Page 3 of Haunted Horror on Halloween

“Jackson, we’ve dealt with that. But at this time, we could be dealing with anything—revenge or random Halloween craziness. I’ll get my bag—we need to move.” As she left his office, she paused at the door. “Thankfully, we had the get-togethers for Corby and Victoria last weekend!”

“Thankfully,” he agreed. Their son Corby was now in high school; his school was doing a dance on Halloween night. Victoria was just in grade school, but she’d already asked if they could trick-or-treat with her friends; and many of the parents they knew and trusted would be with the group. And Mary Tiger, of course, would be there. Special Agent Axel Tiger’s aunt, and the best help they might have ever hoped to find when it came to their domestic situation.

And maybe, just maybe, they’d make it home for the trick-or-treating!

He rose from his chair, instinctively checking the Glock beneath his jacket and heading out. Angela was with the tech crew who were already busy finding any information that they could on Arabella and Nate Watkins.

But . . .

Right when they were about to leave the office, Bruce McFadden called them back.

“Hey, sorry, I know you’re moving quickly. But we just got a call from the federal prison system. Escape from maximum security. Darrell Manderley, the guy you two hunted down with the help of our spirit friend, Maurice MacMann, somehow managed to escape. There is not much more info on it—except they believe that a guard had to be involved. No tunnels, nothing like that . . . got someone to use a shiv on him or did it himself. He was in medical—and managed to get out in an ambulance. The driver and the med tech involved are now both in the hospital. Anyway, figured you had to know.”

“Important, yes. Bruce, this is a favor we’re doing for Adam. Send some of our agents to the prison; see what they can discover,” Jackson told him. “And of course—"

“On it,” Bruce promised. And he would be. Bruce was one of their best. Every law enforcement agency in the country and beyond had received every possible piece of info on the man.

And he and Angela should have been on it themselves. Well, they would be. No one had an idea as yet just how the man might be traveling—what old “believers” he might be pulling back in to help him. And he was smart—he would only use one person, one vehicle, one mode of travel. That way, no one could give authorities all the information necessary to find him.

If there had ever been a monster in human form, it was this man.

Darrell Manderley. One of the worst “cultists” they had ever apprehended, responsible for the deaths of at least twenty people. Sacrifices to the true lord, the fallen angel, Lucifer. Despite the “voluntary” sacrifices the man had made during the years before they’d become involved, Jackson had always been grateful they’d brought the man down.

Angela had tricked him. She’d convinced him he could have anything he wanted, and she lay down on his sacrificial table as had so many others. She needed to go first, though, she’d told him, to be there to guide the children “on the other side.”

But when he had reached for her, she’d sprung into motion. He hadn’t expected a woman who had been through just about every form of martial arts known to man. He’d never had a chance to grab his gun or his great “sacrificial knife.” Jackson and a group of Krewe agents had quicky moved in on the followers who had gathered in a circle around the stone.

It had been over quickly. The terrified children had been swiftly taken to children’s services, and Darrell Manderley had been arrested on many counts of first-degree murder. And though terrified, many of his followers had testified against him. He’d been sentenced to life without possibility of parole.

How the hell did such a man get anyone to help him escape?

Then again, how had he convinced a tribe of adults to believe in his ancient religion?

Although, one woman who had been brought to the stand was still convinced the man was Lucifer in human form, and she had cried in terror throughout her testimony.

She had been given a new identity, and the Marshal Service had moved her far, far away from the wilderness home in the west where Darrell Manderley had created his cult.

“An alert is out everywhere,” Jackson told Angela as they headed out. “On Darrell Manderley. And, of course, we have the local cops and our agents looking for our missing young woman as well, so let’s pray—”

“That we find her quickly. I’m wondering . . .” Angela murmured.

“You’re wondering if the cases might be related?” he asked her, frowning.

She shrugged. “They could be.”

“Right, but . . . this young woman is not any kind of a cultist! Adam knows the kid and if anything, Adam is smart as hell. He reads people well,” Jackson reminded her.

“Oh, I agree. No, I don’t think our missing young woman is a follower in any way. I just don’t think he cares who he does what to,” Angela said.

“Well, that’s a given. But he did thrive on making people believe that being the ultimate sacrifice assured them a place in his weird after life.”

“He won’t have time. He can’t create a following with the entire country after him, his face on the news warning people,” Angela said. “Which is—”

“Exactly why he might just be kidnapping people. I guarantee you—the man has a plan. So, coffee shop! Let’s see what we can discover!”

“Hey, let me help!”

Jackson smiled and turned to see that the spirit of Trent Fielding had known what they were about to do and determined to join them.