Love you to Death

by Shannon K. Butcher

“I don’t see how this is going to help.” Elise also didn’t understand why she’d thought this was a good idea when she could be back at the crime scene with Detective Woodward, helping look for clues. Sure, she wasn’t trained, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help. Maybe she’d see something they didn’t—something only she would know about Ashley that would help find her. What if something that belonged to Ashley was there and they didn’t recognize it?

  Agent Laurens swept the glasses from her face in a dramatic move. “I realize this is difficult for you, but it’s important. Having an accurate profile of the killer can help track him down. It can help us understand his patterns and define an area in which to look for him. It can even tell us what kind of profession he may have.”

  Elise gripped the paper cup of coffee and sighed in frustration. She was here, she might as well play along. “Ashley likes calm guys.”

  “Calm?”

  “Steady, levelheaded. She doesn’t go for the flighty artistic types—she butts heads with them too much.”

  “What else? Any physical characteristic she might find more appealing?”

  “She appreciates men who stay in shape. She goes for men who are older than her by a few years—late twenties, early thirties.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  Agent Laurens scribbled something down. “What about hair color, eye color?”

  “She wasn’t fond of blonds when we were younger, but she hasn’t mentioned any similar aversion since she was out of high school. Her tastes may have changed.”

  “Does she tend to date a lot of men?”

  “Yeah. She said she was too young to settle for just one. She likes the attention she gets from a new guy—one who isn’t bored with her. She likes the thrill and excitement of a new relationship.”

  “Do you know of any men she’s rejected who might want to exact some kind of revenge on her?”

  Elise shook her head. “If there was one, she wasn’t aware of it, or at least she never mentioned it to me.”

  “Do you think she would have hidden something like that from you?”

  “No, I don’t. And if I’d thought there was some scorned lover in the mix, I would have mentioned it a long time ago. I’m not an idiot.”

  Agent Lauren’s lips tightened in irritation. “I’m sorry if I came across as accusing you of that. It wasn’t my intent.”

  “I should be doing something more than sitting here with you. This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  “It will, Ms. McBride. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I hope so, because my sister has been missing for a week now. If we don’t find her soon . . .”

  Agent Laurens laid her hand on Elise’s arm. “There are a lot of people working on this case. We’ll find this man and put him away forever.”

  “That’s great, but I’m much more interested in finding Ashley.”

  Ed Woodward walked into the small office with Trent right on his heels. Whatever was going on had Trent mad enough that his face was dark red and his mouth was drawn into a thin, flat line.

  “Hey, Robin,” said the detective. “Glad you could come.”

  “No problem, Ed. I owe you after that thing last fall.”

  “Mind if I interrupt for a minute?”

  “Go ahead.” Agent Laurens stood and offered Detective Woodward her seat.

  “This is a mistake, Woodward,” said Trent.

  Elise looked from one man to the other, trying to figure out what was going on. “What’s a mistake?”

  Detective Woodward placed a notebook in front of her. Across the page was scrawled a bunch of numbers. “Any idea what this means?”

  Elise had no clue. “Sorry. What is it?”

  “Don’t.” Trent uttered the harsh command.

  “Don’t what, Trent? Why are you acting so odd?”

  “I don’t want you involved in this any more than you already are.”

  “The message was left for her,” said Woodward to Trent.

  Elise frowned at the men in confusion. “What message?”

  Woodward pointed to the paper. “These numbers. They were left on a victim.”

  “On Susan?”

  “No. On the other victim we found tonight.”

  Another victim? Elise started shaking and her mind jumped once again to that single conclusion that scared her the most.

  She pushed her chair back from the table and looked at Trent. She trusted him to tell her the truth. “Was it Ashley?”

  “No.”

  “Her name was Constance Gregory,” said Woodward. “And the man who killed her left this message for you.”

  “How do you know it was for me?”

  “It had your name on it,” said Trent, stepping over whatever Woodward had been about to say.

  Elise looked at the paper again. There were six numbers on the top line, eight numbers on the middle line, a dash and eight more numbers on the last line. “Can I see the note?”

  Trent spoke first. “No.”

  Woodward gave Trent a hard stare, then said, “It’s evidence we don’t want you to contaminate, but this is exactly how the message was written.”

  Elise stared, read the numbers aloud. “One-two-one-four-eight-eight. One-twenty-one, four-eighty-eight.” Eighty-eight. That was the year Ashley was born. “Twelve, fourteen, eighty-eight. That’s Ashley’s birth date.” A rush of victory flooded through her, until she realized what that meant. “He’s giving me a message about my sister.”

  “What about the rest of it?” asked Woodward. “Does it mean anything to you?”

  She ran through all the dates she could remember in her head: her parents’ birthdays, anniversary, the dates they died. Nothing fit.

  Agent Laurens leaned over her shoulder. “Do you have a copy of the note? A photograph?”

  Woodward pulled her aside, opened a folder for Agent Laurens to see, and shut it again.

  Her face had gone pale and she swallowed convulsively.

  “Let me see,” said Elise.

  Trent stepped in front of Woodward, blocking him from sight. “You don’t want to see this.”

  “She doesn’t need to see it,” said Agent Laurens. “I think I know what the numbers mean.”

  “What?”

  “They’re coordinates. He used freckles for the decimal places.”

  “Freckles? The note had freckles?” And then it hit Elise. He hadn’t written the message on paper. He’d written it on a victim. That’s why they didn’t want her to see. “I can handle looking at crime scene photos.”

  “Not these,” said Trent.

  Agent Laurens had regained her composure, though her voice was not as steady as before. “You don’t need to handle it. Latitude forty-one, longitude negative eighty-eight. That’s near here, right?”

  “Yeah,” said Trent. “It’s just south of here.”

  Elise froze in her seat. “He could be telling us where she is.” Or where her body was.

  Trent left the room and headed for the closest PC. Everyone followed.

  He brought up an Internet connection and located the coordinates on an aerial map. “It’s Sally’s.”

  “The bar where Ashley was last seen?” said Woodward.

  “Yeah.”

  “Does that mean Ashley is there?” asked Elise.

  Woodward picked up a phone and dialed. “We’ll know in a few minutes. I’ll get some men over there to search the place.”

  Elise went back into the office and got her purse. “I’m going, too.”

  Trent shot up from the PC and caught her arm before she could get away. “It will take you at least a couple of hours to get there, even if you speed. Stay here, and you’ll know what’s going on sooner than if you drive there.”

  “But what if she needs me?”

  “We don’t even know if she’s there. It’s more likely this is some kind of trap to lure you out where the killer can find you. If she needs anything, the authorities on t
he scene can handle it.”

  Elise hated waiting, sitting and doing nothing, but Trent was right. She was better off here, where the communication between police was best. Anything she heard over the phone would be secondhand knowledge.

  The minutes ticked by. It was nearing the height of the rush at Sally’s. The place would be packed. It was going to take the police a while to search the place.

  Trent laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. Elise sat on the edge of her chair and watched the clock.

  Gary needed new prey. It had been days since he’d last hunted, and already his mind was itching for the right target.

  Gloria hadn’t done anything to appease him—she hadn’t done anything to settle the restlessness crawling inside him. He’d had to sacrifice her to teach Ashley a lesson: She was not in control. He was.

  But in teaching that lesson, his beautiful dancer was no longer beautiful. She was a blackened corpse lying in a shallow grave—not even worthy of becoming part of his Wendy.

  Gary didn’t think he’d ever again be able to smell the scent of burning flesh without remembering the sound of her screams. His ears were still ringing.

  At least he’d managed to wash her charred scent out of his hair.

  He swept through the pulsing crowd at Sally’s, looking for his next target. The brunettes and redheads faded into the background, leaving the blondes burning bright in his vision. There were so many to choose from, but he knew what to look for. He could see the signs of an artist from a mile away. They carried themselves differently—looked at the world differently. There was something ethereal about them that he couldn’t quite describe but knew instantly on sight.

  A dancing woman bounced into him, jarring him as he passed. Gary righted her back onto her feet.

  She flashed him a wide smile. “Sorry,” she shouted over the music.

  He continued on without responding. She wasn’t worthy of his notice.

  She wasn’t Elise.

  That’s what his problem was. He couldn’t find Elise.

  He realized in that moment that none of these women were going to suit him, not even as a temporary distraction. He’d already chosen the woman he wanted.

  Gary’s phone buzzed against his hip. He pulled it out and answered his brother’s call, though he doubted he’d be able to hear anything over the music. “Hello?”

  “. . . Sally’s… out.”

  Gary pressed the phone tighter against his ear. “What?”

  “Police raid… get out.”

  Ah. So they’d found Constance.

  A slow, simmering excitement bubbled up inside him. If the police had his message, it would only be a matter of time before Elise did, too. She’d come here soon.

  “Hold on,” he said to Lawrence.

  Gary made his way toward the exit. He wasn’t worried about the police showing up. Even if they checked his ID, it wouldn’t matter. His record was clean. He paid his bills, paid his taxes, voted. He’d never had so much as a speeding ticket. He even served jury duty when called. Anyone looking at him would see exactly what he wanted them to: a law-abiding citizen who did his civic duty.

  As soon as he was outside and in his car, he asked, “What did you hear?”

  “An informant of mine at the CPD heard they’re going to raid Sally’s. It’s going down right now. You’re there, aren’t you?”

  “I’m leaving.” But he’d watch from a distance, searching for a glimpse of Elise. Once the fanfare died down, she’d come here. She’d want to see for herself that Ashley wasn’t here.

  Of course, Gary couldn’t pounce on Elise here. Doubtless, the police would be watching her, using her as bait in a trap that wouldn’t spring. No, he’d wait until later, when no one was watching, to make his move. All he needed was for her to come back where he could find her. Then she’d be his.

  “What did you do? How did they find you?” Lawrence’s demands stabbed Gary’s ears, ruining his anticipation.

  “They haven’t found anything I didn’t want them to.”

  “Then why are they raiding Sally’s?”

  “Because I asked them to.”

  “Are you mad?” shouted Lawrence.

  “I want Elise McBride. The only way to find her is to draw her out of hiding.”

  “She’s not hiding, you idiot, she’s in Chicago with the police.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know a lot of things. I keep my ear to the ground. I use my contacts.”

  The Mob. Lawrence used to transport drugs and firearms for them in coffins. Knowing him, he’d probably even burned a few bodies for them like he used to do for Gary. “I thought you quit doing favors for them years ago.”

  “I do what I’m told. You should follow my example and go home. Stay put until all of this dies down.”

  “I want Elise.”

  Lawrence let out a long, gusty sigh. “Fine. I’ll bring her to you.”

  “I want to do my own hunting.”

  “I don’t care what you want. If you get caught, you’re going to mess up everything I’ve worked so hard to create.”

  “Everything you’ve worked to create? What about my work?”

  “You kill women. You chop them up into pieces. There’s no profit in that.”

  “And it’s all about profit to you, isn’t it?”

  “That, and prestige.”

  “It’s more than that,” said Gary. “You get excited being around all those dead people. You get a rise out of playing the somber, sophisticated comforter to the families, while behind the scenes, you’re toying with their loved ones.”

  “I do not!”

  “Have you ever screwed one of them?”

  Gary could hear his brother sputtering with rage on the other end of the line. “I’ve never been anything but professional.”

  “Except when you ran drugs for the Mob.”

  “Enough! This isn’t a game. You’re going to get caught. You’re going to ruin everything.”

  Of course it wasn’t a game. Gary was deadly serious. “You don’t have to tell me that. Just stay the hell out of my business.”

  “Go home, Gary. Stay away from Sally’s. I mean it.”

  Blue lights glowed in the distance. It was time to move on. “Is Elise still in Chicago?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I’m going to go find her.” It was Friday night. He had the whole weekend before he had to be back at the bank. He could think of a lot of things he could do with Elise, Ashley, and an entire weekend.

  Just the thought was enough to make his body heat. His pulse sped up, making him feel warm and complete again for the first time since he’d killed Constance.

  “If I help you find her, you have to promise me you’ll move away. I know better than to think you’d ever stop, but you’ve got to go. I’ll help you buy a new identity. You can start over fresh somewhere else.”

  Gary liked living here, but he knew better than to defy Lawrence openly. He’d take the help he needed to find Elise, and then they would talk. He’d explain that this was his home, and he had as much right to live here as Lawrence did. If he didn’t like it, he could leave.

  Besides, now that Ashley had burned down part of his guest quarters, he had plans to renovate. This time, he’d build in a sprinkler system, just in case another one of his guests got creative. He couldn’t tolerate that kind of mistake again.

  Maybe he’d add some more rooms while he was at it. He had a suspicion that once he’d gotten a taste of how sweet those two sisters were together, he was going to want more.

  “Whatever you want,” said Gary. “Just tell me where she is.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Woodward was still on the phone with Bob Tindle, who was in charge of the raid on Sally’s Bar, so Trent went back to the office to break the bad news to Elise.

  Her head jerked up as he came through the door. The look of hopeful expectation widening her gray-green eyes nearly broke his heart. He wanted so much to be able to t
ell her that Ashley was safe and sound.

  “I’m sorry. Other than some illegal drugs, they didn’t find anything at Sally’s.”

  Her body seemed to bow under the disappointment. Her voice was small, defeated. “I really thought she’d be there. I thought this might be over.”

  Agent Laurens, who was sitting on the other side of the desk, stood up and quietly left the office. She shut the door behind her, leaving Elise and Trent alone.

  Trent didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the privacy. He pulled her into his lap, wrapped his arms around her, and held her close. The feel of her cheek against his chest gave him a sense of comfort, of rightness. He hoped she felt the same, though he doubted anything as mundane as a hug was going to make her content right now.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. We were all rooting for a happy ending.” Just not expecting one.

  Trent’s greatest fear had been that they’d find Ashley’s body—that she’d have some message carved into her skin in that spidery, scrawled writing. If that had happened, Ashley’s nightmare would be over, but Elise’s would just be starting. She’d have to live with that memory, with the knowledge that she’d failed to find Ashley before it was too late.

  It wouldn’t have been Elise’s fault. There wouldn’t have been anything she could have done to change the outcome, but she would spend the rest of her life wondering. She’d spend the rest of her life playing the what-if game.

  What if she’d come back to the U.S. sooner? What if she’d found that photo as soon as she arrived? What if she’d talked to the right person and gotten the one lead that could have located Ashley before she died?

  Trent knew how draining the what-if game was. He knew how it could eat at a person’s soul until they questioned every decision they made, every action they took until their life became stagnant and useless.

  He didn’t want that for Elise. She was a good sister. A good woman. She deserved better.

  “So, what now?” she asked. He could hear the weariness winding through her words, but still she pushed on.

  Time to man-up. As much as he hated the idea of letting her go, he knew it was time. If she stayed around longer, she might get hurt. “I think you should leave town. Go back to work.”

  “While Ashley is still missing? Are you crazy?”