Unafraid

by Allie Harrison

  Truth be told she was quite amazed that a man in a suit she didn’t even know and had never seen before could have such an effect on her after so much time and therapy.

  Abby climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door, rallying in the stillness. At the same time, she felt her heart still beating rapidly in her chest.

  John moved forward from behind the curtain and took his seat behind the wheel. She tossed him a glance before looking out the windshield. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him place his hands on the wheel. She felt the heat of his stare. “Abby?”

  Abby stared straight ahead, out the windshield at the police station. “Yes?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She managed to force out the lie despite what felt like sticks of dynamite going off in her gut and in her soul. She clasped her hands together on her lap, fingers laced tightly, in order to keep from digging her nails into the scars on her stomach.

  “Did he say something to you, something we couldn’t hear? Did he touch you?”

  “No.” That, so far, was the biggest lie she’d told. His evilness had somehow reached right into her and touched her soul.

  From behind her, Monty softly spoke. “They’re heading south on fifteen.”

  John started the truck as he obviously spoke into his radio. “Did everyone hear that? They’re heading south on fifteen.”

  For Abby, her insides seemed to be swirling around faster than they were moving.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Something happened.

  John had no idea what. He glanced in the rearview mirror, saw Monty, his fingers on his keyboard, but his gaze and worried expression geared toward Abby, too. He glanced over at her, took in her stiff stance, her face appearing as if she’d somehow turned to stone, her hands clasped so tight on her lap that her fingers were white.

  He and Monty had heard the entire conversation from Bob Smith ordering—and being refused—a coffee to Brubaker offering her his card and his invitation for her to call him, as well as her refusal.

  It was clear that there had been more to what he heard. He headed south on fifteen as the rest of his team all reported in, each giving his location, surrounding and following Brubaker and Smith, making certain Brubaker’s vehicle was in sight at all times.

  “We’ve got plenty of people tailing him.” John spoke without looking over at her again. The truth was, looking at her, seeing her obviously fighting some inner demon she tried to hide, the last thing he wanted to do was follow that demon. “I can take you back to the coffee shop.” It burned his gut that he hadn’t come up with a Plan B for getting her away from this after she’d done what he asked of her.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

  The fact she said it twice told him clearly she wasn’t.

  “Do what you need to do,” she added.

  John reached out his hand to her and was greatly relieved when she unclasped hers and placed one into his. Her hand was cold and clammy. Brubaker may not have said something to her, but something definitely happened. John couldn’t help but notice now that she wasn’t clasping her hands together, now that he held one of them, she used the other to scratch her belly where he’d seen and felt scars last night. He’d meant to ask her about those scars, but with the way the conversation had gone and the importance of what he needed her to do today, he hadn’t gotten the chance and he hadn’t wanted to distract her.

  At least she was holding his hand as if it brought her comfort and not as if she needed to hold on so tightly she wanted to crush his fingers.

  “It wasn’t something he said,” she said softly. “Well, kind of.”

  John tossed her another glance and saw she still stared straight ahead. Her free hand was in a fist. Perhaps clenching it was the only way to keep from scratching those scars on her belly.

  “And it wasn’t something he did, at least not exactly.”

  John knew behind him, Monty was still monitoring Brubaker. He also knew Monty wasn’t stupid, nor was there any sound of keyboarding going on. “What was it, then?” John asked. He didn’t want to ask. He wanted her to tell him, but at the same time, he knew he couldn’t push her.

  “It was a lifeless look in his eyes. It was the way he looked at me. It was something in his smile. I’ve seen that look before.” She was quiet for a long moment.

  John knew the look in Brubaker’s eyes. He was certain if he looked in the dictionary for the words arrogant asshole, Brubaker’s entire face would be there. But he asked, “What look?”

  “It’s an emptiness, an evil emptiness, in his eyes. Like there’s no soul there, no feeling for anyone else, nothing that he could even give to anyone else. I know the man dressed in orange and wearing shackles is really bad. I saw him on the news. He’s wanted for a lot of horrible things. But the man in the suit is just as dangerous.”

  John took his gaze off the highway long enough to look over at her. He found her looking at him, her eyes swimming in unshed tears that felt like someone touched a lit cigarette to his gut.

  She finished with, “To women. Especially since he’s in a position of authority.” Her words were kerosene on the cigarette in his gut. “Can you pull over? I think I’m going to throw up.”

  He pulled the truck to the shoulder, and her hand slipped from his as she opened the door and slid to the ground. A moment later, she stood bent at the waist in the tall, roadside weeds and grass, tossing up whatever it was she’d had for breakfast.

  John opened the door to follow her, but Monty stopped him by holding out a bottle of water. John stepped beside her, and held her hair out of the way, his own stomach twisting as he listened to her retching when he could do nothing more to help her.

  It seemed forever before her heaving stopped. He knew without a doubt Brubaker was a prick, but he hadn’t ever considered what the guy did to women or how one might react to him. Now, he would pay closer attention.

  She looked weak and shaky when she sucked in a deep, ragged breath, seemingly empty. She leaned against him as if she couldn’t stay on her feet. John tucked her hair behind one ear. “Better?” She looked pale as death and her lips were even devoid of color. Her eyes looked like huge saucers.

  “No, but at least I don’t think I’ll puke anymore.”

  “Good. Here.” He twisted the top off the bottle of water and handed it to her. She rinsed her mouth and spit the water into the grass. The next two drinks she swallowed. “Do you want to go back and sit down?”

  She nodded against him, and he led her the few steps back to the truck and opened the door for her. She sat on the seat with her feet hanging down out the side for a moment, still facing him.

  “Put your head between your knees for a minute.”

  She did as he instructed.

  Not having the vaguest idea what else to do, he placed a gentle hand on the back of her shoulder and gave her a slight massage. After a moment, she sat up again. “I’m all right now. We should go. You have a job to do.”

  “Are you sure? Because I’ve got a great team, they all know what to do.”

  “I’m sure.”

  He gave her a moment to turn and place her feet under the dash. He closed the door and made his way around the front of the truck. Within seconds, he was back behind the wheel, feeling at least a bit better about the fact she wasn’t the color of a ghost any longer. She took another swallow from the bottle of water before he put the truck in gear and took them back out onto highway fifteen.

  “His name is Grayson Matthews.” She spoke softly beside him. Neither he nor Monty said anything. “I know I told you last night he hit me once, but that’s the tip of the iceberg. He was nice and charming, maybe not as arrogant as that guy I just put a mic on, but he had a confidence about him that drew people to him. I knew him in high school. He was on the football team and the baseball team. Not that he ever talked to me back then. I had braces on my teeth and…well, I was a bit heavier than I am now. When he first asked to be my friend on s
ocial media, I thought it must be a fluke. Surely, he didn’t remember me. I had just graduated with my master’s in business and worked to get my loan to open my shop. I was so geared, wanting to have my own business.”

  Traffic was light, the morning rush was over. He threw her a glance to see she took another drink.

  Then she continued. “What do you think the chances were that I would just see him on the street? He seemed surprised to see me and was genuinely interested that I wanted and planned to open a coffee shop. He wanted to know my plans and my ideas. He treated me to lunch. I felt like I was back in high school—the nerd melting at the idea of getting any attention from the jock. We went to dinner a week later. He was attentive and almost too kind. I didn’t remember him ever being kind to anyone in school, but I told myself real life changes a person. He told me the same thing that guy in the suit told me, that I had beautiful eyes. We went out three or four more times. He pressured me for sex. I told him I thought we were moving too fast. I bought a building that was perfect for my shop and I was living in the loft apartment. I was busy working to get my business up and running and making sure I had every duck in a row. I didn’t see his obsession or his need to control me. I put him off for a couple of weeks. I didn’t even know he must have been watching and following me around. I woke up to find him standing next to my bed. He had a knife. As it turned out, he’d seen me talking to a guy who worked at the art studio in the next building. He thought I was flirting. He said I belonged to him. He said I hadn’t asked permission to talk to any other guys. He said no woman ignores him or puts him off.”

  “Did he give you the scars on your stomach?” he asked the question without thinking. As soon as the words were out, he wished he could take them back. Monty was there listening. But she answered without hesitation.

  “Yes. He’s in prison, has been there almost six years. He has a parole hearing next month. I got a letter about it yesterday.”

  John remembered the previous morning, the heart-wrenching look of despair on her face as she shuffled through the mail that had been handed to her. “What’d you do?”

  “I went through therapy to heal both my head and my body. I testified against him. I sold my building and moved here and bought a new place to make my shop here in a college town where there would be a lot of people to drink coffee. And I’ve worked every day to build it into something I could be proud of.”

  She paused, and John heard her take a deep breath.

  “You’ve done a good job,” he said softly.

  She still stared straight ahead as he drove. “I didn’t notice that look…that lack of life, that coldness in his eyes until I woke to find him standing by bed. It might have only been a flash, but I saw that same thing in that guy’s eyes—the guy I gave the coffee to. I felt like it froze my insides. I…” She took another heavy breath. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. We know what kind of man he is, too.” John just didn’t know the extent of it. “Are you sure you’re all right to ride with us?”

  “Yes.”

  From behind him, John heard Monty’s fingers flying over the keys of his keyboard and knew without a doubt, before too long, John would know everything there was to know about one Grayson Matthews. And John had a few powerful friends who owed him a favor or two. He intended to do everything in his power to make certain the man would never breathe free air. Before he could say any more, Tex’s voice came over the radio. “Looks like Smith is taking them into Lake Forrest Park.”

  Hell.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Lake Forrest Park. Almost one thousand acres of trees, rocks, walking paths, biking paths, roller blading paths, benches, dog parks, and a beach with swimming, paddle boating, and a restaurant boat house. There were countless pavilions both open and enclosed. There was ice skating and sledding in the winter. And, of course, there was Lake Forrest, home to skiers, boaters, and year-round fishermen.

  John had no doubt Bob Smith could hide a number of bodies there and get away with it if he knew what he was doing. For more than twenty years, he did get away with all his crimes.

  Then again, perhaps there were no bodies in the park and Bob was just going for a field day and enjoying the moment of leading Brubaker on a wild goose chase. John admitted he was shocked as hell there had really been a body at the quarry. He figured Bob would lead them around most of the day.

  John also thought if Bob was going to attempt an escape, this was where it would happen. There were just too many streets in and out, not to mention the means to cross the lake and disappear. Hell, if he were a good swimmer, he might even swim it. He didn’t look like an athlete at all. It was more like he was a snake who could slither in and out and around, or perhaps a rat who could squeeze through small spaces.

  John might have mentioned to Monty just how much of an arrogant idiot Brubaker was, but after Abby’s experience with him, John didn’t want to mention his name. Coming here with Bob Smith—despite the shackles—was damned foolhardy. John and his men all knew how Bob worked. He probably had help waiting in the trees right now as they entered the park.

  John had no idea how many fellow officers he meant to call upon to barricade off the area and set up a perimeter, but it wouldn’t be enough.

  Chapter Forty

  Maggie Smith stood in the house she and Bob bought together, listening to the silence. Everything about her marriage was a sham. That bastard Bob Smith had taken her for a ride and had even included two innocent children. While she’d told her kids no TV allowed, she’d turned it on every night after they were asleep and during the day while they were at school. Now, she didn’t dare turn on the television. Every day was uncovering news that made her feel like she was the one being buried. She’d even learned Bob claimed the former director of the FBI was his father. Unbelievable. Last night she’d heard he led them to a dead body. A dead body.

  Maybe he wasn’t a murderer.

  Even if he wasn’t capable of killing another human being, he obviously knew someone well enough who could, and he knew where that monster had hidden a dead body.

  The idea of a murder left her cold and scared. She’d slept beside him. She’d fixed his dinner. She’d fucked him, and enjoyed it—most of the time. She couldn’t even think about that part. It just reminded her he was being charged for rape. At first, she’d thought that was impossible.

  Now, as she stood in the quiet, the doubts rang loud and clear.

  All of his crimes froze her heart with terror.

  But it was the money that set her blood boiling with rage. There had been thousands of dollars in a drawer at his office—his office where he never allowed her. Prick.

  Maybe he’d hidden money here, too.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Bob Smith loved the smell of the woods, especially in the fall. Earthy pines and dried leaves and damp moss mixed with the smell of the nearby lake. The shuffling of branches overhead and insects sounded more and more like freedom with each footstep that crunched on sticks and foliage as he led Brubaker and his team through the woods. Leaves of various colors fell around them like a rainbow of snow.

  The other men in suits behind him sounded like a herd of elephants. Given the chance, he’d be able to hide and know exactly where they were.

  “Where’s the girl with the dog? Couldn’t make this excursion?” Smith asked.

  “They aren’t far behind us,” Shackleford said.

  “Shut up,” Brubaker said.

  Smith didn’t know if Brubaker was speaking to him or Shackleford.

  Smith’s heart raced. Things couldn’t be more perfect. Shackleford walked ahead of him. Brubaker was a few steps ahead of Shackleford. Given the superior bastard Bob knew Brubaker thought himself to be, Bob was shocked Brubaker even left his office, much less traipsed around on a hike through the woods with all these other lowlifes. Three other suits were behind him. Bob did his best to take them in a direction where there would be no other people. At least it was mid-week f
all. Kids were in school. The average Joe was at work. Thankfully, on the way through the park to this spot where they hiked now, there had not been one mother pushing a baby in a stroller.

  Bob waited for that one wonderful moment and couldn’t believe how fast it came. He watched Shackleford carefully step over an exposed tree root that covered the path they followed, moving in the direction he’d lied to them about. After all, there weren’t any dead bodies out this way, at least none buried by him. Bob Smith would never be stupid enough to bury a body in a public place where there were people all the time and upkeep was constant.

  He pretended to trip over the tree root, bumping with an exaggerated forcefulness right into the back of Shackleford, who stumbled under the sudden collision. He hadn’t meant to knock the man down, just bump into him and pick his pocket. But more’s the better in this case. Given the shackles on his ankles, it seemed once he started that action, he couldn’t stop it. Neither could Shackleford, who nose planted it right into a pile of brush off the right side of the path. Bob landed on top of him, shackles jingling.

  It gave him plenty of time to grasp the man’s phone and slide it up the left sleeve of his orange coverall. Thank goodness for the wrist shackles which helped hold it in place. Brubaker, in the mean time, sounded as if he was trying to shit a brick.

  What started out—probably—as, “What the fuck!” turned into, “What the f-f-f tarnation are you doing, Shackleford?’

  What the fuck was right. Bob had to literally bite his tongue to keep from laughing at hearing Brubaker say the word tarnation.

  He didn’t dare laugh. He didn’t dare do anything besides appear sorry and stupid and clumsy at falling over the tree root. The last thing he needed was to gain undo attention or look like he had anything more than shuffling and trying to stay on his feet. Not now, when he had Shackleford’s phone and he was in a place where he could escape and hide. He felt strong hands grip his arms, obviously belonging to the team guys who hiked behind him. They lifted him to his feet like a parent helping a toddler who was learning to walk. The small cell phone remained safely tucked up his sleeve.