victims sat in chairs and wrung their hands, their faces masked by sorrow and hopelessness. Rand's heart went out to them as they watched Jeffords and the man who’d visited Frank last night. They walked to the podium, arranged their papers.

Jeffords spoke first. "This is Agent Reuben Hayworth from the Washington FBI Bureau. He's here to help us get to the bottom of these tragedies."

"Murders, you mean," a man piped up from the first row.

Jeffords put his hand up. "Let's just take one thing at a time and maybe tonight we can arrive at a plan."

Hayworth grabbed the podium, offered his condolences to the victim's parents, and opened the floor to questions.

"When are you going to release the autopsy reports?" a woman asked from the middle of the room. "The parents have a right to know how their children died, and what about us—we're on pins and needles wondering whose child is next?"

"I understand, ma'am, and the reports will be released as soon as possible. We're still waiting on a few to come in. The Medical Examiner wants to make sure she has all her bases covered before she puts down a cause of death."

Martha came to her feet, her face marked by red blotches, heavy bags visible beneath her red-rimmed eyes. "Agent Hayworth, you've had time to look over all the reports." Her chest rose and fell with laborious breaths. "Are you in concurrence with Baltimore's Police Department? Did my son have too much to drink and walk into the river?"

"At this point, Mrs. Kincaid, that's all we have. Five dead college students found in the river after leaving a bar."

Anger rose in her voice. "How do you explain the severed phone line outside my house?"

"I can't." Hayworth gave a sincere sigh. "Pranksters, coincidence, could be any number of reasons."

Boos and hisses echoed in the room. Rand knew they weren't buying the dribble from the agents or the Police Department. Why should they? Too many loose ends. His mom raised her hand. Oh, Christ, she'd ask Frank to take the podium. Beside him, Frank's body tensed.

"Yes, ma'am. Please introduce yourself and ask away."

She stood. "Emily Brennan. My late husband, Quinn, served on the force for years." She looked around the room, her gaze settling on Frank. "We want to hear from Frank McGuire. He went over your reports, and we want to hear what he has to say."

Hayworth motioned him forward. Frank got up and walked to the front of the room with the grace of a jungle cat. The room fell silent when he took center stage. He cleared his throat, and scanned the crowd as if gathering his thoughts.

"What about it?" a man asked, a father of one of the boys Rand surmised by his position in the front row. "You're not buying this malarkey, are you, McGuire? You expect us to believe five young college students walked into the Patuxent after a night of binge drinking?"

"It happens all the time," Frank said. "In the last two years, eighteen college students have disappeared in the Midwest—Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois—most found in or near a body of water. Same as you, the parents are convinced there's a serial killer on the loose, but the FBI has found no concrete evidence of that.

"I've read all the reports in those cases, and like this one, the holes are too big to ignore. In one instance, one of the men called his girlfriend on his cell. Scared shitless and hiding in the bushes, he said someone had followed him from the bar. They found him a day later floating in the Mississippi."

Another chorus of noisy chatter and disgruntled voices resonated in the room.

Frank put his hand up. "Here's what I think we should do for now, and please believe me when I say I know how very difficult it is to sit and wait when you think a killer might be stalking your children."

"We don't think, we know it!" shouted someone from the back of the room.

Frank's head turned toward the voice and the color drained from his face. Rand shifted in the chair and jerked his head back to see who'd spoken. The man had risen to his feet, but it wasn't the speaker who caught Rand's eye—or Frank's apparently. A dark shadow ducked out the entrance of the building, too fast and wily for Rand to make out features, much less a build. He turned to look at Frank again, and knew in an instant he'd recognized whoever had fled faster than a puff of smoke.

"What did you see in those reports?" A woman asked.

"They drowned. Why they drowned, we don't know yet, but Agent Hayworth has promised me that in four days the reports will be released to the public."

"And what if another is killed in the meantime?"

Jeffords interceded. "We've doubled our patrol and called for reinforcements from neighboring counties."

People milled about after the dismal meeting, comforting one another, sharing hugs and small-talk. Frank seemed edgy when he returned to Rand. "We best say goodbye to your mom."

"Who ran through the front door while you were up there?"

"We'll talk about it later."

Rand didn't fancy the tone in his voice or the look in his eyes—a mixture of worry and something he didn't want to think about. The look assimilated the same one Frank used when he thought Rand wasn't looking at him—the I-care-more-about-you-than-I-let-on look. Someone or something had gotten to Frank. Rand sensed it, felt it with every beat of his tremulous heart.

Rand and Frank approached his mother as she said goodbye to Martha. She turned to Rand and hugged him the moment her best friend left the building. "Geez, Mom, you're hugging me as if you'll never see me again."

Tears brimmed in her eyes. "I bet Martha wishes she could hug Thomas right now."

Uncomfortable, Rand changed the subject. "I'm happy you didn't drag Marlow along. She doesn't need to be exposed to all this shit."

"She's home studying for a final, or so she said."

"Rand," Frank said. "Give me a minute alone with your mother."

"Why?"

Frank shot him another look, more like a glare, and easier to identify. Rand kissed his mom on the cheek and headed out the front door. A few people still milled about, but the crowd had thinned. The wind picked up and Rand watched a pile of leaves swirl around in the street. A chill ran down his spine, and not from the wind. He had the distinct feeling somebody watched him with the sight of an eagle. He zipped up his jacket and, trying to act casual, looked around. All clear to the front. He glanced over his shoulder. Nothing. He'd have to do something about his paranoia. All this talk of dead college students fucked with his mind. Out of corner of his eye, he caught the blurred motion of a dark form ducking behind an oak. Could it be the same person who only minutes ago left City Hall in a cloud of dust?

Panic surged up his throat. He willed his heart to calm and realized whoever hid behind the tree wouldn't dare to do anything with so many people around. What in the hell did Frank have to talk to his mother about that he couldn't hear? And when would he come out?

About to walk inside again, Frank appeared. "Let's go."

The air sizzled with undercurrents. "What the hell is going on?"

"I'll tell you in the car."

Rand jumped into the passenger seat and buckled in. Frank did the same after slipping behind the wheel and then pulled from the curb. "You have to go stay with your mother for a while."

Rand jerked his body back and felt the pull of the belt on his chest. "What! Why?"

"Because I said so."

He punched the dashboard. "No."

"No?"

"You can't move me around like a piece of fucking furniture, Frank. Tell me why."

"It's safer there."

"Safer from what, goddamn it?"

"Rand, you have to trust me on this. I told your mother we'll be there after we pack your suitcase."

He drew the words out emphatically. "I'm not going home."

"Do not fucking argue with me. It's my townhome and I say who stays and who goes."

He didn't answer right away, but collected his scattered thoughts. "If you send me packing, I'm never coming back."

Frank slammed on the brakes and whipped the Denali to the side of the road. "What did you say?"

Unable to control his anger or the thought of leaving the asshole McGuire, he said through clenched teeth, "You heard me and I mean it. I'm not your plaything. You can't drop me yo-yo style and reel me back in when you want to fuck me."

"We're not going down this road right now."

"I am!" he shrieked. "I can't do this anymore. One minute you're all over me sucking harder than a tick on a dog and the next you're threatening to send me home. So make up your fucking mind. You send me home, I'm not coming back."

Frank reached over with one hand and grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him so hard, the seatbelt froze. "You do what I say when I say it, got that, pretty boy?"

Rand stared straight ahead.

"When things blow over and I come for you, you'll be so ready to climb back into my bed. I won't have to ask twice."

A lengthy paused ensued while Rand pondered his options, and Frank didn't release his hold. Now or never his mind screamed. If he had to get over Frank―and Christ, it seemed he'd have to die first―best to do it now than go through it again and again at Frank's whim. "Don't count on it," he whispered.

"God, you're a stubborn, spoiled idiot." Frank pushed on the gas pedal and the car sped forward. "It's for your own good."

"I'm not a child anymore, Frank, and I've had it up to here with you treating me like one. I'm an adult, a man, and if you don't want to acknowledge it, that's your fucking problem. You saw someone at the meeting, someone who scared you shitless."

"If I am scared shitless, it's not for me."

Rand looked over and studied him for a long time as he sped down the interstate. "Jesus, you think I'm in danger."

Frank kept his eyes peeled on the road but a muscle in his jaw twitched.

"If they're after me, I won't be safe at home. He . . . they, could find me there, too."

"He could, but you won't be at home. Your mother, Marlow, and you are moving to a hotel, an obscure, out-of-the-way hotel until this settles down."

"You said he."

"Did I?"

"Who is it?"

"Rand, please, let it go for now. I'll take care of it, but I can't if you're there to distract me."

"Tell me who it is or I'm camping outside the townhouse. I don't care if you beat me to death."

Silence met him.

"Stop the car, let me out. I don't want to be with you anymore."

"Billy Schumacher."

Rand's vision blurred and his heart fell to the floorboards. "I'll kill that son of a bitch. What's he doing out of prison?"

"He escaped, and he's in Baltimore."

"It isn't enough he killed my dad, he wants a piece of me now?"

Frank shook his head.

"Who then, who does he want now?" A light went on in Rand's head and a groan fell from his lips. "He wants you, doesn't he? Your testimony sent him to prison and now he's coming for you."

Frank pushed the overhead garage door opener and sped into the underground parking lot. He pulled into the reserved spot, unfastened his seatbelt and looked at Rand. "You got five minutes to get your suitcase packed. I'll be waiting here."

Rand unbuckled his seatbelt, pushed the car door open and slammed it so hard the windows rattled. He packed his suitcase in a blind rage, scooping the entire contents from two dresser drawers into the luggage and cramming it shut. His stomach churned and for a minute he wanted to stick his finger down his throat to relieve the nausea.

Frank would make him leave because he knew a showdown loomed on the horizon and he didn't want Rand around in case things went awry. Rand zipped the luggage shut, grabbed the handle and left the townhouse. Right now he hated everyone, Billy Schumacher and Frank McGuire equally.