TWENTY-TWO
Bryce Descario’s house was dark. The calls to both his cell phone and house phone had gone unanswered for the thirty minutes Will had been trying. A patrol sat out front, having arrived before Hooper.
“Did you knock on the door?” Will asked.
“Yes, sir, and walked the perimeter. No signs of forced entry. I don’t think he’s home.”
Will wasn’t so sure.
Perhaps Descario had left San Diego. Chief Causey had told him to inform the department if he was leaving town, but that didn’t mean squat. Someone as arrogant and bitter as the former D.A. wouldn’t feel he had to report into the lowly police department, especially since the police union supported his opponent over him in the election he lost. Chief Causey had been the head of that cause.
Will glanced at Carina. “I have a feeling.”
“Me, too. Bad.”
He nodded, pulled his gun. He rarely pulled his weapon, relying on his ability to talk his way out of virtually any situation. He’d gone through hostage negotiation training and was often called in to handle sensitive situations. But here, now, he sensed something was amiss.
Was Theodore Glenn watching? Was he waiting to see how Will would react to whatever was inside Descario’s house?
Descario was either dead inside the house, or not home. The message Glenn left for Will wasn’t the ravings of a lunatic, but a man with a purpose. He’d wanted Will to come here. Why?
To show his power. That he could walk free when every law enforcement agency was looking for him.
“Oh, yes, Theodore, you’re very, very smart,” Will whispered. “Is that what you want? Me to acknowledge your genius?”
“Excuse me?” Carina said.
“Nothing.” But Will was getting a far greater sense of his prey now, much better than he had seven years ago.
They skirted the edge of the large, private house in Rancho Santa Margarita. The wealthy neighborhood was quiet, which wasn’t surprising. Will rarely came to this neighborhood. Crime was minimal. In fact, the last time he’d been here was ten months ago, when a prominent psychiatrist was thought to have committed suicide. Property crimes, occasional domestics, rarely anything violent. Nothing that would come to the attention of a homicide detective.
It was when he and Carina met back up at the front that he realized exactly what was wrong.
“Security.”
“What?”
“Where are the lights? Virtually every house in this neighborhood had security lights. A cat walks across the yard, and spotlights come on.”
“If the power was cut, wouldn’t the alarm company have called? Checked it out?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“If the security system was activated.”
Will hesitated. If he was wrong and Descario had left town or was out with his girlfriend tonight, he’d be putting the department in a bad light. Cops breaking into homes. Still, an escaped convict had threatened the former district attorney. What more probable cause did he need?
“I’ll go around back. Count to thirty and then we both go in.”
Carina nodded. Will motioned to the uniform to back his partner up. He went around to the back, counting. Two sets of French doors opened into the backyard off the breakfast nook. He was there at count twenty-four.
Twenty-five.
Twenty-six.
Who was Glenn going after next? How could they stop him if he had help?
Twenty-nine.
Thirty.
Simultaneously, Will and Carina broke down the doors of the house.
No alarm went off.
Will searched the rear half of the house. He met up with Carina in the foyer. She’d already covered the living and dining rooms. She shook her head and Will motioned to go upstairs. She nodded, covering his back.
The master bedroom doors were closed. Will held up three fingers. One. Two. Three.
They pushed open the doors.
A piercing alarm sounded. Spotlights went on all around the house.
And no one was in the bed.
“Shit,” Will said. “He played us.”
“Human beings are so predictable,” Theodore told Sara, enjoying the spectacle down the street, a faint smile on his lips.
“You’re so smart, Teddy.” Sara rested her hand on his arm, her fingers tracing his bicep.
Not just humans in general, but William Hooper in particular was predictable. Theodore had, of course, imagined killing Bryce Descario. But in the end, when he had the chance, he let it go.
Watching William’s reaction to the setup was far more fun than killing the pathetic former district attorney. His letter to William had done exactly what he expected-sent them to Descario’s house. So predictable, and that helped him know how to handle his next few moves.
Through binoculars Theodore watched Descario drive up in his slick Mercedes. The fat little dictator started pointing fingers, yelling at William, threatening him. And the detective took it. Of course he did. He wouldn’t fight back, not like that. He didn’t have it in him.
William Hooper would sacrifice his life for Robin McKenna. He wouldn’t fight back, he would give it. On Theodore’s word? Hmm, perhaps. That would be very interesting now, wouldn’t it?
“William, allow me to kill you and I’ll let Robin go.”
Would the cop agree? Would Theodore even give him the choice?
There was nothing Theodore wanted more than to have William Hooper and Robin McKenna at the opposite ends of the same rope. He wanted both of them to know the other was dead. If this modern-day Romeo thought Juliet was dead, what would he do?
That small feeling, a minimal emotion, which Theodore kept alive through sheer determination and constant thought about Robin McKenna, consumed him. This was no longer a simple game, where he would prove (again) that he was smarter than the police and everyone they put against him. This was bigger than winning or losing. It was destiny, as if everything he’d done, learned, tried, put him here, at this point in time, to destroy two people.
It was heady, really, something few people had the capacity to understand. It was more than the game, more than the risk, and for the first time, it was more than the thrill.
For the first time, he knew he would be sustained after everything played out. After pitting Romeo against Juliet.
“Teddy?”
Theodore faced Sara, held her face in his hands. He could snap her neck without a thought. He could slice her throat. But not now.
Not yet.
Sara had been productive during her excursion to the gaslamp district. Not only had she taken care of the letter to Robin, she’d learned that Robin was thinking about not opening the Sin tomorrow.
“I think we need to wait until her art show,” Sara said.
Theodore tensed. “Since when did I ask you to plan anything? I will make all the decisions.”
“I just-”
He slapped her. Not because he received any pleasure from hitting her, but because he wanted her to shut up.
“You’ve been valuable to me for the past year. Don’t fuck with me now, Sara.”
“I–I-Teddy, I love you.”
He swallowed back a biting comment. He needed this woman, as much as he loathed to admit it.
But he wouldn’t need her forever.
He forced himself to soften his tone. “Sara, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” He touched her face softly, remembering how William had touched Robin the night Anna was killed.
She melted into his hand, much like Robin had done to William. Was this a female response? Theodore closed his eyes, imagining Robin leaning into his caress. Parting her lips for him. Giving herself to him, only him.
“Let me kill her for you,” she said.
Theodore opened his eyes, genuinely surprised for the first time in his life. Sara looked at him, an earnest expression on her face.
He hadn’t expected this. He looked at Sara with a renewed
respect, and a touch of suspicion. Was she trying to pull something on him?
“I have to do it myself.”
Sara shook her head. “She’ll be the death of you, Teddy. They’re looking for you. You won’t get near her. But I have an in, I can get to her-”
“You don’t know me, woman. You don’t know anything about me. I can and will kill Robin McKenna, right in front of that bastard cop.” But he was curious. “What is your plan?”
She smiled like a schoolgirl who had the rapt attention of her favorite teacher. “If she closes the club, the only place you can get her is at her loft, or at the art gallery on Sunday. She won’t cancel it. It’s her first showing.”
“If she’ll close her business, she’ll cancel the art show.”
Sara shook her head. “I don’t think so. You don’t know how important this is. It’s in all the papers. And what if she thought you’d left town?”
Something clicked. Theodore leaned forward. “I’m all ears.”
Sara smiled, bit her lower lip. “This is my idea. Friday night we drive to Mexico…”
Theodore listened. And for the first time was impressed with the intellect of another human being.
He leaned over and kissed her. Spontaneously-an odd gesture for him.
Her plan just might work.
In fact, it was brilliant.
What a shame he would have to kill the person who came up with it.
“Can you drop me off at the hospice?” Carina asked Will. “Nick is there, he’ll take me home.”
Will hit the steering wheel. “It’s Patrick’s birthday.”
“You remembered.” Her smile was strained.
Will glanced at the clock. “Barely. It’s ten minutes to midnight.”
If Patrick were fully here, he’d have been part of their team. He would have used his extensive skills and easygoing manner to manage their overall security and track Glenn’s financial potential. Patrick didn’t need a committee, his mind was wired differently. He saw connections where few people saw them.
But it wasn’t just his value as a cybercop, it was Patrick’s good nature that Will missed most of all. They’d been friends, and Patrick was one of the few people Will talked to about stuff. They’d kick back, drink a few beers, shoot the breeze. Patrick had been his best friend. Will missed him.
Patrick’s life was in limbo-it had been eight months since an explosion put him in a coma-Carina was getting married, Dillon had moved to Washington…everything was changing, growing, dying, and he was just walking around doing a job.
The job certainly couldn’t keep him warm at night.
Will pulled up in front of the hospice. “I was thinking earlier that we could use Patrick about now.”
“Well, think hard on that. Maybe it’ll bring him out of never-never land.” Carina gave Will a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks. You’re not just a great partner, but a good friend.” She started to get out of the car, then paused.
“You love her.”
He didn’t have to ask who Carina was talking about. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It certainly does.”
“All that matters is that she’s safe. I said things-” he shook his head. “I was wrong.”
“Tell her.”
He laughed bitterly. “You think I haven’t tried? I’ve apologized so many times I sound like a broken record. I said I was sorry then, I said it now. Being sorry isn’t enough. I hurt her. Deeply, irrevocably hurt her.”
“Will, we’ve known each other for more than a decade. You’ve never intentionally hurt someone. You’re one of the most compassionate men I’ve ever met. I’ve teased you about your women, but the truth is, you never hurt them.”
“My track record sucks. I never-I just didn’t want to put my wife second. I couldn’t put any of them in that position again, not after Wendy.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“It was with my father.”
“You’re not your father.”
“How do I convince her to forgive me?”
“You can’t,” Carina said. “But honesty usually works.”
“I’ve been honest.”
“Have you?” Carina took his hand. “If there’s one thing that Patrick’s coma should have taught you is that life is too unpredictable to not fight for what you want. If you love her, Will, fight for her.”
He didn’t say anything. Carina was more right than he wanted to admit.
He closed his eyes and saw the dead bird again on Julia’s kitchen table. Heard Glenn’s courthouse threats. Thought about what Hans Vigo said, that Glenn would take Robin out even if it meant getting himself killed.
If Robin died, he’d never forgive himself for not at least trying to make it work. He’d never put her out of his mind. Robin had been in his thoughts-or his dreams-every night for the last seven years.
“Tell Patrick to get back to work. It’s an order,” Will said.
She smiled thinly. “Yes, sir.”
Will watched Carina walk into the hospice, the night guard letting her in. It was after hours, but being a cop opened many doors.
He started for his house. He wanted to go to Robin. He wanted to see her, talk to her, touch her.
Tell her one more time that he was sorry.
He pictured Patrick in his coma. Life was too short, too unpredictable…he hung a U-turn at the same time his cell phone vibrated.
Damn. He was off-duty, unless it was related to Glenn.
“Hooper.”
“Detective Hooper, Sergeant Fields here. There’s a 911 call at 101 Fifth Avenue, number 301.”
Will’s heart quickened. Robin.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, exactly, but Robin McKenna-who’s on your Glenn list-called it in. Then hung up. We tried calling back, but no one answered.”
“I’m on my way.” Will hung up and dialed Mario Medina’s cell. “What happened?”
“What do you mean, what happened?”
“Robin just called 911! Where the hell are you?”
“Standing right outside her door. I’ll call you back.”
Why didn’t Robin pick up the damn phone? Oh, God, what if Glenn got to her? What if he was there right now? What if the Descario prank-the allusion in the letter that he was going to go after the former D.A.-was a diversion?
“If you touch her, I’ll kill you,” Will said under his breath.
He screeched up to Robin’s building at the same time as two patrols.
Then Mario called that she was alive.
TWENTY-THREE
When Will burst through the door, Robin had never been so relieved to see anyone. She found herself rushing to him, then she hesitated at the last minute.
What was she doing?
Will grabbed her by the arms and pulled her the final two feet. Held her so tightly that she would have protested except that he was shaking. She breathed in his all-male scent, held on to him as if she were drowning. She never wanted to let him go. She never wanted him to let her go.
Everyone else, go away. Just go away and let me be at peace. With Will…
“You’re okay. You’re okay,” Will whispered in her ear. She tried to speak, but couldn’t.
Will gently pushed her back. In his eyes was fear. Fear, concern, and something more. Something that had been there seven years ago, something she’d ignored when she walked away. Because he’d hurt her and she didn’t want to see anything else.
But he was back.
“Sit down,” he said, escorting her to the couch. “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“How about some water? Wine?”
She shook her head. “I have some tequila in the cabinet next to the refrigerator.”
“I’ll get it,” Mario said from his perch next to the door. She’d felt like such a fool when he burst into her loft, cracking the doorjamb. She hadn’t been able to answer his shout from the hall. She’d called 911, then slid down to the floor,
her chest tight. The simple act of breathing had been a chore.
You’re not helpless, Robin! Why are you acting like such a stupid, weak girl?
She swallowed, gathering her strength, her eyes on Will. “I-”
“Why didn’t you call me? I got the call from dispatch. I didn’t know-you didn’t even tell Mario. What’s the use of having a bodyguard if you don’t tell him when Glenn contacts you?”
She looked down at her hands, which were clenched in front of her, knowing she’d allowed her fear to get the best of her after she’d read the letter from Theodore.
Will knelt in front of her, took her tight fists in his hands. “Robin, I’m sorry for yelling. But listen to me. Look at me.”
She did, her breath catching in her lungs. “Will-” She swallowed. “I just didn’t expect it. I’m not as strong as you think I am.”
“Like hell you aren’t. You’re stronger. God, Robin, you’re the strongest woman I know. Down here”-he hit his chest-“where it matters. Who wouldn’t crack under Glenn’s scrutiny? Who wouldn’t be scared when a sociopathic killer has them in their sights? If you weren’t scared, then I’d worry.”
There was a knock on the door, and Mario looked through the peephole, then let in a forty-something man Robin had never met. He was shorter than Will, a tad on the pudgy side, but with a warm, handsome face and sparkling pale blue eyes framed with crow’s-feet. Attractive, in a comfortable, best friend sort of way.
Will nodded at the stranger. “Robin, this is FBI Special Agent Hans Vigo. He’s out of Quantico and helping us on this.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. McKenna,” Hans said, taking her hand.
She gave him a half smile.
“I called him after speaking with Mario. He’s a criminal profiler with the Feds, someone who probably understands Theodore Glenn better than anyone.”
“I don’t know about that,” Hans said. “Will had him pegged early on. But I’ll help in any way I can, and right now, we need to brainstorm and try and predict his next move.”
“Which means we need your help, Robin.”
She blanched. “Me?”
Killing Fear pb-1 Page 20
