Monster In The Closet (The Baltimore Series Book 5)

by Karen Rose

  And the line went dead.

  Joseph pocketed his handkerchief, worry lines now bracketing his mouth. ‘I hope he doesn’t have her phone tapped. We’ve completely shown our hand if he has.’

  Taylor swallowed hard. ‘I didn’t know what to say when she said that.’

  ‘You did fine,’ Joseph said, then sighed. ‘At least we know that Gage has them.’

  ‘Or at least he said he did when he called Lilah for the ransom,’ JD added.

  ‘Maybe,’ Joseph allowed. ‘We also know he’s not at her apartment. All we can do for Lilah now is protect her safety. The agent standing guard outside her door will do that. Alec, go ahead and send the text.’

  When Alec had done so, Joseph stood up. ‘Let’s move out. JD, you’re with me. Alec, stay here, and watch your phone. I may have to call you if we need additional . . . unconventionally obtained information. Ford, Taylor, you’re to ride in the rear of the SWAT van and stay the hell down. Deacon, go in the SWAT van with them, if you would.’

  Taylor’s back stiffened. ‘I would have complied with the stated rules even without a federal babysitter,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Not a babysitter,’ Deacon said kindly. ‘More like a bodyguard in case anything goes wrong. So that you don’t have to shoot anyone else today.’

  She nodded shakily. ‘I can appreciate that. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ Deacon hesitated in the doorway. ‘You two coming?’

  Everyone else had cleared out, but Ford stayed at the table, his hand on Taylor’s knee, silently asking her to stay too. ‘Give us a minute,’ he said. ‘We’ll be right down. Promise.’

  Twenty-two

  Baltimore, Maryland,

  Sunday 23 August, 9.20 P.M.

  A second after Novak closed the door behind him, Ford pulled Taylor into his lap, shoved his fingers into her hair and took her mouth in a kiss so hot, so hard, so possessive that all she could do was hang on for dear life. It was over quickly, leaving her lips bruised and her heart jackhammering once again. She was shaking and so was he.

  ‘I had to do that just once before we left,’ he whispered, his breath warm against her temple. ‘To get it out of my system for a little while. You’ve got me so tangled up that I can barely see straight. And I have to see straight because I can’t let you get hurt again.’

  ‘You didn’t let me get hurt the first time, Ford,’ she said, rubbing her cheek against the unyielding muscle of his chest. ‘You protected us. You let him shoot you in the back, for God’s sake. Don’t be a hero again, okay?’

  His laugh was unsteady. ‘I’ll promise if you will.’

  ‘I promise.’ She shuddered again, this time with the memory of the shot she’d taken that afternoon. ‘I know Gage deserves to be punished, but . . . God. I keep hearing him scream. I can’t do that again. I can’t shoot a person again.’

  ‘Even if he’s shooting at you?’

  She pulled back enough to look up into his very sober eyes. ‘I don’t want to find out.’

  The corner of his mouth lifted. ‘Me either. So no more heroing for us.’

  ‘Amen,’ she said firmly and hoped she wasn’t telling a lie. Because those two little girls were in danger, and she knew that she’d do whatever she had to do to keep them safe. Even if it meant shooting Gage to kill. Luckily Novak and the others would take care of that task themselves, should it come to that.

  She slid off Ford’s lap and held out her hand. ‘Come on. We need to move out or they’ll leave without us.’

  He didn’t let go of her hand as they rushed to the ground floor, where Novak stood next to a van painted with a plumber’s logo, staring at his watch. ‘Two minutes thirty,’ he said curtly.

  ‘We’re sorry,’ Taylor said as she climbed into the back of the van.

  Novak had finally taken his sunglasses off, and she had only a moment to note the stark contrast between his snow-white eyebrows and his face, tanned a healthy-looking bronze, because she quickly averted her eyes, her cheeks heating at the careful scrutiny he was giving her.

  ‘You need to shave more often, Ford,’ he remarked casually. ‘You scratched her face. Do I have to teach you everything?’

  ‘Why was I so glad to see you again?’ Ford snapped, glaring at Novak.

  Novak grinned as he got into the front passenger seat. ‘Because I’m amazing.’

  ‘You’re something, all right,’ Ford muttered as climbed in behind Taylor and pulled the side-by-side doors closed.

  ‘You’re full of shit is what you are, Novak,’ the van’s driver said with a shake of his head as he pulled into traffic. ‘I thought we’d seen the last of your scary ass.’

  ‘You missed me,’ Novak said with equanimity. ‘You know you did.’

  ‘Maybe a little. Like you miss a tooth after it’s been yanked out,’ the driver admitted, then turned around to look at Taylor. ‘I’m Detective Hector Rivera. I work for Joseph and I’ll be your chauffeur today. How you doin’, Ford? I heard you had some excitement earlier.’

  ‘Hey, Hector. My back hurts and my leg throbs a little, but otherwise I’m fine.’

  ‘Well, let’s keep it that way,’ Rivera said. ‘There are vests and helmets back there. Suit up. Your mother’ll have my hide if you get hurt on my watch.’

  Ford glanced at Taylor, rolling his eyes as his face turned red with embarrassment. ‘I have to get out of this town,’ he muttered. ‘She’d wrap me in bubble wrap if she could.’

  Taylor patted his shoulder. ‘I haven’t known her long, but I doubt something as paltry as distance would stop her from mothering you.’

  The van had no windows in the back, the windows in the front tinted dark. A bench seat lined one wall and a curtain, hanging open at present, separated the front of the van from the back. A monitor was mounted on the opposite wall, attached to a computer and a listening station by a half-dozen cords. A camera attached to the ceiling, periscope-style, had Taylor itching to try it out, but she sat down and obediently put on the smaller of the two vests.

  Ford tightened the straps of his own vest with more force than necessary. ‘That “mother” is part of “smother” is not a coincidence. I love her, but she makes me crazy sometimes.’

  ‘At least you still have her,’ Taylor murmured. ‘My mom lied to me for my whole life, but I still miss her.’

  Ford flinched. ‘I’m sorry, Taylor. I should have thought before I spoke.’

  Taylor made herself smile as she put on the helmet. ‘It’s okay. And anyway, your mom is still better than my dad. He never let me out of his sight, and then only with an escort. Speaking of Dad, I’d like to check my call log again and set up call forwarding to this burner number. Can I use your phone?’

  It didn’t take her long to set it all up, but once again there was nothing. No calls, no texts. Nothing. Her heavy sigh had Ford leaning over to look at her phone’s screen.

  ‘He still hasn’t called?’ he asked.

  She put the phone in the pocket of her borrowed scrubs. ‘No, and I’m really worried. It’s not like him to give anyone the cold shoulder. He always answers the phone when I call. Something’s happened to him.’

  Novak turned around to look at her. ‘Who?’

  ‘My dad,’ she said.

  Novak’s blink was the only sign that he was startled. ‘Did Clay’s status change in the two minutes it took you to get down here?’ he asked carefully.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, understanding. ‘No, not Clay. My other dad. In California.’

  Ford told him about her stepfather, and Novak frowned. ‘If he hasn’t called by the time we’re finished with this job, I’ll make some calls and have someone from the closest sheriff’s office go by your house and check on him.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She bit her lip. ‘He had a few TIAs recently. You know
, the little strokes. But one of the ranch hands would help him, so I’m trying not to obsess about it.’

  ‘Good,’ Novak said with a nod. ‘We need you clear-headed.’

  He hadn’t been condescending. Just matter-of-fact. There was something about him that she trusted. ‘I haven’t been clear-headed since I shot Gage Jarvis. I’m not sorry,’ she added. ‘He had to be stopped.’ She shifted in her seat so that she could see his face better. ‘You’ve shot people, right?’

  ‘Too many,’ Novak said wearily. ‘But all of them needed to be stopped too. Why?’

  ‘How do you put it out of your mind?’

  He looked over his shoulder and met her eyes, and she blinked, momentarily shocked. Now she saw what he’d been covering with those wraparounds of his. His irises were both bi-colored, blue and brown. But basic manners kicked in, along with the ability to smooth her expression.

  Novak’s lips quirked up. He’d noticed her reaction, even though it had spanned only a split second. ‘You don’t put it out of your mind,’ he said, answering her question. ‘You will remember Gage Jarvis forever. Maybe not actively, but subconsciously. And one day you’ll see or hear or smell something and it’ll take you back to the moment you pulled the trigger. Be prepared for that. Figure out how to meditate or how to breathe. Get therapy. Anything that enables you to pack it away again in its little box until the next time it pops up.’

  ‘Like a demented jack-in-the-box,’ she said, dejected. She hadn’t really expected there would be a magic solution to forgetting what she’d done today, but she’d still kind of hoped.

  Novak chuckled. ‘I like her, Ford.’

  Ford squeezed her knee. ‘So do I,’ he said softly. Closing his eyes, he settled back in his seat, but his hand stayed on her knee.

  They rode in silence for several minutes, then Novak’s voice rumbled into the quiet. ‘When you can truly forget the person you’ve hurt or shot . . . or killed . . . then you should be worried. Because that means you’ve lost part of your soul.’

  Detective Rivera cleared his throat. ‘Amen,’ he murmured roughly.

  Taylor swallowed her sigh, feeling as if she’d already lost part of her soul, just by pulling the trigger. She wondered at the cumulative effect of all those pulled triggers on the souls of the two men sitting in the front seats.

  And she thanked her lucky stars that she’d never even considered a career in law enforcement. Counseling the emotionally traumatized so that they might pick up the pieces of their lives would be hard enough without having to worry about the fate of her own soul.

  But it’s the same. The realization stole her breath. If her future clients didn’t pick up the pieces, if little girls like Jazzie and Janie never healed and lived full, rewarding lives? She’d care. And she’d remember. Every face and every name. And it would hurt. A hell of a lot. How do I deal with that?

  Suddenly overwhelmed, she took a deep breath to control her pulse. ‘Do you remember the victims, too?’ she asked, already knowing the answer.

  Novak’s lips flattened grimly. ‘Every single one. You, Hector?’

  ‘Yeah. Every damned one. The kids are the worst. I hope we get to these girls in time. I got enough baby ghosts floating around inside my head.’

  Novak grunted his agreement. ‘I’d like to have a few faces in the “win” column to remember when the “lose” column wakes me up at three a.m.’

  That’s how I’ll deal with it when I’m a therapist. I’ll remember the wins. Please God, let Jazzie and Janie be a win. Please.

  Baltimore, Maryland,

  Sunday 23 August, 10.00 P.M.

  ‘Denny stopped near the corner of Edmonson and Appleton.’ Joseph’s voice came rattling out of the radio up front and Ford twisted in his seat to allow Deacon to pass from the front of the van to sit at the surveillance console in the back. Hector pulled the curtain, blocking their view of the street – and the street’s view of them – but seconds later, the street view popped up on the monitor mounted to the wall.

  The street was one long row of the connected houses that one saw all over Baltimore. It looked like this section of town had seen far better days, but it could have been worse. It was quiet now, with very little car or pedestrian traffic. Which was good, Ford thought. If Gage started shooting again, there wouldn’t be anyone caught in the crossfire.

  Deacon put on headphones and did a camera sweep. ‘We’ve got video and audio,’ he said. ‘We’re a block behind you. Once you’ve got the kids, we’ll approach.’

  Gage’s brother Denny had immediately taken the bait, driving away from his house like a bat out of hell. Joseph and the others had been worried that the man would be stopped by a cop before he got to his brother’s hiding place.

  ‘He’s going into one of the row houses,’ Joseph said.

  Deacon flipped a switch and the monitor split, one side showing the street where they waited and the other side a rundown row house. ‘We’ve got your feed. Standing by.’

  ‘What next?’ Ford asked.

  ‘We cross our fingers that Gage didn’t come back here after Taylor shot him,’ Joseph answered, ‘and that Denny either comes out when nobody answers or he manages to open the door to Gage’s room and finds the girls himself.’

  ‘That would save some paperwork,’ Deacon said dryly. ‘Considering the source of your tip.’

  Ford hadn’t fully considered the risk to Joseph when he accepted the phone numbers Alec had found through his hacking. But Joseph had considered the risk and had come anyway. Mom chose well, he thought.

  ‘But what if Gage did come back?’ Deacon countered. ‘What if he’s there now? We know he’s got access to weapons.’

  ‘Then we call for backup and follow hostage protocols,’ Joseph said grimly. ‘Priority one is to get the girls out safely. We’ll deal with the fallout later.’

  ‘I hope I hurt Gage so bad that he couldn’t get back here,’ Taylor whispered fiercely. ‘Maybe he’s bleeding in an alley somewhere.’

  Ford grasped her hand tightly and held on, his eyes glued to the monitor. ‘Me too.’

  Baltimore, Maryland,

  Sunday 23 August, 10.00 P.M.

  Lying on the floor, Jasmine kept her eyes closed, concentrating on taking slow, deep breaths, matching the rhythm of her breathing to his so that she wouldn’t startle him into waking up. She needed him to think she was asleep, for just a little longer. She didn’t want him to hear her breathing fast or hard. Didn’t want to call his attention to the fact that she hadn’t been lying still, that she’d been squirming and shifting – first her hands, then her entire body.

  It had taken a while and her wrists were now burning and bloody, but she’d succeeded. Her hands were free! She’d wanted to scream with joy, but she’d stayed quiet, making sure he still slept. Then she’d contorted, bending her body in half so that she could pick at the knots on the ropes at her ankles. That hadn’t taken quite as long, but it had required her to stop and breathe more often. She’d left the gag in, thinking she could roll to her back to hide her freed hands if he woke up long enough to peer down at her.

  But that hadn’t happened. He’d continued to snore and her feet were now free as well. She’d started on Janie’s ankle ropes next, but that had her breathing hard too. He hadn’t been drunk when he’d tied Janie’s ropes, and they were really tight.

  She hadn’t given up, though, and had managed to loosen Janie’s knots, but not completely, because he’d double-tied them.

  Through all of it, Janie hadn’t woken up, and Jasmine was starting to panic about that. Janie was a heavy sleeper normally, but she hadn’t stirred even when Jasmine had needed to dig her fingers into her sister’s skin to get at the knots.

  What if Janie was drugged too much? Could someone die from Benadryl? What if she never woke up? What if I have to carry her? Jasmine wasn�
��t sure that she could.

  I’m so tired.

  She’d needed to rest for just a minute, so now she lay on the floor, stretched out next to her sister, trying to regulate her own breathing. Trying to pretend to be asleep, without actually falling asleep. That would be the worst if that happened. He’d kill me. Jasmine had not a single doubt. He’d kill me, then he’d kill Janie.

  The pretending-to-sleep wasn’t hard to do. She’d had lots of practice, after all, pretending to sleep when Aunt Lilah came in to check on her, because if Lilah saw she was awake, she fussed, plumping pillows and asking if Jasmine wanted warm milk.

  Warm milk? Really? Jasmine wanted to hurl. It was the thought of warm milk, she assured herself. It had nothing to do with his blood that had dried on her clothes after she’d helped him. Or of her own blood drying on her skin. Think of cute puppies, of art class, of warm milk even. Anything but the smell of his blood.

  Because she couldn’t throw up. She needed to get away. She needed to get Janie free without getting caught. And then? Well, then the plan was super-simple.

  Once Janie could walk, Jasmine would grab her and run as fast as she could. Out the door and into the street. Someone would help them. Someone has to help us, she thought desperately.

  She wondered if anyone was even looking for them. She’d heard him talking to Lilah, heard her aunt promise to not call the police. She hoped Lilah wasn’t stupid enough to really not call the cops. She hoped someone had found Grandma, that she was okay. Even though she’d basically handed her own granddaughters over to a crazy man.

  I should have told Lilah what I saw that day. I should have said that I saw him, that he killed Mama. I should have said something to someone. Why didn’t I? Why was I so stupid?

  Because you were afraid out of your mind, dumbass. Not the same as being stupid.

  Which didn’t change anything, because she was still here, lying on a dirty floor next to her sister, trying to figure out how to get away. Just stay asleep, you bastard. For God’s sake, don’t wake up!