NIGHT MOVES

Chapter One

Sympathize with a serial killer? No way. Natalie Dunn could never tolerate one, much less empathize with him. Especially not with the man she suspected of killing her sister. Her sister, for goodness’ sake! But when Kirk Gentry was released from the hospital and walked through his front door, dredging up her usual professional smile was the only way she might escape his house alive. If he had even a hint of the fact that she suspected him, he could end her life too.

“Please don’t tell.” His eight-year-old daughter, Willow, leaned back against her headboard in her frilly bedroom and splayed out her fingers. Her brown eyes darkened with fear as she stared at the polished nails. She’d just shared a horrifying tale.

One that Natalie was struggling to comprehend.

Natalie swallowed. Once. Twice. Dug deep for a smile for this curly redhead with apple cheeks, a pudgy nose covered in freckles, and a gap in her upper teeth. The child had no idea what her father might have done, even considering his bizarre behavior.

Could be because he was a police officer. Sure, she would trust him as her father, but as an officer, she probably held additional respect for him, and it would be hard to believe someone in law enforcement could be a serial killer.

Willow locked eyes with Natalie. “Dad will be mad that I told you he paints my nails. He said not to. I didn’t mean to tell you.”

Willow tucked her arms under her pajamaed legs as if hiding them could change the fact that she’d blurted out that her dad got his kicks from polishing her nails.

“It just came out. Honest.” She lifted her face to Natalie. “You said you’re safe to tell my secrets to, and you won’t tell anyone else. That’s what you told me. That social workers want to help kids, not hurt them.”

“And I meant that.” Natalie rested her hand on Willow’s knee, thankful her younger siblings were tucked into their beds and not listening to this conversation. “It’s safe to talk to me. But sometimes I have to put things in my reports for my supervisors because it’s my job to make sure you and your little brother and sister are safe and that your dad is providing you with a stable home.”

“But you won’t have to say about the fingernails, right? They don’t have anything to do with stable or safe.”

“Probably not,” Natalie said, knowing she was lying to this poor child.

Not that the manicuring of a child’s nails by her father didn’t happen in other households. But behaving as if the act turned him on while doing it was unusual. And disturbing.

Very.

Especially when Kirk’s wife, Tracey, had gone missing under suspicious circumstances just over a month ago. A neighbor called the police to report Tracey as a missing person. The neighbor said Kirk and Tracey had been fighting like crazy for days. Then it suddenly stopped, and Tracey hadn’t been seen since then. The police had found a bloody blouse in Kirk’s closet, but he explained it away, and they found no evidence of foul play on his part. Natalie wondered if the detective gave Kirk the benefit of the doubt because he was a fellow officer.

Still, in the absence of the mother, Natalie had been assigned to the family to be sure Willow and her siblings were safe and cared for. Natalie had been monitoring them for over a month, and little hints and actions by Kirk led her to question if he’d killed his wife. Nothing overt. The guy was charming and personable. It was just a gut feeling on Natalie’s part.

And now this? Polishing his daughter’s nails and acting weird in doing so? Forbidding her to mention it?

Too freaky, especially with law enforcement hunting a local serial killer who manicured his victims’ nails after he killed them. The lunatic who had murdered Natalie’s sister. The press had nicknamed him The Clipper. Now it was looking like Kirk not only could have killed his wife but Natalie’s sister and three other women.

Natalie had nothing concrete to go on and needed additional information, but she couldn’t alert Willow to the problem. Natalie would do everything within her power to protect this child from harm and mental distress.

Natalie leaned back, trying to act casual, but her heart was thumping hard. “Does your dad do Sadie’s nails too?”

“Nuh-uh. She’s only a baby.” Willow lifted her chin. “’Sides, she wouldn’t sit still. She wiggles too much, and Dad gets mad when you wiggle.”

“What does he do when he gets mad?”

Willow grimaced. “He pinches my fingers hard, just to keep me still. But it hurts.”

Natalie swallowed down her anger over this man’s actions. “Do you and your dad spend a lot of time together doing other things?”

Willow shook her head. “He likes to be by himself. Says he has to be kind to people all day at work and it’s hard. So he has to ’cuperate.”

“You mean recuperate?”

“Yeah. He said he used to be able to go out at night ’cause Mom watched us. But now he makes me watch Sadie and Logan, and he fixes up the house. He calls it remodeling.”

“What has he fixed up?” Natalie asked, curious now because she’d seen no signs of recent renovation.

“He got rid of the basement. He said we didn’t need it anymore so he closed up the window and door.”

He what? He’d recently inherited family money, and unless he’d blown all of it already, he could easily have afforded to hire a contractor to do the work. Could he have killed his wife and closed off the basement to hide her body?

“When did he do that?” Natalie held her breath waiting for the answer.

“Right after Mom left. He likes pounding a hammer. Makes him feel better.” Willow gnawed hard on her lip, a habit Natalie had frequently seen Willow engage in, and her lip and the skin below remained red and raw. “I was mad and wanted to hammer too. Dad wouldn’t let me. Said it was just for him.”

“What else did he do?” Natalie asked.

“Built a new deck. He said the patio was too small. So he dug it out and put a huge deck over it.”

Natalie’s sixth sense never failed her when she worked with troubled children, and it was humming like a high-speed fan.

“I wish Mom would come home. She would like the deck in the summer. She liked sunshine.” Willow worried that lip again. “But she can’t come home. Dad said a bad man musta taken her.”

Natalie wanted to punch the pillow. What a terrible thing this was to tell a child. He’d told Willow this story, but not the detective. As the family social worker, Natalie had access to the police reports that said Kirk claimed Tracey had taken off on her own. That she’d had enough of being a wife and mother. He even described the jacket she was wearing and the purse and tote bag she was carrying as she walked out the door and slammed it in his face.

So Natalie needed to dig deeper, but she made sure her tone was gentle. “Why does he think that?”

“’Cause she never would’ve left us. She loved us too much.” Willow drew her legs up to wrap her arms around them. “I miss her.”

Natalie squeezed Willow’s knee. “I’m so sorry she’s not here, sweetie.”

Willow frowned.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Mom called me sweetie.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No. I kinda liked it. Dad’s not like that.” Willow’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Except when he does my nails. Then he gets weird like I told you.” Willow sighed. “He said when I get older, I’m gonna replace Mom if she doesn’t come home. I already have to help take care of Sadie and Logan. I don’t want to do more. Like cooking. I don’t like to cook. Or wash dirty clothes. They’re stinky.”

Natalie didn’t want this eight-year-old to have to raise her siblings either. Natalie had to care for her sister at a similar age, and she’d resented it. “Do you want me to have a talk with your dad about that?”

“No!” Willow screeched. “No. Please don’t. I’ll get in big trouble.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Natalie held Willow’s hand to calm her. “I won’t say a word.” But I will go looking for that hidden basement. “Where was the door to your basement?”

Willow raised her right eyebrow, just like her father did when he was suspicious of something Natalie had said.

Natalie waved a hand. “Just curious to see if I can tell if it was once there.”

“You can’t. Dad did a good job.”

“Mind if I look for myself?”

“By the back door. There’s a bookshelf there now.” Willow yawned.

“Time for lights out, sweetie.” Natalie stood. “I shouldn’t have kept you up so late as it is.”

“I like talking to you.” Willow snuggled down under her Princess Barbie comforter. “It’s like talking to Mom. Not Dad. Dads just aren’t the same. They have too much to think about and can’t pay attention. But moms don’t work all the time, and they can think about you. At least sometimes.”

Natalie tugged the covers up to Willow’s chin, wanting to give her rosy cheek a kiss, but that would cross the professional line Natalie had to draw with clients. She shouldn’t even have agreed to bring the children home tonight, but Kirk had been injured in a car accident, the children’s nanny, his emergency contact, was unavailable, and he didn’t have anyone else to pick the children up. If Natalie hadn’t gotten them, someone else in social services would’ve taken the call and put them in emergency foster care, likely splitting them up. Natalie had spared them additional trauma by bringing them here until Kirk was released from the ER.

Natalie forced a smile for the girl. “Sleep tight, Willow.”

“I wish you could babysit us all the time. You’re nicer than our nanny.” She turned over and tugged a well-worn Curious George plush monkey to her chest and closed her eyes.

Natalie closed the door and charged down the stairs. Those poor children. They needed her. Maybe more than she’d first thought. Still, it was only a gut feeling. She had no grounds to remove them from the home. Yet.

Sure, Kirk’s inability to pick them up tonight and a failure of his backup plan was a red flag, but still not reason to remove them. Just a reason to counsel him and help him find a backup to his backup.

Polishing Willow’s nails was another red flag. A big one. But again, it wasn’t abusive. Could even be construed as sweet—if the creep factor didn’t go along with it. There was no way Natalie could take the children from Kirk, not unless she found the basement and located proof of wrongdoing there. Or even located Tracey down there.

A shudder raced over Natalie as she hurried through the tidy family room, perfectly decorated in warm beiges and browns with a hint of flashy orange that fit with the way Kirk had described Tracey’s flamboyant personality.

Natalie stopped at the bookcase where the family cat, Tabitha, was crunching dry food from her nearby bowl. She paused to glance up, the black rings around her eyes looking like a mask in her otherwise sleek tan fur. If she were a human, Natalie could see her shrugging as she went back to eating, not caring that Natalie was present.

Natalie turned her attention back to the shelf filled with decorative items and family photos. She leaned closer to inspect it for a hidden opening, but Tabitha scooted past Natalie’s feet, nearly upending her. She grabbed onto the shelf to balance. The shelf gave way, and the whole unit popped out.

The opening was still there. A hidden passage. Willow was right. Her dad had done a great job making the door look like a simple bookshelf.

Natalie pulled the bookcase wide open and flipped on the light switch. The single bulb revealed rough wooden steps leading down to gray cinderblock walls. She started down, careful not to trip with her high heels, but paused on the third step.

Did she have time to check out the basement before Kirk’s tests were finalized and he was released? Was it safe to do so? He said he would call before he left, but he could forget.

It didn’t matter. She had to go.

Her suspicions weren’t enough to go to the police. Not nearly enough. She’d brought leads to the detective after her sister’s murder only for him to patronize her and send her on her way. She wouldn’t make the same mistake here. If concrete evidence of Kirk’s guilt existed in this basement, she would locate it so when she did call the police, they could finally take action.

She felt her pocket to confirm she had her phone and started down the stairs.

One at time. Careful. Slow. Listening. Her heart pounded hard, each beat sounding like an explosion in her head.

She reached the stained concrete floor. A strong musty odor greeted her. She moved ahead, inching toward a worn door with flaking white paint. She pulled it open. Another odor, sharp and caustic, swept out. Bleach. Yes, it was bleach.

Was she right? Had Kirk killed Tracey here and cleaned up after he murdered her?

Natalie swallowed hard. Dreaded going into the dark room with low ceilings. Dreaded seeing what was in there, but she would continue on for her sister’s sake.

She tugged on the string hanging from a florescent fixture, and light flooded the room. She blinked a few times. Looked around. A rugged workbench filled one wall. It was scarred and chipped from years of use. It had probably been in this basement since the house was built in the twenties. Ahead she found large plywood cabinets painted white but grayed over time. She was half afraid to open the doors, but she’d come this far. She had to look.

She crossed the room, stepping over a rusty floor drain. She used the hem of her blouse to keep from destroying evidence and jerked open the first cabinet. One quick look and she gasped.

A tote bag with the name Tracey embroidered on the pink canvas sat on the shelf. Next to it was the navy blue rain jacket Kirk had described her wearing the last time he’d seen her, along with a small Gucci purse.

Oh my gosh. Tracey didn’t take off like Kirk claimed. He killed his wife. He really did.

Was her body in one of the other cabinets?

No. Please, God. No.

Natalie’s stomach churned with acid, but she forced herself to pull open the next door.

She jerked it wide. Looked.

Empty.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

But wait. She had the lower cabinets to look in yet.

She bent down. Jerked open the first door. Found boxes stacked neatly on top of each other. The next cabinet held totes marked camping supplies.

She opened the bins to confirm the contents then closed the doors and gulped in deep breaths.

Clearly Tracey didn’t take off. Or if she did, she’d left her belongings behind. And why would that be? She had to be fleeing in a hurry. Maybe a serial killer right behind her.

Natalie could easily imagine it. Kirk with the knife in hand that he’d used on his other victims. Rage contorting his face. Tracey terrified, racing out the door with just the clothes on her back. Did she get away? Did he grab her? Drag her down here and kill her? Did that explain the scent of bleach?

A shiver ran down Natalie’s body. She reached for her phone to call the police.

No. No. He was the police. He could talk his way out of this or get whoever responded to cover up for him. But Natalie couldn’t just grab all these items and take them with her.

Pictures. She needed to take pictures of Tracey’s things. He couldn’t get someone to cover up Natalie’s pictures. She fumbled to get out her phone and snapped several shots. Her hands shook so badly that she took the time to check the photos.

One by one. They were clear and sharp. Good. Good.

She charged across the room, but the tool laden workbench caught her eye and stopped her. Did it hold the murder weapon?

He’d used a sharp object to kill her sister, Gina. Drugged her first then stabbed her in the heart. Brutally. Viciously. Same for the other three women The Clipper had killed. Likely a knife, but the ME couldn’t be one hundred percent positive.

Had Kirk left the murder weapon behind for his next kill? If he had one planned. She ran her gaze over the tools. Sets of screwdrivers. A hammer. A battery operated drill and circular saw. Being careful not to touch anything and leave prints, she checked the metal ends. The bits. Blades. Saw no blood.

A metal storage container with small plastic compartments like you’d store nails or screws in caught her attention. The bins were numbered one through twenty-four with neat white labels. Each row held four compartments and there were six rows. She tugged down her sleeve to keep from contaminating the evidence and pulled out the first drawer.

No. Oh no.

She jerked her hand back. Stared. Gasped for air. Her heart fluttered like hummingbird wings.

A bottle of nail polish lay in the drawer. Pink. Pale Pink. Angelic. The name and brand of polish The Clipper used on Gina after he’d stabbed her to death.

Natalie gulped in a breath. She didn’t want to look in the other drawers. She wanted to flee like she hoped Tracey had done. Maybe she discovered this bin too, and that’s why Kirk killed her.

Natalie stepped back. No. No. She had to look. For Gina. For the other women. For Tracey.

One at a time across the top, she pulled them out.

Angelic. Chameleon. Bewitching. Vixen.

The same colors The Clipper had applied to his victims, arranged in the order in which he’d killed them. Not information released to the public, but when she’d visited a detective to talk about a client, she’d overheard another detective on the phone discussing if the polish names meant anything.

Angelic. Chameleon. Bewitching. Vixen. The right names. The right order. Four women dead.

Oh my gosh. Natalie was right.

Her phone rang. She jumped, and it almost went flying. Shocked to get a signal down here, she glanced at the screen.

Kirk’s name burned on her screen.

No. Oh no. No. No. No.

She stared. Frozen. Deciding. She had to answer. To know where he was and when he’d be home.

The serial killer. Coming here.

She tapped the screen, forced calm into her tone. “How are things going at the ER?”

Her voice shook only a little, but her hand was trembling like a frightened kitten.

“Just finished.” His booming voice held his usual confidence, not the uncertainty of his earlier call. “I’ll grab a cab and be home in twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes. She shot a look around the room. Twenty minutes until a brutal killer of women showed up at the door—her sister’s killer showed up at the door.

“The children are all asleep, so no need to rush.” She tried to act cheerful, but her voice came out sounding like Minnie Mouse. “I’m just watching a show on my phone.”

“Okay.” He sounded confused, and it wasn’t surprising. Why would she tell him what she was doing?

“See you soon.” She disconnected the call before she said anything else that might make him suspicious.

Now what?

“Think, Nat,” she said. “Think. Think. Think.”

Take more pictures, grab the children, and flee.

She snapped a shot of the top row of polish then opened the remaining drawers. Each bin held a different color of polish all leading to a blatant red. Was he planning to kill twenty-four women?

Hopefully her pictures could stop him. Save lives.

She carefully took them. Checked the quality.

She slid the drawers closed and started for the stairs, turning to make sure she didn’t leave any trace of her visit.

Perfect. Everything looked the same. She tugged on the light string and rushed up the stairs, flipping off the switch at the top. She secured the door and drew in deep breaths.

Now what? The children. She couldn’t leave them with him. No. Never. She had to flee with them. Where to?

She couldn’t go to the police. With Kirk’s inside connection, he could convince someone to hand his children over to him. She couldn’t let that happen.

So what?

Malone. Malone Rice. She dialed her friend and attorney who worked with runaway teens and abused women and children. Malone had given Natalie an emergency number to call if an abusive spouse or father threatened one of her clients.

“It’s Natalie. One of my clients is a serial killer. I’m at his house. With his children. He’s coming home in twenty minutes, but before you tell me to call the police, I can’t.” Natalie quickly relayed her story. “I’ve got to take the children and run. Please tell me you have a place I can go.”

Malone didn’t speak for a moment. “I have a team of investigators who can help you. Nighthawk Security. They’re Sierra’s brothers. You know—my brother Reed’s wife. She’s the evidence expert at the Veritas Center. She has five brothers, and they’re all former law enforcement officers.”

Natalie hated to involve anyone else in this mess. “Why not just send us to one of the shelters you use?”

“No can do. You’ll be illegally taking the children, and I can’t send you to a reputable shelter under those conditions. And if Gentry is indeed a serial killer, it’s too dangerous to mix you with other women and children. Plus, you’ll need special protection from him.”

Right. Natalie hadn’t thought of that. “Protection sounds good. Give me Nighthawk’s phone number, and I’ll call them once I get out of here.”

“I’ll make the call, and I’ll call a detective I can trust to recover the evidence. You get the kids and go. Drive straight to this address and wait for them.” She rattled off a location in Portland. “This’s a safe zone. CCTV camera free. I check it on a regular basis to make sure none have been added. Once you get off the freeway at that location, you can’t be tracked.”

Natalie let out a long sigh and made a mental note to find a way to repay Malone for her help.

“And Natalie,” Malone continued. “Ditch your phone as soon as possible. If you can take out the SIM card, do it. Then smash the phone.”

“But the pictures I took of the evidence—”

“Is your phone set up to upload photos to the cloud as you take them?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. It is.”

“Then get out of there and destroy the phone.”

“How will I recognize the guys you’re sending?”

“I’m not sure which brother will respond at this time of night, but he’ll be wearing a red armband. And whatever you do, don’t put this address in your car’s navigation system.”

“Thanks, Malone.”

“Sure thing. The Byrd brothers will have a secure way to contact me when you’re safe. We’ll talk more then. Praying for you.”

They would need all the prayers they could get.

Natalie shoved her phone into her pocket and charged toward the stairway to get three young children ready to go and in her car before this brutal killer of women walked through the front door.

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