“I know everything about you,” he panted as her stomach heaved. “The roads you take to work. The time you wake up. The meals you cook.”
The words slipped through the sides of his mouth as he gritted his teeth tightly. “I know you’re all alone.” He snaked a hand around her thigh and cupped her bottom. Then he pinched her, hard. She cried out, but the breath snagged in her lungs. “I thought I could be your date.”
He released his grip and brought his hand to his waist. Bile rose in her throat as he fumbled for his belt buckle, his knuckles fluttering across her belly. He grunted and the movements continued. He was having difficulty with his belt. He lowered the hand with the gun and backed up just a little.
Just enough.
Libby brought her right knee upward with a quick jab to his crotch. When he gasped and stepped back, doubled over, she lunged forward, landing her right shoulder squarely against his sternum, knocking them both to the ground. The gun crackled across the asphalt, sliding just out of her reach.
She was straddling his waist. He shifted to throw her off, but she bore down on him with all of her weight and knocked him back against the pavement. “Bastard!” She felt mad with rage as she dug her nails into his face, releasing trails of crimson. Thrusting the palm of her hand against his nose, she heard a dull crunch as the cartilage broke. He screamed and his hands flew to his face. Libby rolled away to grab the gun that still lay only inches from his arm. She started to wrap her fingers around the cool metal grip when the gun flew out of her grasp.
He had reached it first.
Libby took off running, hearing him cursing behind her as her feet pounded the pavement. A bullet ricocheted, zipping past her ear. A bloodcurdling scream escaped her throat, and she heard her own breath coming in shrill spurts. There had to be a way out of here.
Another shot rang out, this one puncturing a metal trash can as she ran by. He was shrieking in pain as he pursued her but gaining ground. Libby approached a gate that seemed to lead out of the alley, and she crashed her shoulder up against it. She could hear him coming, and a bullet shattered the top of the board on the gate, too close to her head. “Help me!”
With clumsy fingers, she clawed at the latch on the gate. It was locked, or jammed—she couldn’t tell which, but it didn’t matter because the result was the same. She was trapped, and a killer was quickly closing in.
* * *
“I’ve got a few patrol cars circling the block,” Dom said as he and Nick continued down Marbury. “They want to get this SOB as much as you do. He killed their brother.”
Nick glanced down an empty alleyway but didn’t respond. This bastard had Libby. No one wanted to get him as much as Nick did.
A few other witnesses had confirmed that Libby had left with a tall man in a black jacket and a baseball cap. No one had seen them get into a car, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t, and it sure didn’t stop the gnawing in Nick’s gut. The downtown area was vibrant on this spring afternoon. They could have disappeared into the crowd. They could have walked, unnoticed, into any number of buildings. Some of the old industrial spaces were boarded up and dilapidated, an eyesore and a nuisance. A magnet for criminal activity.
“There,” Nick said, pointing to the site of the old Sterling Textiles Company. “We should check out that area.”
They entered the alley by way of a gate in a six-foot white picket fence. The gate opened on rusty hinges that creaked at a pitch that felt like a finger down Nick’s spine. The dried-out skeletons of last summer’s weeds littered the cracks in the pavement. The bricks on the old building pinched under their own weight to the point that Nick wondered if the building had ever been built straight, or if it was warping under the stress of time. In the middle of a bustling area, the textiles factory was a forgotten place.
“No windows,” Dom mused quietly.
“There are windows around the corner, in the front of the building. He could have taken her in that way.” The hair on the back of Nick’s neck rose.
“I’ll check in here,” Dom said. The rotted green boards he pointed to barely classified as a door. “You go around the front.”
A gunshot shattered the desolate silence of the alley, followed by a desperate scream.
Nick and Dom drew their weapons and sprinted down the alley. Another gunshot. More screams for help. “Nick!” Dom pointed to a slick spot on the pavement and a short trail of drops.
Blood. Nick’s muscles went to ice. Each second down that alley stretched to a year, and when they turned the corner of the building, the alley before them was empty. “Keep going!” Nick said it, but neither of them had hesitated.
More gunshots, and this time they came in rapid succession.
He fled down the alley past the front of the textiles building, his lungs burning and his body heavy with dread. If he lost Libby now...he couldn’t bear to complete the thought.
He neared the corner of the building and looked to his left, where the alley continued back to the main street. He saw another wooden gate, and his gaze rested on a figure on the ground—a body, twisted and bleeding. “No!”
He hurled toward the gate. A person hovered over the body, standing in a shadow, holding a gun. Nick stopped in his tracks and raised his weapon. “FBI! Drop your weapon!”
He heard the metal hit the ground. “Nick!”
His body shuddered with relief as she stepped into the sunlight. Libby. He ran to her, sweeping her into his arms, kissing the soft black waves of hair that fell across her cheeks. “Oh, God, Libby. Honey, are you all right?” He stepped back an arm’s length, looking her over. Her shirt was bloody and her clothes were ragged. “What did he do to you?”
She shook her head. “I’m okay.” But her teeth rattled as she tried to answer him. “I think I killed him,” she said, and pointed to the body.
Dom came up behind them and dropped down to inspect the man on the ground. His nose was broken and bloody, and his jacket was riddled with bullet holes. He turned to Libby, his eyes wide. “How did you—”
“I fought him. Nick, I think he was going to...” Her voiced splintered, and she brought a shaking hand to her mouth. She didn’t complete the thought. “I broke his nose like you taught me one time, and I tried to run away but he kept shooting at me. And then I reached this gate and I saw that.” She pointed to a black bottle of wasp spray on the ground. “They must have it because of the trash cans. The can says that it sprays up to thirty feet, and so I tried it and I got him in the eyes. He dropped his gun.”
Nick’s jaw was slack. “And then you shot him?”
She shook her head. “No. I was going to hold him there, but then he lunged at me again and I shot him.” She looked at the body with contempt. “I kind of enjoyed it, too.”
Nick’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, we’ll strike that last comment from the record.”
Dom gave a low whistle and placed his gun back in his holster. “You ever thought about being a cop, Andrews? Maybe a vigilante?” He shook his head with visible admiration and lifted his two-way from his belt. “I’m in the alley by Sterling Textiles, off Marbury. I need backup.”
Libby settled her head against Nick’s heart. She trembled against him, and he pulled her tighter. “It’s all over. Breathe, honey, it’s over.”
She inhaled a breath that rattled her entire body. “Does this mean I’m safe now?”
He brushed his lips against the top of her head. “Yes, sweetheart.” He reached up to touch a hand to her cheek, to press her closer to him. “You’re safe now.”
Chapter 13
“We don’t have the official ID yet, but looks like his name was Reggie Henderson,” Dom announced as he slid a photocopy of a driver’s license across the table. “At least that’s what the driver’s license we found on the body says.”
“Henderson?” Nick said. “Must be a relative of Will Henderson’s. A nephew or a cousin, maybe.”
“Nephew,” came Dom’s quick response. “Run-of-the-mill dirtbag. He had
a couple of arrests for driving under the influence. He did time a few years ago for armed robbery. Ballistics is running a check on the gun, but it looks like a potential match in McAdams’s death.”
“Good. Sounds like we got the guy.” Nick nodded to Libby. “Maybe I should say, sounds like Libby got the guy.”
Libby turned away from the picture. They’d been in the precinct for several hours. She was tired and sore, and as the reality of the afternoon seeped in, she was exhausted. She’d given a statement, and she and Nick had told Dom their theory on the case, which was that Libby’s father had knowingly prosecuted an innocent man in return for political favors from the Arbor Falls Strangler, and someone who knew was seeking revenge.
“I still don’t understand,” she said. “Dad died without knowing about any of this. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was in diapers when Dad prosecuted Henderson. Why would someone want to hurt me?”
Dom’s face softened. The poor guy had taken a beating from Nick—a dark purple bruise was still developing under his eye. “It could be some twisted logic, or some need to right a cosmic wrong. Will Henderson was innocent and your father took his life, in a manner of speaking.”
She sat perfectly still. Dom’s voice was gentle, but the truth of his words cut deeply. She reached for the bracelet on her wrist and fidgeted with it, clicking the little piano open and shut. Ever since that morning in Henzel’s office, she’d been thinking about what her father had said on that beach in Sarasota all those years ago when he’d told her that he’d watched her play with the charms while sitting on her mother’s lap. He’d even choked at the memory. How was it possible that at the time he’d fondly observed Libby playing with her mother’s charm bracelet, he’d been cutting a deal with a murderer? She couldn’t reconcile these two truths.
Nick slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. “It doesn’t matter why anything happened. What matters is that the guy who was after you is dead and that all of this is over.”
Libby’s shoulders tensed. “It does matter. My father had a past that I couldn’t fathom three days ago. I knew he was stern, but I’d always thought he was just. I thought we shared that ideal.” She leaned forward, away from his touch. “It matters to me that my father was a stranger with these terrible secrets. He sold his ideals for his ambition.”
Dom and Nick eyed each other silently as Nick pulled his arm away. A knock on the door split the heavy silence, and Cassie entered the room with paper take-out bags.
“My turn to bring dinner.” She smiled easily, but her smiled wavered when she looked at Libby, and then she looked away. “It’s nothing fancy, just sandwiches and chips. I bought some chocolate chip cookies for dessert.”
She fluttered about with an energy that Libby hadn’t seen in years, taking special care as she arranged the plates, utensils and food. Cassie had never been one to be so concerned about neatness, but she stacked the sandwiches with an almost exaggerated attention to detail, tucking the corners of the butcher’s paper in which the meals were wrapped. Libby glanced at Dom, who sat watching Cassie with rapt attention and interest. That’s when Libby understood.
“Here, I can help you.” She rose and walked over to where Cassie was stacking the sandwiches. “Maybe we can pass these out so you don’t have to go to all of that trouble.” She touched Cassie’s upper arm. “Thanks for bringing dinner.”
Cassie paused, looking as if she was searching for a response. She looked down and swallowed, and then she surprised Libby by throwing her arms around her. She turned her face to speak into Libby’s neck, suddenly seeming much younger than her thirty years. “I’m so sorry.”
Libby reached her arms around to return the embrace. “For what?”
“I brought you to the diner. I thought I was doing a good thing.”
“You were. I was lucky to have all of those cops around.” Libby tightened her arms. “And I’m safe now.”
She sniffed. “What would I have done without you?” Cassie shuddered. “I have no one else left.”
“You don’t need to worry about that. I’m still here, and so is Sam.” She paused. “Hey, where is he?”
Cassie pulled away. “I left him with a neighbor. She used to run a daycare, and she’s been offering to watch him since I was four months pregnant.”
Libby squeezed her arm affectionately. “Don’t blame yourself for this. Any of it. I don’t blame you.”
She bit her lip and nodded but didn’t say anything more.
The four of them picked at their dinners, punctuating the meal with dashes of almost cheerful banter before settling back into the heavy fatigue they shared. When they were finished, Nick rose and said, “If we’re done here, it’s been a long day and I’d like to take Libby home.”
They said their goodbyes, and she clutched Nick’s hand as they walked out of the precinct, through the parking lot and to the car. He drove directly to her house and pulled into the driveway. She sat staring at the house. She loved everything about it: the flower gardens, the cherry tree that was only a few weeks from erupting in delicate pink-and-white blossoms and the fact that inside those walls, everything was arranged to her liking and comfort. Home. But her heart was beating too quickly and her body felt too heavy to move.
Nick opened his door and stepped out. She watched him walk along the front of the vehicle to her door. He opened it.
“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t go back in.”
His brows knit, and he rested his forearm on the roof of the vehicle and leaned closer. “It’s over, Libby. Henderson’s dead. It’s safe to go home.”
Her thumb flew to her mouth, and she chewed on the nail. “What if he left something inside? He’s been in my house before.”
“We’re not sure of that. But would it make you feel better if I went inside first?”
She nodded and handed him her key. “The pass code to the alarm is the same.”
She waited while he walked around the outside of the house, then went through it, turning on lights as he checked the rooms. He came back outside with a smile. “All clear.”
She stepped onto the driveway and walked to the house on shaking legs. Her breath came in shallow gulps as she reached the front door. She entered. Her house smelled faintly floral, the way it always did. Clean and untouched. She felt ill at the thought that Reggie Henderson had ever seen the inside of her home—how she decorated or how it smelled. She tried to clear the thought from her mind.
“See? Nothing to be afraid of.” He carried her bags inside and dropped them beside the front closet. “Home sweet home.”
Her gaze swept across his bruised face. He had a split lip and another cut on the left cheek. All for her. He’d promised to stand by her until she was safe, and he had. He hadn’t left her side, and that made her stomach flutter. She liked having Nick around.
Yet they hadn’t discussed what would happen once she wasn’t in danger. He had a life and a home hours away from here. He had no choice but to leave again, and now as he stood by the door, he looked as if he was bracing himself for something painful.
She swallowed. “You’re going home.”
His figure was frozen. “You’re safe now.”
She nodded and looked at his feet. His black shoes were filthy. He’d tracked mud all over her house when he’d checked it; she could see the specks on the floor. Her eyes began to sting. “I don’t feel safe.”
He sucked in his breath. “Do you want me to stay? Just...one more night?”
“Yes.” Her answer was too quick, but she didn’t care. “Please.”
He seemed to relax and just like that, the fear dissipated. She lifted her bags and carried them up the stairs to her bedroom. A dull ache had wrought itself through her muscles. She dropped the bags in the middle of her bedroom floor. She was tense and tight and exhausted, and she didn’t want to unpack.
She stood in the frame of the bedroom door and listened to Nick walking through her home. He opened cabinets and closed them, t
hen he opened her refrigerator to pour himself something to drink. She remembered hearing him make these same rounds years ago, when they were still together. Strange, to feel nostalgia at the sound of someone walking around a kitchen.
She moved easily around her bedroom now that she knew he was downstairs. She didn’t hesitate to open her closet, and she didn’t check under her bed. Reggie Henderson was dead. She was safe. She realized with a thump of her heart that the fear she’d felt before entering her home wasn’t a fear that Henderson had left a sign here or that someone else was lying in wait. No.
What she’d feared was entering her empty house and being alone once again. No amount of checking under the bed would alleviate that concern.
* * *
Cassie curled up on her couch and hugged a pillow against her stomach. Weeks after giving birth, the elastic waistband of her favorite sweatpants still felt tight. She slid them down around her hips. That was better.
Sam was asleep in his crib, which meant that she had a few short hours to sleep herself. She should take advantage, but she couldn’t slow the thoughts in her mind. The image of Nick and Dom fighting on the sidewalk like young boys brawling over a girl. The thought of Libby nearly being killed because Cassie had lured her back into Arbor Falls, right into the lion’s den. She shivered and felt a wave of nausea. What if...? She’d never have forgiven herself.
She jumped at the sound of a knock at the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
Dom.
Cassie pulled up her sweatpants and brushed down the front of her old long-sleeve blue T-shirt, pausing to examine a new stain on the front. She’d tied her hair back in a ponytail, but she tugged a few tendrils loose. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and paused. She was a mess. An ashen-faced, bloated mess. She’d lost her chin somewhere at around thirty-four weeks, and it still hadn’t fully returned. She was forty pounds heavier than she’d been eight months ago, and she felt frumpy in every extra ounce.
The Seven-Day Target Page 19
