by DiAnn Mills
The only way Amy would ever be able to identify him was his voice, and she was being robbed of her hearing. Incredibly unfair.
“Are you ready to go on?” Kariss said.
She nodded. “He carried me to a grassy field behind our house. Told me to be still or he’d go back and kill my family. I remember his breath reeked of onions. I’ve never been able to tolerate them since. Briars scratched my arms and legs, and I heard a siren in the distance. I thought it was someone coming to rescue me. But it wasn’t. He talked to me. Told me he’d thought about this for a long time. Said I was a good girl, and that’s why I was chosen. He said strange things. I had no idea what he meant. When I was older, I recognized lines from Truman Capote’s novel In Cold Blood.”
Kariss remembered the story about two men who’d murdered a Kansas family. Maybe it was time to reread it. Realization rippled through her. “He could read this, Amy. Do you realize this could force him into a face-off? You could be killed.”
“You’re overreacting. The man who assaulted me wouldn’t read a novel written by a former women’s fiction author.”
Kariss studied Amy’s face. Not a muscle moved. “How can you be sure?”
“If he wanted me dead, he’d have done it a long time ago.” Amy stared at the empty hall, then turned to Kariss. “You don’t have anything to be afraid of, and neither do I.”
Kariss had seen enough danger in the past year not to risk going there again, not for herself or Amy. What would Tigo say? She shoved the thought from her mind and focused on what her heart was telling her. She wanted this project. She believed in it. “When the book is released, we have to involve law-enforcement authorities to keep you protected. Agree or I back out.”
Empty moments ticked by while a myriad of emotions crossed Amy’s face. “That’s your stipulation?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Let’s do it. We’re running out of time for today.”
Kariss hoped and prayed Amy would be safe. “All right.
We have more work to do.”
“Are you a fast writer?”
Kariss smiled. “Just watch me.”
“Okay … in the field, he slapped me so hard I blacked out. At least I think that’s what happened. Being unconscious was a blessing, because he raped me and slit my throat with that piece of glass from the window.”
Kariss’s stomach curdled. She focused on the positioning of her fingers on the keyboard to gain control.
“I guess he assumed I’d bleed out, because he left me there. I lay awake, drifting in and out of consciousness. I wanted to go home, but I was too weak to move. God’s good, Kariss, because I didn’t feel any pain. So I waited and thought about my parents. How much I loved them. And my brother. I prayed, too, and repeated Bible verses in my mind, the ones I’d learned in Sunday school. Strangely, I wasn’t afraid. Sometimes I thought someone sat beside me. Maybe an angel. God was certainly there.”
Kariss glanced up at Amy, her throat tightening. “I felt God was with me during my ordeal too.”
Amy nodded. “This is tough for both of us.”
Kariss blinked back tears and typed in rhythm to her rapidly pounding heart.
“The next morning, a couple of neighborhood boys found me. Doctors claimed my survival was a miracle, but I knew God had a special plan for me. I spent the next two months in the hospital having surgeries and learning to talk again. Then years in psychiatrists’ chairs.” Amy rubbed her palms. “I’m such a bad host. Would you care for something to drink? A Coke or a bottle of water?”
This had to be too much for Amy. “No, thanks. Do you want to call it quits for today?”
“I thought you wanted the whole story. Is there enough material for you to begin?”
How could Kariss talk about plot points, a climax, and story resolution after this painful accounting? “This will be powerful, an inspiration to others. You are a true survivor.”
“I’d like to think so.”
“And you give me permission to write a climax and resolution?”
Amy leaned back against the love seat. “Use your best judgment in how you end it.”
Kariss released her tight shoulder muscles. “As we proceed, I’ll need to probe deeper into heart-wrenching areas.”
“Bring it on.” Amy’s lighthearted tone failed to reach her eyes.
Testing time. “What were your thoughts while he carried you to the field?”
Amy swallowed hard. “Before I blacked out, I felt paralyzing fear. I couldn’t fight him. But I believed my dad would save me.”
“Did you pray about being rescued?”
“Not exactly. I’d argued with my mother about spending the night with a friend. I hadn’t—”
The sound of a door opening and an ear-piercing beep signaling the countdown for the security alarm interrupted her. A small box on the table in front of them flashed red. Heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway. Amy blanched. She hurried to the doorway. Kariss grabbed her purse, where she kept her 9mm handgun.
“Baxter, you scared me.” Amy placed a hand over her heart.
“Sorry. I used my key. Let me stop this thing.” The alarm quieted. “I need to talk to you.”
“I’m talking with someone in my office. Can you come back later, or can we meet somewhere?”
“A client on Saturday afternoon? That’s unusual.”
“No. A friend.” Amy, red-faced, glanced at Kariss, then back to the man in the hall. “I could introduce you.”
“Sure. Maybe this friend isn’t as stupid as you are.” His words dripped bitterness. He stepped into her office, his towering frame filling the doorway, so unlike Amy’s small frame. Dressed in jeans and a dark-blue pullover, he reached out to shake Kariss’s hand, and she introduced herself.
“I’m Baxter Garrett, Amy’s brother.” Brother and sister shared the same wide-set blue eyes and light hair.
After Kariss introduced herself, Baxter claimed a seat beside her on the love seat. Body odor permeated the air.
“Has she told you about her crazy idea of having her story published?” Baxter said.
“She has.” This guy could have sent the threatening email. “You obviously don’t agree with the project.”
“I don’t. I don’t want her dead.”
“Baxter, this isn’t appropriate.” Amy touched his knee.
“Save it.” Baxter didn’t make eye contact, but Amy could obviously still read his lips. “What you’re proposing is dangerous. Could get you killed.” He noticed the recorder, which Kariss had not shut off. “You’re the writer, aren’t you?” His nostrils flared.
“I am. I understand your concerns, and I want you—”
“You don’t understand squat. This is family business, and I suggest you keep your nose out of it.”
The threat fueled Kariss’s temper. “Or what?”
He stood and shook his finger in her face. “You really don’t want to find out, pretty lady.”
CHAPTER 20
3:30 P.M. SATURDAY
He prided himself on being a true craftsman by designing precision-made bullets that no one could trace. This afternoon he’d perfected the one he’d use for the kill, a hollow-back bullet for his Beretta .40. Perhaps his finest piece of art. Undeniable pleasure, warm and tingling, flowed through him.
He was also an expert in other means of killing—his bare hands, preferably. Unfortunately, those days were gone. Technological advances meant he had to be careful. There were so many ways to trace a person now that he’d considered retiring, and he would once Amy lay cold in a dark grave. But what would he do during idle hours while Michelle slept? For the past few years, he’d gotten by with less and less sleep, until three hours did him nicely. He could possibly work as a consultant and hire himself out to the highest bidder.
Holding the bullet to the overhead light, he considered his expert marksmanship. He’d also developed competitive archery skills, could throw a knife dead center, and had the expertise to build a b
omb with plenty of scatter power. His favorite bombs were those that used Semtex. Expensive but worth it. He’d been able to pass on the cost to buyers and recoup his expenses.
Good job.
Perfect.
The voices always confirmed his artistry.
Using strains of E. coli to kill masses of people intrigued him. Lately he’d been working with coral snake venom, and the rhyme, “Red on yellow, kill a fellow. Red on black, venom lack” repeated in his mind. The little buggers were hard to find, since they hid under logs in hot, humid areas, preferring sandy soil around hardwoods. But he’d been lucky and had three good specimens to play with.
He paused. What an ingenious idea. If he hadn’t already perfected the bullet for Amy, he could have painted it red and yellow. That would get the attention he deserved. Maybe he wasn’t ready to retire yet.
Amy Garrett, PhD, had lived when he’d thought her dead. His fault. And because she’d survived what he believed was a perfect crime, he’d allowed her to live all these years. No one else could claim the title of survivor. She’d fought the odds and won. As always, a quote from In Cold Blood reminded him of her.
“‘I didn’t want to harm the man. I thought he was a very nice gentleman. Soft-spoken. I thought so right up to the moment I cut his throat.’” He repeated the quote, just like the night he pulled her through her bedroom window.
He chuckled. “I didn’t want to harm the little girl.” He tossed the copper bullet in his hand and imagined sending it into her head. “I thought she was a very nice little girl. Soft-spoken. Sweet. Innocent. I thought so right up to the moment I cut her throat.”
Another matter irritated him. A Kariss Walker had stepped in his way, but he’d devise a plan to stop her too. What a great idea. He could create another bullet like Amy’s for her so they’d know no one should get in his way. His and Amy’s story was their own private adventure.
He licked his lips and reached for a tall glass of tomato juice.
CHAPTER 21
4:00 P.M. SATURDAY
I don’t scare easily.” Kariss wrapped her fingers around the recorder, thankful she hadn’t turned it off. She stood and eyed Baxter. “I have a theory about bullies.”
“You’re not going to make money on my sister. She’s not a sideshow freak.” Baxter snarled, his wide eyes dilated. “I’m looking out for my sister, something you selfish types wouldn’t know a thing about. So gather up your tools of the trade and leave. Don’t ever contact Amy again.”
Kariss realized her tolerance level had just reached the breaking point. “As I said, I have a theory about bullies. They either have low self-esteem, or they have something to hide.” She hoped her words sounded braver than she felt with all the warning flares going off in her head. “Maybe you have both.”
“Call it what you want. My sister is the most important thing in my life. My job is to protect her from losers, and you fit the bill.”
“So what are you hiding?”
He stepped closer. She trembled, but she didn’t back down.
“Baxter, that’s enough. You have no right coming into my office and berating my friend.”
“He threatened me.” Kariss shook with the anger raging through her. She gathered her laptop, purse, and recorder as she attempted to speak rationally. “I’ve had enough of this family feud.” She focused on Amy. “You said your family didn’t approve of the idea, and I should have probed that statement further. My fault. But it’s quite evident you have a few issues to handle before we can continue your story.”
“Smart woman. Good riddance.” Baxter’s bravado permeated the room.
Kariss took three steps toward the door and then whirled back to face him. “I’m assuming you sent the email last night warning me against writing Amy’s story. I don’t take aggressive behavior lightly. If I ever hear from you again, I’ll press charges.” She paused to keep her anger in check. “And I don’t make idle threats. I play for keeps.”
He chuckled. “Glad you saw the point.”
Amy clenched her fists. “Baxter, get out of my office. Now.” She reached toward Kariss. “Please don’t go. I can explain.”
“Explain what? That your brother needs psychological help? At this point, I wonder if he needs to be locked up.” Kariss caught herself before she uttered another word. She couldn’t control Baxter’s behavior, but she could control her reactions. “I apologize, Amy. I’m angry and need time to cool off.”
Baxter blocked the doorway. “Anyone who lives in a fiction world is a nutcase.”
“Baxter, leave now,” Amy said. “Wait. Give me the keys to my office, car, and my house first.”
He pressed a finger against Amy’s chest, towering over her. “Once I’m gone, you’re on your own. He’ll come after you, and this time he’ll make sure you’re dead.”
“Your strong-arm tactics no longer affect me. Truth is, I dealt with what happened years ago. You should have too. Instead, you use my past as an excuse to intimidate me and others.”
Kariss understood siblings not communicating well, but these two were drowning in the deep end. What happened to the happy family who tucked away dysfunction?
Baxter pulled out his keys and slipped one off his ring, then another.
“I won’t be blamed for this.” Kariss kept her tone soft. “I’m leaving, and you two can work out your differences.”
“I’m finished with you, little sister.” Baxter palmed a third key into Amy’s outstretched hand. “You’re an idiot to put yourself out there. Go ahead. Have your story published. Hunting season is now officially open.” He swung around, brushing against Kariss’s shoulder, and stomped down the hall. The entry lock clicked and the door slammed, vibrating the walls.
Amy turned her attention to Kariss. “I’m so sorry.”
“I appreciate your apology. But that was ludicrous.”
“May I explain? Baxter has issues.” She sighed. “That’s obvious. Ten minutes of your time. Please?”
Staying went against Kariss’s better judgment, but she didn’t want to run into Baxter in the parking garage. She sat and placed her laptop and purse beside her. The recorder continued, and she didn’t see a reason to stop it, especially if Baxter returned.
Amy hurried down the hall, no doubt to lock the door. Kariss blinked. Had she heard God correctly about writing Amy’s story? She hadn’t expected Baxter’s response.
Amy stood in the doorway again. “Baxter blames himself for what happened to me. When we were kids, his bedroom was next to mine.”
Her parents probably blamed themselves too. “That doesn’t give him a license to threaten me. And I have a feeling I’m not the first.” Kariss took a deep breath, forcing logic into the conversation.
“You’re right,” Amy said. “It doesn’t give him a license to make life miserable for others.”
“How do your parents handle him? Or do they think his behavior is acceptable?” Kariss caught her own sarcasm. “Never mind. I’ll listen to your explanation.”
“Thanks.” Amy sat on the love seat opposite her. “My parents don’t approve of his actions, but he’s a grown man. I have to be the one to stand up to him. Baxter proclaimed himself my bodyguard the moment I returned home from the hospital. For over two decades, he’s taken his role to the extreme. As you can see, I’m not married. Baxter has run off every man who’s ever expressed interest in me. He’s also destroyed any friendships with other women. I’ve put up with him for as long as I can. I told him those very words when he blew up about the story idea. But I never expected what just happened. Honestly, he’s harmless except for his nasty tongue.”
Amy shuddered. “I’m not being honest. He can be physical. But I never thought he’d barge in here and pitch a fit like a toddler.” She glanced at the keys in her palm. “It’s over. He won’t be back. I’ve never taken such extreme measures before. Finally I’ve practiced what I encourage my clients to do.”
How could Kariss be sure? “I’m the youngest of six, an
d we’ve weathered a lot of junk. Someone has to put the reins on your brother. Even if he pushes me to press charges, that will only stop him temporarily.”
Amy nodded. “I’ll explain his behavior to my parents. They’ve always encouraged me. I’ll make sure he doesn’t interfere again.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Anger at Baxter rolled through Kariss again. “He’s a ticking time bomb, and I don’t want to be around when he explodes again.”
“My dad could send him out of town to work on a project with one of his investment properties.”
Kariss thought about her commitment to write Amy’s story … and the possibility of helping other crime victims find healing. “That would work.”
“Good. Then we’re on track again?”
Kariss nodded. But Baxter Garrett was a hot match in a stack of brittle wood.
CHAPTER 22
JANUARY 20
11:00 A.M. SUNDAY
Tigo drove home from Ryan’s church more confused about the faith thing than the day he’d decided to seek God. Taking time from his Sunday morning seemed a waste. There were so many other things he could be doing—sleeping, rereading interviews from the current case, looking to see if either of Joanna’s sisters had a record, and evaluating body language from past interviews while weighing conversations with interviewees.
His dwindling view of God had slid downhill after learning Taylor Yeat was cheating on his wife. Why did a good God allow such behavior? Two people were killed while a pastor duped his wife and his congregation. All that talk about Joanna being such a good person was a cover-up for his affair with her sister. The good pastor may have denied to Darena that he wanted Joanna out of the picture, but Tigo believed otherwise.
He pulled into his driveway and watched the garage door open slowly, as if some great unveiling was about to take place. Two mountain bikes perched on the right wall. In the opposite corner stood a workbench Tigo rarely used, covered by tools organized according to the job’s requirements. No Tonka trucks or Barbie training-wheel bikes. Nor were there any dents in the garage wall from a sweet wife who miscalculated when to apply the car brakes. All he had was a neat, orderly life that left him alone and miserable.
