by Karen Rose
“I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you,” Jane said. “Who called the social worker, you or Dupinsky?”
Evie lifted her chin. “I did. I didn’t need Dana for this.” It was a lie, but the only way she knew to keep Dana safe. “Besides, she and I have been fighting all week.”
Jane considered it, then nodded. “That you have. You, social worker, I suppose you left word with your office as to where you were going.”
Sandy hesitated, unsure of what Jane wanted to hear. “It’s procedure,” she whispered.
Jane laughed. “Of course it is. Well, just to make you feel better, you would have picked the same prize whichever door you opened. Either way, I can’t stay here anymore, which pisses me off. The bed is hard as a rock, but the beef stew was really tasty. On the floor, on your stomach. I really, really hate social workers by the way,” she added companionably. “Just thought you’d like to know.”
Evie didn’t think she’d ever forget the look in Sandy’s eyes as she struggled to the floor. The woman knew what was going to happen and Evie knew there wasn’t anything either of them could do to stop it. All she could do was pull Erik’s face to her chest to keep him from watching Sandy die.
Chapter Fifteen
Chicago, Wednesday, August 4, 12:15 P.M.
Dana met his eyes and her stomach went queasy. “Why are you here, Ethan?”
He didn’t relax his gaze. “I need to talk to you.”
“No, I mean why are you in Chicago?”
He flinched, then reached into his pocket for his phone, his eyes still focused on hers. “Yeah,” he said into the phone. “I’m here.”
Dana took a physical step back and he took a step forward, maintaining their distance, and in that moment she actually considered drawing her gun from her pocket.
“No, not yet. Tell her to be patient.” He listened, then his eyes grew wide, horrified, and Dana watched every drop of color drain from his face. “Dear God.” It was a whisper. A horrible one. Ethan’s lips trembled and he firmed them. “His?” He expelled a hard breath. “Yeah. Tell them to come. . . . The Sheraton . . . Yeah, call me when you get here.” He snapped his phone closed. “You have a gun in your pocket, Dana. Why?”
Dana swallowed. He was different, this Ethan. Brooding and dangerous. Nothing like the man who had loved her so tenderly the night before. “Dangerous neighborhood.” She lifted her chin. “Why are you in my apartment and who is the she that should be patient?”
“Her name is Randi Vaughn. She’s Stan’s wife.”
“Richard’s brother.”
“Yes. Randi’s son Alec was kidnapped a week ago.”
Dana didn’t flinch, although every muscle in her body wanted to do so. “What does that have to do with me?”
Temper crackled in his eyes. “I tracked Alec here, to Chicago. I’ve been watching surveillance video in every major bus station between Maryland and Chicago. That’s what I was doing on Sunday. What were you doing in the bus station on Sunday, Dana?”
Her throat threatened to close. He knew. “I told you. I was meeting a friend.”
His eyes flashed. “Why won’t you tell me? Dana, don’t you understand? I know who you are and what you do.”
Her heart was beating too fast. “Why are you here, Ethan?”
He leaned a little closer. “Dammit, Dana. Friday night at ten forty-five you met a woman and a twelve-year-old boy. She kidnapped that child and you have been hiding them.”
Her heart was hammering. Jane. Erik. She’d known something was wrong with that woman. With the boy. But not this. Not this. There must be some mistake. He must be mistaken. I can’t have missed that. Not that. She looked away, unable to take his stare any longer. “Ten,” she murmured. “He’s ten.”
Ethan’s lips firmed. “He’s twelve. I ought to know. He’s my godson.” Abruptly he pulled her to her toes until their eyes were inches apart. “Is he alive?”
Dana nodded. Slowly. His godson. He wasn’t mistaken. Dear God. “Yes. He’s weak, nonresponsive at times, but he’s alive.”
“What do you mean nonresponsive? Unconscious?”
“He sleeps a lot. And when you talk to him he doesn’t respond.”
“That’s because he’s deaf, dammit. Where is he?” He gave her shoulders a desperate little shake. “Dammit, tell me where he is.”
She winced now as his fingers bit into the flesh of her arms. Erik is deaf. That explained a great deal. “He’s in my shelter. He’s safe there. Ethan, you’re hurting me.”
Ethan dropped his hands and she rubbed her upper arms. “Where is your shelter?”
Her eyes flew up, wide and wary. “No. That I won’t tell you.”
Ethan drew a slow breath, controlled the fury that made him want to shake her again, just to make her understand. “You still don’t get it. The woman you’re hiding kidnapped a child and is holding him for five million dollars’ ransom. The woman you’re hiding just sent Alec’s parents a severed finger in the mail.”
She stood staring at him with a face so pale he thought she’d pass out. He grabbed her arms when she sagged. Hauled her up on her toes again. Made her look in his eyes. “The woman you’re hiding has murdered four people, Dana. Nobody in your shelter is safe.”
She dropped like a marionette with sliced strings and sat on her sofa staring up at him in absolute horror. “Oh, my God.” Then horror gave way to shocked panic as the truth sank in and she jolted forward. “Evie is there.” She grabbed his arm and pulled herself to her feet. “I’ll get dressed. Wait.” She flew back to her bedroom, stumbling as she went. Ethan followed her back and watched as she dropped the robe, yanked on underwear. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.” She chanted it under her breath, as if the words gave her momentum to move. Her hands fumbled with the bra and managed it. Ethan had a shirt ready and pulled it over her head.
“Hurry, Dana. Please hurry.”
She dragged on a skirt and looked up at him her brown eyes terrified and filled with terrible soul-wrenching guilt. “Ethan, I didn’t know. I swear it.”
He pulled her close for a fast, hard hug. “I know, baby. Let’s go.”
Wight’s Landing, Maryland, Wednesday, August 4, 2:00 P.M. Eastern (1:00 P.M. Central)
Dora stuck her head in the office. “Sheriff, you have a Sheriff Eastman from up in Ocean City on line two.”
“This is Sheriff Moore. What can I do for you?”
“I have some information for you,” Eastman said. “Your boy Lewis got a visitor yesterday, right after you and Janson left. Name of the guy was James Lorenzano. They talked for a few minutes, then Lorenzano left. He was back today.”
“Oh?” Lou was writing down the name. “Lorenzano?”
“Yes. I had my office run a check on his ID. Minor mob ties in New York. In between Lorenzano’s two visits Lewis was beaten.”
“Does Janson know?”
“I called him. I tried to talk to the kid but he’s not saying a word. I’ll keep you informed.”
“Thanks.” Lou hung up the phone with a frown. D.C. security consultants, New York mobsters? An engaged couple murdered three hundred miles apart? And the Vaughns. She couldn’t forget about them. They’d lied about the whereabouts of their son.
“Sheriff,” Dora called. “Janson on three.”
When it rained. “Hey, Janson. I just talked to Eastman from Ocean City.”
“He called me, too. I wanted you to know something new.”
“Forensics on Rickman’s car?”
“Not back yet. But I questioned the clerks in the bus terminal today and they told me there was a guy asking a lot of questions Friday night. He asked to see the surveillance video. Gave some story about investigating a child custody matter. Ethan Buchanan.”
Lou wrote it down next to Lorenzano’s name. “Thanks.” Lou knew exactly where she’d seen Buchanan’s name before. She hung up the phone and pulled up Clay Maynard’s company Website. Sure enough, there was Buchanan, just as she’d remembered.
>
“He used to play baseball with my kid,” Huxley said, coming in to look over her shoulder. “Grandmother was Lucinda Banks. Raised that boy right. Went into the Marine Corps.”
Huxley was her main source of information, usually whether she wanted it or not. Today they were both happy. “He’s not in the Marines anymore.”
“Combat injury in Afghanistan. He was with Richard Vaughn. Vaughn didn’t make it.”
“That would be Stan Vaughn’s older brother?”
Huxley’s lips thinned. “Older and better. Stan couldn’t come close to filling his brother’s shoes. Big disappointment to Dick and Edna. Those boys used to run all summer. My Zach would play with ’em from time to time. But Ethan and Richard were tight, best friends, and eventually Zach got tired of playing third wheel. You know how it is with kids.”
So Mr. Buchanan was old friends with the Vaughns. And he’d been asking questions in Morgantown. “I think it’s time to pay another visit to the Vaughns.”
“Can’t,” said Huxley.
Lou looked up at him with a frown. “Why not?”
“Just took off in Stan Vaughn’s private plane. I checked with the control tower. Flight plan says they’re going to Chicago. You said they weren’t under arrest, so I didn’t detain them. All of ’em went up. Stan and Randi and that houseguest of theirs.”
Lou huffed a frustrated sigh. “I wonder if the budget would cover a ticket to Chicago.”
Dora appeared at the door. “You leave out of Reagan National at five. With the time difference, you’ll be there at six. I got you a hotel out in the suburbs to save some money. You’ll be needing a rental car. You comfortable driving in Chicago, Sheriff?”
Lou had to laugh. “I’m not sure how I managed in Boston PD without you two.”
Dora just beamed. “Thank you, Sheriff.”
“Now, if you can tell me where the Vaughns are staying, I’ll have everything I need.”
“Chicago Sheraton,” Huxley said, then looked sheepish. “The guy who handled their suitcases remembers Miss Randi mentioning it.”
Lou grinned up at him. “Huxley, why aren’t you the sheriff?”
“Because he wouldn’t have enough time for fishing,” Dora stated.
Huxley’s face had reddened charmingly. But his mouth tightened and his expression grew sober. “One other thing, Sheriff. When I got back to my desk, there was a package waiting for me. It was addressed to you.”
Lou stood up, now as sober as he. “Where is it?”
“Still there. I didn’t touch it.”
Lou was already through the door. “Why didn’t you tell me that first?”
She heard Huxley’s sigh behind her. “That’s why I’m not the sheriff.”
Chicago, Wednesday, August 4, 1:15 P.M.
Dana slid her key in the lock. Felt her heart stop when the door gave even before she turned the key. “It’s unlocked. Evie promised me she’d keep it locked.” Pictures rushed to the front of her mind, bile rising in her throat as she remembered Evie two years before, lying slashed and bloody with a length of twine twisted deep into her neck. A maniac had once left her friend for dead. This time I brought the maniac here myself.
She was trembling now, so hard she could barely hold the doorknob. Pull yourself together, Dupinsky. Maybe she just forgot to lock the door again. But even as she pushed the door open, she knew it wasn’t so. Then she saw the sprawled figure on the floor and hissed out an oath, instantly recognizing her.
In two steps she was on her knees next to the woman lying in a pool of blood. Turning her over. It was surreal. It was her worst nightmare.
But Dana was awake. Ethan dropped to his knees beside her.
“Evie?” he asked tersely.
Dana shook her head, trying to hold her thoughts together. To keep calm. “No.” It was Sandy Stone. Evie must have called her, was all Dana could think as she pressed shaking fingers to Sandy’s throat. And felt nothing. Sandy was dead. Something had gone wrong and Evie had called Sandy to take Erik away from Jane. Where are Evie and Erik? Where is Jane?
Then from the doorway a voice asked, “Who is she, Dana?”
Dana looked up with a start to find Mia standing there, a frown on her face and a gun in her hand. Over Mia’s shoulder loomed David, looking grim. Beside Dana, Ethan tensed, taut as a bow, his eyes fixed on Mia’s gun. “It’s Sandy Stone,” she said to Mia, her voice shaking. “She’s a social worker with Children’s Services.”
Shrewdly Mia assessed Ethan Buchanan, then lowered her weapon to her side. “Well, at least the note makes sense.”
“Note?” Dana tried to focus on Mia’s face.
“The note signed by Goodman saying how much he hated social workers and that the next dead social worker would be you. Various expletives deleted. But Goodman didn’t do this, Dana. Detroit PD has him in custody as of this morning. So why is a social worker lying dead on your floor?”
Dana looked back to Sandy’s body, then to her own bloody hands, her stomach roiling. Sandy was dead. “Where is Evie?” she asked, her voice hoarse and shaking.
“She’s not here,” David answered from behind Mia. “Ruby got home and Dylan was screaming, but nobody else was here. Ruby found my number on the refrigerator and called me and I called Detective Mitchell.” Beside her Ethan went completely still.
“Where’s Alec?” Ethan asked tightly.
David frowned. “Who?”
Dana forced herself to stand up. Forced her legs to hold her steady. “He means Erik.”
Mia’s gaze focused on Ethan when he lurched to his feet. “Is this Buchanan?”
Dana jerked a look back. Ethan was pale. “Ethan, this is Detective Mia Mitchell. She’s with CPD. She’s also my friend. Mia, Ethan’s been looking for a missing little boy. A woman who called herself Jane Smith arrived Friday night. I picked her up at the bus station. She had a boy with her she called Erik. He’s the same little boy Ethan’s been looking for. Jane said Erik was her son, but he’s not.”
Mia pulled her notepad from her pocket, alert. “She kidnapped the boy? Why?”
“For the money,” Ethan answered through his teeth. “She’s demanded five million dollars in ransom.”
Mia flicked him a look. “P.I.?”
“Yeah,” Ethan said bitterly.
“And the boy? Who is he?”
“The boy is Alec Vaughn. He’s my godson.”
“Mia, Erik was the boy Dr. Lee came to examine yesterday.”
Ethan grasped Dana’s shoulder and pulled her around to look at him. “The man who was killed yesterday?” he demanded.
Dana nodded, fully aware now of what had happened.
“You think this Jane killed Dr. Lee?” Mia asked.
Dana looked up at Ethan and he shut his eyes. “She’s killed four people that we know of,” he said heavily. “Dr. Lee makes five. This social worker is six. I didn’t know she was here until a few hours ago.”
Mia looked drained. “Six murders. Do any law enforcement agencies know about this?”
Ethan shook his head. “She threatened to kill Alec if the police were contacted.”
Mia sucked in her cheeks, her jaw taut, eyes flaring with unspoken recrimination. “Well, let’s hope we’re not too late,” she snapped. “Looks like she took the boy because he’s certainly not here. I’ve checked the house, top to bottom. Was Evie here, too?”
Dana’s stomach heaved as she finally allowed herself to think the words. Jane had Evie. Jane, who had killed so many already. Jane, who all Dana’s instincts screamed was a problem. I brought her here. Put everyone I loved in danger. “Yes.” Her own voice sounded like a stranger’s. “Evie wouldn’t have left Erik.” Evie, who’d been through so much herself. Please don’t let Evie be dead. Please.
“Detective,” Ethan said slowly, a grimace on his face. “Did Dr. Lee have all his fingers when you found him?”
Dana pressed her hand to her mouth as her stomach violently churned.
Mia looked repulsed
. “Yes. Please don’t tell me . . .”
“Alec’s parents received a severed finger today, a man’s finger. They’re on their way to Chicago as we speak.”
Mia blew out a breath. “Oh, hell. I have to call this in and get my partner over here. Dana, sit down. You look like you’re going to faint. Mr. Buchanan, we’re going to have to talk and it’s not going to be pleasant.”
Ethan pulled out a chair and gently pushed Dana into it. Her eyes were glassy, staring at the dead woman on the floor. “I know,” he said grimly. “And I have to call Alec’s parents and tell them I lost him.” He grabbed a towel from the counter and cleaned Dana’s bloody hands. “Trust me, Detective, I’d much rather talk to you.”
Chicago, Wednesday, August 4, 4:30 P.M.
Detective Mia Mitchell paced the room while her partner sat at the scarred table in the interview room. Detective Abe Reagan had said little up until this point, just watched him with piercing blue eyes that made Ethan want to squirm like a recalcitrant child.
Dana sat at Ethan’s side, her hands hugging her upper arms, her eyes closed as he related the events once again, flinching when he told them about Paul McMillan, Cheryl Rickman, and Alicia Samson. She seemed terribly fragile and he was afraid to touch her lest she simply shatter into pieces. So he kept his hands to himself even though all he wanted to do was hold her and give her some comfort. And maybe take some himself.
Two of her friends were dead, her friend Evie was missing.
And Alec was gone. They’d been an hour too late. He’d tried to reach Clay and Randi, but got cell phone voice mails. They were still in the air. When they landed, he’d have to tell them the truth. The monster that had Alec had eluded them once more.
“So what happened when you got to Chicago, Mr. Buchanan?” Detective Reagan prompted when Mitchell just continued to pace.
Ethan sighed and went on with his story. “I went to the bus station, just like I’d done in all the other cities. Told security I was looking for a child taken in a custodial fight.”
