“Have you considered that whoever snatched that woman in Norfolk was a copycat?”
“It seems too coincidental that a copycat would emerge now, just as Jones has escaped. I don’t buy it.” He shook his head, leaving no room for doubt.
“This has got you really worried, hasn’t it?” I squeezed his forearm.
“What he did to those women . . .” His lips drew into a tight line.
He didn’t have to finish. I knew what he’d done. I’d read about it online. It was the stuff nightmares were made out of. Methodical torture. Drawing out death for as long as possible. Things I couldn’t bear to think about.
“On a happier note, we have a new landlord, and Bill McCormick wants to marry her.” Yeah, I know. It was a rough subject change. But unless I turned the topic onto something else, I was going to start thinking about pain and people not being treated as humans. I didn’t want to go there right now.
Riley shook his head like someone had just splashed him with cold water. “What?”
“It’s true. She came by and introduced herself today. Her name is Rose. She’s got this 80s rock vibe going on, and she wants to have a cookout for everyone here tomorrow.”
“Mr. Sears never did that.”
“Nope, he sure didn’t.” Mr. Sears barely showed up when there was a pipe leak or when an appliance broke. Most of us here had learned to take care of issues ourselves. There were advantages and disadvantages to his hands-off approach.
“You said the cookout is tomorrow? Isn’t that when your interview is?”
So Riley did remember. He hadn’t brought the job possibility up since I first mentioned it. He didn’t talk a lot about what it could mean for us, but I wondered if he was worried that I might accept the job. Of course, he’d told me it was a great opportunity, but how great was it if it meant we’d live seventeen hours apart? And, if he wasn’t worried about me moving, then how much did that mean he cared for me?
Was Sharon right? Did he think his career was more important than mine? I had a hard time believing it.
I was much better at deciphering science than I was figuring out my emotions. Or figuring out men, for that matter.
“My interview is actually on Wednesday. They called and asked if we could move it back a day. I’ll squeeze it in between jobs.”
He leaned back and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He looked tired. Really tired. Now wasn’t the time I wanted to have a conversation with him about whose job was more important or who should sacrifice for the other.
“Did you eat dinner? Can I make you something?” I thought I had some Ramen noodles somewhere in my pantry.
“I’m good. Just a long day. I should probably get to bed.”
Truth was that I wanted him to stay, but I knew he couldn’t for more than one reason. Riley stood and headed down my hallway instead of toward the door.
I shoved my eyebrows together. “What are you doing?”
“Checking all of your windows.” He moved from room to room, nudging and shoving and double-checking. Finally, I guess he was satisfied.
“Be careful. Promise me.”
There was a time to be careful. And then there were times when careful would get you nowhere.
“I’ll keep my eyes wide open,” I told him.
And I would be careful, I decided, in a manner of speaking. I’d carefully figure out the mess around me until I got some answers.
***
I tossed to the other side of my bed as a night of restless sleep got the best of me. The sheets were knotted at my feet. My pillow had been punched more times than Mike Tyson’s face. Sleep and my body were just not cooperating tonight.
My thoughts were going haywire.
They jumped from Milton Jones to the eerie messages at the crime scenes to my interview with the Kansas Medical Examiner. I thought about Riley, our future together, about everything I’d leave behind if I moved. I thought about my desk, the papers there, and the possibility that a serial killer could be taunting me.
Before I’d gone to bed, I’d opened my Bible and read from 1 Peter. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings.
I wasn’t saying that there was a killer out there who was secretly the devil. But I did feel like there was someone out there looking for lives to destroy. I hoped I could stand strong in my faith throughout this storm.
Finally, I threw my legs out of bed and stood.
My alarm clock told me it was only 5:30 a.m. Way too early to be getting up. But I just couldn’t lay down any longer.
I shuffled into the kitchen and flipped on my coffeemaker. I’d set it last night before I went to bed. Without any coffee, my mind was too groggy in the morning to make coffee. I know, I know . . . it was a tough life. I was hoping to add “I promise to make you coffee every morning” somewhere in Riley’s wedding vows.
Five minutes later, I had a steaming cup in front of me, topped off with some sugar and cream. I flipped on the TV and found a news station.
A story about Milton Jones was on. Of course.
I should have changed the station, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Instead, I listened as the reporter talked about the precautions people out in California were taking. That same, familiar fear had crept into their lives. Some had even planned vigils in honor of the man’s past victims.
California seemed so far away. Yet, at the same time, it seemed so close.
How many miles? I pulled my cell phone from its charger on the end table and checked the distance. Two thousand, six hundred and some miles. To drive straight through would take one day, plus sixteen hours.
That didn’t seem all that far.
Faces of Milton’s victims flashed on the screen. I’d seen some of them before when I did my Internet search. They were all young. They were all pretty and ambitious and had a full life ahead of them.
Until Milton Jones had snatched it away.
I was pretty sure Lifetime had already made a movie about him. No joke. It had been called “The Milton Jones Story.”
I reminded myself not to watch any Saturday night specials on the man. No, I didn’t need a film to increase my wariness. Life was doing a fine enough job on its own.
Finally, I flipped the TV off and drank my last sip of coffee. Enough was enough.
I had to get to work. I walked over to my desk to check my schedule for the day.
What I saw there made my heart stutter a beat.
It was a picture of me. With Clarice. Leaving the crime scene yesterday.
CHAPTER 7
I flew across the hall to Riley’s apartment and pounded on the door. He opened it, still looking sleepy and wearing his Redskins’ PJs. I barged inside, my limbs shaking harder than a wet dog fresh out of the bathtub.
“What is it?” Riley raked a hand through his hair.
I held up the picture, which I’d been careful to only touch with a paper towel on the edges, just in case there were prints. My hand trembled so hard that Riley probably couldn’t make out anything about the photo. “This. I found it on my desk this morning.”
He ushered me inside before taking it from me. He knew the drill and watched out for any prints. His nostrils flared as he stared at the photo. “This was inside your apartment?”
I leaned against the door, my heart still pounding out of control. “It wasn’t there last night. I looked through all of my papers on my desk before I went to bed. I would have seen it.”
Riley started pacing. “How did someone get inside? All of your locks were latched, right?”
“Of course. Except, this morning, the chain to my door had been undone.” I’d noticed in my mad dash to Riley’s place.
He stopped. “What’s that mean?”
I hardly wanted to say the words, but I’d only been able to draw one conclusion
. “The only thing I can figure is that someone was inside my apartment the whole time.” Shivers raced across my skin at the thought.
Riley stared at me for a moment before shaking his head and starting to pace again. “That’s crazy.”
“How else could this picture have gotten there? How else did that chain get unlatched?” I’d considered all the other possibilities as my mind raced on hyper-drive. I had no other ideas.
He ran a hand over his face and let out an exasperated moan. “Did you hear anything last night?”
I shook my head. “I was awake for most of the night, and I didn’t hear anything. Not a squeak. Not a footstep. Nothing.”
Riley stopped in front of me. Concern lined his blue eyes. “You’ve got to call the police, Gabby.”
I nodded. “I know.”
Riley grabbed his cell phone from a nearby bookshelf. “I’ll call Detective Adams. You . . .” He shook his head, looking overwhelmed, an emotion I’d rarely seen on Riley before. “You just take some deep breaths.”
I sucked in air, long and slow and hard. I closed my eyes as I did so and began fervently lifting up prayers.
Riley shoved the phone between his shoulder and ear. “Don’t be surprised if he pulls Parker or one of his cronies into this.”
Parker was my ex-boyfriend. Now he was a fed. Getting him involved would only add more fuel to the fire. The situation was stressful enough without adding an ex onto the scene.
“Adams is on his way. After you talk to him, you should get out of town,” Riley told me when he hung up.
His words stopped me cold. “What are you talking about?”
“Maybe rent a cabin somewhere. Pay with cash. Give the person you rent from an alias. Stay there until all of this passes over.” His pacing became more frantic, and he ran his hands through his hair. I’d never seen him like this.
“Riley, you’re talking crazy. Besides, what if this doesn’t pass over? I can’t stay in hiding forever.”
The far-off look in his eyes made it clear that he was running through scenarios in his head and really trying to think this out. “You need to be safe.”
“Are we ever truly safe?”
My words seemed to get through to him. He pulled me toward him and held me. He was worried. Really worried.
I’d seen him worried about me before. Several times, for that matter. But this went beyond any of those times in the past.
“I can’t lose you, Gabby,” he finally muttered into my hair. He stroked my back, his voice tight and strained.
“Oh, Riley. I don’t know what to say.” I was good with the snarky and sarcastic. The serious and sentimental? That didn’t come naturally.
He stepped back, a new light in his eyes. “Maybe we should get married.”
I laughed, the sound airy and laden with surprise. “Married? Just because of a serial killer. I’m flattered.”
There we go. There was that unfailing sarcasm.
He tilted his head so close to mine that we were practically nose-to-nose. “You know what I mean. We’re getting married anyway. We could just move up the date. Then we could be together and . . .”
“ . . . Milton Jones could sneak into our apartment and kill both of us?” The realist in me emerged at the worst times.
“I could stay up all night listening for him, if I had to. If he came, I could be there to protect you.”
“And without sleep, your logic would be compromised. You need your rest in order to think clearly and help find this guy.” I was being the reasonable one here. This was a switch.
He sighed and looked at the ceiling. “I’d just feel better if you weren’t alone.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist. “You know I want to marry you more than anything. But I don’t want to rush the wedding just because of this Milton Jones guy. That would give him too much power in our lives.”
Plus, there was always the issue of Kansas . . .
Riley let out a slow breath. “You’re right. But we’ve got to figure out something until Jones is arrested again. Because having him sneak into your apartment again is not an option.”
***
Twenty minutes later, Detective Adams sat across from us at the dining room table in Riley’s apartment. Some kind of nervous tick had come over me, and I couldn’t keep my hands still. I rubbed at a smudge on the tabletop. I cracked my knuckles. I twirled my hair.
“I don’t have to tell you how serious this is,” Detective Adams said. He leveled his gaze at me.
I glanced over at Riley, who sat next to me with his arms crossed as if he were guarding precious cargo. “Riley has already done a great job explaining that.”
Adams tapped his pad of paper on the table and stared at his notes there. “Riley, I have a feeling we’ll be in contact more, especially given your prior connection with this case. A task force has already been set up.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Adams nodded back toward my apartment. “We’ll see if any of the prints the forensic unit collects in your apartment come back as a match to Jones.”
Riley shook his head. “Milton Jones never left any prints.”
“We have to keep our mind open to all the possibilities out there,” Adams reminded him.
Riley straightened. “Who else knows about his threat toward me? Who else knows that Jones was collecting information on me from prison? Could this just be an opportunist trying to get to me, using Jones as a ruse?”
“We’re trying to track down all of that information now. Details like those threats were kept under wraps. Only a limited number of people were aware of them, and most of them were people officially connected to the case.”
Just then, someone rapped at the door. I expected to see one of the forensic techs. Instead, a man in a suit stood there. He was in his forties with brown hair that grayed at the temples. He had a lean build, a face scarred from acne, and he wore wire-framed glasses.
Riley took a step toward him, his face softening with some kind of male camaraderie. “If it isn’t Dale Warren.” He extended his hand in a chummy manner.
The man returned Riley’s grin. “Riley Thomas. You’re looking well. Your time away from the D.A.’s Office must be good for you.”
“I can’t complain. I wish I could ask why you’re here, but I think I know.”
Dale and Adams did a quick nod to each other before the Norfolk detective put his notebook back into his jacket and rose. “I’m going to check on the scene next door. I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”
When Adams stepped out of the room, Riley turned toward me. “Gabby, this is Dale Warren. He’s a detective out in L.A. We knew each other way back when.”
“It wasn’t actually that long ago,” Dale said, extending his hand toward me.
I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Dale, this is Gabby St. Claire, my fiancée.”
That still had a nice ring to it, even a month after Riley’s proposal.
Dale grinned. “You always did have good taste in women, Riley. I see nothing’s changed there.”
I ignored the sexist undertones to his statement and forced a polite smile.
Riley pointed to a chair. “Have a seat.”
Dale did just that, and Riley and I settled back in our seats. I wanted to offer him coffee, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the table and miss any news Dale might be sharing.
Dale’s face lost any lightheartedness and turned serious. “The FBI has called together a joint task force that includes members of the U.S. Marshals, a prison representative, and some local police. Detective Adams is also a part of our team. We met yesterday. They want you to be a part of this search, Riley.”
Riley nodded. “Of course. Whatever I can do to put Jones back behind bars. How did his escape happen? I’m still trying to wrap my mind around this.”
He shook his head. “It was tragic. He’d almost escaped twice from the prison where he was housed. They decided to move him to the
supermax prison out in Colorado.”
“There’s a supermax prison?” I asked. I really needed to read up more on correctional facilities. I’d never had a need before, though. As long as criminals were put away, I was happy. Until now.
Riley nodded. “Only the worst of the worst go there. Terrorists. High-profile killers. It’s a rough place.”
“There’s one other thing.” Dale shifted and paused. “We think he might be headed this way. That’s why I’m here and not in California.”
Riley nodded solemnly. “Believe me. I’ve considered that possibility.”
“I’m not sure why you’re the one he’s turned all of his rage on. But he’s had you in his sights ever since his sentence was handed down. Up until now, his threats seemed idle and impossible to carry out.”
Riley’s jaw flexed. “We found a picture in Gabby’s apartment this morning. It was taken of her yesterday.”
Adams had taken the picture with him when he left so it could be examined at the lab.
He perked. “Eyes Xed out?”
Riley shook his head. “No. We think someone was hiding in her apartment, though, just waiting for her to go to sleep so he could leave the photo.”
I shivered as he said the words.
Dale shook his head. “Why wouldn’t he X out her eyes? Why would he just leave the photo without abducting Gabby?”
I felt invisible at the moment.
“That’s exactly what I was wondering.” Riley glanced at me. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m exceedingly glad that he didn’t abduct you. But something doesn’t seem to fit here.”
Dale played a little drumbeat with his fingers against the side of the table. “There’s one other possibility we’re considering. It’s the idea that Jones is working with someone.”
“Why would you think that?” Riley rubbed his jaw.
“Serial killers often have little fan clubs. Someone was sending Jones those clippings while he was in jail. He’s had correspondence with somewhere around thirty people since he was put behind bars. We’re looking into all of those people, but it’s going to take some time. There’s a chance someone is helping him.”
The Scum of All Fears: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 5 Page 5
