9 Kill for Me

by Karen Rose

“In the parking lot of an all-night diner in Charlotte, North Carolina.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s where Rocky stopped. She’s sitting in her car, headlights off. Wait. Somebody’s coming.”

  “Can they see you?”

  He made a scoffing sound. “You know better than that. Nobody sees me that I don’t want to see me. It’s a girl, about fifteen. She’s coming toward Rocky’s car.”

  “Is she a blonde?”

  “What?”

  “Is she a blonde?” Bobby carefully enunciated each word.

  “Yeah. Looks like it.”

  Bobby yawned. “Then it’s business. Rocky said she had a few blondes ready to harvest. I told her I’d arrange for pickup, but it looks like she’s trying to make amends. I wish she’d followed my instructions on the nurse. I’ll deal with her when she returns.”

  “Then I just turn around and go home?”

  “Turn around, but don’t go home. I need one more job.”

  Paul sighed. “Bobby. I’m tired.”

  “Don’t whine. I need a body found tomorrow morning.”

  “Anybody I know?” Paul asked dryly.

  “Yeah, the nurse’s sister. I need it to look like she fought off a mugger. But make sure she’s found. I’ve sent the sister’s address and photo to your hotmail account. She should be leaving her house around eight. Be there a little early. Make it hurt.”

  “So Bobby takes the gloves off,” Paul said, amusement lacing his tone.

  “Absolutely. I always keep my promises. The nurse will be far more willing to follow my instructions in the future. So how is Rocky doing with the blonde in the parking lot?”

  “Not bad. The girl struggled a little, but your kid wonder was prepared. Looks like she knocked her out. She’s got a great right hook. No wonder you call her Rocky.”

  Bobby laughed softly. “No, that’s not why. Thanks, Paul, I’ll make sure you’re paid well for this evening.”

  “Always a pleasure, Bobby.”

  “Text me when the sister’s dead. I have a special delivery for the nurse.”

  Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 4:30 a.m.

  Luke’s brother Leo brought his car to a stop outside the gated GBI lot. “We’re here.”

  Luke opened his eyes, refreshed by the brief rest. He gave his ID to Leo, who slid it through the card reader, sending the gate silently upward. “Thanks for driving me to get my car, man.”

  Leo shrugged. “I wasn’t doing anything else.”

  Luke grunted as he sat upright, working the kinks from his neck. “That’s sad, Leo.”

  “Ain’t it though?” Leo studied him, eyes worried. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m here.” He wasn’t going to lie to Leo. He couldn’t if he tried.

  “Well, at least you don’t smell like a dog that’s been rolling in rotten fish anymore.”

  “There is that. I appreciate the breakfast.” Luke had been unsurprised when Leo had silently materialized from the shadows of his living room as soon as Luke had let himself into his apartment. Leo had seen Chase’s press conference and knew Luke would come home sometime, tired and hungry. Leo was good about anticipating the needs of others. Luke wished his brother was as good about taking care of himself.

  “You’re lucky. Those two eggs were the only thing in your fridge that were edible.”

  “I haven’t been to the grocery in a while.” Not since his Internet Crimes unit had picked up the scent of those three kids for whom they’d been too late last Tuesday. “I think the milk’s expired, too.”

  “It’s solidified. I’ll run by and get you some bread and milk when I take your suit over to Johnny’s later today. He’s getting good at salvaging your clothes.”

  That their cousin Johnny had his own dry-cleaning business was both a bane and boon. “Tell him to go light on the starch on my shirt, okay? Last one was so stiff it almost rubbed the skin off my neck.”

  Leo smirked. “He did that on purpose.”

  “I know.” He needed to move, but his body wasn’t cooperating. “I’m so tired, Leo.”

  “I know,” Leo said quietly, and Luke knew his brother understood it was more than physical fatigue.

  “Those girls could be anywhere. God only knows what they’ve had done to them.”

  “You can’t think like that,” Leo said brusquely. “You can’t think of them as Stacie and Min. So stop it.”

  As he had been. Luke pushed the pictures of his sister Demi’s pretty, smiling, teenaged daughters from his mind. “I know, I know. Eyes on the goal. It’s just that . . .”

  “You’re human,” Leo said quietly. “You see their faces. And it eats you up.”

  And a little more of you dies each day. How right Susannah Vartanian had been. “It’s like a sea of faces. They’re always there. Some days I think I’m losing my mind.”

  “You aren’t losing your mind. But you can’t be human right now. If you think of them, of their suffering, you’ll lose your edge and you’ll be no good to any of them.”

  “How do you do that? Stop thinking of them?”

  Leo’s chuckle was void of humor. “I have no idea. That’s what they used to tell us before we went door to door, but I never learned how to.”

  Luke thought of his brother in full battle gear, searching out insurgents in Baghdad. It had been a very tense time for his family. Their mama. Every day they’d waited for word that Leo had been one of the lucky ones, that he’d survived another day. The day he came home, they’d rejoiced. But one had only to look at Leo’s eyes to know he had not been one of the lucky ones. A piece of his brother had died over there, but it was not something Leo ever discussed, even with me. “So you got out?”

  Leo’s eyes shuttered. “You thinkin’ of getting out of the GBI?”

  “Every goddamn day. But I don’t.”

  Leo tapped his steering wheel lightly. “And that’s what makes you a better man.”

  “Leo.”

  But Leo shook his head. “Don’t. Not today. You don’t need my shit piled on top of yours.” He settled in his seat and Luke knew that topic was closed. “So how is she?”

  “Who?”

  “Susannah Vartanian.” Leo shot him a look. “Come on, it’s me you’re talking to here. I saw how you looked at her at her parents’ funeral. You didn’t think you were hiding anything, did you?”

  Not from Leo’s eagle eye. “I guess not. She’s . . .” Fine. Of course on a physical level that was true. Susannah Vartanian was very fine. Too fine. Too tempting. On an emotional level it couldn’t be more false. “She’s holding on.”

  “Why did she come back today?”

  “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

  Leo’s expression turned contemplative, then he shook his head hard. “No. No way.”

  Luke sighed. “What?”

  “In that press conference, your boss said that you’d broken the case of those thirteen-year-old rapes today, that they’d happened in Dutton. She was one of them.”

  “I can’t tell you.” But in not denying it, he’d confirmed it and they both knew it. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Are you okay?”

  Luke blinked. “Me?”

  “You’re interested in a woman who comes with heavy baggage. Can you deal?”

  “Before or after I do what I want to do to the one sonofabitch that’s still standing?”

  “I’ll open up the range day or night if you need to take out a paper man or two.”

  “I appreciate it.” Luke had taken out many a paper target at Leo’s shooting range. Many days it was all that enabled him to keep a lid on his temper. “But not right now. I’ve got too many things I should have already done.” First of which would be a visit to the hospital where Ryan Beardsley was, thankfully, in stable condition. He also needed to get to the morgue to check autopsy results before the eight-o’clock meeting.

  “You’ve got a couple things going for you,” Leo said when Luke got out of the car.r />
  Luke grabbed his gym bag full of clean clothes from Leo’s backseat. “Like what?”

  Leo grinned. “Mama likes her. And she’s Catholic. Everything else is just details.”

  Luke threw the bag in the trunk of his own car, chuckling. “Thanks. I feel better now.”

  Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 4:40 a.m.

  Monica woke up. It was dark. And quiet. And she couldn’t move. I can’t move. Oh, God. She tried to open her eyes and . . . couldn’t. Help! Help! What’s happening to me?

  I’m dead. Oh, God, I’m dead. Mom. Susannah.

  “Doctor.” It was a woman’s voice, urgently calling.

  She wanted to drag in a breath, but couldn’t. The tube was still in her throat. No, no I’m not dead. I’m in the hospital. That’s a nurse. She’ll help. She’ll help.

  “What’s going on?” A deeper voice. A doctor. A doctor.

  Stop. He’s a real doctor. He won’t hurt you. Still her heart raced like a wild horse.

  “Her BP’s up. So is her pulse.”

  “Let’s get her comfortable. Call me if her pressure doesn’t go down.”

  I can’t move. I can’t see. Help me. She heard the rattle of instruments, felt the quick prick of a needle. Listen to me. But the scream wouldn’t come, echoing only in her mind. Susannah, where are you?

  She started to drift, to calm. And then she heard a voice, low and gruff, and right next to her ear. Male? Female? She couldn’t tell.

  “You’re not dying. You’ve been given a drug to make you paralyzed.”

  Paralyzed. Oh my God. She fought to open her eyes, to see who spoke. But she could do nothing. Say nothing. Oh God.

  “Sshh,” the voice said. “Don’t fight it. They’ll just give you more sedative. Now you listen to me. In a few hours, this is going to wear off. When it does you’ll be able to move, to see again. When the cops come back, you will tell them you remember nothing, not even your name. You will say nothing of your time in the bunker. They have your sister and they will do to her what they did to you if you say anything.”

  She could feel warm breath against her ear. “Say nothing and your sister will be free. Say one word and she’ll be their whore, just like you were. It’s up to you now.”

  The heat disappeared and Monica heard the shuffle of shoes as the person walked away. Then she felt the wetness on her temples as tears leaked from her eyes.

  Genie. They had Genie. She’s only fourteen. Oh, God, what do I do?

  Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 4:50 a.m.

  Pete Haywood was waiting in the hospital lobby when Luke came in.

  “Status?” Luke asked.

  “Beardsley’s awake and lucid, asking for ‘Papa.’ We thought he wanted his father, but then I realized he was asking for you. He wouldn’t talk to me.”

  “What about the IV bag?”

  “Sent it to the crime lab a couple hours ago. Haven’t heard anything yet. The doctors did a CT scan and a tox screen. The scan was negative, but the tox screen hasn’t come back yet. I interviewed the nurse who changed the IV bag. She’s ripped up. Every doctor and nurse on the floor has vouched for her, but I’ve got Leigh pulling her financials, just in case. I don’t think she did it. The nurses stage their IV bags up to two hours ahead of time, so anybody who went into that room could have had access.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Not so bad, actually. The hospital has a tracking system. See those blue antennae?” Pete pointed to what looked like two blue stalactites hanging from the ceiling outside the gift shop. “They’re everywhere. Employees wear a badge that tracks their location 24/7.”

  “Holy Big Brother, Batman,” Luke murmured, and Pete chuckled.

  “Hospital security was running a list of everyone in the area. They should be finished any minute. I think the doctor who responded to Beardsley’s attack suspected foul play, too, and that he took Beardsley up to ICU because he knew there was a guard up there. But nobody’s confirming that. I think the hospital admin is being careful about liability.”

  “We’ll know more when that bag is analyzed. Where are you going?”

  “I just got a call from the fire investigator at Granville’s house. He’s found the bomb’s trigger. Now that you’re here, I’ll head to Dutton. I’ll be back by the eight-o’clock meeting.”

  Pete headed out and Luke headed up, stepping out of the elevator to find a new state trooper standing guard. “I’m Papadopoulos,” Luke said, flashing his badge.

  “Marlow. I just put a call in to Haywood. He said you were on your way up.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Your Jane Doe had some kind of seizure or something. Her BP spiked and they sedated her. The doctor said it was nothing unusual, that this kind of thing happens after surgery, but given Beardsley’s condition, I thought you all should know.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Alex met him at the door. “Ryan Beardsley has been asking for you.”

  “I heard. Has he said anything to you?”

  “No. He’s waiting for you.”

  “What about the girl?”

  “She woke up very agitated. Sometimes that happens when a patient wakes up in a strange place after surgery. And who knows? She might have been having a nightmare about the bunker. I know I’ve had a few. She’s resting comfortably now, but her nurse is that one over there, the tall woman with gray in her hair. Her name’s Ella. She can also tell you more about Ryan Beardsley.”

  “Thanks. How’s Daniel?”

  “Still asleep, but stable. I’ll call you as soon as he wakes up.”

  Luke glanced into Daniel’s cubicle as he walked by, wondering how much his friend knew about Judge Borenson, if anything. He wondered if they’d find Borenson alive.

  But Beardsley was still alive. Luke approached the tall nurse named Ella. She hadn’t been on shift earlier when he and Susannah had talked to Jane Doe. “Excuse me, I’m Special Agent Papadopoulos. I’m here to see Ryan Beardsley. How is he?”

  “Stable. The team that worked on him downstairs got to him quickly and that’s in his favor. Plus, he’s in good physical condition. He’s up here primarily for observation.”

  And for the guard. “Does that mean he’ll go back to a regular room?”

  Ella nodded. “Yes, but when he does, we’ll be sure to tell you first.”

  “Thanks. Please call me if there’s any change in condition on any of our patients up here.” Luke went into Beardsley’s cubicle. “Ryan, it’s Luke Papadopoulos. Can you hear me?” Beardsley’s eyes opened and Luke was relieved to see he was coherent. “Agent Haywood said you wanted to talk to me. You could have talked to him. I trust him.”

  “I didn’t know him,” Beardsley said, so faintly Luke had trouble hearing him. “Someone tried to kill me. Under the circumstances, I thought it best I wait for you.”

  Luke leaned closer. “I suppose I can understand that. So what did you recall?”

  “A phone call that Granville got on the third day. From somebody named Rocky.”

  “Rocky?” Luke murmured. “Like the fighter?”

  “Yes. Rocky was a boss, gave Granville orders. Made the doc very unhappy.”

  Luke’s pulse shot up. Finally. “Granville didn’t like getting orders from this Rocky?”

  “No. Made him angry. He beat me harder.”

  “What order did Rocky give Granville that he didn’t like?”

  “Don’t know, but when he hung up he said he wouldn’t take orders from ‘a little shit.’ ”

  “Okay. That’s helpful, Ryan. Did you hear anything else?”

  Beardsley’s face grew grim. “Yeah. The first day I was there, I woke up and heard noises outside my wall. On the outside, not in the hall. Sounded like digging. Burying.”

  Luke got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Burying something or someone?”

  “Someone.” Beardsley’s gaze was weary. “One of the men called her Becky.”

  “Hell.” Luke sighed. “Anyt
hing else?”

  “No. That’s all I remember.”

  “Can I get you anything? Do anything for you?”

  Beardsley didn’t respond at first. Then, just when Luke had thought he’d drifted back into sleep, he murmured, “BBQ. I’m so hungry I could eat the whole pig myself.”

  “When you’re out of here, I’ll bring you all you can eat.” He got up to go, but Beardsley grabbed his arm.

  “Is Bailey okay?” he asked, serious again.

  “Bailey’s fine. I put a guard on her door. Don’t worry.” He squeezed Beardsley’s hand and went back out to the nurse’s station. “He wants a barbecue sandwich.”

  Ella nodded. “It’s always a good sign when they start asking for food.”

  “Can you tell me where I can find the head of security?”

  Luke was headed for the elevator when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.

  “It’s Chase. We have a match on one of the homicides. Kasey Knight. Sixteen, five-eight, red hair.” He hesitated. “The one that only weighed eighty pounds.”

  The one he’d found Malcolm Zuckerman crying over as he’d gently bagged her hands and feet. The one whose red hair had come out in Malcolm’s hands. Luke cleared his throat. “Have her parents been notified?”

  “Yes. I just got off the phone with the father.” Luke could hear Chase draw an unsteady breath. “I asked them to bring her hairbrush or some other DNA source. They, um, they want to see her.”

  “God, Chase. They don’t want to see her. They really don’t.”

  “It’s closure,” Chase said. “You know that as well as I do. They won’t believe their daughter’s dead until they see her for themselves. She’s been gone two years, Luke.”

  Two years of waiting, agonizing. Hoping for the best and visualizing the very worst. “I’m on my way to the morgue. I’ll ask Felicity Berg if she can make her look any better. I’ve got news, too. We have a potential sixth homicide.”

  “Aw, Christ,” Chase muttered wearily. “Who?”

  “Only a first name. Becky. Have Ed’s team check for a body buried in the area outside the cell where Ryan Beardsley was being held.”

  Chase’s sigh was heavy. “Do we know there’s only one?”