Born To Die

by Lisa Jackson

  Pescoli had the heater working overtime, the interior of the Jeep as hot as a sauna, yet Kacey Lambert couldn’t seem to get warm and was shivering as she told her story for the second time, then worried aloud about Eli.

  “If anything happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself,” she said and stared out the window, her breath fogging the glass. “Never.”

  Two minutes later, just as they reached the snow-covered sign welcoming all to Grizzly Falls, Alvarez’s cell phone jangled. She took the call and listened, the conversation one-sided. “What? . . . Where ... Thank God.” She twisted in the passenger seat. “We’ve got him.”

  “What? Who? Eli?” Kacey demanded.

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s safe.”

  “Thank God!” Kacey’s voice broke and she sniffed loudly.

  Pescoli’s hands held the wheel in a death grip, but she felt a rush of relief, a dam of fear breaking inside her. “Shhh!” Alvarez held up a hand and finished the call. “Yeah, well, bring him into the office. We’ll meet you there.” She hung up and even her usually icy all-professional facade cracked. “He’s fine.”

  Pescoli glanced in the rearview mirror and saw tears of happiness well in her passenger’s eyes.

  “Okay,” Alvarez went on, “I don’t know all the details, but it looks like he was kidnapped by his mother, dropped off at the neighbors—Ed and Matilda Zukov’s house—and they’ve been trying to reach someone ever since. Apparently Leanna O’Halleran cut their phone line and stole their cells to give herself time to fulfill some mission.”

  “She was after Cam,” Kacey said quietly. “She knew.”

  “Apparently,” Alvarez agreed. “We’ll be getting more information from the Zukovs. An officer is bringing them into the station, along with the boy.”

  Pescoli grimaced against the glare of particularly bright high beams as a truck rumbled past. “So she was out of the picture for most of the kid’s life, then she suddenly, in what some kind of cosmic mother instinct rolls into town at just the right moment to blow some nut case away?” Pescoli shot a look at her partner. “What did she know?”

  Alvarez shook her head. They might never fully figure it out.

  Kacey went over her statement three times and answered a slew of questions, though it was obvious Pescoli and Alvarez, and even the sheriff himself believed her. They’d planned on taking her directly to the hospital but she’d insisted on getting the interview at the sheriff ’s department over with first. As soon as they got there she took time to head to the bathroom, wash her face, down three migraine-strength Excedrin, and use a slightly too large Band-Aid that the woman at reception had given her on her chin. She’d called the hospital on Trace’s cell, but had only learned that Trace was in surgery.

  Deputy Van Droz brought the Zukovs and Eli into the room where Kacey was being interviewed just as Kacey had finished another run-through of the events that had taken place at the O’Halleran ranch. She threw her arms around the boy, tears filling her eyes. “Thank God you’re safe,” she whispered fervently and ruffled his hair.

  “I saw Mommy,” Eli said, biting his lower lip.

  “I know, honey.”

  “She came to pick me up.”

  “I heard,” Kacey answered with a smile that was difficult to muster. Seeing Leanna on the snowy ground, her face gray in the half light, her eyes fixed, had been like staring into her own grave.

  “She signed my cast,” he stated proudly.

  Kacey glanced up at Tilly who nodded while Ed looked away. Proudly, Eli displayed the bold scrawl that said. “Love you, Mom xoxo.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, remembering how Leanna had saved them all. She wondered if she’d really heard Leanna’s voice or if it had merely been a hallucination. It hardly mattered, for either way she intended to take really good care of Leanna’s son.

  “Wanna get some hot cocoa?” Pescoli asked Eli who, after glancing at Kacey and the Zukovs and receiving hearty ‘yes, go aheads’ eagerly followed after the taller, red-haired detective.

  Once the boy was gone, the Zukovs told their tale. Leanna had shown up at their house carrying Eli. She’d apparently trudged through the snow to deliver her son, and then she’d disabled their truck and landline and stolen their cell phones. She’d also taken their computer, so that they had no means of communicating with anyone while she said she was taking care of some “unfinished business.”

  Tilly went on to say that Leanna had admitted that she knew about the killer who was taking out all of the daughters of Gerald Johnson as he believed most of them had serious mental problems. He was intent on protecting his family name and made up an elaborate plan to take care of the problem. He also had a personal vendetta against Kacey and Leanna because he’d fallen for Leanna, not knowing who she was, and he’d despised Kacey as well for being born to Gerald’s mistress. He had bad feelings for Robert Lindley, too, but until he’d eradicated all of the “Unknowings” as he’d called them, he would take his time with Robert.

  During the recitation Kacey recalled Cameron’s taunts after he’d hit her with the rifle butt. He’d believed she and Leanna and the rest of Gerald’s female offspring weren’t mentally sound when his own mental illness was the reason he’d targeted all of them.

  Tilly wound up by adding that Cameron had admitted his deadly deeds to Leanna when he’d tried to kill her years before, but she’d gotten away and found Trace. She’d left her son with Trace fearing Cameron would take his sick vengeance upon Eli. But her fear for Eli was the reason she came back, to save the boy everyone assumed she’d abandoned and to stop Cameron in his tracks.

  “We were horrified,” Tilly finished. “And trapped. We wanted Eli to be safe, but we were worried sick about you all. Ed even tried to start the old John Deere in hopes of getting to the Foxx’s, our neighbors to the north and calling the police.”

  “Dang thing wouldn’t even turn over in the cold,” Ed admitted. Both he and his wife looked worn out and beleaguered.

  Pescoli returned with Eli who was interested in poking at the fake marshmallows floating in his hot chocolate. She also brought several cups of steaming coffee. Kacey took one, more for the warmth than anything else.

  She turned to Ed and Tilly, softly asking the question that was now haunting her, “So . . . Eli is Cameron’s son?”

  “Not according to her. She was very adamant on that,” Tilly said and Ed nodded his agreement.

  “I’m my dad’s son,” Eli put in, blowing across his cocoa.

  “Of course you are.” Kacey walked across the room and hugged him fiercely, sorry he’d overheard her; she’d thought he was out of earshot. She was so glad that he was safe. She would have to deal with his questions about his mother, she knew that, but she was willing to do it; to be with him and to be with Trace. Her feelings about Leanna were torn, but she couldn’t deny that the woman had sacrificed herself for the sake of her son.

  Alvarez’s cell phone jangled and she looked at the screen. “I’ve got to take this,” she said, before walking into an adjoining room.

  She was gone about ten minutes and when she returned, she said. “Looks like we can convict Cameron Johnson for more crimes than we know. The team who went to his house found a secret room down in the basement. There are pictures of the victims, information about each of them, many already dead, some who escaped.”

  Kacey thought of Gloria Sanders-O’Malley, the fitness instructor.

  “I’m going to have to call Jonas Hayes in L.A.,” Alvarez said to Pescoli. “I think we can tie Cam Johnson to Shelly Bonaventure’s supposed suicide.”

  “He was the creep who attacked me in Seattle,” Kacey said. “He admitted as much.” She sighed and shook her head. “If we’re done here, can I get a ride to the hospital?”

  Pescoli nodded. “I’ll drive.”

  Turning to Eli, Kacey said with a smile, “Come on. Let’s go see your dad.”

  As it turned out, Kacey wasn’t alone in wanting to go to the hospital. Pescoli a
nd Alvarez planned to question Trace when he woke up and Ed and Tilly, though tired, drove to St. Bart’s as well.

  But being back in the familiar hospital halls was a little surreal for Kacey. Though everything looked the way it had the last time she’d been here, after all she’d been through, it seemed different. Changed. She told herself that it was because of the fact she’d been hit in the back of the head with the butt of a rifle, but it was more, a deeper disconnect that all had to do with meeting a murderer face-to-face and killing him. Though she felt no regret for taking Cameron Johnson’s life as he’d intended to murder Trace, she still felt out of step. She’d dedicated her professional life to helping heal, to save lives, and now she’d purposefully taken one.

  Shake it off, she told herself and after leaving a protesting Eli with Tilly and Ed, made her way to the Recovery Room as she was a doctor on staff. Alvarez and Pescoli were right behind her, but hung back to give her a second’s privacy when she headed to the bed where Trace lay.

  He was just coming around and woozy, his leg bandaged, his hospital gown askew. His leg had been saved, the femoral artery nicked but repaired. He moaned, his head dark against the white sheets. He blinked slowly awake.

  “Hey, there,” she said, leaning over his bed as the Recovery Room nurse stepped away to allow them some privacy.

  With obvious effort, he tried to focus.

  “It’s me.” She took his hand and her heart squeezed at the sight of him, his hair rumpled on the pillow, his jaw dark with beard shadow. God, she loved him and for a few harrowing minutes she’d thought she’d lost him forever. “Trace?”

  One side of his mouth lifted in a dopey grin, but his eyes were far from clear. “Kacey?” he said, his voice rough.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” Her throat nearly closed as his grip tightened over hers.

  “Eli?” he whispered.

  “He’s fine.” Tears burned the back of her eyes. “And he’s here, waiting to see you. He’s with the Zukovs, just down the hall.”

  He seemed relieved, then goofy again. “Oh. Tilly. Ed.”

  “Yes.” She knew he wouldn’t remember much about waking up, maybe nothing, but she couldn’t help herself from squeezing his hand. “Trace, I need to tell you something,” she said.

  “Hmmmm . . .” He was drifting again.

  “First of all, Leanna turned out to be okay. More than okay. I think she saved your life.” He didn’t respond. Probably hadn’t heard. “And there’s something else,” she admitted, leaning close over the bed. “I love you.” She smiled, though she felt warm tears slide down her face. “It’s crazy and I know it, but damn it, I love you.”

  “I know . . .” His voice was far away. “You’re gonna marry me.”

  He was still out of it; didn’t know what he was saying, but it filled her heart with joy. “We . . . we’ll talk about it when you’re better . . .”

  His eyes opened suddenly and in that split second his gaze was clear. “I am better,” he said, and reached up quickly, his fingers sliding around her nape, as he lifted his head from the pillow and pulled her close so that their noses were nearly touching. “And you’re gonna marry me, Dr. Lambert.”

  Before she could say a word, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was as crushing as it was desperate. “No arguments,” he said when he finally released her and fell back on the sheets, spent, his eyes closing again.

  “Faker,” she accused.

  He didn’t respond.

  She felt a smile tug on her swollen lips and she didn’t say it, but thought. I am going to marry you, Trace O’Halleran. Count on it.

  Epilogue

  “ Come on, come on ... we’re going to go caroling!”

  Joelle, wearing ridiculous, red felt reindeer antlers was herding everyone into the lobby.

  Pescoli looked up from her desk where she was studying the death certificates and newspaper reports on the two sisters of Cameron Johnson who had died young . . . in accidents. “I am not caroling! I’ve got work to do.”

  “Oh, don’t be a Scrooge!” Joelle admonished before clipping off in her clear high heels that looked like something Barbie would wear . . . well, and Michelle. Yeah, Lucky’s young wife would love those heels.

  It was only a week until Christmas and Joelle was really ramped up for the holiday. Christmas music and cookies and garlands and even the spinning tree with its fake presents stacked beneath it. What more could one woman do to a government office?

  Not that Pescoli paid much attention. She’d had more than enough to deal with in her own life. For starters, Santana was pressuring her big-time. It turned out that Brady Long had left him part of his immense estate and Nate thought she and her children and the dog should move in with him.

  As if it were just that easy.

  Nope, she thought, clicking through the computer screens.

  She wasn’t convinced, though a father figure for her kids certainly wouldn’t hurt. Jeremy, sick of her nagging and bored with his life, had finally agreed to go back to school come January and Pescoli was crossing her fingers that he wouldn’t change his mind again. As for his involvement with Heidi Brewster, it was still simmering, but the kids were somehow keeping it on the “down low,” which may or may not be a good thing, depending on how you looked at it.

  Bianca, well enough to go back to school, had actually started talking to some other boy who’d stopped by a couple of times, some kid on the basketball team who actually called her Ms. Pescoli, rather than ignoring her. Chris was still hanging out, of course, but it definitely looked like that particular romance was dying on the vine.

  And none too soon.

  As for the entire Secret Santa debacle, Pescoli had decided to play along and give the undersheriff a bottle of wine with its own little knit stocking cap that Joelle, Pescoli was certain, would do backflips over. Pescoli, herself, found it kind of gaggy. But she couldn’t come up with anything else. The Oregon pinot noir had been on a special sale, keeping under the ten-dollar limit, and in Pescoli’s mind, the gift was a bit of an olive branch. At least that’s what she hoped.

  After all, she had to work for the prick.

  So life was looking up. Except for Alvarez who had sunk into her usual Christmas funk. There was something going on with her, just like every other holiday season. She never returned home to Oregon for Christmas and this year she’d said she planned to work over the holiday and let the people with families have the time off. When invited to Pescoli’s she’d declined, claiming she wanted to spend her free time with Jane Doe, her newly adopted cat.

  Pescoli had tried to ask her partner about her avoidance of all things to do with the yuletide, but Alvarez, as ever, managed to evade the questions or change the subject.

  Christmas, as far as Alvarez was concerned, was a taboo topic.

  Pescoli glanced out the window, noticed it was still snowing. At least, though, the storms had slowed and the workload at the department was back to a more normal level. As for Cameron Johnson, a sicko serial killer if there ever had been one, the FBI had stepped in and taken all of the files, notes, and computer information from Johnson’s secret room in the basement of his house and were working the case.

  It seemed Cameron had been hell-bent on eradicating the female offspring of Donor 727 for years. In his notes, the deputies had found reference to forty-two women, some who lived as far away as New England.

  DNA tests had proven the victims around this part of Montana as well as others, including Shelly Bonaventure in LA, had, indeed, been Gerald Johnson’s offspring. Other “accident” victims, the “Unknowings” named in Johnson’s notes who were already dead, were being examined. If there were any DNA samples taken before they were buried, they were being compared, or the bodies were now being exhumed. They would probably never know about the few who had been cremated as there was no DNA left behind to be tested.

  There was other physical evidence that tied Cameron Johnson to his crimes as well. The black paint on Kacey’s Ford an
d Elle Alexander’s minivan had matched the custommade spray-painted bumper guard that had been hidden in a shed and fit perfectly on Johnson’s truck. A cache of stolen plates had been located, which explained some of the difficulty they’d had in ID-ing the damned truck.

  Pescoli leaned back in her chair until it squeaked in protest and she heard, muted softly, the sound of voices raised in song ...

  “I heard the bells on Christmas Day . . .”

  Pescoli checked her watch. It was almost showtime and the stage was set.

  A few things about the case still bothered Pescoli and scraped at her brain, tickling her into believing there had to be more than they’d already unearthed, even though all leads pointed to Cameron Johnson. As Kacey Lambert had insisted, Pescoli believed that Johnson had been the man who had attacked her in the parking garage in Seattle years before. And now, rumor had it the good doctor might be moving in with Trace O’Halleran, just like that, when Pescoli couldn’t commit to a man she’d been in love with for years.

  Now Pescoli closed her eyes for a moment and sighed, thinking hard, running over the loose ends. She was pretty sure she had it figured out. Cameron Johnson had been a whack job with a capital W. No doubt about that. Also, he’d definitely been unraveling, more and more taking risks, but that didn’t explain everything. How had he gotten all the information on the clinic and the victims? Had he really uncovered that information himself? She didn’t think so.

  Another thing: it looked like Leanna O’Halleran had stolen the gun that she’d used that night, and that gun was Clarissa Werner’s. Pescoli had interviewed Clarissa and her husband and they both believed Leanna has specifically taken it as a kind of ‘up yours’ to the Johnson clan as a whole. And it looked like Leanna O’Halleran’s special touch of irony was that she drove a BMW, same make and model as Clarissa’s, to also point a finger in the Johnsons’ direction.

  Maybe. Or, maybe not. But there were other issues about the case that needed to still be addressed ...