by Debra Webb
She was doing all in her power, which wasn’t a hell of a lot since Olivia Shelton wouldn’t cooperate. The woman wore bruises like most women wore jewelry and black eyes more often than not. But she refused to press charges or to move to a shelter.
“I can’t do nothing,” Lynette reasoned, knowing the words were falling on deaf ears.
“You’re too close to this,” Tricia argued. “When you feel compelled to step in, call Bobbie or Asher. This is too personal. For better or worse or until their lease is up they are our neighbors.”
Tricia was right. Lynette comprehended that fact, but every time she thought of a baby living in the hell that bastard raised nearly every night she wanted to storm down there and kick his no-good ass. But there were laws that protected pieces of shit like him the same as they protected the innocent. Unless the wife filed a complaint or filed for a restraining order, there was little Lynette could do.
“I’ll talk to Bauer. Maybe he can help with this.” Lynette was at her wit’s end.
Tricia reached out and caressed her cheek. “You are a good cop, love. You care deeply. But you can’t save everyone.”
Lynette felt herself smile for the first time today. “I think having a baby made you smarter.”
“They do say cells from the baby stay with the mother for decades, making her stronger and healthier. Maybe smarter, too.”
Lynette wrapped her arms around Tricia and held her close. “You were already brilliant.”
“You’re pretty smart yourself.” Tricia kissed her cheek. “So is everything settling down with the new guy?”
“Yeah. He’s working out better than I expected.” Steven Devine had somehow managed to impress everyone on the team. Except maybe Bauer, though Lynette thought he might be coming around.
“You worried about Bobbie again?”
Lynette contemplated the idea for a moment. She opted not to mention her suspicions about Bobbie having secrets. Tricia would only worry and hound Lynette about the issue. “Actually I’m feeling good about where Bobbie is these days. She’s much stronger and she even smiles and laughs once in a while.”
“This new case isn’t stirring up any old issues?”
“Maybe a little, but she’s holding her own.” Maybe if she’d just come clean there wouldn’t be any issues.
“Good. You’re always happier when your team is happy.”
Lynette smiled. “And when I’m happy, you’re happy. Is that it?”
“Definitely.”
They laughed. When the laughter faded their mouths found each other’s. They hadn’t been intimate since Howie was born. Suddenly they couldn’t touch each other enough. Lynette’s heart beat so fast she couldn’t breathe. God, she needed this.
A scream two houses away fractured the moment.
They stilled, neither ready to pull away.
The yelling and cursing started next.
And then Howie began to wail.
Eleven
Fern would give anything if she could go home. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her little brother needed her. Now she was probably going to die and he would be left all by himself to deal with their parents’ shit.
She’d been so mean to him...slammed the door in his face. How could she have been so mean?
Her fingers hurt from trying to dig her way out of this fucking black hole. She’d dug and dug at the hard dirt walls. The only thing she’d accomplished was breaking her damned fingernails. Not that it mattered. A dead girl didn’t need fingernails.
She’d awakened this morning—or maybe it wasn’t morning, she couldn’t be sure—to the sound of another, older girl being shoved in through the door. Light had spilled in for a moment making her squint. The man with the mask had taken her, too. Vanessa, the new girl, didn’t know him, either. Fern shuddered. What was going to happen to them? If he was planning to ransom them, he was shit out of luck. Her parents were broke. She didn’t know about Vanessa’s.
As mad as she was at her parents, she felt bad that they would be so worried about her. A sob tore past her lips. She wanted to go home.
“Don’t cry. We’ll get out of here.”
Fern drew her arms tight around herself. “He’s going to kill us.”
“He’s going to try,” Vanessa said. “But I’m not going down without a fight. You with me?”
Fern licked her lips and nodded, then remembered the other girl couldn’t see her in the darkness. “Yes. I’m for sure with you.”
“How long have you been here?”
Fern shrugged. “I don’t know. It was Wednesday night when he drugged me and brought me here.” She hoped she got the chance to hurt him—whoever the hell he was.
“Today’s Friday. It’s probably the middle of the night by now. Maybe even Saturday. Have you had any food or water?”
“He threw in one of those big thirty-two-ounce bottles of water when he left me here. I guess he doesn’t want me to die until he’s ready.” Her throat ached. “I ran out just before you got here.” Fern held back the sobs. She should have rationed the water. Now they would both shrivel up and die from thirst.
The rustle of clothing told Fern the other girl had gotten up.
“I can reach the opening but it won’t budge.”
“Yeah, I tried that, too. When I first got here.” The door was like a hatch to a hole in the ground. There was an old creaky wooden ladder that led up to it. She had tried over and over to shove it open.
Vanessa sat down on the dirt floor again. “Okay, for now we’re stuck here so let’s take some steps to make sure we stay healthy.”
Fern wasn’t sure how they could do that.
“If you need to use the bathroom, go over into the far corner and try to cover up your waste. You know, like a cat.”
“Okay.” Fern hated to tell her but she’d already had to do number one and number two, more than once. She had done it in the corner but she hadn’t covered it up. They’d both felt their way around the walls looking for shelves or anything that might be stored in here, but the place was nothing but dirt and a couple of old boxes. A rectangular cave in the ground.
A grave...a deep grave.
“You think he’ll come back?” Fern asked. He didn’t have to come back, he could just leave them. He hadn’t dropped any water or food into the hole when he shoved Vanessa inside.
“I don’t know, but the Girl Scout motto is to be prepared. We couldn’t exactly prepare for this, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work with what we have.”
Fern bit her lip, then asked, “What do we have?”
“Each other.” A flame flickered in the darkness and Vanessa smiled at her.
Fern’s heart leaped even as her eyes squinted at the sudden brightness. “You have a lighter!”
Vanessa nodded. She let the flame go out. “I smoked some weed with a friend of mine before...”
Fern knew what she meant. Before that fucking monster had come after her.
Vanessa flicked her lighter again. “Let’s see what’s in those boxes back there.”
Twelve
Saturday, October 22, 6:55 a.m.
It was still dark when Nick leashed D-Boy and stepped outside. The scent of burning wood from a fireplace or a woodstove somewhere nearby lingered in the cool morning air. He took his time walking the neighborhood. As night grayed into dawn he noted little or no change from his last visit. Like before most of the lawns needed attention. Three or more vehicles were parked in the yards of the small homes. Like a game of musical chairs, tenants had come and gone, moving back and forth between this neighborhood and other similar ones in the city. Rent and deposits were cheap, background searches were ignored and credit checks were not required. As he’d anticipated, most of the residents appeared to be in bed. It was Saturday,
after all.
D-Boy hesitated and stared through the chain-link fence that stretched across the yard where Quintero and his thugs resided. Judging by the empty beer cans and liquor bottles scattered over the porch, there had been one hell of a party last night on this end of the street. Nick doubted the neighbors complained. They were all too afraid of Quintero, which was how he continued to conduct his illegal business without fear of law enforcement.
Nick wondered if Bobbie would ever return to the home she’d shared with her husband. Miles away from this neighborhood, minivans and SUVs filled the garages while professionally manicured lawns showcased the middle-class homes. Bobbie Gentry had been happy there—even if she hadn’t been like the other wives. She was a cop who chased bad guys 24/7 while the others shuttled their offspring to dance class or soccer practice after work. Bobbie’s husband had happily filled in all the blank spots she left behind to protect and serve.
A knot formed in his gut and Nick cursed himself again for being envious of a dead man. It wasn’t so much the man, but the life he’d shared with Bobbie. The chances of Nick having a wife and kid were less than zero. He would never take such a risk even if the opportunity presented itself. He would never put someone he cared for in that position. There were far too many targets on his back. Far too much risk of passing on the evil in his DNA.
Besides, like Bobbie, he was too focused on finding and stopping monsters. On being the hero, some would say. Nick wasn’t a hero. He’d never been a hero. At twenty-one he’d been a self-centered kid who wanted to have fun and still survive college with a passing grade-point average and a marketable job skill. When his world shattered, he’d become an angry jerk who wanted nothing but revenge. Then the regret and sense of responsibility for the forty-two murders committed by his father had descended squarely on his chest. He’d felt the crushing soul-deep guilt for not protecting his mother—for not seeing what his father was. For being a blind, self-centered shit. Reason told him a child couldn’t possibly see through the mask Weller had worn. Still, he’d hated himself for being too young not to see...too naive not to sense the malevolence.
Then he’d grown angry all over again at the realization of what he could not be. He couldn’t be a cop and remaining in the military wasn’t an option for fear he might be in a position one day that required he take a life. How could he risk taking a life and turning into what his father was? Two months ago the sadistic bastard had asked him if he’d “felt it yet”? Nick had wanted to tear off his head and reach down his throat to rip out his heart.
Because he had felt it.
For the first time since he chose the path of hunter, stopping the sadistic serial killer he’d hunted hadn’t fulfilled the ravenous urge inside him. Finding Gaylon Perry, aka the Storyteller, hadn’t been enough. He’d wanted to kill him. He had wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He’d pretended not to feel it. He’d told himself he only wanted to find and stop him. That he wanted to protect Bobbie and any other potential victims.
But it was a lie. He’d yearned to watch Perry die.
His most recent hunt had ended successfully without the overpowering desire to kill his prey. If he was lucky, what happened with the Storyteller was an anomaly. An unexpected reaction related to his feelings for Bobbie.
Yet another reason he should be keeping his distance.
He’d caused enough pain here already. Nick was the reason at least three people were dead and two were missing. Whoever Weller had sent, the son of a bitch had taken those lives to lure Nick back to Montgomery.
He would find the missing women. He would make the bastard who took them pay. The glitch would be in accomplishing his goal while keeping Bobbie safe. Weller clearly understood that she meant something to Nick and he would attempt to use that weakness. Whatever the cost, Nick could not allow that to happen.
D-Boy led the way back home. He didn’t so much as glance at the house where he’d lived two months ago.
“You’re one lucky fellow.”
D-Boy looked up at Nick as if he agreed.
The sun peeked above the trees as he skirted the yard next to Bobbie’s, slipped through the gate and made his way to her back door. Unless his instincts had failed him, there were no eyes on them at this time. But the threat would be close. Using the key Bobbie had given him, he unlocked the door. He listened for a long moment before stepping inside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee told him she was up, but the lack of sound suggested she had returned to her bedroom to prepare for the day.
He tucked the key into his pocket and locked the dead bolt on the inside. Until he was done he would hang on to the spare key. Staying so close was a double-edged sword. His presence drew the danger toward her, yet if he stayed away she was far too vulnerable. Like before, she preferred to ignore any potential threat and charge into the fray.
Bobbie’s instincts were better than average, but she couldn’t conceivably grasp what she was up against when it came to Weller. No matter the case files she read or even the crime scene images she viewed, she couldn’t possibly reconcile what he was with the facade he presented to her. Only firsthand experience could fully expose the kind of evil he was, and few survived that experience.
D-Boy whined, drawing Nick from the troubling thoughts. The animal stared up at him as if he had forgotten something very important. He spotted the large plastic bin on the floor next to the water bowl and empty food bowl.
“Time for breakfast, is it?” He transferred a scoopful of kibbles from the bin to the bowl and D-Boy dug in. He patted the animal on the back. Nick’s craving for caffeine had him finding the right cupboard and retrieving a mug. Before he turned around he felt more than heard Bobbie enter the room. Mug in hand, he turned to face her. “Good morning.”
She grunted. “We’ll see. Tell me why Weller would send someone to lure you to Montgomery and then warn me you were in danger. It seems counterintuitive.”
Nick was so accustomed to seeing her in trousers and a jacket for work, the jeans and T-shirt surprised him. She looked relaxed. His gaze swept over her lean curves. She looked good. When they’d first met, those attractive curves had been subtler, and inside she’d been so shattered that it hurt to look for too long into those pale blue eyes.
“What does he want from you?” she asked when he didn’t answer her first demand. She took the mug from his hand and shoved it under the drip spout of the single-serve coffeemaker. Next she popped a pod into the machine, set it into action and looked to him for the answers he wasn’t ready to share.
“I don’t know what he wants.” He should step away from her. This close the lavender scent of soap on her skin was distracting.
“Does he want revenge?” She passed him the mug of steaming coffee and prepared to brew herself another cup.
“Possibly.” Nick spent little time wondering anything at all about Weller. The sooner he was dead, the better.
“A man who would go to such extremes to get your attention must have a strong motive.” Bobbie held the mug to her lips and blew on the hot liquid inside.
Nick looked away and sipped his coffee. He could close his eyes and draw every line and angle of her face in his mind. “You forget who he is,” he warned, setting his mind back on the subject at hand. “For Weller taking a life is as simple as tossing out an unwanted pair of shoes or flipping a light switch.”
Even as a child he had sensed something was not as it should be with his father. Years later when he’d come home early for spring break and found him in the process of creating art from the bodies of the two men he’d butchered, that same sensation had settled deep in his gut the instant he’d parked in the driveway. Nick had climbed out of the car and entered the house, calling his father’s name in the deafening silence. Then he’d gone to his studio. Painting had been his father’s hobby, his passion. He’d said it soothed his soul. Growing up, whe
never they traveled, art museums were always on the agenda.
The art Nick found him creating still haunted him whenever he closed his eyes.
“Have you considered that after all this time he might want you to suffer the same fate you created for him?” She abandoned her coffee, her attention fixed solidly on Nick. “LeDoux said the feds are taking a harder look at you. Maybe Weller is setting you up for a fall. Maybe that’s what this is all about.”
“Maybe.” Nick wasn’t prepared to offer more. Far too much was still unknown and she was already in too deep.
“Why don’t you talk to someone at the FBI or confront Weller?” She went to the fridge and had a look inside.
“The FBI knows who I am and what I do.” He shrugged. “As for Weller, we don’t talk.”
She withdrew two cups of yogurt and offered one to him. He shook his head and she stuck the extra cup back in the fridge and closed the door. “You talked to him back in August.” She prowled in a drawer and found a spoon.
“He told you about my visit?” Nick didn’t know why he was surprised. Weller wanted to make her believe he had his son’s best interests at heart. Whatever his game, it wasn’t about anyone’s interests but his own.
“Nope.” She licked the yogurt off the spoon.
His gaze followed the move.
“You sure you don’t want some?” She pointed at the cup with her spoon.
He shook his head again.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was the source you went to see back then?”
“He was only one of several. Would it have mattered?”
She ate another spoonful of yogurt. “Probably not.”
He concentrated on finishing his coffee. There was more she wanted to ask him. He could feel her anticipation. “Who told you I’d visited him?”
“The guard mentioned it when I was there.” She stared at her spoon to avoid his gaze. “Last night LeDoux said something about you going to see him the last time you were in Montgomery.”
