Bertram was one of his victims. Sylvie too. And later, even Bryce. Everyone who came into contact with Dryden was damaged in some way. Bertram chose to pass the pain on.
Bryce focused on the grainy photo of Trent Burnell, the FBI profiler whose work had led to Dryden’s capture. He stood near a cabin. A cabin rimmed with tall pine trees.
A cabin that might still be there.
Adrenaline slammed into Bryce’s system. He skimmed the article. Dryden had killed Sylvie’s mother at that cabin, and that was where he’d been caught. Although it had never been proven, it was possible Dawn Bertram and the other coeds were hunted there as well.
It was possible.
He had to call Perreth.
Bryce grabbed his phone, but instead of punching in the detective’s number, he searched for the location given in the article. The sun was setting now. It would be night when he reached Dryden’s old hunting grounds. He would call from the road.
There was no time to lose.
Especially since he had a stop to make on the way. A visit with a client he’d once defended—a gun collector who lived just outside of Lake Loyal.
Sylvie
Sylvie blinked as bright light flooded the cabin from the naked bulb overhead. Professor Bertram was back.
He’d been in and out of the cabin over the last few hours. Checking to see if she was awake. Testing the ropes. Cleaning and loading a rifle. This time he was dressed in a black turtleneck and black jeans. He entered the room holding a pair of strange-looking goggles. A sheathed knife hung at his belt. A rifle was slung across his back.
He’d refused to answer her questions in his prior visits. But that didn’t mean she was going to quit asking. “What are you going to do?”
He turned to her, surprised, as if he’d forgotten she was there. Or maybe he’d just forgotten she and Diana were human. “It’s time for the hunt.”
“The hunt?”
Bertram nodded. He turned to look at her with sunken eyes. He obviously hadn’t shaved since she’d first seen him, his chin covered in silver bristle that sparkled in the naked light. “He hunted my daughter. My Dawn. He tied her in a cabin. Tortured her. Humiliated her. Then hunted her like an animal.”
Sylvie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re going to hunt us?”
He pulled a knife out of its sheath and held it in shaking hands. The light caught the edge of the blade. “Not me. Not me. Him. It’s what he did.”
“That was a long time ago. It doesn’t have to happen again. You’re—”
Bertram turned bloodshot eyes on her. “It has to happen. Just the same. It’s the only way to make him pay. The only way.”
A feeling colder than the uninsulated cabin sank into Sylvie’s gut. Diana was right. Somewhere between grief and bitterness and obsession, Bertram had lost it.
He circled to Diana’s bed. Lowering the knife to her chest, he slipped the blade between Diana’s collarbone and the lace of her dress and pulled it upward, slitting the bodice.
Sylvie fought to control her panic. She couldn’t let him take Diana first. She’d been tied in the cabin for three days with little food or water. She was too weak to run, too weak to escape. At times when they’d been talking, she’d seemed confused, disoriented. She’d be no match for Bertram. If he took her out of this cabin, Sylvie would never see her again.
“Take me first.”
Diana thrashed her head back and forth. “Don’t listen to her. I started this. Sylvie didn’t even know Ed Dryden was our father. You know that. I was the one who tracked him down. She’s only here because of me.”
“No, Diana.” Sylvie injected as much urgency into her voice as she could. Diana thought she was helping, but she was signing her own death warrant. “I just saw Dryden today.”
“I’m the one he knows best. Sylvie was the sick one. He had no use for her. I was always his favorite.”
“Damn it, Diana. Don’t do this.”
“It’s only right.”
Bertram ignored them both. He sliced through the rest of Diana’s dress and undergarments. He spread open the fabric, unveiling bare skin to the harsh overhead glare.
His throat worked as if he was trying to swallow but couldn’t. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down one gray temple. He averted his eyes, as if looking at Diana’s naked body would be impolite.
Sylvie watched him, recognizing the battle going on in his mind. The man wasn’t a murderer. The guilt stemming from what he was about to do seemed to be wearing him down. And if that was the case, maybe Sylvie and Diana could appeal to him yet. Maybe they could both walk away. “You don’t have to do this. There has to be another way.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Another way?”
“Yes.” She scrambled for something to say, anything. “You… You can talk to Dryden. Make him see what he’s done.”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried that? He laughed at me. He laughed. And then after that first time, he refused to face me. I tried for almost twenty years.”
“What if I asked him to see you? Diana and I can both ask.”
“He’ll listen to us,” Diana added. “I know he will.”
Bertram paused, then he shook his head. “It’s no use.”
“Why give up before we even try?”
“You forget. I know Dryden. If he realized you were asking on my behalf, he’d only figure out a way to string me out, give me hope so he could dash it. He’d just want to see me suffer more.” The professor shook his head slowly and mumbled. “No more. No more.”
Sylvie chewed the inside of her lip. He was probably right, but she couldn’t admit it. She wasn’t about to consign both Diana and herself to death.
All Bertram could think about was himself. All he could feel was his own pain. On some level, he’d become everything he hated. And if he murdered Diana and her in cold blood, he’d cross the line for good. He’d become Ed Dryden.
And maybe that was the way to reach him.
“I feel for you, Professor,” Sylvie said, trying to be convincing. “I really do. But you can’t kill us. You’re not like Dryden. You’re not a murderer.”
“But I am.”
His confession hit her between the eyes. How could she have forgotten? The shouting on the road. The rapid pops. “The officers.”
Bertram shook his head. “They’re not dead. At least not yet. I heard a report on the radio on the drive up.”
Thank God. “Bryce’s brother? Did you kill Tanner Walker?”
He looked at her as if he thought the suggestion preposterous. “Of course not.”
“Then… how are you a murderer? I don’t understand.”
He looked down at the floor. “You should. You found his body.”
Sylvie didn’t have to try very hard to remember the smell of death, the sight of his eyes. “Sami.”
Diana gasped. “You killed Sami Yamal?”
“He was going to the police. I couldn’t let…” He touched his fingers to his forehead as if trying to quell a headache.
“So he didn’t commit suicide.”
“I needed time.”
Time so he could kidnap her. Time so he could kill her and Diana.
“I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to do any of this.” A dry sob broke from his lips. He slid his hand over his mouth.
Sylvie was getting close to convincing him. She could feel it. All she needed to do was to keep talking. “See? You’re not a murderer. Sami’s death is eating you up.”
“Ed Dryden stole my Dawn. My brilliant little girl. He doesn’t deserve daughters. Beautiful daughters.” He finally let his gaze skitter over Diana’s naked body. “Not when he took mine.”