Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series)

by Kristine Mason

  She didn’t get the job. Just as well. They could find a better life somewhere else.

  “It was okay. You?”

  “Great.” She picked up the spoon and gave the sloppy joes another stir. “I got the job.”

  “Congratulations,” he said, wondering what was bothering her then.

  “I’m really excited. They want me to go in this evening to begin training.” She took out a couple of plates and placed hamburger buns on them. “I told them yes, and hope that’s okay with you.”

  “How late will you be?” he asked, and took a seat at the kitchen table.

  “I’m not sure. Why?”

  “I don’t like the idea of you walking home in the dark.”

  She scooped the sloppy joe mix onto the buns. “I’ll call you and you can meet me if you want. Or you can stay on the phone with me until I reach our building.” She set his plate in front of him. “But I know you have to get up early, so I don’t want you losing sleep.”

  “I’ll lose sleep worrying about you.” When tears filled her eyes, he took her hand and settled her on his lap. “What’s this about?” he asked, and brushed a tear from her cheek.

  “You’ve been so mad at me, it’s good to know you still care.”

  “Of course I still care. I love you, Dimples. I just—” He drew in a deep breath and touched her chin so he could look into her eyes. “I’m worried about what you did to the dog breeder. I’m scared you’ll try something like that again.”

  She glanced away. “I already told you—”

  “I know you promised, but I also know how obsessed you are with having a baby.” She stiffened in his arms. “Dimples, honey, I want you healthy.”

  She frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  He half-smiled. Sometimes she was so simple and innocent. “Physically you’re fine.” He gave her a squeeze. “I’m worried about what’s going on in here,” he said, and kissed her forehead. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t. You’re all I have.”

  When she met his gaze, the anxiety and sadness in her eyes had his stomach churning with regret. Maybe he’d been too honest. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. Maybe he should go back to pretending his wife was just fine.

  The dog breeder’s bloodied body filled his mind. He quickly hugged Dimples and tried his damnedest to erase the image, but couldn’t.

  She pulled back and touched his cheek. “I need you to answer me something honestly.”

  “Of course,” he said, concerned and leery by the uncertainty in her eyes. He wanted them to be on the mend, but the truth might hurt too much.

  “Am I a killer?”

  “You did what you thought was right.”

  “But do you think I’m a killer?”

  “No,” he lied.

  “After what you did to our Eltons, would you consider yourself a killer?”

  Since he hadn’t hurt any of those boys, he gave her an honest answer. “No.”

  Some of the uncertainty left her eyes and her face relaxed. When she gave him one of the dimpled smiles he adored, the ice around his heart thawed. He hated fighting with her, hated himself for staying mad at her.

  “Thank you,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “I needed to hear that.”

  BIRTH

  There is no foot so small

  that it cannot leave an imprint on this world.

  —Author Unknown

  Chapter 17

  “THAT WAS DCI,” Dante said as he stepped into their kitchen. “They found Penny Goodman.”

  Jessica shut off the kitchen faucet and grabbed a dish towel. “And? Will she be able to help us?”

  Dante grinned. “She’s with the St. Joseph PD and sitting down with a sketch artist as we speak.”

  “Thank God,” she said, relieved they had this huge break. “Hopefully she has a good memory. I’d love to plaster that composite sketch across the country.”

  “As soon as St. Joseph PD approached Goodman and told her what happened to Missy Schneider, she immediately remembered the suspect’s name, the two-year-old boy she’d had with her and giving out Missy’s information.”

  “I can only imagine how guilty Penny Goodman feels about this,” she said. If Penny and the killer hadn’t met, Missy would still be alive. Though her baby wouldn’t, it made her realize how fortunate she and Dante were to have been able to hold and love their daughter, even if it had only been a short time.

  “Which was probably why she dropped everything to meet with the sketch artist.”

  She turned back to the kitchen sink to finish cleaning the dishes from dinner. “How long are they thinking this will take?” she asked, knowing the answer but hoping for a miracle. When Sophia had been kidnapped, they hadn’t needed the aid of a sketch artist. They’d had the woman’s photo ID, her social security number, last known address, fingerprints, DNA and information about her family and friends. But the woman had vanished into thin air, along with any traces of their daughter. As if neither had existed.

  But they had.

  She glanced across the kitchen to the painting of Dante and Sophia hanging on the dining room wall. A part of her hoped the woman who had taken Sophia was still alive and caring for their daughter. The other part of her wanted the woman dead and rotting in hell.

  Dante wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. “You know how this works. The composite will be done when it’s done. I certainly don’t want the artist rushed.”

  She finished rinsing the pan she’d been washing, then set it on the drying rack. After letting out a sigh, she turned in his arms. “I want justice.”

  He smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her forehead. “Me, too.”

  “I want the woman to suffer for what she’s done,” she said, anger shoving her earlier excitement aside. “I don’t care why she did it, or if she’s mentally imbalanced, or any other bullshit excuse.” She gripped his forearms and glanced to the painting again. “She took what didn’t belong to her and deserves to suffer.”

  He touched her chin and forced her to look at him. “Focus on this case, not on our daughter’s.”

  “It’s hard not to,” she said, flooded by memories of those first weeks after Sophia had been abducted. They’d spent every waking hour trying to piece together their daughter and her kidnapper’s whereabouts, but the case had run cold before it had ever begun. Either the woman had been cunning, or she’d had help, or she and Sophia were both—

  Tears filled her eyes. She refused to consider any outcome other than her daughter was alive and well. She refused to give up hope.

  Dante hugged her. “For me, too,” he said. “You know I won’t stop looking for Sophia. For now, though, let’s give Missy Schneider and the boys this couple took their justice.”

  “What about ours?” she asked, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I want to do right by Missy and those boys, but am I selfish to want that same justice for Sophia? For us? Does it make me a bad person for envying the families who’ve been reunited with their missing kids? Or that I fantasize about torturing and killing the bitch who took Sophia?”

  He pulled back slightly and stared at her, his eyes filled with understanding and sadness. “I hope not, because I feel the same way. I don’t think I could ever forgive what that woman has done to Sophia or to us. I want her dead.” He let out a shaky breath. “Does that make me a bad person?”

  “No. Revenge is a natural feeling.”

  “But we were talking about justice.”

  “We were.”

  “And I’d like to think that we are both rational enough to know the difference.”

  Oh, she knew the difference. That still didn’t stop her from wanting vengeance where her daughter was concerned. “I think this conversation might have derailed,” she said with a half-smile.

  He raised a brow. “Just a bit.”

  “Then maybe we should save this talk for when it becomes necessary,” she suggested, because if they ever d
id find the woman who had taken Sophia, it would be very necessary. To be able to have her daughter home would be the best thing in her life. But would she risk spending life in prison—never to enjoy being with Sophia again—for revenge? Would Dante?

  Since there was no point in raising questions that—for now—needed no answer, she gave him a quick kiss, then said, “I want to take a shower and get to bed early.”

  He glanced at the clock on the stove. “It’s only seven. If you go to bed now, you’ll be up at four in the morning.”

  “Then maybe you should come up with a few things we can do to help me stay awake a little while longer,” she said, reaching between their bodies and rubbing his crotch. She’d love to lose herself and make love to her husband. Erase some of the bad and find the good in life.

  A slow grin tilted his lips and he squeezed her rear. “Let me lock up, and I’ll meet you upstairs.”

  The promise in his eyes had her quickly rushing up the steps. When she reached the second floor, she looked at the closed door at the end of the hall. Sophia’s room.

  Every time she came upstairs, she had the urge to go into the room. To find out if her daughter’s scent still lingered on the crib sheets and her soft pink blanket. To hold the little panda bear Sophia had loved to snuggle.

  Before she knew it, she stood in front of the door, her hand wrapped around the handle.

  Her heart raced with indecision, while memories of her baby girl fluttered through her mind. Her big brown eyes, her smile, her chubby fingers and toes, the soft, dark hair that curled around her tiny ears. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away and when she heard Dante’s footfall along the steps, she pulled her hand away and fisted it.

  “Before you go inside,” he began, “I—”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

  He snagged her hand and turned her toward him. “I want to be with you when you are.”

  God, she loved him. “Thank you.” She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. “Want to take a shower with me?” she asked, needing to push aside the heavy emotions weighing her down. “If you wash my back, I promise to wash yours.”

  He glanced to their daughter’s door before pulling her to his side, then led them into the bedroom. “You promised the same thing the other night. If I recall correctly, we never made it far enough for you to wash my back.”

  With her mind still on the case and her daughter, she forced a smile. “You didn’t seem to have any complaints.”

  “No. I didn’t.” He tugged her hand before she could head into the bathroom. “You also promised not to shut me out.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m not. I…just need to get out of my head.” She brushed her lips against his, then met his gaze. “Can you help me with that?”

  His eyes held a mixture of understanding and desire. “Absolutely,” he said, before drawing her close and giving her a lingering kiss.

  As their kiss went from soft and gentle to rough and demanding, she couldn’t be more grateful to have Dante back in her life. She still had demons to wrestle with, but whenever she was in his arms, they always went away.

  For a little while.

  *

  Heather looked toward her apartment building and found the window to their unit. Their TV cast colorful bright lights against the darkened room and she pictured Wayne relaxing on the couch, maybe sipping on a beer. Guilt wormed its way into her heart and had her quickening her steps. Her husband was such a good and understanding man. He loved her and, unlike Chloe, didn’t think she was a killer. She’d already known that in her heart, but with everything that had happened today, she’d become paranoid and had questioned what she was doing.

  Not anymore.

  This baby was meant for her and Wayne. He was a gift from God, not another test of faith. She knew it in her heart, and also knew it might take Wayne a while to understand. She didn’t like that he’d referred to her as being unhealthy. There was nothing wrong with her head. When God had shined down on Missy Schneider, touching her with His love, she’d experienced true clarity. He’d given her a mission. He’d given her permission and, yes, had tested her faith and love. But she’d persevered, and had been gifted with Chloe.

  No, there wasn’t anything wrong with her head. Wayne, on the other hand, was the one who needed to be reminded that God was on their side, that He knew what was best for them. When she presented Wayne with their new baby, her husband’s doubts would be erased and he would embrace God again. This child was a miracle that could not be denied. He would save them.

  Her stomach fluttered with excitement. Anticipation ran strong as she pictured Wayne smiling down upon their new baby in awe and wonderment. Babies were miracles. They were the greatest joys a parent could ever know. And they would be blessed with one soon.

  Hopefully a healthy one. According to what she’d discovered on the Internet, even if she kept Chloe drug free and hydrated, there was a strong possibility the baby would still likely be born addicted. If he was, they’d know within the first few days and he would require around the clock care. She’d read that she might have to give him high calorie formula to help him gain weight, that he’d have trouble sleeping, diarrhea, and that she’d have to watch for seizures, which would require medical treatment. She had faith it wouldn’t come to that, though. She also realized she might have to keep Chloe locked in the unit longer than planned. She’d originally planned to give the girl a C-section three weeks from now. After spending time researching the effects of heroin and pregnancy, she’d keep Chloe until she reached full term and hope this lessened the chances the baby was born an addict.

  Overhead lights from the storage facility lit a path to the unit she’d rented. While she was still angry and disappointed that Chloe had abused her body in such a selfish and harmful manner, the girl was giving her a child. She was giving her life so that her baby could live, and she owed Chloe her gratitude, not her judgment. She also owed the girl a nice meal since she hadn’t fed her since this afternoon.

  She set down the bag, filled with the chicken and mashed potatoes she’d bought at a restaurant after visiting the library, on the cement, then unlocked the padlock. When she lifted the garage door, she winced and turned her head away. Her throat flexed and she gagged as a blast of hot air carried a foul odor from the unit.

  When she heard a low, painful moan, she panicked. Grabbing the bag of food, she entered, then quickly shut the door.

  “Chloe?” she asked, then remembered the girl wore a gag. She rushed toward the mattress, then tore the gag from the girl’s mouth.

  “It hurts so bad,” Chloe groaned. Agony screwed up her face. She sucked in a sharp breath and curled herself into a ball.

  She picked up the lantern and, glancing down at the mattress, realized the source of the smell. The blankets were stained dark brown and covered with the girl’s diarrhea. She tasted bile, covered her mouth with the back of her hand and fought from gagging.

  Chloe suddenly drew her legs tighter to her chest. “Holy fuck,” she cried, then let out a harsh scream.

  Heather’s skin prickled with fear. She set the lantern on the floor and touched Chloe’s forehead. “What is it?” Then she remembered what Chloe had said about detoxing. She’d been so concerned learning how to treat a heroin addicted infant, she hadn’t bothered to research how Chloe might react during her own withdrawal. “Are you—?”

  “Having a fucking baby? Yes, you stupid, bitch.” Panting hard, she squeezed her eyes shut. “My water broke a while ago.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, afraid for the baby. He couldn’t come, not yet. He needed time to grow. Although she had everything she needed to perform a C-section, she wasn’t mentally prepared to play midwife.

  “Hell if I know. I’m going by what I learned in—” She let out a long, harsh groan and buried her face in the mattress. After a moment, Chloe looked at her with pain and hatred in her eyes. “Health class,” she finished, t
hen licked her lips. “I thought you said you had kids. Don’t you know?”

  Since she hadn’t been awake when she’d delivered Elton, she had no idea what the experience was truly like. “I remember my Lamaze classes,” she said.

  “That’s not what I asked you.”

  Panicking, she stood and moved to the corner of the room where she’d left her diaper bag. In case she’d need it, she pulled out the dissecting kit, along with the old rags she’d packed, and the extra blankets she’d found in the boxes left in the unit. “I…I was in a coma when they gave me a C-section,” she said, approaching the mattress. “Which is what I planned to give you. But if the baby is going to come naturally, then that’s God’s will.”

  Please, Lord. Help me remember what to do.

  “Would you shut the fuck up about God’s will or His plans, and uncuff my hands?”

  “I can’t do that.” She placed the towels over the soiled blankets and moved Chloe onto her back. Then she moved Chloe into a sitting position, tossed the blankets on the mattress and eased the girl against them. “Raise your knees. I need to clean you.”

  With her arms behind her back, Chloe’s chest thrust forward, rising and falling at an alarming rate. Her face was still coated in sweat, but was no longer pale. Instead, her cheeks had grown red and tiny veins bulged at her temples. Eyes wide and wild, she licked her lips. “I…I don’t know if I can do this.”

  Heather reached behind her and found her cell phone in her purse, then checked the time. She’d been in the unit for less than five minutes. If Chloe was in labor, then she’d had at least two contractions during that time. Whether she was prepared or not, this baby was coming.

  “You can and you will,” she said, opening several water bottles, then dousing one of the extra rags. After she set the lantern on the mattress, she cleaned Chloe.

  “I’m so scared,” Chloe sobbed. “Please help me. I’m so scared.”

  She poured more water on the rag. “Be strong and of good courage,” she began, quoting Deuteronomy, “do not fear nor be afraid of them; for the LORD your God, He is the One who goes with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you.”