The Perfect Victim

by Linda Castillo

  "She's not home," Addison said.

  "Doesn't look that way."

  She'd made a valiant attempt to stay upbeat throughout the ordeal, but Randall didn't miss the fatigue and frustration etched into her features. He knew their lack of progress was wearing her down. If only they'd get a lucky break.

  "She wasn't home last time I was here," he said.

  He looked at Addison, only to find her eyes on the adjacent mobile home. Compassion stirred in his chest. For the first time he realized fully how long and grueling this search had been for her. Not only did she have to deal with the fact that someone was trying to kill her, but that the woman who'd given birth to her—and everyone else involved with her adoption-had ended up dead.

  "I'm sorry this didn't work out," he said.

  "It's okay. We'll think of something else."

  "Aside from checking with the hospital, I'm fresh out of ideas, Ace."

  "Then, let's go to the hospital."

  "It's late. Let's check into the motel and see if we can—"

  "Don't." Anger sparked like quicksilver in her eyes. "We had an agreement—"

  "That wasn't what I was going to suggest." But he had to admit, the idea of getting her into bed appealed to him immensely. "I was going to suggest we try to come up with a game plan. Think this thing through."

  She turned away, hugging herself against a gust of wind. "Right."

  Randall knew his announcement that he would be returning to D.C. had upset her. Frankly, it was bothering him, too, particularly since they'd slept together. But what were his alternatives? Run from his demons indefinitely? Give up a career he'd invested twelve years of his life building? Drag her down with him?

  He wasn't proud of the fact that in some twisted way, it pleased him knowing she cared, even if it was just a little bit. Not that he enjoyed hurting her. He didn't. Not by a long shot. But it had been a long time since somebody cared about him that way.

  Needing to feel her close, he put his arm around her shoulders. "Let's get back to the car before we get frostbitten."

  She didn't move, but continued to stare at the mobile home where Agnes Beckett had lived and died. "When I think about everything that's happened, sometimes I still can't believe it's real."

  "You're shivering." He guided her down the front steps. "Let's go."

  Surprising him, she shrugged off his arm and stood facing her birth mother's mobile home. "Just a few short weeks ago she was alive and living right there. So close. If I'd found her sooner maybe—"

  "Don't even go there," be warned, knowing intimately the crushing weight of guilt and the toll it could take on one's sanity. "Don't second guess yourself, Addison. It's counterproductive as hell."

  "I don't blame myself. Not really. I know I'm not responsible for her death. But I can't help but wonder what might have been if I'd found her sooner." Turning, she looked up at him. "I mean, for months now, I've wondered if she ever thought about me. Is that silly?"

  "No," he said gently.

  "I want to take a look inside the trailer," she said.

  A laugh escaped him, but it didn't hold any humor. He should have seen this one coming. "Absolutely not."

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm not as insane as you think I am."

  "I'll do it without you."

  "No, you won't," he growled. Slipping his hand to the crook of her arm, he forced her toward the car. It was the only sane thing to do.

  "I'm not suggesting we steal anything." She struggled to free herself. "We wouldn't really be breaking the law. Just taking a little look."

  "Taking a little look in the state of Ohio will get you two to four in the state pen."

  "We're here, dammit. I need to do this." Digging in her heels, she broke his grip, then stood staring angrily at him.

  Uttering a curse, he faced her. The tattered remains of his professional ethics wouldn't allow him to say yes. But the way she was looking at him with those liquid brown eyes . . . so full of hope, of fear . . . Damn her, he'd probably jump through a flaming hoop if she asked.

  "Do you have a key?" he heard himself ask.

  "Do we need one? I figured you're probably a whiz at picking locks."

  "I'm glad you have so much confidence in my criminal capabilities, but the answer is still no." But he knew if she persisted, he wouldn't be able to refuse her. So little had gone right with this case, he hated to deny her this one thing. Even if it was a hell of a risk and probably wouldn't accomplish a thing.

  "You're bound and determined to get us arrested, aren't you?" he snapped.

  "We won't get caught."

  Randall laughed outright at the absurdity of his debating this with her. ''Life's a bitch and then you die," he muttered.

  "What?"

  "I said, McEvoy will have an orgasm if he catches us in the midst of a B and E."

  "There may be something important that the police have overlooked." She glanced over her shoulder at the trailer. "Besides, legally, it's my property anyway. If it ever went to court—"

  "It's not going to court, because I'm not going to let you do it."

  "This could be the break we need."

  "No, goddammit." He started for the car.

  "Please, Randall."

  Her plea stopped him midstride. Turning, he looked into her eyes, realized with a start he was already in miles over his head. His resolve melted as her eyes reached into him and touched a place he'd carelessly left unguarded. For God's sake, the woman tied him up in little knots.

  "I charge double for jail time," he grumbled.

  She gave him a Mona Lisa smile. "We're not going to get caught."

  "Yeah, well, if McEvoy shows up it's every man for himself."

  After moving the car to a nearby side street, Randall walked back to the trailer, keeping to the shadows, hoping he wasn't about to make a mistake that would cost him his license.

  "Let's get this nasty business over with," he said.

  When Addison started for the front- door, he hooked his fingers over the collar of her coat, pulling her back. "We go in through the back, Ace."

  "Sorry. I guess I'm not used to this burglar stuff." Casting an uneasy glance over her shoulder, she fell in beside him.

  Much to his relief, the rear of the trailer faced a plowed field, away from the prying eyes of well-meaning neighbors and bored deputies itching for some action. The wind slapped at their clothes as they headed toward the back door. A piece of the skirting flapped noisily in the wind, filling the night air with the tinny sound of metal against metal.

  Randall tried the knob. Locked, as he had expected. "Of course," he murmured, wondering what the hell else could go wrong tonight. "You wouldn't happen to have a burglar's tool kit, would you?"

  Behind him, huddled in her coat, Addison shook her head. "Left it in my other coat."

  "Ha ha." He withdrew his Visa Gold card from his wallet and worked it into the seam. "If I can't get this door open, we're leaving. If you don't cooperate, I'll forcibly carry you back to the car."

  "You'll get it open."

  Cold bit through his gloves, numbing his fingers as he worked the card into the seam. An instant later the bolt slipped aside. He turned the knob. The door swung wide and clattered against the wall. "I'll be damned."

  "You make breaking and entering look easy," she said.

  "Yeah, I'm a real whiz." The smell of old wood and fuel oil rolled over him. Beyond, total darkness beckoned. "Come here."

  Cautiously, she walked over to him and peered inside.

  "You're not afraid of things that go bump in the night, are you, Ace?"

  "Of course not."

  "Good, because you're going in first."

  She stared through the open door like a child about to face off with the bogeyman. "I'd rather you go in first."

  "Oh, for chrissake, Addison." Heaving a sigh of exasperation, Randall turned away from her and hoisted himself through the door. Removing the flashlight from his coat pocket, he shone it
behind him. "No one but us burglars," he said dryly and extended his hand to her.

  * * *

  Addison accepted his hand and let him pull her up and through the door. The odors of musty carpet, old wood, and decay assaulted her nostrils. She hated to think of her birth mother living in such conditions. From all appearances, Agnes Beckett had lived a very hard life.

  "Close the door."

  She jumped at the sound of his voice. "It's too dark." The last thing she wanted to do was close herself up inside that trailer.

  "Close it, dammit!"

  She shut the door, enveloping them both in total darkness.

  For a moment, the only sound came from the wind, cutting around the trailer like an angry sea. She couldn't shake the thought that this was the place where Agnes Beckett had been so brutally murdered. Images from the crime scene photos played before her eyes, sending a chill up her spine. "Turn on the flashlight," she whispered.

  A tiny beam of light cut through the dark like a blade. "Better?" he asked, directing the beam to the floor between them.

  Addison breathed out a sigh of relief. She could just make out his features in the dusky light, and she didn't miss the concern etched into them. "Thank you," she said, berating herself for allowing her imagination to get the best of her. She couldn't fall apart now. Not when they were finally where they needed to be, and there was a very real possibility of finding some new piece of evidence.

  "You okay?" Randall asked.

  "I'm fine." To prove it, she threaded down the narrow hall, determined to do a thorough search of the premises. Ahead of her, murky light flowed in from the living room windows.

  Her suede pumps were silent on the carpeted floor as she moved closer to the living room. She stopped when the trailer shuddered with a particularly hard gust of wind. "Can we turn on the lights?" she asked.

  "No."

  Behind her, she heard Randall trip over the small rug she'd barely managed to avoid. "How are we supposed to find clues without light?"

  "If the neighbors see a light in here, they'll jam the phone lines calling the sheriff."

  "Somehow I knew you were going to say that." Addison passed by a threadbare recliner and end table, spotting an ancient-looking TV on her left. She paused where the bar divided the kitchen from the rest of the trailer. There were canisters and dishes of different shapes and sizes on the counter. The cord of an old toaster dangled over the edge like a dead snake.

  "We can start here." Randall propped the flashlight against the toaster so that it shone away from the front window.

  "What are we looking for?" Addison opened the refrigerator, wrinkling her nose against the stench of rotting food.

  "Anything and everything. Papers. Newspaper clippings. Just don't leave anything out of place."

  "Like someone's going to notice."

  He opened the first cabinet, sliding a container of salt and assorted spices aside. "And keep your gloves on."

  Addison searched the top of the refrigerator, finding nothing more than a few outdated coupons and a month's worth of dust. As she searched, she tried to get a sense of the woman who had lived there. Everything she touched—the wooden spoon, the hot pad—she held for a moment, wishing in vain they could tell her something.

  Methodically, she and Randall worked their way through the kitchen and living room, toward the rear of the trailer where the bedrooms were located.

  "It looks like the police went over the place thoroughly," she said.

  "She didn't have much."

  Addison had known beforehand the search was a long shot. She should have been prepared for the disappointment. But she wasn't, and that she'd come up empty-handed again hit her hard.

  "I didn't really think we'd find anything." She hated the resignation in her voice, and that she was lying to keep the disappointment at bay.

  "Yes, you did."

  Raising her gaze to his, she searched his face, surprised to see understanding. She wasn't sure why she let that affect her, but for a moment she had to blink away tears.

  "Don't give up hope," he said gently. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

  "I was hoping for a break."

  Surprising her, he reached out and pressed his palm against her face. He was so close she could smell his aftershave. Memories of their lovemaking the night before played wickedly through her mind. She wasn't sorry she'd let it happen. The time had been right for her. He'd definitely been the right man. Too bad he had his sights set on another life in another state.

  "I'll check the master bedroom." She turned away before she had the chance to do something stupid, like cry or let him kiss her.

  "I'll take the other one."

  She started for the larger of the two bedrooms, nearly bumping into the broken chair leaning against the wall.

  "Careful." The beam of his flashlight played over the chair.

  "You'd think the cops would be more vigilant about—" Her voice died in her throat when the flashlight beam illuminated a wide, dark stain on the paneled wall. At first, Addison thought it was rust from a leaky roof or hot water heater. But when she looked down and saw the stain spread out on the carpet, her blood ran cold.

  She stared for what seemed like an eternity. The dark stain covered the wall and carpeting like an old wound that continued to seep in its injustice. Instinctively, she knew the smell pervading her nose was that of old blood. Of death. Of murder.

  Randall averted the light. "Shit, I want you to wait outside."

  His words cut through the shock, like light through fog. Before she could move, his hand gripped her wrist, turning her, pushing her toward the door.

  Addison's feet felt anchored to the floor. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. She, felt seasick, chilled to the bone. The contents of her stomach climbed into her throat. To her horror her stomach clenched, and she realized she was going to be sick.

  She staggered toward the door, choking back sickness. She wanted air, mouthfuls of cold, clean air.

  Randall reached the door before she did, shoved it open, and guided her to it. At the threshold, Addison fell to her knees and threw up violently, her body shuddering convulsively with each retch.

  Dizzy and humiliated, she gripped the jamb and let the icy wind wash over her heated face. For several minutes, she stayed that way, willing her stomach to calm. She refused to think about the crime scene photos. She refused to let her mind show her the splattered blood that streamed down the wall like a black waterfall.

  Slowly, she became aware of Randall's hand on her shoulder, reassuring her with his touch. He stood over her, holding the door open, waiting patiently for her to finish. "Easy does it," he said gently.

  "Just let me sit here for a moment."

  "Take as much time as you need."

  "Leave me alone. This is humiliating."

  "Don't sweat it, Ace. I've been in your shoes before." He caressed her nape with the tips of his fingers. "I should have known better than to bring you here."

  "It was my idea. I didn't leave you much choice."

  "I hate to disappoint you, but I can hold my own when I put my mind to it."

  When her stomach had settled to a manageable level, Addison raised her head, willing the dizziness away. "I want to finish searching the bedroom."

  Randall helped her to her feet. "You're in no condition to do any more searching."

  "I want to do this. Dammit, I need to do this." She leaned heavily against the jamb when dizziness threatened to send her back down.

  He reached for her just in time to keep her knees from buckling. "You've had enough."

  "We may not get another chance."

  He raised the flashlight to her face, careful not to blind her. "Christ, you're pale as a sheet."

  "I'm not leaving. Dammit, I feel better."

  "Right." He touched her cheek with the back of his hand.

  "I want to finish this."

  "I'll search the goddamn bedrooms," he growled. "I want you to wait for me
in the car."

  Addison didn't have the energy to argue further. She, turned to the door, then jumped to the ground. "I'll wait for you here."

  "I'll be five minutes," he said.