by Brenda Novak
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he thinks he can get away with it.”
She seemed to consider his response. “What will you do when you catch up with him?”
Kill him like he deserved. But he couldn’t say that. Not to Latisha. He was still trying to reassure her that he wasn’t guilty of her sister’s murder. Her youth and naiveté worked in his favor, but she was brighter than a lot of girls her age. “Make sure he goes to prison.”
“It’s so sad that no one believes you, that you can’t convince the other officers that he’s alive. You shouldn’t have to do this all alone.”
He smiled to himself. “DNA is powerful evidence.” Lord, didn’t he know it. “And unfortunately the DNA evidence suggests Sebastian’s dead.”
“You’ll get him.”
“Damn right I will.”
“Are we still going to watch the movie we rented?” she asked.
Now that he no longer had a relationship with Mary, he had nothing better to do. He was just getting up from his chair when he got a new message. Pausing to check what had come in, he was surprised to see an e-mail from Constance.
If he’d ever doubted that Mary had been working with Sebastian, this was proof. Constance had the same e-mail address as before; he recognized it from the various communications they’d had regarding Colton. But his address was new, something he’d created after moving to Sacramento. She could only have gotten it from Mary through Sebastian.
“Damn her,” he muttered, thinking about Mary. He’d expected so much more from her.
He clicked on the message and scanned the contents.
He’s not sleeping with Mary. He’s with a woman named Jane, a victims’ advocate from a charity there in Sacramento called The Last Stand. It sounds as if she’s helping him find you. It sounds as if they’re close.
Confused, he read those lines again. “What? Why the hell would she tell me that?”
“Tell you what?” Latisha asked.
“Nothing.” He considered the possibilities, but it didn’t take long to decide on the most likely scenario. Sebastian had dumped the proud Constance Sherwood for another woman, and she wanted revenge.
What an unlikely ally. He couldn’t help laughing at this fortuitous turn of events.
“Wes? What about the movie?” Latisha asked.
“Be there in a minute,” he told her. “Go ahead and start it without me.” Settling back in his chair, he opened his Internet browser and did a search for The Last Stand.
In seconds he had a picture of the building that housed the charity, their mission statement and what he’d been looking for all along—their address. Now he just needed to figure out what he was going to do with Latisha while he was gone.
Rocking back, he glanced around the kitchen and spotted the sack of groceries they’d purchased, still sitting on the counter. Latisha had put away the perishable items, but there were a few things in the sack—one of which was a bottle of rum.
“How’s the movie?” he called out.
“Good,” she replied. “You done? You coming?”
Letting his computer hibernate, he poured them each a glass of rum and Coke. He wished he’d thought to drop by the Red Room Motel off Stockton Boulevard on their way home. He’d met a dealer there who’d give him a good price on some speed. That’d be quicker to use, more fun. But he was all out.
The alcohol would have to do.
“Want a drink?” He carried the glasses into the living room, then went back for the bottles.
Latisha watched him. “What’s all this?”
“Rum and Coke.”
“I’ve never had rum and Coke. Gloria doesn’t let us drink.”
“It doesn’t hurt if you only do it once in a while.” He handed her a glass. “Come on, I’m in the mood to celebrate.”
“What are we celebrating?” she asked.
“You,” he said. Then he toasted their upcoming marriage, his love for her, their odd meeting, her willingness to trust him, her forgiveness, her beauty. Before long, she was so drunk she could hardly stand up.
“Latisha’s alive!” Gloria screeched.
It was late afternoon, but Jane had just arrived at the office. Dropping her purse and her briefcase on the floor in the reception area, she gripped the phone tighter. She’d expected a far different greeting when she’d answered this call. “How do you know?”
“I just got an e-mail from her.”
“You’re sure it’s her?”
“It came from her account. She’s the only one who’d know the password. It has to be her.”
Jane didn’t see how it could be anyone else. Not unless Latisha had shared her password. “I guess so.” She hoped so. “What did she say?”
“She say she fine. She don’t want me to worry ’bout her. She say she comin’ home in two weeks.”
The oddity of the message pierced through Jane’s elation. “Two weeks? Did she mention how or why?”
“No.”
What was going on? Malcolm couldn’t afford to let Latisha go. If they ever caught him—and they would—she’d be a witness for the prosecution. “Did she give you any clue about her location or surroundings?”
“No,” Gloria said, but the lack of answers didn’t seem to dampen her relief and excitement. She wanted to believe what she’d read, wanted to believe it so badly she wouldn’t look any deeper. “Hallelujah! She alive! She’ll be comin’ home soon.”
Only if they found her before Malcolm killed her. He couldn’t have let Latisha go or there’d be no two-week delay. And if she’d managed to get free on her own, why would she send an e-mail? Why wouldn’t she just come home?
Something was up. “Have you called Detective Willis?”
“Not yet. I wanted to tell you first. I’m starin’ at her message right now. I can’t hardly believe it.”
“Gloria, I…” She’d been about to explain why this message might not be a good thing. It wasn’t fair to get Gloria’s hopes up and then have them dashed in the cruelest possible way, which to Jane’s mind was a greater possibility than Malcolm releasing Latisha on a specific day. But she couldn’t bring herself to spoil Gloria’s happiness. Besides, she didn’t know everything. Maybe she was wrong.
“What?” Gloria said when she didn’t continue.
“I want you to know that we do care.”
“I know you do,” she said. “That’s why I called you.”
“We’ll find her before those two weeks are up,” Jane said. “Detective Willis and several other officers are canvassing my neighborhood. Surely, someone saw something.” Sebastian had been at the complex all morning, too, talking to anyone he could, but she figured there wasn’t any reason to explain who Sebastian was. “I’m going back in a few minutes to help. I had to open the office for the volunteers who do telephone soliciting around dinnertime.”
“Will you let me know what the police find?” Gloria asked.
“I will.”
Jane had just hung up and was picking up her purse and briefcase when Jonathan let himself in. “Good, you’re here.”
“You’ve been looking for me?”
“That security guard over at Cache Creek called this morning to say he’s found several images of your man.”
They’d already established that Malcolm frequented the casino, but Jane wanted to see him in action. “Can we view those images?”
“He burned us a DVD of the segments that contain Malcolm.”
“Great! I’ll head over there right away.”
“I already got it for you.” He took it from his coat pocket and held it up for her to see.
“How nice!” she said.
“I figured you were pretty busy, what with your guest and all.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How’d you know I have a guest?”
“After I got the message, I tried to call you and Kate answered. She said you were in the Quick Stop, picking up a snack for her lunch.”
“I�
�m assuming that wasn’t all she said.”
He grinned. “No. She was pretty excited to report that you’d had a man stay the night. She seemed quite taken with him.”
They must’ve been on their way to school. “She didn’t tell me you called,” Jane said.
“I told her not to worry about it, that I’d contact you later. Then I went to get the DVD myself.”
Jane wondered how long it would be before Kate mentioned Sebastian to the Burkes—or Wendy. “Have you seen it?”
“Not yet. I just got back and now I have to run off again.”
“I appreciate the help.” She tried to take the DVD, but he held it out of reach.
“Jane, I hope you know what you’re doing with this Sebastian guy. I really don’t want to see you get hurt.” He looked—and sounded—more serious than he usually did.
Grabbing his arm, she finally got her hands on the DVD, which she promptly put in her purse. “I won’t get hurt,” she said, scoffing as if it was ridiculous to worry. But she knew there were no guarantees. Especially now. Whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not, she was falling in love with Sebastian.
And love had never been kind to her before.
Twenty-Two
There it was.
Malcolm drove past The Last Stand twice before turning in. It was only six o’clock in the evening, but dark came early in January, and he wasn’t really worried that he’d be recognized—at least, not at first glance. He’d stopped by a secondhand store on the way and bought a wig, a pair of glasses and some women’s clothing. Although he’d never used a disguise before, the image staring back at him whenever he looked in the rearview mirror seemed pretty damn convincing, certainly convincing enough to let him move around unnoticed, especially after dark. If he’d been a bigger man, it might not have worked so well, but this was one time when being only five foot nine was an advantage.
The reception area appeared to be closed for the night, but there was a light in one of the back offices. Did that mean someone was working late? Jane Burke, perhaps?
The possibility sent a tremor of excitement through him.
A single car sat in the lot, parked behind the building, by the rear exit.
The Chinese restaurant and the liquor store at the far end of the adjacent strip mall had moderate traffic. Malcolm drove around to the front and parked his van there so it wouldn’t stand out. Then he waited for a man who’d just exited the liquor store to drive off—he saw no reason to invite scrutiny of his costume up close—and climbed out.
An obscure-sounding church and a few thousand square feet of empty retail space were sandwiched between the liquor store and The Last Stand. Wearing size ten high heels, which clicked confidently against the pavement as he walked, Malcolm passed them, along with a dry cleaner, as if he had a legitimate reason to be there. Then he ducked into the narrow alley between the end of the mall and the building that housed the charity and took off his shoes. How women maneuvered in such uncomfortable footwear, he had no idea.
Shoving a heel in each pocket of the heavy wool coat he’d bought to go over his dress, he hugged the cinder block wall as he slipped on his tennis shoes and moved around to the back. Once there, he stood in the shadow of the building, waiting to see if he could catch a glimpse of the occupant.
Movement in the hallway outside the office with the light on caught his attention. Someone was standing there, using a copier. Malcolm could see the distinctive glow each time the machine lid was lifted. But it wasn’t a woman. This person was far too tall.
Disappointed, Malcolm cursed under his breath. He’d been entertaining visions of leaving Jane Burke bleeding on her desk. If he couldn’t get to Mary, he’d take someone who meant even more to Sebastian. He liked the ruthlessness of giving the bastard an immediate and vicious response to his e-mail.
But he hadn’t really expected it to be that easy. He had to do his homework, make plans. This was more of a reconnaissance mission than anything else. He’d known that from the beginning.
Carrying a stack of copies, the man went back into an office, and Malcolm took out his gun before creeping closer. The door was unlocked. He could tell without even touching it. The guy inside probably saw no reason for heightened security, not this early at night and not if he was only stopping by to make a few copies.
Would he come back into the hall right away?
No, Malcolm didn’t think so. From the muted sounds drifting toward him, he could tell that the man was now on the phone.
With one gloved hand, Malcolm pulled the swinging door open far enough to squeeze inside. Maybe he wouldn’t meet Jane in the next few minutes. But he’d meet her soon. Especially if he could learn a little more about her. Starting with her address…
“So he looks like his picture?” The voice of the man in the office came to him more clearly, since they were both in the building.
“He’s put on some weight, but you can definitely tell it’s him.”
The second voice surprised Malcolm. Maybe this person wasn’t alone, after all.
Leaning slightly to the right so he could see into the room, he found the guy he’d watched in the hall standing behind a desk, collating copies. The second voice was coming from a speakerphone.
“When was he last there?” The punch of a stapler punctuated this question.
“Just after Christmas.”
He plopped the document on a stack of others and stapled the next one. “Did he win anything that night?”
“No. From what I can tell he generally loses.”
Afraid of giving his presence away, Malcolm stepped into the room closest to the office and pressed his back against the wall.
“Stands to reason,” the man said. “A good gambler wouldn’t have to kill his wife.”
Were they talking about him? Was that Jane on the phone—or someone else?
“Sebastian says he isn’t good at anything. That’s why being a cop meant so much to him. He used the uniform to create some self-respect and to cover up his shortcomings.”
Malcolm’s hand tightened on his gun. Sebastian would say that. He’d always felt so damn superior.
“Sebastian told you that, huh?” the man said. “So he’s still staying with you?”
“Jonathan, cut it out. I don’t want to get into that.”
He chuckled. “It’s a simple question, Jane.”
“He doesn’t want to leave me here alone. He’s afraid Malcolm will come back and somehow find out which condo is mine.”
“Then I’m glad he’s staying. Don’t take any chances.” The stapler sounds had stopped. “I’m finished here. I’ll check in with you later.”
“Thanks again for picking up that DVD from Cache Creek. It helps us get a feel for the kind of monster we’re dealing with.”
Monster? She had no idea. But she’d soon learn, Malcolm thought.
“It was nice of that security guard to provide it,” the man said.
“I just hope they call us if he comes back.”
“Did they say they would?”
“Sebastian hired another guy, one who’s working security at night, to keep a lookout.”
“Then let’s hope that particular guard’s there when Malcolm or Wesley or whoever the hell he is shows up.”
“It’s Malcolm Turner. Sebastian’s right. He didn’t die in that burning car.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Talk to you tomorrow,” he said and that was the end of the call.
Anger simmered in Malcolm’s chest as he stood in the empty office next door. He wasn’t good at anything? He’d known Sebastian felt that way all along. Sebastian had always considered himself better than everyone else, had always done what he could to make Malcolm look bad, especially to Emily and Colton.
But Sebastian wasn’t as smart as he thought. Maybe he’d paid the security personnel at Cache Creek to rat him out. But Sebastian would be dead long before Malcolm ever went back to that casino.
All Malcolm had to do was
find out which condo belonged to Jane Burke, and she’d be dead, too.
The man Jane had called Jonathan turned off the light and passed right by on his way out. Malcolm heard him lock the door behind him, but he didn’t mind getting shut in. He could throw the bolt from the inside whenever he was ready to leave.
Meanwhile, he had work to do.
Waiting until Jonathan had driven off, he turned the light back on and poked through the offices until he came across a name placard that read Jane Burke. Surely, somewhere, there’d be a Rolodex card, an envelope or a piece of paper with her home address on it.
But he didn’t find the information he needed in her office. It was in the storage room. Apparently, she’d brought in several empty boxes from shipments she’d received before Christmas.
Thank God for recycling.
According to the labels, she lived in unit 53.
Jane stood in the middle of her living room, staring at the grainy image on TV. That was Malcolm Turner, the man guilty of murdering his wife and stepson, impersonating a police officer, kidnapping two teenage girls and ultimately stabbing one of them. Who knew what he’d done to Latisha—or what he might do if they didn’t get to her in time. Jane had no faith whatsoever in the e-mail Latisha had sent. She wasn’t sure what that was about, but she was confident it didn’t reflect Malcolm’s true plans.
How did Malcolm justify his actions? she wondered. How could he live with himself?
By avoiding responsibility for what he’d done. As long as he could blame others for provoking him, he wouldn’t have to accept any of the blame. At least, that was how Oliver had done it.
“You’re watching that again?”
Jane turned to see Sebastian behind her. For the past forty-five minutes, he’d been helping Kate with her homework. Jane had tried to step in—she was always the one who helped, except when Kate was at her grandparents’—but Kate had been far more interested in Sebastian. “I want to know what he’s thinking,” she explained as Malcolm threw the dice at a craps table.
