Deep Dark

by Laura Griffin

  Reed clenched his teeth. Laney was there. He knew it. She’d been intent on talking to Paul about that damn computer, and she’d gone out there to see about it. He floored the pedal.

  “Almost there,” Jay said, checking his map again. “I’d say five minutes.”

  • • •

  Laney lay on the ground, dazed. Her teeth hurt. Her arms felt numb. She tried to sit up and fell back, thunking her head on something hard.

  Tears burned her eyes.

  Get the hell up, Laney.

  Her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe.

  He’s coming.

  She forced herself to roll to her side and managed to push to her knees. She blinked down at the yellowed grass with its thin coating of dust.

  Electric fence, her brain registered. She shook her head, hoping to shake off the dizziness. She stared down at her hands in the dirt. Her fingers burned as though she’d grabbed hold of a lightning bolt.

  She pushed herself to her feet and belatedly realized that was a bad idea. She ducked low and lurched for the nearest tree. Her legs felt wobbly, and she fell to her knees again as soon as she was behind the relative safety of the branches. She pressed her palm against the rough bark as she gasped for breath.

  Her pulse was racing, from fear and exertion and God only knew how many volts of electricity. She listened for any sign of him, but all she could hear was a high-pitched humming noise in her ears.

  She gulped down a breath and looked around. Road. She needed the road. But he knew that was what she needed. It was her only way out, and he’d be waiting.

  She crouched low and dashed for the next bush. Then the next. Then the next. The sun was sinking, and the long, dark shadows were playing tricks with her mind. Still she didn’t hear him, but she knew he was out there lying in wait.

  Something warm trickled down her cheek. She put her hand to it, and it came away red. She’d caught a splinter when the bullet had hit the post just inches from her head.

  A cold shudder moved through her, and she dropped to her knees again. She had to stay down. Stay hidden. She looked out over the grass and saw the break in the fence that marked the driveway. And just beyond it the road. Probably sixty yards away, but that was her goal.

  She crawled on her hands and knees, staying low and watchful as she inched her way forward and forced herself to think.

  Paul Doher. He’d been in her house three years ago. He’d been in her bedroom. He’d had his weight on her and his arm against her throat, and his ski-masked face had invaded her sleep for years now. A wave of nausea gripped her, and she clutched her stomach, afraid she’d throw up.

  A faint rustling. She froze.

  Cautiously, she looked out over the brush. She saw no one, only a sliver of the black pickup truck through the trees. He was out there, armed and waiting for her.

  She flattened closer to the ground and moved forward on her elbows, ignoring the rocks and the sticker burs and the sweat seeping into her eyes.

  She wished for a gun. Reed’s Glock. Or the smaller one Jordan had recommended. She should have armed herself when she’d had the chance.

  She wished for her phone.

  She moved steadily, painfully, toward the gap in the fence. She strained to hear, to keep the tears in her eyes from spilling over. She couldn’t fall apart. The road was getting closer. She could make it.

  The brush grew thick, and she got into a crouch behind the cover of a leafy juniper bush. She could see the road now, the thin band of asphalt through the gap in the fence. But she hadn’t seen or heard a single car since she’d been out here.

  Snick.

  She dropped low and turned around. It was distant. But she’d definitely heard something. Was he in pistol range? She had no clue.

  She darted a look at the road again, and suddenly all she could see was that hammer. April’s hammer. And the bit of flesh stuck to the end.

  Panic spurred her into action. She glanced over her shoulder and made a run for it, sprinting for the road as fast as her legs could move, straining to hear anyone behind her and bracing for the bite of a bullet. She ran and ran until her lungs burned and her muscles screamed. Closer, closer.

  In the distance, an engine. A car coming? But no, the noise was coming from the house. She darted a look over her shoulder as the noise grew louder.

  Her feet reached the gravel driveway, and she pushed harder, faster, racing for the road. The engine roared behind her, and she let out a hysterical sob. She looked over her shoulder as the black truck swung around the curve. The giant grille zoomed toward her, and she dived out of the way. She tripped to the ground and rolled, then scampered behind a bush, but it was small and flimsy and no match for a truck if he tried to mow her down. She dashed for the road again, but the truck roared closer. She dived behind another tree as a gray pickup suddenly skidded around a curve and sped straight for the black truck.

  Brakes squealed. A deafening crash and crunch of metal. Shouts and curses and slamming doors.

  “On the ground, motherfucker! Now, now, now! Hands behind your head!”

  Reed’s voice. And Jay’s.

  “Don’t fucking move!”

  Laney ducked behind a tree. She clutched her hand around the slender trunk, digging her nails into the bark. She closed her eyes.

  “Laney!”

  She sucked in air, but her lungs wouldn’t fill. She couldn’t make her voice work.

  “Laney!”

  I’m here.

  “Her car’s here,” Reed said. “She’s here somewhere.”

  “I’ll check inside.”

  “I’m here,” she said aloud, dragging herself to her feet. “Reed, I’m here!”

  Paul was facedown in the middle of the road, hands cuffed behind his back. Reed and Jay were on either side of him with their guns pointed at him.

  Reed’s gaze locked with hers, and the combination of pain and relief in his eyes made Laney’s chest hurt.

  “You’re bleeding,” he said tightly, keeping his gun pointed.

  “I’m okay.” She wanted to throw her arms around him, but the look in his eyes stopped her.

  “Stay back!” he barked, then grabbed Paul by the arm and hauled him up. He spun him around and slammed him against the truck. “You’re under arrest.”

  • • •

  The sirens were faint at first but soon became deafening. Two police cars showed up, and within minutes she was sitting in the back of one of them with a first-aid kit in her lap.

  Reed stood beside his pickup talking on the phone. The front bumper of his truck was smashed in. The front of Paul’s truck looked like an accordion.

  Laney dabbed her fingers with an antiseptic wipe. She had new cuts and scrapes to add to the ones from last night, and her knee was starting to swell.

  She glanced across the driveway at the other police car. The evening sun shone through it, and Paul’s head was a dark silhouette in the backseat. Laney shuddered and turned away, focusing on the house. Jay and a uniformed officer had disappeared inside to secure the premises.

  Reed strode over, his expression grim.

  “How’s the cheek?” He crouched in front of her and gently tipped her chin up.

  “I’d forgotten about it. It’s probably just a splinter.” She rested her hands on her knees because she didn’t want him to see that they were trembling. “What happens now?”

  “CSI van should be here in a minute. Then we get the show on the road, start taking this place apart.”

  She nodded at the other police car, where Paul sat with a pair of uniforms standing guard. “What’s the holdup?”

  Reed’s jaw tightened. “There’s some question about where to put him.”

  “What do you mean? Put him in jail.”

  “We’ve got to decide where. Hall wants him at one of the sub
stations because the media’s still all over us downtown.”

  “Media?”

  He stared at her a moment. “I forgot you hadn’t heard. We arrested Phelps. They just had a press conference to announce it.”

  Laney blinked up at him. They’d arrested Ian? She wanted to say something, but her brain couldn’t find the words. She felt the fear inside her quickly becoming fury as her gaze settled on the other car again.

  Reed stood up and shifted, blocking her view. Maybe he thought just the sight of Paul was too much for her to handle. “Laney.”

  She looked down. She curled her fingers around her knees and gripped them.

  “Laney, honey.”

  She forced herself to look at him, and he squeezed her shoulder.

  “He’s going away. I promise you.”

  “Yo, Reed.”

  They glanced over to see Jay standing on the porch.

  “Need you in here, man. You won’t believe this computer setup.”

  Laney started to stand, but Reed put his hand on her shoulder.

  “You should stay out here.”

  “Like hell.”

  He planted his hands on his hips and looked at her, and she knew he hated everything about her being here right now, but he would just have to deal. He turned toward the house, and she followed him. They mounted the creaky stairs and stepped through the door.

  The inside smelled oddly of Lysol. Laney glanced around. The only seating in the living room was a brown recliner opposite a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. In front of the chair was a glass coffee table with three magazines lined up in a neat stair-step pattern in the upper right corner.

  Laney walked through the room, getting a glimpse into a kitchen with mustard-yellow counters. She didn’t see so much as a speck of dust on any of the surfaces as Jay led them down a narrow hallway. She expected Jay to turn into a room on the right, but he kept going and stopped where the hallway dead-ended into a built-in bookcase.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Reed. “Check this out.” With a gloved hand, he pressed the top of the cabinet. It rotated inward.

  Jay ducked through a low doorway, and Reed followed, then Laney. She found herself in a stuffy little room, maybe eight by eight. Her attention went to the three desks lining the walls and the black swivel chair surrounded by six big computer screens. The room was dark and sour-smelling and hot as a sauna with all the machinery.

  All six screens displayed the same screen saver, cascading computer code.

  “Like mine,” she murmured.

  “What’s that?” Reed turned around.

  “His screen saver. It’s from The Matrix.” She surveyed the setup, then looked at Jay. “You have any more of those gloves?”

  He glanced at Reed for approval before digging a pair from his pocket and handing them over.

  She nudged the men aside and pulled the gloves on. Then she dragged the chair back. No way in hell was she sitting in the filthy thing. “Roll that into the hall, will you?”

  The three desks were arranged in a U shape. The center one had a keyboard alongside a wireless mouse. She glanced under the desk. Several high-capacity servers sat beneath it, and she recognized the brand, a favorite with porn collectors.

  Laney’s hand hovered over the mouse for a moment. She had no password cracker here and no idea what sort of letter-number combination Paul might use. She tapped the mouse, and the screen came to life.

  It was a basic desktop with a solid black background.

  “You sure you should be touching that?” Jay asked.

  She didn’t reply as she slid the mouse to the right and the neighboring screen came to life. She slid it farther and got an image on the third screen.

  “No password?” Jay looked at her.

  “Maybe he thinks he’s safe here in his secret little media room.”

  Reed leaned forward. “What is that?”

  “Surveillance footage,” she said.

  Both monitors showed images of interior rooms. Laney noted the colors and fabrics and the clothing strewn about.

  “Women’s bedrooms,” she said. “These are his targets.”

  “No fucking way,” Jay muttered.

  “Way.” Laney leaned in for a closer look, then glanced back at Reed.

  The cold, steely look in his eyes sent a chill through her.

  She turned and slid the mouse left, activating the three remaining screens. All showed webcam footage of interior spaces. Dread tightened her stomach. So many victims they’d never even known about.

  “He’s a psycho,” Jay said.

  “This is how he watches them,” she said. “He probably spends hours in here fantasizing until he gets up the courage to make a move.”

  “Holy shit, is that . . . ?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Jay, who was staring at the screen. “What?” she asked.

  “That looks like . . .” His voice trailed off as he raked his hand through his hair. “I can’t be sure, but I could swear that room . . .”

  “Detective?” A uniformed cop stuck his head in. “You guys need to move the pickup. The CSI van’s trying to get in. Garcia moved the other vehicle, but there’s still not enough room, so—”

  “You’re supposed to be guarding the prisoner,” Reed said.

  “He’s in the car. Don’t worry, he’s cuffed.”

  “You can’t leave him alone, for Christ’s sake! He’s an expert lockpick.”

  “I didn’t. Garcia’s with him.”

  But Reed was already out the door as footsteps pounded down the hallway.

  “Detective Novak? Shit, I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. He disappeared.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Veronica’s head was pounding by the time she got home. She pulled into her garage with a sense of impending doom because she knew what was coming. It always started behind her eyes, and by the time it reached the back of her skull, she’d be weak with nausea. Her only hope of avoiding it was to get one of her migraine pills into her system before the queasiness kicked in.

  She gathered her groceries off the front seat and got out of her car, casting a tired look at the lawn mower on the other side of her garage. She’d planned to do her yard this weekend. And her laundry. And pay bills, too, but the day had slipped away from her.

  She dumped her bags on the kitchen counter and immediately filled a glass with ice. She poured ginger ale over it and went into the bathroom for her medicine. She forced the tablet down and then stared at herself in the mirror.

  Her hair was a mass of frizz, her skin looked wan, and she still had bags under her eyes from being up so late with Jay.

  The thought of him put a knot in her stomach. She’d turned him down over and over again because she didn’t want to be gossiped about, and then she’d done the same thing to him. She thought of his face this morning and turned away from her reflection, too ashamed even to look at herself.

  She went back into the kitchen and put away the groceries. She plugged her phone into the charger and silenced the ringer, then kicked off her shoes and sank down on her sofa, slowly leaning her head back. It would take a while to kick in, if it even worked. The pills were no guarantee. She closed her eyes and waited.

  Lawn and laundry and bills, all tomorrow. She had to water her plants and call her sister, too. And she probably wouldn’t do any of it because she’d be curled up in bed with the blinds shut tight as she prayed for the pain to stop.

  She opened her eyes and looked around her living room. The pale yellow glow of the lamp was starting to hurt her eyes. She glanced at her back door and forced herself to her feet. At least she could get the plants watered before she found herself down for the count.

  She stepped outside and discovered exactly what she’d expected. Her petunias were wilted, and even the hearty bougainvillea l
ooked shriveled. She gave everything a nice long drink and then rolled up the hose. She wiped her feet on the welcome mat.

  “Damn it!”

  She stepped inside and pulled up her foot. Her big toe was bleeding. She’d cut it on something sharp.

  She stared at the cut. An icy trickle of fear slid down her spine. Slowly, she lowered her foot and looked around the patio. In the lamplight spilling through the window, she saw glistening shards of glass.

  Her chest tightened. Her breathing grew shallow. She forced her face to relax, to show no expression, nothing at all.

  Purse on the counter. Phone on the counter. Keys on the table.

  She walked toward the kitchen on legs that suddenly felt like noodles. She passed the table and decided to skip the keys, the phone, everything. She just needed to get out. Out, out, out, before he realized that she knew.

  Her pulse was racing. Her chest constricted. She trained her gaze on the front door and crossed the living-room carpet. She was almost there. Ten more steps. Nine. Eight.

  A shadow leaped from the hall.

  She screamed and lunged for the door. But he had her by the hair, yanking her back and throwing her to the floor, then landing heavily on top of her. She bucked and kicked under him, clawing at his face, his eyes, the thick black ski mask that covered his cheeks.

  His knees were on her arms, pinning her down, digging into her biceps, and she flailed under him, but he was like a rock. He gazed down at her with hateful blue eyes, and she bucked and screamed as he calmly pulled a roll of duct tape from the pocket of his jacket. He ripped off a long strip of it, and her heart seized with terror. A loud keening noise tore from her throat as the tape slapped over her mouth.

  No, no, no!

  She kicked beneath him, enraged and helpless and petrified all at once. Her heels pounded against the floor, but his weight on her chest was heavy and suffocating, and she was losing breath as the masked face loomed over her. She heard the tear of fabric as he yanked her shirt. And then he said something, and spittle landed in her eyes, but she was too shocked to hear or understand anything except exactly what was happening to her, exactly what he intended to do. And a vision of her own brutalized body and her own bludgeoned head flashed into her mind.