by CJ Lyons
But then, why hadn’t he simply killed her in the women’s room? Not as flashy as Tymara’s murder or the killing of the folks at the school. If Eugene’s partner wanted Angela here, in the ICU at Jacob’s bedside, then was he planning something bigger, even more horrific than the school massacre?
He called Flynn. “I need you to track the location of a phone number.”
“Hang on,” she said in a whisper. “Esme finally fell asleep.” A few moments later, she was back. “Okay, I’m at the computer.” Daniel had trained Flynn in the ways of industrial espionage, including illegal hacking and computer surveillance. “What’s the number?”
There was only one number programmed into the disposable cell the man had given Angela. Devon repeated it for Flynn and explained about the man in black. “It might be untraceable. This is a prepaid burner cell.”
“Nothing’s untraceable,” she muttered, the click of computer keys punctuating her words. “Just give me a sec. Is Dr. Rossi okay? Need me to come over, keep an eye on her?” He knew she was reluctant to leave Esme, but the nursing staff was there.
“Good idea. She’s in the ICU with Jacob, but these guys seem to be fixated on her. Who knows what they have planned next?”
“I’ll leave as soon as we’re done here.” A mechanical chime interrupted her. “Gotcha. They thought they could hide behind a proxy, but I found them.”
“You know where the owner of this number is?”
“It’s not a phone number. It’s a Voice Over Internet Protocol.”
“Those are untraceable.”
“That’s what they’d like you to believe. But the DOD contracted with a subsidiary of Kingston Enterprises to create software that can trace them. Daniel, of course, sold the government a buggy beta version that was obsolete by the time they got it installed, but I have the real thing to play with.” It wasn’t that Flynn was any kind of computer genius. Her genius lay elsewhere, mainly in her ability for social engineering, to mold any situation to her advantage. But Daniel had provided her with cutting-edge tech and made certain she knew how to use it.
Devon stared at the burner phone. They were probably tracking its location to keep tabs on Rossi. He tucked it under the cushion of a nearby chair. Now Rossi was free to move without their knowing.
“Got them!” Flynn came back onto the line. “Supposedly condemned building. One whose neighbor is pulling about twice the electricity it should.”
“Send me the address and any info you have.”
“Done. Something else popped up. Interesting deliveries—from Kingston Enterprises. Seems you’ve outfitted these guys with pharmaceutical and lab equipment, two state-of-the-art sensory deprivation chambers, a dozen wireless EEG transmitters—those are for measuring brain waves, right? Oh, and a shitload of PXA, the good stuff, pharmaceutical grade.”
Damn. He should have thought to track shipments of PXA sooner.
“Are these guys part of Kingston Enterprises? Something Daniel set up before his stroke?” Could Eugene Littleton and his partners be connected with Daniel? He doubted it. But Daniel had his fingers in a lot of pots—not all of them legal or documented.
“Nothing I ever heard of, and I’m not finding any files on them. Just invoices billed to the Almanac Care Institute. Which, other than a dummy website and some bank accounts, doesn’t seem to exist.”
“Okay. Get over here. Protect Angela. I’ll handle the rest.”
“On my way.”
Feeling better, knowing Angela was protected, Devon headed back to the stairs, taking them down to the hospital’s basement where there was an entrance to the tunnel system. The address Flynn sent him was a warehouse near the wharf, conveniently located near an exit from the tunnels.
Getting into the building wouldn’t be a problem. He was more worried about what he was going to find once he got there. So far the Brotherhood hadn’t shied away from using brute force. What he couldn’t understand was the combination of violence with what sounded like a well-organized medical research facility.
Maybe the heartless violence was meant to be a smoke screen for something even more sinister. Like exposing dozens of children to a form of fatal insomnia?
* * *
Ryder called the Major Case lead detective, a guy named Holden, to let him know about Kravitz’s relationship with Littleton. “We’re at her place now with a search warrant,” he was surprised to hear. “Your hunch that Wysycki’s lover was involved was right. It was Kravitz. How’s that for a kick in the pants?”
“Is she there with you?” He had a few questions for Kravitz. Starting with, did she send her brother dearest to Rossi’s place two nights ago? All in all, he’d feel better if she was off the streets and safely locked up.
“Nope, gone AWOL. We’re thinking she might be good for Manny Cruz as well. She has a forty-five registered in her name—same caliber that killed him.”
“It’s a long shot, but now that we know she’s Littleton’s sister, maybe she went to his place. Want me to check it out?”
Nice thing about Holden, he’d been in this job long enough not to get territorial when a fellow detective offered a helping hand. “Not like this is how we want to be spending Christmas Eve. You see her, give a shout, and maybe we can all go home.”
Easier said than done, but worth a shot. Ryder drove over to Littleton’s address. Definitely the last place anyone would look for a high-powered attorney like Kravitz. He made a note to ask Devon Price how exactly he’d chosen her for Littleton’s defense. Dollars to doughnuts, Kravitz had inserted herself into the case, protesting in public while she secretly worked to get her brother cleared of all charges.
Quite the pair. Brother rapes a woman, calls his twin to help clean it up. And, instead of defending him in a court of law, she covers it up with a second, brutal attack. Probably told Littleton to silence Tymara for good, and when he didn’t finish the job, she punished him by letting him stew in jail until his trial. But, good sister that she was, she killed Tymara while he had the perfect alibi, then got him out in time for them both to thumb their noses at the cops while they took care of her former lover, Wysycki.
He found a parking spot. The streets were already slushy from the falling snow, but luckily, most people were snugged inside their homes for the holiday. As he trudged up the unshoveled and icy steps to Littleton’s apartment building, he thought about the attack on Jacob. No way could Littleton have been involved, and he was certain Kravitz had been inside the school at the time, torturing her former lover before killing her. Plus, there’d been four men in the alley with Jacob.
Friends of Littleton? Didn’t seem like he actually had any. Former clients of Kravitz, hired for the night? Didn’t fit, given the degree of degradation both Tymara and Wysycki had suffered, Kravitz would want to witness Jacob’s downfall firsthand.
The front door of the apartment had a gaping hole where the lock should have been, so Ryder walked on in. Littleton’s place was on the third floor, and there was no elevator. He started up the steps, weapon at the ready, senses on full alert.
He was pretty certain Holden was right about Kravitz being Manny’s shooter. Timing fit. Probably sent her brother after Rossi while she took care of Manny herself.
No real reason for them to go after either Rossi or Manny—except sheer spite. That and the fact Littleton had set up Manny as the leader of his fictitious Brotherhood. Which meant they had to silence Manny before the ADA could defend himself.
The attack on Rossi? He gritted his teeth at the thought of just how badly that could have gone. He had no doubt at all that Littleton would have killed her the same way Tymara had been murdered. And then he would have epinned it on the mysterious Brotherhood while his lawyer gave him an alibi.
Too bad for them, Rossi fought back. He felt a hint of pride that, despite her illness, she’d been able to get the best of Littleton.
Breathing just a bit heavy, his side aching, he reached Littleton’s floor. Littleton’s apartment was in
the rear. He braced himself on the far side of the door, gun drawn, and listened for any movement inside. The building was old enough that the doors were solid, thick enough to provide some soundproofing. He considered. Glanced down the empty corridor behind him. It was a long shot that Kravitz would come here. After all, the police had searched the place yesterday after her brother’s body had been found.
Gingerly, he twisted the knob.
To his surprise, it opened. The door swung noiselessly on its hinges as Ryder stayed to the far side of the entrance. He kept his weapon aimed, remembering the scene at Manny’s apartment two nights ago.
A lamp was on, its soft glow illuminating Littleton’s scantily furnished living room. Brown tweed sofa, wide-screen TV, frayed braided rug.
No signs of anyone. He stepped inside. Quickly moved through the one-bedroom apartment, clearing it of any hidden dangers. At first he thought he’d been wrong. There was no sign of Kravitz. Until he arrived at the bedroom.
The mattress had been stripped. Scattered on top of it were torn and partially burned photos. He stepped closer, turned on the bedside lamp, and examined the photos without touching them. Close-ups of Rossi playing at Jimmy’s Place, fiddle tucked under her chin. Photos of Rossi and Jacob together. Photos of Rossi’s entire family, including her mother and Eve. All taken at Jimmy’s Place.
Kravitz had been watching Rossi for a while, several weeks at least. Trial prep, knowing she’d be Manny’s star witness once they killed Tymara? Or something more?
A cold, curdling feeling grabbed at his gut. Ryder holstered his weapon and turned around. On the back of the bedroom door, scrawled in red lipstick, he found Kravitz’s message to him, as if what she’d left on the bed hadn’t been enough to get her point across.
You should have left us alone.
Now you’ll pay.
Chapter Forty-Six
Entering someone’s mind was effortless—in the literal sense of the word, as in once I touched their skin, I was totally out of control, powerless. And yet I also required all my focus and concentration to avoid being sucked into the vortex of a lifetime of memories. Every other time I’d done it—except with Littleton, but I wasn’t even sure if I’d been inside his mind or if I had simply dreamed the whole horrible experience—it was painful yet heart-wrenchingly beautiful, like the way hearing a Schubert sonata played with exquisite grace could bring me to tears.
As soon as I touched Jacob’s hand, my entire being was suffused with music. Paganini’s Caprice. A difficult piece, one he’d been trying to master his entire life. The music swirled in rich colors around me, silken strands creating a dream world in which only Jacob and I existed for all of eternity.
He stood at the center of waves of jewel tones, wearing a tuxedo with the bowtie undone, hanging free, his chin bent into his violin, his entire body performing the music. More than pitch-perfect—the least important part of any composition—the notes he coaxed and set free created an emotional harmony that felt as if it would resonate into the stars and across the universe, never dying, forever inspiring.
I didn’t bother trying to hold back my tears. What I’d told Devon was true. There was no deception possible here in the meeting of minds. But what would have been more accurate—and what made these intrusions more painful and frightening—was that there was no hiding. I was stripped bare, everything I was and was not, my soul exposed.
To stand like that before the man I’d loved and failed…it was maybe the most humbling and terrifying experience of my life.
He finished the Paganini and lowered his violin and bow, a contented smile sharing its radiance with me. He saw me, all of me, for the first time ever, yet did not judge. Instead, he nodded to his violin. “Play with me, Angela. We were always at our best when we made music together.”
My fiddle—battered and cheap compared to the gleaming instrument he held—appeared in my hand. I stepped closer, the colors swirling around my ankles.
“Remember our wedding night?” he asked.
“The wedding no one attended?”
“My father, well, he had his own way of doing things. But your family—”
“Hypocrites.” The word surprised me. I’d never dare to think it, much less speak it, in the real world. But here only truth was spoken. “As soon as they heard you play, they accepted you as one of their own.”
His smile grew sad.
Unable to stop the truth from flowing, I continued, “They wanted a fiddle player who worked a job with regular hours instead of my crazy shifts.” It was the truth, as blunt as it was. “But they grew to love you.” Also true.
“You were saving lives,” he said. “It made their own seem small and inconsequential. That’s why they treat you the way they do.”
“That and the fact I killed my father.” It was the truth as I saw it. Or had been taught my entire life to see it. Even now, knowing Dad had fatal insomnia, it still felt true. That’s how deeply my guilt was etched into my soul.
His sigh was so sad the colors shifted from ruby to indigo. “You did not.” His truth. “Your mother needed someone to blame. Someone other than herself. You might be the reason why your father was out on the road that night, but she’s the one who sent him. Her guilt has twisted her heart, and instead of healing what was left of your family, she’s been feasting on your pain.”
True, all true. But a truth I’d denied for twenty-two years. The price I’d paid to keep the only family I had left. If I walked away from them, after they’d judged me unworthy of their love, I’d risk proving them right, that I was unlovable.
“I loved you,” he whispered, his violin gone. The music continued as his arms wrapped around me, embracing me in a golden warmth. “I loved you with all my heart.”
“Thank you.” I held back, skirting my own truth.
No matter. He saw it anyway. “You loved me. I know you did. But you always guarded your heart. Afraid I’d break what was left. Scared. The bravest woman I’ve ever met, yet always a frightened little girl crying in the darkness.”
I swiped at my tears, not that they were real, but it gave me a reason to hide my face from him. But I couldn’t hide my heart. Not here.
“You need to let her go, Angela. Set that frightened child free.” His words were a murmur, a counterpoint to the tones that wrapped us in rich hues. The music was unlike any I’d heard before. It burrowed into my marrow, and I hoped I could take it with me when I left.
Except, leaving Jacob—I couldn’t bear to even think it. I turned to face him, anguish flooding through me as I remembered why I was here.
“You must.” His voice was strong, certain. “When you return to your life, you will set that terrified girl free, and you will go to Ryder.” Our faces were touching as he whispered in my ear, his tears sliding warm down my cheek. “He loves you and you love him. You need him. Like you never needed me.”
The truth hit hard. But the music continued its soothing healing.
“He’s a good man. Stronger than I ever was. You can trust him.”
I couldn’t answer. He spoke the truth, I know he did, but it wasn’t that easy. I had to force myself to look up, meet his eyes. They were stricken with grief. He knew. Of course he knew. No lies could exist here. My entire life was stripped bare here. Not just my soul.
“I’m dying.” My words were a sharp counterpoint to his rich, vibrant music. They created a dissonance, leaden gray against the pure tones he’d created.
He nodded. “The men who did this to me. They had a message for you. They knew you’d be able to talk to me. They did this to me in order to reach you. It was a test.”
I stepped back, stunned. His hands fell from my body, and a chill wind scattered the colors and notes. His music died. Leaving a silence deeper and darker than the coldest winter night.
“The men who killed Tymara did this to you.” Even as I spoke the words, words I’d believed were true, I knew I was wrong. So very wrong.
“No. The men who did this to me
were watching you. Searching for your weakness.” He paused, placing his palms on my shoulders. “They found me.”
I shook my head, not wanting to believe. “No. It can’t be. That’s impossible.”
“They called you Patient Zero. Said when you came, I should tell you. There’s a cure. If you cooperate, they’ll give it to you.” He spoke as if reciting a foreign language.
“Then there’s hope. I can still save you.”
He shook his head. Not sad, more like resigned. I’d seen that same expression in the others I’d visited. Right before they died.
“No!” My scream shredded the black that had crept up, surrounding us. The void. There was no return from there. “No, damn you. Jacob, you hang on. Don’t you give up on me.”
He cocked his head, a strange half smile playing across his lips. “I’m not. And don’t you dare blame yourself. You need to go now. You need to find out who’s behind this, save those children.” He bent forward, kissing my forehead. “You can do it. You’re the only one who can.”
The void drew closer, a noose of inky black nothingness tightening around us. We were out of time.
I clung to Jacob. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You haven’t. But you need to go. Now. Before it’s too late.”
Then I realized what he’d figured out that I’d been too distracted to notice. “Devon. He’s gone after the men who did this to you.”
If the man in black and his cohorts truly had a cure for the fatal insomnia affecting the children… “I have to stop him.”
“Go now.”
But I couldn’t. Black, inky sludge roiled around my feet, trapping me in its grasp. The void was Death. Not hot, not cold, not pain, just…nothing. I looked past Jacob. The void had swallowed everything except the two of us.
“Jacob, I can’t find my way back.”
He frowned, then nodded as if setting a tempo. Light and warm, a rich scent of springtime grass and a sound that could have been a heavenly choir—if either of us believed in Heaven—mixed with the chime of children’s laughter. All emanating from Jacob. Stabbing through the blackness, revealing a path.
