best counter
Search
Report & Feedback

Chapter no 18

Killer Instinct (The Naturals, 2)

โ€Œโ€œDeviant Behavior, Criminal Minds: An Introduction to Criminal Psychology, Eighth Edition.โ€ Bleary-eyed and only half awake, I lookedโ€Œ

from the textbook sitting on the kitchen table to Dean, then back again. โ€œSeriously?โ€ I said. โ€œAgent Sterling wants us to read an introductory textbook?โ€

After the night Lia, Michael, and I had had, my head was pounding, and all my body really wanted was to go back to bed.

Dean shrugged. โ€œWeโ€™ve been assigned chapters one through four.โ€ He paused, his eyes drinking in my appearance. โ€œYou okay?โ€

No,ย I thought.ย Iโ€™m sleep-deprived, and I canโ€™t tell you why.

โ€œIโ€™m fine,โ€ I insisted. I could see Dean piecing his way through the dozens of ways that I was just a shade off this morning. โ€œI just canโ€™t believe Agent Sterlingโ€™s idea of training us isโ€ฆthis,โ€ I added, gesturing toward the textbook. From the moment Iโ€™d joined the program, Iโ€™d learned by doing.

Real cases. Real crime scene photos. Real victims.

But this textbook? Bryce and Derek and Clark had probably all read one just like it. There were probably little worksheets to go with it.

โ€œMaybe it is a waste of time,โ€ Dean said, plucking the thought from my mind. โ€œBut right now, Iโ€™d rather waste our time than Sterlingโ€™s.โ€

Because Agent Sterling was hunting down Emersonโ€™s killer.

I took the textbook from him and turned to chapter one. โ€œโ€˜Criminal Psychology is the subset of psychology dedicated to explaining the personality types, motives, and cognitive structures associated with deviant behavior,โ€™โ€ I read, โ€œโ€˜particularly that which causes mental or physical harm to others.โ€™โ€

Dean stared down at the page. His hair fell into his face. I kept reading, falling into a steady rhythm, my voice the only sound in the room.

โ€œโ€˜Chapter Four: Organized vs. Disorganized Offenders.โ€™โ€

Dean and I had taken a lengthy break for lunch, but my voice was still getting hoarse.

โ€œMy turn,โ€ Dean said, taking the textbook from me. โ€œIf you read another chapter, youโ€™re going to be miming things by the end.โ€

โ€œThat could get ugly,โ€ I replied. โ€œIโ€™ve never been very good at charades.โ€ โ€œWhy do I get the feeling thereโ€™s a story there?โ€ Deanโ€™s lips twisted into

a subtle smile.

I shuddered. โ€œLetโ€™s just say that family game night is a competitive affair, and Iโ€™m also pretty dismal at Pictionary.โ€

โ€œFrom where Iโ€™m sitting, thatโ€™s not exactly a character flaw.โ€ Dean leaned back in his chair. For the first time since weโ€™d seen the body on the news, he looked almost relaxed. His arms dangled loosely by his sides. His chest rose and fell slightly with each breath. His hair still fell into his face, but there was almost no visible tension in his shoulders, his neck.

โ€œDid someone say character flaw?โ€ Michael sauntered into the room. โ€œI believe that might be one of my middle names.โ€

I glanced back down at the textbook, trying to pretend that Iย hadnโ€™tย just been staring at Dean.

โ€œMiddle names, plural?โ€ I asked.

Michael inclined his head slightly. โ€œMichael Alexander Thomasย Character Flawย Townsend.โ€ He shot me a lazy smile. โ€œIt has a certain ring to it, donโ€™t you think?โ€

โ€œWeโ€™re working,โ€ Dean told him flatly.

โ€œDonโ€™t mind me,โ€ Michael said, waving a hand in our general direction. โ€œIโ€™m just making a sandwich.โ€

Michael was never โ€œjustโ€ anything. He might have wanted a sandwich, but he was also enjoying irritating Dean.ย And,ย I thought,ย he doesnโ€™t want to leave the two of us in here alone.

โ€œSo,โ€ I said, turning back to Dean and trying to pretend thisย wasnโ€™t

awkward. โ€œChapter four. You want to take over reading?โ€

Dean glanced over at Michael, who seemed amused by the entire situation. โ€œWhat if we didnโ€™t read it?โ€ Dean asked me.

โ€œBut itโ€™s ourย homework,โ€ I said, adopting a scandalized expression. โ€œYeah, I knowโ€”Iโ€™m the one who talked you into reading it in the first

place.โ€ Dean ran his fingertip along the edge of the book. โ€œBut I can tell you what itโ€™s going to say.โ€

Dean had been here five years, and this textbook was Profiling 101. โ€œOkay,โ€ I said. โ€œWhy donโ€™t you give me the abbreviated version? Teach

me.โ€

There was a time when Dean would have refused.

โ€œOkay,โ€ he said, staring at me from across the table. โ€œDisorganized killers are loners. Theyโ€™re the ones who never quite fit in. Poor social skills, a lot of pent-up anger.โ€

At the wordย anger, my eyes darted involuntarily toward Michaelโ€™s.

Never fit in. Poor social skills.ย I could tell from the look on Michaelโ€™s face that I wasnโ€™t the only one thinking that sounded like a bare-bones description of Clark.

Dean paused. I forced my eyes forward and willed Dean not to think too hard about why it was that hearing a few words about disorganized killers had led to something unspoken passing between Michael and me.

โ€œIn their day-to-day lives, disorganized killers are generally seen as antisocial and inept,โ€ Dean continued after a long moment. โ€œPeople donโ€™t like them, but theyโ€™re not scared of them, either. If the disorganized killer has a job, itโ€™s likely to be low-paying and low on respect. Disorganized killers may behave like adolescents well into adulthood; itโ€™s statistically likely that they still live with one or more of their parents.โ€

โ€œSo whatโ€™s the difference between a disorganized killer and a loser?โ€ Michael didnโ€™t even bother to pretend he wasnโ€™t eavesdropping.

โ€œIf you were like Cassie and meโ€โ€”Dean stared Michael downโ€”โ€you wouldnโ€™t have to ask.โ€

Dead silence.

Dean had never admitted that the two of us were the same before. Heโ€™d never believed it. Heโ€™d certainly never said it to Michael.

โ€œIs that so?โ€ Michaelโ€™s eyes narrowed, a sharp contrast to the seemingly unruffled smile on his lips. I looked down at the table. Michael didnโ€™t need to see the expression on my faceโ€”the one that said that Dean was right. Iย didnโ€™tย have to ask Michaelโ€™s question, because Iย didย instinctively know the answer. Being antisocial and angry and inept didnโ€™t make someone a killer. Traits like those couldnโ€™t tell us whether Clark had the potential for violence, or how much. The only thing they could tell us was whatย kindย of killer someoneย likeย Clark would be, if he ever crossed that line.

If Clark were a killer, heโ€™d be a disorganized killer.

โ€œOrganized killers can be charming.โ€ Dean swung his attention from Michael back to me. โ€œTheyโ€™re articulate, confident, and comfortable in most social situations.โ€ His hair fell into his face, but his gaze never moved from

mine. โ€œThey tend to be intelligent, but narcissistic. They may be incapable of feeling fear.โ€

I thought of Geoffrey with aย G, whoโ€™d lectured me on the meaning of modus operandi and mentioned Emerson without a whiff of grief.

โ€œOther people arenโ€™t worthy of empathy to the organized killer, because other people areย less. To them, being average is the same as being disposable.โ€

I absorbed Deanโ€™s words, memorized them.

โ€œWhatโ€™s the life of one more person when the world is full of so many?โ€ Deanโ€™s voice went flat as he posed the question, and I knew he was somewhere else. โ€œOrganized killers feel no remorse.โ€

Deanโ€™s father was an organized killer,ย I thought. I reached across the table and placed my hand over Deanโ€™s. He bowed his head, but kept talking. โ€œOrganized killers plan things,โ€ he said, his voice low. โ€œDisorganized killers, theyโ€™re the ones who would do things on the spur of the moment.โ€

โ€œThey snap,โ€ I said softly, โ€œor they give in to their impulses.โ€

Dean leaned forward, his fingers curving around mine. โ€œTheyโ€™re more likely than organized killers to attack from behind.โ€

โ€œWeapon choice?โ€ I asked, my hand still intertwined with his. โ€œWhatever they have in reach,โ€ Dean replied. โ€œBlunt force trauma, a

nearby kitchen knife, their own hands. The entire crime scene reflects a loss of control.โ€

โ€œBut for organized killers,โ€ I said, my eyes on him, โ€œitโ€™s all about control.โ€

Dean held my gaze. โ€œOrganized killers stalk their victims. They often target strangers. Every move they make is calculated, premeditated, and in service of a particular goal. Theyโ€™re methodical.โ€

โ€œHarder to catch,โ€ I supplied.

โ€œThey like that theyโ€™re harder to catch,โ€ Dean returned. โ€œKilling is only part of the pleasure. Getting away with it is the rest.โ€

Everything Dean said made sense to meโ€”incredible, intuitive sense, like he was reminding me of something Iโ€™d always known, rather than teaching me something new.

โ€œYou okay?โ€ he asked me.

I nodded. โ€œIโ€™m fine.โ€ I glanced over at the kitchen counter, where Michael had been making his sandwich. He was gone. At some point during my back-and-forth with Dean, Michael had taken off.

I glanced down at the table. Dean slowly unfurled his hand from mine. โ€œDean?โ€ I said. My voice was soft, but cut through the room. I could still

feel the exact place where his skin had touched mine. โ€œOrganized killers, theyโ€™re the ones who take trophies, arenโ€™t they?โ€

Dean nodded. โ€œTrophies help them relive their kills. Itโ€™s how they sate their desire to kill in between victims.โ€

โ€œLocke took a tube of lipstick from every woman she killed.โ€ I couldnโ€™t keep from saying those words out loud.ย Narcissistic. Controlled.ย It fit.

โ€œMy father was an organized killer.โ€ There was an intensity to Dean when he spoke about his father. This was the second time heโ€™d opened up to me, tit for tat. โ€œHe said that as a child, people knew there was something wrong with him, but for as long as I could remember, he was well-liked. He planned things meticulously. He never deviated from the script. He dominated the women he targeted. He controlled them.โ€ Dean paused. โ€œHeโ€™s never once showed remorse.โ€

I heard the front door open and shut. I thought it might be Michael, getting out of the house and away from us, but then I heard footsteps coming our wayโ€”two sets, one heavier than the other.

Sterling and Briggs were back.

They appeared in the doorway just as Dean closed the textbook on the table in front of us.

โ€œCassie, can we talk to Dean alone for a minute?โ€ Agent Briggs straightened his tie. This particular gesture, from this particular man, set off alarm bells in my mind. The tie was something Briggs only wore when he was on duty. Straightening it was an affirmation of sorts. Whatever he wanted to talk to Dean about, it wasย just business.

I trusted Briggs less when business was involved.

โ€œShe can stay,โ€ Dean told Briggs. His words fell on the room like a thunderclap. For as long as Iโ€™d known Dean, heโ€™d been pushing me away.ย Aloneย was the name of his game.

I caught his eye.ย Are you sure?ย I asked him silently.

Dean ran the heels of his hands over the fronts of his jean-clad thighs. โ€œStay,โ€ he told me.ย Dean wants me here.ย He turned back to Briggs. โ€œWhat do you need?โ€

Agent Sterling stiffened, her lips pressed into a grim line.

โ€œThe person who killed Emerson Cole is obsessed with your father,โ€ Briggs said, ignoring the expression on his ex-wifeโ€™s face. โ€œThereโ€™s a very real chance the UNSUB has written to him.โ€

โ€œAnd let me guess,โ€ Dean interjected. โ€œDear old dad destroys the letters once he gets them. Theyโ€™re all up here.โ€ Dean tapped a finger to the side of his head.

โ€œHeโ€™s agreed to assist us,โ€ Briggs said. โ€œBut only on one condition.โ€

The tension was back in Deanโ€™s shoulders, his neck. Every muscle in his body was strung tight.

โ€œYou donโ€™t have to do anything you donโ€™t want to do,โ€ Agent Sterling cut in.

โ€œI know what the condition is.โ€ Deanโ€™s eyes burned with an emotion I couldnโ€™t identify: not quite hatred, not quite fear. โ€œMy father wonโ€™t tellย you

anything. The only person heโ€™ll talk to is me.โ€

YOU

Daniel Redding is one of the greats. Infamous. Ingenious. Immortal. You chose him for a reason. When a man like Redding speaks, people listen. When Redding wants someone dead, they die. He is everything you want to be. Powerful. Sure of himself. And always, always in control.

โ€œYou were sloppy. Stupid. Lucky.โ€ You banish the voice and run your fingers along the edges of a photograph of Emerson Cole standing next to a tree. Proof that for a moment, you were powerful. Sure of yourself. In control.

Just. Like. Him.

Daniel Redding is not your hero. Heโ€™s your god. And if you keep going down this path, you will slowly remake yourself in his image. The rest of the world will be as insignificant and powerless as ants. The police. The FBI. Youโ€™ll crush them under steel-toed boots.

What will be will beโ€”in time.

You'll Also Like