Her Darkest Nightmare

by Brenda Novak

  Was he responsible for putting those body parts in his shed? Had he killed Lorraine and Danielle as well as contributing to Hugo’s death? She said nothing, just stared at them both. She had no weapon, was completely defenseless. They could do whatever they chose to do to her.

  “Are you okay?” Russ asked as if he wasn’t quite sure.

  She didn’t bother to reassure him. She couldn’t get past what she’d seen. “Who could’ve left that bag in your woodshed?”

  He shook his head. “I told you. I don’t know. It could be anyone. I’m not home very often.”

  “Don’t you lock it?”

  Shivering and sweating at the same time, he rubbed his arms. “No. I don’t like having to track down the key when I want to get into it.”

  “Someone could steal your wood—”

  “If they need it that badly, I’ll replace it. It’s not as if I’m leaving thousands of dollars lying around. We’re talking a few hundred, and even then any would-be thief would have to get his pickup back there to haul it away, which isn’t likely to happen in winter. I don’t care if someone runs off with a couple of sticks. But”—he scratched his head—“why are we talking about firewood? Am I dreaming? Is this just a terrible nightmare?”

  Fitzpatrick spoke up. “I feel devastated, physically weak.” He studied his hands as if they no longer belonged to him. “I have to shower, have to get this blood off me. It’s everywhere.”

  He was going to shower?

  When Evelyn’s eyes cut to that bag in the tub/shower next to her, he shook his head. “Not in this bathroom. I’ll never be able to use this bathroom again.”

  Russ came in and slid the curtain closed. “That might help. I’m sorry it scared you. It scared me, too.”

  “The person who left it has to be a friend or … or associate of yours,” she insisted.

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “Come on, let’s get you out of here. You’ll be more comfortable on the sofa.”

  “Next to Hugo?” She shrank away when he tried to touch her.

  “That’s the study.”

  Determined to stand on her own power, she used the vanity for support. “I’m going home.”

  “Not right now you’re not,” he said, growing adamant. “You’re in no shape to battle that storm. Look at you. You’re nearly hyperventilating.”

  And she’d thought having a headache was bad. Right now, she couldn’t even feel the pain. “I can’t stay here.”

  He scowled at her. “Then I’ll take you back to my place, but I’m not going to let you leave.”

  * * *

  Amarok never did find Evelyn’s BMW. He discovered a truck parked at the bottom of Fitzpatrick’s drive with the Hanover House logo on it, however, and figured out that she wasn’t driving her car. Thank God. He didn’t know where the Beamer was, but he was grateful she’d abandoned it in favor of more reliable transportation.

  Or maybe he wasn’t so glad. He didn’t want her to be here.

  After parking in the driveway, he grabbed his rifle, just in case, and hurried to the house. He couldn’t see through the windows, couldn’t hear anything, either. Was she safe?

  He’d never been more frightened to find out the answer to a particular question in his life.

  “Fitzpatrick?” He banged on the door. “Open up! Police!”

  It was a testament to the fact that he didn’t really expect a response that he was moving along the side of the house, intent on going around, when the door opened and Russell Jones poked his head out. “Sergeant Amarok? Am I glad to see you! You’re never going to believe what’s happened here tonight.”

  Seeing the blood on Russ’s shirt caused Amarok’s breath to shorten. “Where’s Evelyn?”

  “She’s here. Come on in.”

  Amarok didn’t move, and he didn’t lower his weapon. “Bring her to the door.”

  Tears welled up in Russ’s eyes. “But it’s freezing out, and I just … I just got her calmed down—”

  “Now!”

  Russ’s eyes flared wide, but he seemed to understand that Amarok would shoot him if he didn’t do exactly what he’d been told. “Okay,” he said. “But … don’t worry. She’s fine. Just a little rattled, so I made her lie down. We’re all traumatized and upset and not thinking straight.”

  “You’d better not have been traumatized and upset enough to harm her,” Amarok ground out.

  Russ’s cheeks flushed and grew mottled, but when he followed Amarok’s gaze he realized what was on his shirt. “Oh! This isn’t her blood. It’s Hugo’s.”

  “Let me see her.” Only if she was really okay would he be willing to hear about Hugo. She was all that mattered to him at the moment.

  Russ started to close the door, but Amarok stopped him. “Leave it open.…”

  Russ’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, but then he lifted his hands to show submission and lumbered away. A minute or two later, he returned—with Evelyn.

  “Amarok!”

  The relief that washed over him was so powerful it sapped some of his strength. “Thank God.” He held his gun away while she hugged him. Then he fisted his hand in her long hair so that he could look down into her face. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  Tears were filling her eyes, so he pulled her even closer. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

  As she pressed her face into his coat, he breathed in the scent of her. He’d been so sure he wouldn’t make it in time.… But here she was. Here she was. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he murmured.

  “I know,” she said, and yet she clung to him as if she couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

  “Everything will be fine. We’ll get you home soon. But … what happened tonight?”

  After another moment she lifted her head. Then she turned to look at Russ. “Hugo tried to kill Fitzpatrick,” she said dully.

  Amarok scowled at them. “Why?”

  “Revenge,” Russ volunteered. “And he was convinced that Fitzpatrick was a danger to Evelyn.”

  “Are we sure he’s not?” Amarok had to ask; he still didn’t trust Tim.

  “Of course not,” Russ said, but Evelyn spoke at the same time.

  “We can’t rule anything out. We were never alone tonight, so that could’ve changed what might’ve happened otherwise.”

  “Where’s Fitzpatrick now?” Amarok asked.

  “In the shower,” she replied.

  “And where’s Hugo? Has he been subdued?”

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “He’s dead.”

  * * *

  It had been one fucking cold night and Anthony was not in a good mood. He’d been released, as promised, but he hadn’t been provided with much to help him survive. If he got the chance, he’d kill the bastard who’d left him so vulnerable. He should’ve done it not long after he’d been marched through the front doors of Hanover House as if he were a guard. That was one ballsy plan, though, man. It had his adrenaline pumping, was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. He’d never dreamed it could be that easy, but the sheer audacity of what he’d done was probably why it worked. Who’d ever think he’d put on a guard’s uniform, pull his hat down over his eyes and walk out with someone who was so well-known that no one would pay him a speck of attention?

  The moment they cleared the perimeter fence he’d been so excited, so filled with anticipation, that he hadn’t even minded when he’d been dumped off only a mile or so from Hanover House with just twenty bucks to buy a bite to eat when he reached town. He’d been grateful for his freedom and knew his “partner” was eager to be rid of him. But he wouldn’t have had that much in his pocket if he hadn’t demanded it. He would’ve been left to forage on his own with nothing. Not that he’d been too concerned about that at first, or he would’ve insisted on more. He’d figured he could steal whatever else he wanted.

  Town was a lot farther away than he’d been told, however. And he couldn’t steal money, food, weapons or a
car unless he could find someone who had those items. This godforsaken town rolled up its streets at night, and everything was so spread out, so far from the damn prison. It’d been a miracle he’d managed to find shelter, such as it was, before his feet got too numb to walk any farther. He’d thought for sure he’d freeze to death before he ever reached the trooper’s house.

  But people were up and starting to move around now. It wasn’t light, but it didn’t get light in Alaska very often. At least he could see headlights in the distance as he came out of the abandoned woodshed where he’d spent the coldest part of the night. All he had to do was spruce up his uniform so it didn’t look as if he’d been sleeping in it and make his way over to the road.

  Once there, he’d just stick out his thumb. Who wouldn’t stop for a stranded prison guard?

  * * *

  By the time Evelyn woke up the following morning, her headache was gone and so was Amarok. She felt bad for how hard he’d been working. It was more than any one man should be called upon to do. But she was proud of his dedication. He was stepping up, trying to deliver for his community. He loved this place, loved the people and his job, and it showed.

  He’d followed her to his house last night and gone to bed with her. He’d been too exhausted to do anything else. But now he was driving Kush to Anchorage since he had to go back to the State Medical Examiner’s, anyway. Those body parts she’d found in the shower and Hugo’s body were in his truck.

  She pulled the blankets over her head as she recalled the moment when she’d first spotted that bag in the shower. The memory of it made her weak. Poor Lorraine. She missed her so much. But she was also embarrassed that she’d jumped to such terrible conclusions when it came to her fellow team members, especially Russ, who’d never done anything to hurt her.

  She was getting paranoid, she decided, letting fear take control of her life despite all her efforts to fight it. When Fitzpatrick had gotten out of the shower last night, he’d seemed just as harmless as Russ, especially now that he was so contrite over what he’d done in those sessions with Hugo.

  With a yawn and a stretch, she sat up. Then she pulled Amarok’s pillow to her face and breathed deeply. “I’m falling in love with you,” she mumbled into it, “and that’s terrifying enough.”

  The way he’d kissed the scar on her neck last night when they’d gone to bed made her smile—and thinking of him reminded her of his dog. Where was Makita? She would’ve expected him to be in the room.

  “Makita?”

  Amarok had left the bedroom door open, but the dog didn’t come trotting in.

  “Makita!” She planned to take him out for an extra potty break and to spend a little time with him. It was Saturday. She didn’t have to go to work until later. Technically she didn’t have to go to Hanover House at all, but she felt like she should reassure everyone, especially Warden Ferris, that she was still at the helm. With all the arrests and Fitzpatrick’s resignation, her employees and work associates had to be on edge.

  We’ll pull everything back together, she told herself. But her boss wouldn’t even be in the office for four more days. She had no idea what Janice was going to say—or who she might decide to blame. Until recently, Fitzpatrick had done a superb job of pretending to be everything a distinguished psychiatrist should be.

  “Makita?” she called again.

  Still no response.

  She got up to search for him, but he wasn’t there. Amarok must’ve taken him, she decided. Amarok hated that his dog had been spending so many hours shut up alone, hated having to rely on his closest neighbor to come over, let Makita out and feed him.

  Knowing Makita would like nothing better than to spend the entire day with his master, she relaxed and put on some coffee. Makita rode with Amarok quite often when Amarok was patrolling the area and doing his regular thing, so it wasn’t unusual.

  After she had breakfast and showered, Evelyn decided to drop by her cabin before heading to work. She hadn’t brought nearly enough clothes with her, was missing a few articles required to finish off certain outfits. And, more important, she’d forgotten her hair mousse. She figured it would be smarter to head that way while she had a four-wheel drive with a plow at her disposal. She couldn’t expect Amarok to take his valuable time to drive her over once he got home. It would be late by then—too late to mess with such an errand.

  The wind had died down and the snow had stopped falling, but it was as cold and dark as ever when Evelyn left Amarok’s house. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was midnight,” she grumbled. But she couldn’t help grinning when she saw that Amarok had taken a few minutes to scrape off her windshield.

  “I’m in trouble.” Love had never been part of the equation when she’d promised her family she’d return to Boston. But it was still early to be worried about those kinds of decisions.

  Tucking her hands under her arms, despite her thick gloves and the heater blowing full blast, she let the engine warm up. Then she lowered the shovel and plowed the street, thinking that would give Amarok less to do later. She was still plowing when she reached her own street. She could tell it hadn’t been done since the last big storm.

  Her headlights illuminated a man standing off to one side with a hand shovel. Sight of him startled her, made her tense. But she chuckled as she drew closer. That mysterious individual was Kit, attempting to do what he did best—clear the snow from the driveway of his house.

  God, there was that fear again. It was exactly what whoever was terrorizing Hilltop, someone like Jasper or the psychopaths she worked with, would want her to feel. Jasper would probably love knowing it was difficult for her to return to her own house. She couldn’t let him or whoever had murdered Lorraine and Danielle dictate what she could and couldn’t do, couldn’t let that person control her in such a way. She had to go on living her life. She just had to be careful, to be prepared—and she had her gun with her, just in case.

  She doubted Kit could see her in the dark, so she didn’t bother waving. But she was slightly reassured to find him out. At least she wasn’t entirely alone.

  “It’ll take two minutes,” she told herself. “I’ll run in, grab everything and run out.” But even after psyching herself up, she stared at her cabin for several long seconds before grabbing her GLOCK, getting out and approaching the front door. Her garage clicker was in her car and her house key was on the ring that contained her car key at the prison, but she had a spare hidden by the front door.

  Because she hadn’t left any lights burning, she used the small flashlight from her purse to be able to dig the key container out of her front planter.

  She found it without any problem, but when she let herself in she was so intent on her purpose it didn’t register when she first threw the light switch that there was a strange pair of snow boots in the entry. A split second later, she looked down. But by then she’d already lost the chance to run.

  30

  Murder is not about lust and it’s not about violence. It’s about possession.

  —TED BUNDY, SERIAL KILLER, RAPIST, KIDNAPPER AND NECROPHILIAC

  Evelyn tried to get out the door, but the arm that went around her waist, hauling her back, felt like iron. She remembered her gun. She’d thought it’d be easier to use. But the surprise of having someone fly at her so fast, before she could even get a glimpse of his face, hadn’t given her the opportunity to fire. And now whoever had ahold of her was trying to wrench her GLOCK away.

  She screamed. That was all she could do. She screamed as loudly as possible and began calling for Kit to get help. She had no idea if he could hear her or if he would understand and be able to convert her cries to action. But she was determined to do all she could to save herself. This was Jasper, she thought. It had to be Jasper. Just like last summer. If he managed to subdue her, she’d be in for only God knew what.

  Don’t let him win, Evelyn! Now’s your chance to fight back!

  She gave the struggle everything she had, used all the pent-up ang
er she’d felt toward him, not only for the last five months, for the last two decades. The surge of energy that came to her rescue was born of desperation—and the desire to vanquish her greatest enemy. And not just for her sake. For her mother’s sake, her entire family’s sake, her best friends’ sakes. She would finally overcome him. Or she’d die trying.

  Clawing and kicking, she fought like she’d never fought before. She could tell her ferocity surprised him. When he cursed, she tried to remember his voice, tried to match it to what she’d heard last August—and couldn’t. Still, she was so convinced it was Jasper that she was stunned when she twisted around enough to be able to see her attacker’s face.

  Then her strength gave out and she went limp. “Glenn!”

  “Shut the damn door!” he yelled, but he accomplished it himself by dragging her to one side, out of the way. After that, he let go of her but lashed out with a vicious kick, causing her thigh to explode in pain.

  Fortunately, he didn’t continue to assault her. He began to pace, curse some more and wave the gun he’d taken from her. “What are you doing here?” he ground out.

  She blinked at him. “What do you mean? This is my house!”

  “You’re supposed to be living with Sergeant Amarok! You told me you moved in with him. I saw you go there myself.”

  “How?” she cried. “Have you been following me?”

  “I needed to know certain things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Never mind. Why’d you come back? I was just about free of this town, free of it all.”

  Her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow. “I needed some … clothes. That makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is finding you here. What could possibly have possessed you—” She didn’t even get the question out before the answer came to her. “Oh! You’re part of the prostitution scheme!”

  “Danielle came to us,” he said. “And it would’ve been fine—if Kush and Petrowski hadn’t been stupid enough to parade her around town and brag about what we had going.”