“The call came from an internet café, in Destin. It’s called The Hot Spot.”
Oliver threw the SUV into reverse and hit the gas before Richard could finish speaking.
He swung the vehicle around in a wide arc, nearly running into a car in the process. He punched the gas and darted out into the busy Fort Walton Beach traffic.
Common sense told Oliver that the Silencer would be long gone before he could get there, yet the rage inside him wouldn’t seem to listen.
The words of the Silencer played over and over in Oliver’s mind as he drove at a high rate of speed toward Destin. “April had no problems in that area. She was really quite vocal about it in the beginning.”
A roar exploded from Oliver’s throat, echoing throughout the interior of the SUV.
His soul felt as if it had died all over again. The pain was just as fresh in that moment as it had been the day Oliver identified April’s body in that morgue.
“April had no problems in that area. She was really quite vocal about it in the beginning.”
An explosion abruptly ricocheted through Oliver’s skull a millisecond before he realized he’d been T-boned.
Pain erupted behind his eyes, and his world suddenly turned to black.
Chapter Twelve
Pain. A steady, pulse-throbbing pain thumped behind Oliver’s eyes.
He moaned deep in his throat, carefully lifting his eyelids, only to squint against the bright lights above him.
A beeping sound came from somewhere to his right, prompting him to turn his head in that direction.
“You just can’t get enough of me, can you?”
Oliver blinked in an attempt to clear his vision. “Angie?” he croaked, his voice a soft, raspy whisper.
“Hi there, Mr. Profiler. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”
She fussed with the sheet across his chest. “That’s because you were. You’re lucky to be alive.”
He’d actually been hit by a truck? Oliver strained to remember what he could of the last few days. “How long have I been here?”
“You were brought in by ambulance, around five o’clock yesterday. You don’t remember anything about the accident?”
“No. How did it happen?”
Angie pushed a button that slowly raised his bed and then picked up a plastic cup of water.
She brought it to his lips. “Here, have some of this. I’m sure it’ll help with the frog in your throat.”
That wonderful scent he’d come to know as Angie invaded his senses along with the ice-cold sensation of the water.
She pulled it back too soon. “Easy. It’s best not to have too much. We don’t want you becoming nauseous.”
“Tell me what happened,” Oliver reiterated, now that his throat felt better.
Angie pressed some buttons on the IV machine next to his bed. “I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but from what I saw of the report, you were T-boned right before the Destin Bridge.”
Memories came flooding back instantly. Oliver recalled leaving Holland’s office, on his way to speak with Jennifer Clayton’s husband.
And then his phone had rung.
His gut tightened with the memory of the Silencer’s voice. “April had no problems in that area. She was really quite vocal about it in the beginning.”
The beeping sound next to his bed began to pick up in pace.
“Oliver?”
Angie’s voice penetrated his anxiety and pain, yet Oliver couldn’t seem to pull back from it.
“April had no problems in that area. She was really quite vocal about it in the beginning.”
Oliver’s hands flew up to grip the sides of his head, but he could no more block out the words than he could stop the sun from rising in the mornings.
“April had no problems in that area. She was really quite vocal about it in the beginning.”
Warm fingers locked around his wrists, and a soft, yet firm voice forced its way into his tormented psyche. “Oliver.”
Angie. It was Angie’s voice Oliver found himself clinging to. A brightly lit beacon amidst a nightmare of darkness.
She pulled his hands away from his head and stared down into his tortured eyes. “What is it? Are you in pain? Talk to me.”
Oliver shook off her concern and moved to throw his legs over the side of the bed. “I have to go.”
“You can’t leave yet,” she insisted, trying to prevent him from standing. “You have a concussion.”
Dizziness assailed him the moment his feet touched the floor.
His weakened state angered him, but not as much as exhibiting it in front of Angie did.
“Calm down,” she demanded, refusing to let go of his arm. “Don’t make me sedate you because dammit, I will.”
At any other time, Oliver would have laughed at her display of bravado toward a man twice her size. Not today. No, he wouldn’t be laughing today.
He locked his jaw against the dizziness while attempting to shut down his emotions. It would help if he could rid himself of the Silencer’s words.
Oliver allowed Angie to help him back into bed. He gently grabbed her wrist. “How long will I need to stay here?”
“I don’t know. The doctor is already here, making rounds. I’m sure he’ll be in shortly to give you your options.”
“It’s not Hitler, is it?”
A small indention appeared between her eyes. “Hitler?”
“The white-haired asshole who sewed up my hand in the ER.”
A husky-sounding laugh burst from her. “You mean Dr. Ahmad?” She chuckled again. “He’s working in Alabama today. You’re safe for now.”
Oliver was about to respond when the door opened, and the younger doctor he’d met in the ER stepped inside.
Oliver immediately released his hold on Angie’s wrist.
“Mr. Quick? I’m Dr. Herring. I’ll be taking care of you for the next couple of days. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine, Doctor. Look. I really need to get out of here.”
The corners of the doctor’s eyes crinkled up. “It’s the food, isn’t it?”
Had the doctor just cracked a joke?
“I wish it were the food,” Oliver muttered, more than a little antsy to leave.
The doctor gave him a stern look. “Whatever it is, it can wait a couple more days. We’re still waiting for the results to come back on some of your tests.”
Oliver had to force his teeth apart to respond. “It can’t wait. I have to get out of here. Now.”
“Okay, then.” The doctor pulled a small light from the pocket of his white coat. “I can’t hold you here against your will. But let the record show, I think it’s a bad idea.”
He leaned down, flashing the light in first one then the other of Oliver’s eyes. “You sustained a pretty bad concussion, Mr. Quick. As well as some deep lacerations on the side of your head. If you leave now, it will be against medical advice. Which also means, your insurance retains the right to refuse payment.”
“I’ll handle the insurance company,” Oliver insisted, impatient for Dr. Herring to be done.
“I can’t talk you out of this?”
Oliver shook his head. “It’s imperative that I get out of here as soon as possible.
“All right.” Dr. Herring sighed, disapproval shining from his eyes. “I’ll give you something for the pain and swelling. Do you have someone to stay with you for a few days, to wake you up every two to four hours?”
Oliver waited until the doctor backed away a few steps, and then he slowly sat up.
Once the dizziness passed, he planted his feet on the floor and carefully eased to his feet. “I have someone. Thank you, Doctor.”
After Dr. Herring left the room, Angie moved to the tall wooden cabinet along the wall and retrieved Oliver’s clothes.
She handed them to him. “I couldn’t get all the blood out, but they’re clean.”
Oliver peered down into her upturne
d face. “Do you make a habit of washing all your patient’s clothes?”
She appeared flustered. “I— No. It’s just that I—”
Spinning on her heel, she rushed to leave before abruptly stopping at the door. “I’ll be right back with your prescriptions and discharge papers.”
With that, she disappeared down the hall.
Chapter Thirteen
Oliver emerged from the bathroom to find Holland sitting in a chair next to his hospital bed. “Any news on our caller?”
Richard dragged a hand down his face. “Not yet. The only camera in the place is on the cash drawer. I had Nancy go ahead and pull the tapes, just in case he paid for something. She’s also pulling any video footage from surrounding shops and ATMs. With any luck, we’ll get a visual of the entrance to the internet café.”
Moving to sit on the side of his bed, Oliver pulled on his Italian loafers. “The Silencer is far too smart to be caught on camera.”
“I know.” Richard made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and tugged at his already crooked tie. “But I’ve got Nancy working on video footage, and Merv is at the café questioning the staff. Hopefully, they’ll find something. The nurse told me that you’re planning on leaving AMA. Not a good idea, Quick.”
Ignoring Holland’s unwanted advice, Oliver stood and trailed back to the bathroom to wash his face and hands.
He turned his head to the side to study the stitches at the corner of his forehead.
Richard’s face appeared in the mirror behind Oliver’s shoulder. “If I can’t talk you into staying in the hospital, can I at least convince you to go home and rest for a few days? I’ll keep you abreast on any findings, and you can study the case from home.”
Oliver gingerly ran his fingertips along the side of his head, wincing when he touched on another set of stiches on the bone behind his ear.
He turned to face Holland. “The women killed in Alabama… There was no residue on their faces, yet Jennifer Clayton’s mouth had been duct taped. Why do you think that is?”
Richard backed up a few steps to allow Oliver to exit the bathroom. “Perhaps it had to do with location? He feared someone would hear her. Mrs. Clayton was from Destin. The other vics were from Alabama. Maybe he has a place in both states.”
Dr. Ahmad’s face flashed behind Oliver’s eyes. “I think we’re dealing with someone who either lives or works in both places.”
Richard frowned. “What makes you think that?”
“The nurse that was in here earlier, told me that the doctor who stitched up my hand in the ER the other night works out of this hospital, as well as Mobile, Dothan, and a couple more places in Alabama.”
“You think he had something to do with the murdered women?” Richard questioned, his voice sounding as gravely as sandpaper.
Oliver shook his head. “I doubt it, but if he’s employed in two different states, how many others not in his field of work do the same?”
“Good point,” Richard admitted. “I’ll get Nancy to cross-reference Florida and Alabama income tax records. See how many we have duel employed.”
The door opened and Angie strode inside. She handed Oliver some paperwork to sign, which he promptly did, and then she gave him a small blue piece of paper. “This is a prescription for antibiotics and pain medicine and something for the swelling. Do not take the pain meds with alcohol.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Oliver rumbled, already contemplating a drink once he arrived home. His head throbbed something fierce, as did his injured hand. “Can I fill this in the hospital, or do I need to take it to a drug store?”
“You can fill it in our pharmacy downstairs.”
Angie glanced over at Holland. “Will you be driving him home?”
“I will,” Richard answered with a nod.
Angie sent him a soft smile before meeting Oliver’s gaze once more. “Dr. Herring will remove the stitches from your head as well as your hand in five days. If you’d prefer someone else do it, I work in the clinic downstairs on Mondays and Fridays.”
It was an invitation, and Oliver knew it. “I’ll see you on Wednesday.”
Plucking up his suit jacket from the foot of the bed, Oliver left the room.
Richard caught up with him in the hallway. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
Stopping in front of the elevators, Oliver pressed the button for the bottom floor. “No. After I get this prescription filled, I’d like to go speak with Mr. Clayton.”
“Come on, Quick. You have a concussion. You need to rest and—”
“I won’t rest until I speak with Jennifer Clayton’s husband.”
Richard sighed hard enough it disturbed the hair on the back of Oliver’s head, which was no easy feat, considering Oliver was well over six-foot-three. “Damn stubborn asshole.”
“Not stubborn, Richard. Just determined.”
* * * *
“Mr. Clayton,” Richard began, his hands clasped together in front of him. “I can only imagine how hard this has all been for you, and we won’t keep you any longer than necessary.”
Jennifer Clayton’s husband stared back at Holland with glassy eyes. “I can’t imagine what else I can possibly tell you that I haven’t already.”
Richard cleared his throat. “This is Special Agent Oliver Quick. He’s one of the best profilers we have at the bureau. He’d like to ask you a few more questions about your wife.”
Mark Clayton waved them inside, his gaze locked on Oliver. “You can sit wherever you’d like.”
Oliver would have preferred Mr. Clayton not be drugged during his interview but he didn’t blame him. Oliver had drunk himself into oblivion daily after April’s death. Hell, he drank daily still.
Moving to sit on the couch, Oliver swept his gaze across the room. There were several pictures of Jennifer Clayton on various walls and tables throughout the room.
He noticed how Jennifer leaned in to Mark in most of the photographs, telling Oliver that she loved and trusted her husband very much.
Mr. Clayton’s eyes in the pictures reflected equal amounts of respect and adoration for his wife.
The Claytons’ home appeared warm and inviting. No signs of marital problems were obvious to the naked eye.
Oliver dropped his gaze to Mr. Clayton’s boot-clad feet. From a quick glance, he would assume the guy wore a size eleven.
Mark was a big man, nearly as tall as Oliver. It would be easy for him to kill his wife in the same fashion as the Dockside Killer in an attempt to cast the blame elsewhere.
Only, Mark didn’t kill his wife. Of that, Oliver was almost certain. Still, he needed to be sure. “Where were you the day your wife disappeared?”
Mark’s expression turned hard. “I’ve already told all this to the police.”
“Quick,” Richard began, only to close it mouth when Oliver held up a hand.
Oliver continued to hold Mr. Clayton’s gaze. “I don’t want to know what you told the police. I want you to tell me what happened on the day your wife came up missing.”
* * * *
A severe headache and an hour later, Oliver climbed into the passenger seat of Holland’s car.
Richard waited until they pulled away from the curb before he spoke. “Was it really necessary to put Mr. Clayton through the third degree?”
“I had to be sure he had nothing to do with his wife’s death,” Oliver calmly answered, turning to stare out the window.
“And are you?”
“Am I what?” Oliver absently replied, watching the Clayton’s house disappear from view.
“Sure that he didn’t kill her?”
Oliver could hear the agitation in Holland’s voice. “I’m sure.”
The car darted out into the busy traffic, eliciting a few horn-blowing maniacs to spring into action.
One blew around Holland’s car like it was tied to a tree.
Oliver turned away from his window viewing to pluck up his bag of medications. He quickly retrieved a pain pill from one o
f the bottles and popped it into his mouth without a drink to chase it with.
“I’m taking you home,” Richard demanded, his voice brooking no argument. “It’s obvious you’re in pain. You’re not going to be much good until you get some rest. And before you try to argue, that wasn’t a request.”
Oliver merely leaned his aching head back against the seat and closed his eyes.
Richard spoke again. “Do you have someone to stay with you for a few days?”
“Jason,” was all Oliver could manage, the horrific taste of the medication sitting in his throat.
Holland continued. “The bureau will rent you a car until yours can be replaced. I’ll have it delivered to your condo sometime this evening.”
Oliver finally turned to look at him. “Thank you, Richard. For everything.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I still have to get you home without killing us both.” He darted into the passing lane, sending several more horns blaring.
Oliver checked to be sure his seatbelt was fastened correctly. “Jesus, Richard. And you think I’m the bad driver.”
Richard raised an eyebrow. “I’m not the one sporting a railroad track of stitches along my skull.”
“Touché.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Am I supposed to wake you up every two hours?” Jason handed Oliver a scotch and then plopped down on the other end of the sofa.
Oliver swiveled his head in his friend’s direction. “If you wake me up even once, I’ll take a hammer to your Harley.”
“Then why the hell am I here?”
“Because I prefer you over Holland.”
Jason grinned. “Point taken.”
Something on the news caught Oliver’s attention. He nodded toward the remote Jason held in his hand. “Turn that up.”
Jason pressed the plus key on the small black controller until the anchorwoman’s voice grew in volume.
A taped-off area near a dock on the beach could be seen behind her, surrounded by droves of curious onlookers.
“The body was discovered near Orange Beach about an hour ago by a local jogger who noticed the garbage bag hanging beneath the public dock behind me.”
Oliver Quick Page 6
