He knew the place. “Go on.”
Mason pictured the blood-scrawled message again.
MB FERN/1018 1230
“Ten-eighteen had me stumped for a little while, until I saw today’s date in the paper. Nice photo, by the way.”
In spite of the circumstances, Mason caught himself smiling.
“And so the twelve-thirty—”
“Is the time,” Mason finished.
“That’s only a half hour from now. Diane, did I ever tell you you’re an absolute genius?”
“Just remember who helped you when you get out of this mess.”
Mason said his goodbyes and took every side street he could. Fern Avenue, he thought as he made his way there, carefully placing his swollen ankle with each step. That’s quite a code. Whoever did this was testing him. Who would go to such trouble to get his attention? He wondered with horror what might have happened to Evie if Diane had never figured it out for him.
When he arrived on the correct street, Mason stayed at the mouth of an alley, watching any and all movements. He had no idea what—or who—to expect. For all he knew, Lady Luck herself might be making an appearance, but he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
With just ten minutes to go, Mason started to panic. He’d only been given the street name and no specific part of that long stretch of road to be at. Perhaps he had to be in one of the shops, or out on the sidewalk and ready to hop into a car.
It was only as he turned that he saw, at the top of a set of metal steps, an old green door with its paint peeling off. Across the top half, in brilliant-white spray paint, were his initials. He knew it was no coincidence.
Mason was on the clock now, heading up the steps as fast as his injured legs would carry him. As soon as he reached the top, he bashed his huge shoulder into the door and it splintered open with a crash.
The room inside was pitch-black. Mason reached an arm to the inside wall and felt for a light switch. He found it and the lights flickered on, showing the room was almost completely empty. The only object of note was the rotting wooden table in the center, with a battered old telephone sitting upon it.
“Hello?” he called, feeling stupid. It wasn’t like anyone would jump out at him to introduce themselves. Or would they?
Holding his breath, Mason stepped inside. The moment his foot hit the floor, the phone started to ring. It was an old ringer, right out of the early nineties. Before cell phones. Before Guns N’ Roses ringtones.
Mason felt cool perspiration tickle his skin. Cautious, he stepped forward and reached for the phone. He half expected a bomb to explode the instant the receiver was lifted, but no such thing happened. He put it to his ear.
“I’m so glad you figured it out, Mason.” It was a woman’s voice, well-spoken and seductive. “I was beginning to think I would have to kill the girl.”
“Who is this?”
“You know who I am.”
“No, I don’t. And I’m done playing your game. Tell me who you are, or this ends right now.”
The woman laughed.
Mason heard sirens outside as the police pulled up. It was a trap. He’d been led there, and stupidly, he’d followed. “Who are you?” He was sure he knew, but wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth.
“You really don’t know?” She laughed again. “My name…”
Footsteps padded up the metal stairs outside. Mason’s pulse raced.
The woman recovered from her hysterical giggle and spat down the phone. “My name is Alison Wendell, and you murdered my brother.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Evie awoke to the sounds of screaming—loud, fearful shrieks.
Where am I?
The last thing she remembered was walking along a bright street, Mason watching her from a distance as she scouted for a killer. But what had she found instead? A very brief image flashed in her mind: an alleyway… dark, quiet… What had happened after that?
She sat up, immediately noticing the thinness of the air, which somehow felt dry and damp at the same time. Her breathing was restricted. Her bare arms raised pale goose bumps as she wrapped them across her chest.
“Let me goooo!” The screaming came again from the next room. It was followed by a heavy thunk, and then silence.
Shaking, Evie walked around the confines of her small cell. Three sides of the room were walls, but the fourth was a wooden gate. Maybe I could cut through that. She reached for her house keys—a crappy tool, but a tool nonetheless. They were gone. Checking her pockets, she realized she was still dressed as a hooker. The night’s events came back to her little by little.
Bankrupt of all energy, she fell to her ass and rested her head in the dirt, gazing at the cell door. She recalled heading into that alley and coming out the other end. Then what? Evie closed her eyes, thought hard and—
A man.
Yes, a man had been there, holding her tight with his sweaty palm clasped over her mouth. She could remember the sour taste as if it were still on her tongue. Putrid, acidic. And then a woman… Lady Luck.
Her thoughts were suddenly disturbed by a gunshot. It echoed through the halls, bouncing off every wall. A sprinkling of dirt rained from the ceiling. Evie focused on that, soon understanding the actual walls were made of dirt.
That gave her an idea.
She pushed herself onto her knees and crawled to the cell door. As fast as she could, she dug her fingers into the dirt and shoveled it toward her. I can get under, she thought, licking her lips as she dug, all the while wondering who’d suffered the gunshot only moments ago. There was also one awful question circling her mind…
Am I next?
Chapter Forty-Seven
Alison Wendell. It made perfect sense now, but it was too late.
When he’d seen it in Marvin Wendell’s report that he had a sister, Mason had only considered it a possibility she may have had some involvement. He’d already set about figuring out how to track her down. But now he understood the shocking fact: Alison Wendell and Lady Luck were one and the same.
The sirens stopped, but the shouting didn’t. They were outside now, their footfalls clanging up the metal staircase. Out of ideas, Mason resorted to all he could think of. He rushed to stand behind the door.
The first officer walked in, his firearm aimed forward. As soon as he was in the room, Mason grabbed him from behind and kicked the door shut. It gave him just enough time to wrestle the gun from the officer and wrap an arm around his neck.
The door swung open again, and three more officers stood in shock at the sight of Mason holding an officer at gunpoint.
“I’m sorry,” Mason said, “but I have to do this before I come in.”
“Let him go, Mr. Black.” The officer’s voice was deep and commanding. It was obvious he was no rookie.
“I can’t.” Mason dragged the cop back toward the other door, praying it wasn’t locked. Doing it fast so as not to lose his advantage, he tried the handle. To his luck, it popped open. “Don’t follow me.”
He closed the door behind him, saw the key in the keyhole, and turned it. This room was completely closed off. Mason had shut himself in.
Goddamnit.
“You won’t get out of here.” The officer spat, clawing at his arm for some breathing space. “They’ll call for backup and catch you. They always catch the killers.”
Mason let him go and pointed the gun at him. “I know. I’ll turn myself in when I find the proof that it wasn’t me. You just make sure you tell them that.”
“Tell them yourself.”
But Mason wasn’t listening. Instead, he focused on the fire escape on the other side of the glass. With his one free hand, he tried the window. It slid open, and he put one foot outside. “Come here.”
The officer hesitated before stepping forward.
Mason reached around the man’s waist and took the handcuffs from his belt. “Cuff yourself to the curtain rail.”
“What—”
“Just do it.”
The officer was moving too slow. There was a thumping on the door, and it was bulging forward under the force. It wouldn’t be long before they breached the room, and he would be surrounded. He didn’t want to think about would happen to Evie then.
“Good.” Mason climbed out to the fire escape, the officer’s cuffed body causing an obstruction for anyone trying to follow. It might not take his colleagues long to get him free, but a few valuable moments could be the difference between freedom and being gunned down. Kicking the ladder free, Mason climbed down with the gun in one hand. Above him, he heard the officer yelling as the door burst open.
“We have a visual!”
They were stepping out onto the fire escape. Mason was almost at the bottom, and he needed to delay them for just a few seconds more. He fired a warning shot, hearing the bullet ping against the metal.
The policemen dove back inside.
Panting, he dashed onto the street, dripping with sweat and ignoring the pain in his leg. If he stopped to take care of his wounds, he would be caught for sure.
Mason was just coming to the road when a black Volvo stopped in front of him, screeching to a halt. It almost ran over his foot, crushing the bone. He was about to run, to fire without looking and give himself a slim chance of escape, when the driver leaned forward and opened the passenger door.
“Get in.”
Mason squinted his eyes at the sight of Diane. Dammit. Whether she’d wanted to be or not, she was now an accomplice to his escape.
Chapter Forty-Eight
“Drive casually,” Mason said as he reclined in his seat. “I don’t think they saw me get in, so there’s no need to draw attention to yourself.”
“Yes, sir.” Diane was so calm it was unsettling.
He looked up at her, watching her lean into the wheel as she steered. “Thank you,” he said, and he meant it.
“Evie’s my friend, too, you know. I want her safe as much as you do. I just wish I could have come sooner.” She glanced at his bloody leg. “We’ll need to go somewhere and patch you up. Any ideas where?”
“What’s wrong with your place?”
“My sister.” She shook her head. “Turned up unannounced. She had a fight with her boyfriend and wants to stay a few days.”
“I’m sorry.” Mason only knew one safe place. The problem was, he didn’t know how long it would be safe for. “You know where Evie lives?”
“Yep.”
“We’ll need to hide the car a few blocks away and walk the rest.”
As instructed, she stopped in the parking lot of a swimming pool and gymnasium. Her sister—who she’d borrowed the car from in the first place—would get a ticket, but it was a necessary price to pay. With Mason leaning on Diane for support, they took the quiet roads to Evie’s apartment, felt above the doorframe for the hidden key, and let themselves in.
“Listen,” Mason said, as Diane walked around the apartment for some first aid materials. “If anyone comes to the door, you might have to answer it. Say Evie is out of town for a family emergency.”
Diane returned with a damp flannel, some disinfectant, and a roll of gauze. “You think it’ll come to that?”
“She’s employed now. Her coworkers might be wondering where she is.”
“Sure.” She took a seat to patch him up, her delicate hands working with care.
Mason watched her do her thing, entirely trusting this wonderful woman. He thought about their kiss and wondered if there might be some kind of normal life for them after this. “I’m sorry about your sister’s car.”
“Ah,” she waved a hand, “don’t worry about it. She’ll understand.” She threaded through the skin, inserting some homemade stitches in perfect lines. “So, what happens next?”
“Honestly?” Mason said, gazing up at her. “I have no idea.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Evie had made it out—out of her cell, at least.
It wasn’t until she’d laid on her belly and wriggled under the gate that she finally understood where she was. Given the structure of the beams and the tightly packed dirt along the walls, she could only be underground. Under what, exactly, was a whole other question.
There were two different directions: to her right, where a soft glow flickered up the wall with a shadow passing every few seconds, or straight ahead, where there was a much longer tunnel. This one had a light as well, but it was farther away and at least there was no sign of life. It was, without a doubt, the safer of the two shitty options.
With her filthy arms still clutching her cold chest, Evie crept onward until she came to an open area with a table to her right. Around the table, three women—whose thin arms and gaunt faces suggested they’d been imprisoned for some time—sat in a perfect circle. In the center of the table was a revolver.
There was a little girl, too, but she had her head down. Her face rolled to one side, her eyes cold and lifeless. Her arm was stretched toward the gun. Either she’d been going for it and was punished, or she had just used it on herself.
When the women spotted her, Evie brought a silencing finger to her lips.
One of the women sobbed under her breath, but her breathing grew louder and faster until her ragged cries echoed down the winding corridors of packed earth.
“No, no. Quiet. Shh.” Evie stumbled forward and put a hand over the woman’s lips.
The truth was, Evie wanted to cry, too. She had no idea where she was or how to get out. Was Mason even looking for her? Was anyone? “I’m going to take my hand away, but you need to be quiet. If I can get out of here, I’ll send for help. You’re going to be okay.” She looked at all the faces around the table, except for the dead girl’s. “You’re all going to be okay.”
She removed her hand and headed toward the only set of steps. Even her slender frame blocked out the minimal flickering candlelight behind her. Evie put one foot on the bottom step, and it creaked a betraying protest beneath her.
Shit.
There was always the option of risking a sprint. But if she got to the top and couldn’t open the trapdoor, she’d be alerting Lady to her escape for no good reason at all. Remaining careful, she moved to the second step, which creaked just as loud.
“No!” the sobbing woman called out, likely to get them all caught.
Evie turned toward the noise, about to plead for silence once more. But as she turned, all she saw was the lightning-fast image of something metallic swinging toward her. It drove into her stomach like a pointed battering ram, and her muscles tightened as the prongs shot a burning spark right through her. She dropped to the ground.
“Nice try,” the woman said, removing the prod for a moment. The light caught the side of her face, and from a curled-up position in the dirt, Evie saw Lady Luck—the woman from the alley. “Now, back you go.”
Chapter Fifty
There was a knock on the door. Mason and Diane froze.
“What do we do?” Diane whispered.
“Answer it. If it’s the police, invite them in.” Mason snatched up the gun from the table and put his back to the wall beside the door. He held it at head level with an outstretched arm. He wouldn’t pull the trigger, but the power of suggestion would be useful.
Diane opened the door.
“Police, ma’am,” the man said. “I’m looking for Mason Black. Have you seen him?”
“Oh, yeah,” Diane said in a surprisingly believable tone. “He’s just in the kitchen, come on in.” She walked away before the policeman had a chance to decline.
He walked in the door, and the moment his head came into view Mason lunged forward and pressed the lip of the gun to his head.
“Don’t move.” He peered around the doorframe to see if he’d come alone. He had. “Put your hands up. Turn around, nice and slow.”
Diane came back into the room and raised her hands to cup her mouth. “Oh my God.”
The policeman turned around, revealing his face. His mouth hung open in surprise. “Mason? What the…?
” He put his hand on the gun and lowered it. “Jesus Christ!”
“Bill.” Mason breathed a sigh of relief, the hint of a smile escaping the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps state your name next time.” He closed the door and ushered him in, sitting him down and glancing at Diane, her mouth still agape. “It’s all right, Bill’s a friend.”
Diane came to sit with them. “I’m sorry I almost got you in trouble.”
“It’s fine.” Bill flashed an awfully false grin.
“What’re you doing here?” Mason asked.
“I came here looking for you, obviously. Imagine my surprise when a young woman opened the door.” He cracked his knuckles. “You’re in a lot of trouble, you know. The cops are looking everywhere for you. Resisting arrest? Don’t you think this has gone a little too far?”
Of course he did. Mason knew better than most he was pushing his luck. “Evie,” he said as if it was enough. And why shouldn’t it be? “I won’t let her down.”
“I know.” Bill stared down at the carpet.
“How are those cops doing?”
“Which ones?”
“The ones from the crash. They arrested me and—”
“Ah, yeah.” Bill waved his hand. “They’re fine. Very grateful, in fact. But that all counts for nothing while the case remains unsolved. All fingers point to you.”
“I’m working on it, believe me.”
“He really is,” Diane said before excusing herself from the room.
Bill glanced over his shoulder. As soon as they were alone, he leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper. “There’s been a break in the case. We found strands of hair in the SUV at the tracks. The team ran a DNA search and found that it belongs to—”
“Let me guess,” Mason cut in. “Alison Wendell.”
“How did you—”
“Like I said, I’ve been busy. So, does this put me in the clear?”
“Not even close. Captain Cox is refusing to confirm this is the same killer. She’s really got you in her crosshairs, you know.”
Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 26
