by Julie Miller
“Nothing. I went over everything myself. Your guy was wearing gloves. Forensically, we can’t prove it was Danny Wheeler who broke in there.”
The man was smart, which only made him more dangerous. “Okay, thanks.”
“No problem. Hey, we’re on the same team, right? Anything I can help you with, you let me know.”
“Same here. Thanks.”
After putting away her phone, Maggie looked up and down the street, wondering how these busy blocks had looked at night to Bailey Austin, when the shops and offices had closed. It looked like a nice enough neighborhood on the surface—maybe not as cosmopolitan as it had been in its original heyday. But it was no longer the run-down, homeless crime lane it had once been either. Much of the historical architecture had been restored. There were new businesses going in, thriving shops, a café, apartment living on the upper floors.
Just how truly alone had Bailey Austin been that she jumped out as a target to the Rose Red Rapist? It was hard to picture it now, with the clear blue afternoon sunlight, and the bustle of activity on the streets and sidewalks.
Had someone been inside one of those doors or windows who might have seen something? A custodian cleaning an office perhaps? Or someone else who lived above his or her business like Hope Lockhart did? There were several night spots within a couple of blocks in either direction. Had there been no overflow parking on this street? No couple strolling hand in hand on a date?
What made Bailey Austin the rapist’s target? There were so many women here who fit the same general description.
A camera flash of understanding went off in her head. Maggie’s gaze shrank from the big picture she’d been contemplating down to the individual faces of each woman on the street.
“Nick?” She spun around, looking for the burly detective. “Nick!” She jogged down to the entrance to the Fairy Tale Bridal Shop parking lot to catch him before he disappeared around the corner. “I just realized something.”
“What’s that?”
She pointed to the people in their cars and walking past on the street. “Look at the women here. They’re all professionals.” Some were younger, perhaps newly out of college and chasing after a new career. Others were older, well-established by the look of their BMW or designer bags. They had different ethnicities and looks, but they were all a certain type. “Detective Montgomery talked about Rose Red having a hunting ground. All the victims have been career women. They’ve all had money and class, or were well on their way to having both.”
Nick nodded, seeming to find merit in her assessment. “Women with self-confidence, authority. Women who are going places.”
“Upset or not, he picked up Bailey Austin here because she was the right type of woman.”
“And he knew he could find that type in this neighborhood.”
A little rush of excitement buzzed through Maggie’s blood. They were onto something here. At least they might be able to narrow down their search area for where the serial rapist might strike next. “That’s why our guy has gone after blondes and brunettes and different racial types. It’s not a look he’s targeting, like most serial rapists. He has a thing for women who have power. Strong women. He didn’t go after Bailey Austin because she was upset and vulnerable. He went after her because she was strong enough to stand up for herself against her fiancé and mother. In public.”
“I’m telling Spence to get his butt back over here. You okay to get back to the station on your own? He can drive me in his car.” She nodded as he pulled out his phone to text a message. After hitting Send he held out his arm to give her a congratulatory fist bump. “Good profiling, Wheeler. How come you never made detective before?”
“I didn’t have the college degree.”
“What took you so long to get it?”
She held up her wrist and pointed to the time. “Because I have a ten-year-old who’s playing a baseball game in an hour. I’ve been kind of busy raising him.”
“He any good?”
“He will be. Apparently he has a good eye for catching pop flies. Now if we can just get him to step into the pitch when he swings the bat.”
“Sounds like my kind of evening.” He groaned as if he knew he’d be spending his evening doing something much less enjoyable. “Get out of here and enjoy the game. I’ll mention what you said to Spence.”
“Thanks.” She headed for her truck down the street.
“And Wheeler?”
“Yes?”
Nick Fensom grinned. “File the promotion paperwork. You’ll make a damn fine detective.”
A damn fine detective.
Nick’s praise and her own sense of success buoyed her spirits in a way she hadn’t felt for weeks now. Her life wasn’t perfect, but things were definitely heading in the right direction. Both personally and professionally, she’d made some choices that just might pay off if she kept working hard at them.
She was waiting in traffic at the intersection where Bailey Austin had been attacked, looking forward to Travis’s game and seeing John and getting a good report with Chief Taylor, when the light changed and her mood sank like a popped balloon.
Parked at the corner was a white van, with a bug and rat and Boyle’s Extermination logo painted on the side. And behind the steering wheel sat Danny Wheeler.
Watching her.
* * *
JOHN PATTED TRAVIS’S left leg. “This one here.” He covered the boy’s hands with his own around the handle of the bat and swung it with him. “Go forward. Don’t step out. You’re losing the amount of space over the plate that your bat can cover, so you have less chance of hitting anything. And remember, keep your eye on the ball all the way to the bat, or to the catcher’s mitt if you decide to take the pitch.”
“Keep my eye on the ball. Right.” Travis nodded. The boy stooped down to smear his hands in the dirt, spit on them and rub them together. He knocked twice on his helmet before gripping the bat and aligning his stance the way John had shown him. “Like this?”
John grinned at the theatrics as he stood back and watched Travis take a couple of swings on his own. It felt like forever since he’d been that young and eager to imitate the big leaguers he’d watched on TV and at Kaufmann Stadium. “With a little less fanfare that’s it. You’ll get more power moving into the ball like that, too.”
“How’s that swing coming?” John looked up to see the copper-haired police officer walking toward them with a sports drink and bag of sunflower seeds in her hands.
“Hi, Mom.” Travis ran over to the fence to pick up his game supplies and accept a casual, just-an-arm-around-the-shoulder hug from Maggie. “I’m gonna get a hit tonight. John showed me how.”
“Fantastic.”
A shout from Coach Hernandez summoned all the boys to end their warm-ups and join him in the dugout.
“Thanks, Mom!”
“Have a great game. Do your best.” Maggie cheered him as he ran across the diamond.
John scooped up a couple of practice balls on his way to the fence. Now that Travis was gone and the field lights were coming on, a glance at Maggie’s pale skin and the time on his watch made him suspicious of the smile on her face. “You’re late. Everything okay?”
She followed him down to the gate on her side of the fence. “There are four games going on here tonight. I had to park clear at the far end of the lot and walk a quarter of a mile.”
“Hey, Mom!” They both turned at Travis’s shout. “Don’t yell my name, okay?”
“Okay.” Maggie flashed her son a thumbs-up. “Go get ’em.” Her eyes were on the concrete path before them when he joined her at the base of the bleachers. “Thanks for getting him to the game.”
“We got some practice in.” She still hadn’t made eye contact with him. Instead, she was eyeing the parents and grandparents in the stands, and looking beyond them to the people lined up at the concession stand and still milling in the parking lot. He had to concentrate for a moment on where he was placing his false foot as th
ey climbed the open stands, but he didn’t have a good feeling about this. “Sarge, what is it?”
She slid between two rows of metal seats and sat. “How about here? Are we too far up?”
Uh-uh, she wasn’t getting off that easily. He sat down beside her. “I’ve had warmer greetings from enemy troops. What’s wrong?”
He silently dared her to say nothing and take them several steps backward in this tentative relationship. But there was a reason he admired her courage. Her darting gaze finally landed on him. “I saw Danny this afternoon.”
“But his restraining order—”
“He was far enough away that I couldn’t cite him for anything. But he was close enough that he could watch me. We were out around the city, conducting interviews. I don’t know how long he was following me.” John’s blood heated with protective anger and he, too, started scanning the perimeter of the ball fields and park, searching for the enemy. “I took the scenic route to get here, and lost him. But he already knows where Danny plays, so he could show up again.”
“You want to go home?”
Her cheeks flooded with a healthier color. “I’m not taking Travis away from his game.”
“Good. I’d rather see you ticked off than afraid. Danny Wheeler doesn’t get to control your life. Not anymore.” For John, it was a personal vow. That bastard was never going to hurt Maggie or rob her of that genuine smile again. Not on his watch. And he wasn’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon. “Let’s sit here and enjoy the game,” he suggested. “And Danny can just hide in the dark and miss out on what really matters in life.”
“Family and friends?”
John turned toward the field. “Baseball.”
She laughed out loud, as he’d hoped. But she surprised him by capturing his jaw and pulling him closer to press a kiss against his cheek. “Thank you.”
It was brave and spontaneous and perfect.
He smiled and leaned in farther to kiss her squarely on that beautiful mouth. “I like that even better than being ticked off.”
Yeah, that was the smile he wanted to see. And he had no problem when Maggie laced her fingers together with his and leaned her shoulder against him. John held on tight, enjoying the game, Travis and the woman who was becoming more and more vital to him with every passing second.
He’d come a long way from that roadside bomb in Afghanistan. Maybe, just maybe, this was what finally coming home was supposed to feel like.
And no coward watching from the darkness was going to steal it away from him.
* * *
“THAT WAS MY FIRST DOUBLE.”
John lined up the darkened park entrance in the beam of his headlights and turned into the empty parking lot as the victory celebration that had been going on since he offered to take Travis and Maggie out for ice cream after the game continued. “I think we’ve pretty much figured out that if we can get you on base, buddy, you’re a fast runner. Is that the first time you’ve scored a run this year?”
“Yep.” He heard a crunch from the backseat of his truck. “Dat’s da foost time I ’tole a base, too.”
Maggie turned in the passenger seat to lay down the mom law. “Not even ice cream stops your chatter. Now you finish that cone before it melts all over John’s truck. Leaving a mess isn’t a very nice way to thank him.”
John wasn’t worried. “It washes off.”
She passed a paper napkin back to Travis and faced the front again. “I’ll have to wash him and his uniform off, too. Once the sugar and excitement wear off that boy’s going to crash.”
“It was a great night, wasn’t it?” John reached across the seat to touch his fingers to Maggie’s, sending the message that he was talking about more than just a baseball game.
She shifted her hand to link them together palm to palm, letting him know she got the subtle message, even though she answered, “That was the Tigers’ first win of the season. Awesome job, Trav.”
“Uh-hmm.”
While Travis stuffed the last of his chocolate ice cream into his mouth to continue discussing his exploits, Maggie pointed to the dark pickup in the shadows at the far end of the lot. “That’s me.”
John slowed to pull up beside the truck. “If you want to leave him buckled up and his gear in the back, I can just follow you home.” He turned on his brights to give her a clear, safe path to her driver’s side door and stomped on the brakes. There was nothing safe about what he saw. “Sarge.”
“Oh, my God.” Maggie was out the door before John could stop her. “Stay back.”
Like hell.
“Maggie!” He glanced into the rearview mirror. “Stay in the truck, buddy,” John ordered. He killed the engine and climbed out, leaving the lights on to illuminate the atrocity parked before him. Grabbing Travis’s baseball bat from the bed of the truck, he armed himself before hurrying after Maggie.
She flinched when he caught her by the arm to pull her back but refused to let her go.
“Do you think they can find some evidence now?” he growled, wishing she’d let him turn her away from the vandalized truck.
There wasn’t a window that hadn’t been bashed in or splintered by dozens of hard blows. The headlights were toast, the hood and fenders dented in by something long and narrow—like the bat he held.
And that devastation wasn’t the worst of it. The front tires had been punctured and all manner of vile things had been carved into the paint by a very angry hand. Mine. Liar. Bitch.
If he hadn’t been so alarmed by the unblinking pallor of Maggie’s expression, he would have heard the footsteps a moment sooner.
“Mom, what’s a ‘who-ree’?”
“Travis!” Responding like a fierce mama bear when she wouldn’t protect herself, Maggie grabbed her son, hugging him tight to her chest and turning him from the graphic image of what Danny Wheeler had wanted to do to her. “Don’t look, sweetie. It’s not a nice word. None of it’s nice. Don’t look.”
“Mom?”
“Let’s get him out of here.” John hated the tremor he heard in Travis’s voice. He hated that either one of them had to ever see something like this. He wound his left arm around Maggie’s waist, shielding both mother and child in his embrace. He moved them out of the light from his truck, making them harder targets to spot.
“Is this when we go to a safe place and call the police?” Travis asked.
“Yes.” Maggie’s voice was stronger now. She was moving with a purpose. “Yes, sweetie, that’s exactly what we need to do right now.”
John urged them both back to his truck, all the while scanning the ball diamonds and parking lot and street beyond for any sign of movement, any vehicle that didn’t belong. He briefly wondered if it was worth leaving their side to break into the maintenance booth and turn on all the ballpark lights again. He opened the door and Maggie helped Travis scramble up into the backseat before climbing into the passenger seat and pulling out her phone. “Lock it. Call for backup. Get a BOLO out for Danny Wheeler.”
Maggie nodded and punched in a number. He was going for the lights. But almost as soon as John turned away, the truck started behind him and he whirled around to see Maggie lowering the automatic window. “Where are you going?”
John spun the ball bat in his fist and peered into the darkness. Evil was lurking out there in the shadows. Of that, he had no doubt. “I’m gonna find that bastard, or at least some sign of where he went.”
She unsnapped the holster on her belt and pulled out her GLOCK. She pushed it out the open window, butt first. “Then take this.”
He pushed it right back. “No, you keep it. Wheeler’s the kind of man who beats up women and empty trucks. He doesn’t have the guts to come after me. If he shows his face before I get back, shoot him.”
* * *
LIKE A COCKROACH CLINGING to the dark places of the world, Danny Wheeler had refused to show himself and face John’s protective wrath. But he’d left a trail that even a private on his first sortie could follow.
With the park lights now casting daylight over the nearest ball field and parking lot, John knelt next to a pair of skid marks on the concrete pavement. The stripes of black rubber beneath the paint chips and shattered glass indicated a quick stop and speedy retreat.
The suited-up detective with the light red hair who’d introduced himself as Spencer Montgomery and taken charge of the scene nodded his agreement. “Something big stopped here.”
Maggie followed right behind the detective. “Like a white van?”
“That’d be about the right dimension to match this wheel base.” John pointed out the bits of displaced gravel around Maggie’s truck. “And those are definitely man-sized footprints.”
John braced his knee and pushed to his feet as Detective Montgomery nodded. “I’ve already put out an APB on the bug van and Wheeler. We’ll find him, Maggie.”
An outburst of laughter from the back of John’s truck, where Montgomery’s partner, Nick Fensom, was playing some kind of game with Travis to keep the boy’s attention off the disturbing scene, turned Maggie’s head. But only for a moment. John could tell that something had changed inside her, something had hardened knowing that Travis had seen this. Whatever bond of fear Danny held over her had finally been burned out by pure, white-hot anger. She wasn’t the skittish, paranoid woman John had first met on the elevator that day. Knowing that her innocent son, who’d never known his father, had finally gotten a glimpse of the unspeakable things he’d done had finally enabled her to seize the courage and strength she possessed.
“Nick’s good with kids.” She pointed out the obvious.
“Probably because he’s the oldest of six brothers and sisters.”
Maggie still worried like a mom, but she was thinking like a cop now—not a battered spouse who lived in constant fear of her ex’s return. She went to stand by John and face the detective. “How did Danny get out of jail so quickly?”
Montgomery shrugged his apology. “We tried to hold him, but his boss, Lawrence Boyle, posted bail. He’s a free man until his assault hearing, unless we can pin this or something else on him. Then I doubt he’ll ever be a free man again.”
