In a Heartbeat

by Rita Herron

  “You always followed along behind William. You tried to emulate him back in college and now you’re doing it again by copying his crimes.”

  “No, that’s a lie. Back in college when I disappeared, you don’t know what happened.”

  Lisa heaved a breath, glanced past him again as if searching for the agent. “If you love me, then let me go,” she whispered. “Let me see Brad.”

  He shook her gently. He had to made her see that they belonged together. “You have to listen. It’s all William’s fault…he caused my accident four years ago, a car wreck that almost killed me. That’s why I disappeared from school. He ran me off the road and left me to die, or we would have been together back then.” He sighed, then rushing on. “It took me a long time to recover. I was in the hospital, in rehab therapy, even had plastic surgery because I didn’t want to see you again until I could face you like a man.” The old familiar low esteem ate at him, gnawing its way to the surface. He heard his mother’s voice telling him he was no good.

  But he wasn’t that same old Vernon Hanks. He was different. Better. God had given him a second chance with Lisa. He couldn’t lose her.

  “Please, Lisa, I took care of White for you, so you’d never have to worry about him again.”

  “What do you mean, you took care of him?” Lisa asked in a trembling voice.

  * * *

  BRAD GROANED AND DRAGGED a hand over the back of his head. Something sticky and pasty coated his hair. He lifted his hand and saw the blood.

  Shit.

  His memory crashed back. Lisa had screamed his name. He’d gone running toward the house.

  And then someone had clobbered the hell out of him. His head throbbed, and he was drenched in cold sweat. The world spun in a dizzying motion as he forced himself to his knees. Struggling to breathe, he exhaled sharply, trying to orient himself and steady his legs so he could stand.

  Pulse pounding, he forced his feet to move, and crossed the distance to the porch. He grabbed the rail, hoisted himself up and automatically reached for his gun. But he’d left it by the lake. Damn it. No time to go back for it now.

  Adrenaline surged through him. He tiptoed up the steps and inside, cocking one ear to listen for sounds. A man’s reedy voice. Then Lisa’s broken whisper. She was begging the man to let her go. Calling him Vernon.

  It was Hanks.

  Brad inched to the door and peered inside just as she swung her knee up to attack. Brad catapulted into motion, then leaped onto Hanks’s back.

  The man was surprisingly strong, and his blow to the head had weakened Brad, but Brad was fighting for Lisa’s life. Spurred on by fury, he pounded his fists into the man’s face, his bruised knuckles bleeding as he knocked him to the floor.

  Lisa screamed and jumped backward, horror in her eyes, but he couldn’t stop.

  He’d told Lisa he was a killer but she didn’t believe him. Now she saw the truth.

  Hanks groaned and went limp, but Brad pounded him again until the whites of his eyes bulged. Each time he thought of Lisa. The other victims.

  “Brad, stop.” Lisa tugged at his arm.

  Finally he glanced up. Tears streaked her face. His chest clenched, and he released his grip on Hanks’s neck.

  But he wasn’t sure Lisa had stopped him in time, if the man would survive long enough to give a confession.

  * * *

  A HALF HOUR LATER, Lisa watched in abject shock as the paramedics lifted Vernon Hanks into the ambulance. Blunt force trauma to the head had caused him to slip into unconsciousness.

  Brad had retreated into his sullen shell, using a clipped tone to deliver his account of the attack. Captain Rosberg had spoken with her, and she’d answered the questions as best she could, trying to recall Vernon’s rantings word for word.

  “He admitted putting the new comforter on the bed and going through your clothing?” Brad asked.

  Lisa nodded. “He didn’t explain the bedspread, but he said he liked touching my clothes. And he admitted renting the cabin next to mine in Ellijay so he could be close to me. But he told me there his name was Aiden Henderson.”

  “Typical stalker behavior.” Captain Rosberg consulted his notepad. “You said he claimed White caused his accident?”

  She glanced at Brad and wrapped her arms around herself. Earlier she’d felt so close to him. Now she felt as if he was a million miles away. Untouchable. “Yes, he said he’d been in the hospital, then rehab, that he had to have plastic surgery.”

  “His sister mentioned that he’d been in an accident, too,” Brad confirmed.

  Captain Rosberg shot Brad a dark look. Lisa sensed he was upset with him for beating Vernon so badly.

  But he had been protecting her…hadn’t he?

  The ambulance spun away, siren blaring, its lights twirling in the darkness.

  “We’ll have someone stationed at his door,” Captain Rosberg said. “When he wakes up, we’ll question him.”

  If he wakes up. Would he? The question lingered in the ensuing silence.

  Then Brad’s phone trilled from inside the house, and he stalked up the steps to answer it.

  “Miss Langley, did Vernon Hanks admit that he’s the copycat Grave Digger?”

  Lisa shook her head, Vernon’s wild-eyed look flashing back to her.

  “Did he mention the other girls at all? Give you any indication that he was involved or that he’d kidnapped and buried them?”

  Lisa massaged her temple, her lungs tight. Everything had happened so quickly. And she had been so afraid. But Vernon…he’d actually looked upset when she’d accused him of the murders.

  “Miss Langley?”

  “No,” Lisa said quietly. “He denied being the killer. And he claimed that he wouldn’t hurt me, that he loved me.”

  Rosberg frowned, but the screen door slapped open, and Brad stalked outside, his look feral. “That was Nettleton.”

  Lisa clenched the porch railing for support, fearing his next words.

  “He knows where Darcy Mae Richards is?” Captain Rosberg asked.

  Brad nodded, and the horror continued.

  * * *

  IT WAS ANOTHER all-nighter. A night of tracking through the woods, of facing the possibility of failure, a night of finding another woman who had been buried alive in the infernal heat.

  Brad grimaced as the M.E. examined Darcy Mae Richards’s body. The crime scene techs that had been at the other sites had arrived just as Brad had. This time Dunbar was leading the crew.

  Darcy Mae hadn’t been dead that long. Hadn’t fought with the box like the others. Must have realized it was no use.

  Either that or perhaps she’d suffered heatstroke, and her heart had expired before the air had.

  He hung his head, sweat soaking his shirt and back, the realization that he’d missed Nettleton’s first call intensifying his guilt. Apparently Nettleton had left a message on his cell phone while Brad had been swimming in the lake. Then he’d been so busy making love to Lisa that he’d forgotten to check it immediately.

  Would it have made a difference for Darcy Mae if he’d received the call thirty minutes earlier?

  God, what if it had? What if he could have rescued this woman in time…?

  Nettleton approached, his smarmy face almost pious. The tail had confirmed that Nettleton had been at home the night before, but Brad still wondered if he could have slipped out.

  Brad had ordered Lisa to stay in the car, and had left Officer Surges waiting beside her as a guard dog. Through the bushes, he saw Wayne Nettleton charging toward the vehicle and Lisa. Brad sprinted after him. The last thing Lisa needed was to have her picture in the Atlanta Daily or on the news. But Nettleton didn’t give a rat’s ass about her safety.

  Before Brad could reach him, the man’s camera flashed. Lisa ducked behind her hands, and Brad tore into Nettleton.

  “Take your hands off of me,” the reporter shouted.

  Brad spun him around by the collar. “You’d better not print that picture, Nett
leton. You could be putting Lisa’s life in danger.”

  “The public has a right to know what’s going on,” Nettleton argued. “They want to see what happened to Langley’s princess daughter, how she made it these last four years, what she thinks about this second Grave Digger.”

  “The public will have to wait,” Brad barked. “You’re not going to put her life in jeopardy just to make a story.”

  “Don’t you think her life already is in jeopardy?” Nettleton asked snidely. “Isn’t that the reason you have her staying with you? Or is it because you want her for yourself?”

  Brad slammed his fist into the man’s mouth.

  Nettleton cursed and coughed blood. Officer Surges stepped forward as if to temper things. “Agent Booker, maybe you’d better take a walk.”

  Brad glared at him. “You think I should listen to a cop who pukes at every crime scene?”

  Surges’s face turned crimson, and he backed away.

  Lisa tried to open the door, but Brad waved for her to remain inside. This fight was between him and Nettleton.

  “You’re a hothead, Booker,” Nettleton said. “You’re out of control. I heard you nearly beat that man Hanks to death.”

  “He attacked Lisa Langley,” Brad said. “End of story.” And he didn’t regret one second of the beating.

  Nettleton arched a brow. “Do you really think he’s the copycat Grave Digger?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say. Now get out of here.”

  “Lisa knew this man Hanks before, didn’t she? Just like she knew William White.”

  Brad jerked Nettleton away from the car. “I told you to leave.”

  But Nettleton refused to be deterred. “Did Hanks confess?”

  “I’m not going to discuss this investigation with you.”

  “You’re forgetting that I’m the one calling you with information on the bodies. That I’m the one the killer is talking to.”

  “Which makes you a prime suspect,” Brad snapped.

  Nettleton chuckled. “I’ve already given Captain Rosberg my alibi.”

  “Alibis can be faked,” Brad said. “And if I find out yours was, I’ll personally haul you in.”

  “Then you don’t think Vernon Hanks is the Grave Digger?”

  “Leave now, and stay away from Lisa Langley.” Brad gave him a shove, then waited until Nettleton climbed into his SUV and drove away before he returned to the crime scene.

  An hour later, he and Lisa were at the precinct. Running on twenty-four hours without sleep, he chugged a cup of coffee while Lisa sat slumped in a chair in the corner, looking pale and exhausted. Lisa had begged him to have his head checked but Brad assured her he was fine.

  Rosberg had already chewed him out in his office, threatened to call Brad’s superior at the bureau, and had phoned the hospital several times, but Hanks hadn’t yet regained consciousness.

  The estimated time of death for Darcy Mae Richards had been 11:00 p.m. Nettleton had supposedly received the call around 11:30.

  Hanks had attacked Lisa around midnight.

  It was still possible that he was the killer.

  Rosberg handed Brad a fax that had just come in. “This is from the prison.”

  “White’s visitors.” Brad studied the series of shots. Two visitors. Wayne Nettleton a few weeks before White’s death. The other man, Vernon Hanks, aka Aiden Henderson, had visited White on two occasions. The last was the day White had died.

  So Hanks had impersonated White’s brother. But why?

  Lisa moved up beside him. “What are those?”

  He showed her the photos. “That’s Vernon,” Lisa said.

  “He pretended to be White’s brother.”

  Lisa gasped, then pressed her hand over her mouth.

  “What is it?” Brad asked.

  “Vernon…there was something he said. I didn’t understand it at the time.” She lifted her face, met his eyes. “He said that he took care of William, that he did it for me so William would never bother me again.”

  Brad’s mouth went dry. What had he meant?

  White had died from a fight, and Vernon hadn’t been present. Still…other possibilities came to mind.

  What if Hanks had paid someone to kill White, then decided to replace him by mimicking his crimes?

  Brad punched in the chief coroner’s number. “This is Special Agent Booker. Have you confirmed White’s identity?”

  “Yes,” Zaxberg said. “The man who was buried is definitely William White.”

  Brad had known it all along, but still sighed in relief. “Did you check for drugs in White’s system? Something that might have caused his death, or caused him to be weakened so that he couldn’t defend himself in case of an attack?”

  “No organ-damaging drugs,” the coroner said. “If he had, he wouldn’t have been able to donate them.”

  Right. Brad scratched his head. He still didn’t understand why a sadistic killer would have given his organs for transplant. Then again, White had probably done so thinking he’d live on through the recipients.

  But if Vernon hadn’t drugged White and caused his death, he must have paid someone in the pen to kill him.

  * * *

  LIAM LANGLEY STARED at his daughter’s picture in the early edition of the morning paper and nearly choked on his coffee. She had been attacked last night by that man named Vernon Hanks. Booker had come to the rescue.

  And Darcy Mae Richards had been found dead. Another victim of the copycat Grave Digger.

  Son of a bitch.

  His heart pounding, he picked up the phone and dialed Lisa’s cell. He let it ring and ring, but she didn’t answer, so he called Booker.

  “Special Agent Booker.”

  “Liam Langley. Is my daughter with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she all right?”

  The agent hesitated. “Yes. She’s exhausted. We just returned from the precinct a few minutes ago. I’m trying to get her to lie down.”

  “Let me speak to her.”

  Booker grunted, then must have handed Lisa the phone.

  “Dad?”

  “Good God, Lisa, I saw the news. Why the hell didn’t you call me last night?”

  “Because there was nothing you could do. Brad caught Vernon Hanks and…he’s in custody.”

  “According to the paper, he’s unconscious.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, then he can’t hurt you again.” He hesitated, knowing he had to see the man for himself. “Why don’t you have Booker bring you here. I have state-of-the-art security. You can rest in your old room. Let the housekeeper pamper you.”

  “I’m fine here, Dad.”

  Liam paced the room. “Listen, tell Booker that I talked to a friend of mine about Hanks’s medical records. He was in an accident four years ago. Went to rehab and had plastic surgery. The doctors said he claimed that someone had run him off the road, but then nothing ever came of it. He was on so much medication that the police thought he’d been hallucinating.”

  “Vernon said that William ran him off the road.”

  “What difference does that make?” Liam bellowed. “He was still stalking you, and killing these women.”

  Lisa sighed, her voice low. “He never confessed, Dad. And he told me he didn’t kill them.”

  “You really think he would have admitted to murder?”

  “I don’t know. For some reason…” Lisa hesitated, then continued, “I just don’t know if he has the heart of a killer.”

  Liam paused in front of his desk, stared at his daughter’s picture. Remembered her in that pink frilly dress when she was crowned Little Miss Magnolia. The way she’d squealed when her mother had given her that amethyst. Then at her mother’s funeral.

  And all those Christmas photos with her dolls and toys afterward. When she’d looked so sad and lonely.

  The photo from four years ago at the trial flashed back in his mind. And now another this morning. Why couldn’t all these crazies and that
damn reporter leave her alone? Hadn’t she suffered enough?

  “Don’t tell me you feel sorry for this lunatic,” Liam said between gritted teeth. “My God, Lisa, didn’t you learn anything from what happened with White?”

  “I’m sure Brad will find out the truth when Vernon wakes up,” Lisa said stiffly.

  If he wakes up, Liam thought, already stuffing his wallet into his slacks. And he didn’t intend to wait on Booker. He intended to pay Vernon Hanks a visit himself.

  The man wasn’t going to attack his little girl and get away with it, not without dealing with him.

  A half hour later, he’d convinced the officer stationed at Hanks’s hospital room door to let him in. Liam’s stomach churned as he approached the bed.

  Vernon Hanks was a pitiful looking man. Thin. Wiry hair. Pale freckled skin. A man who looked as if he’d tried to work out and build muscles, but the rail-thin angular features had never quite filled out as he’d wanted. Liam had read the man’s medical files.

  Vernon had an irregular heartbeat.

  All it would take was a simple shock, maybe even a little shot of the wrong drug or a miscalculated dosage, and he would go into cardiac arrest.

  After all, Liam had crossed the line once, with William White. Would this be any different?

  * * *

  HE WAS SO WEARY. He tried to move his hand to press it to his chest, but he couldn’t lift it. Fatigue weighed him down. He needed sleep. Needed to climb into that dark hole where his mind allowed him to forget what he’d done. Forget that his second chance at living had turned into a nightmare from which he had to run.

  Darcy Mae Richards had been one of the women who’d carved out his heart.

  Just like Joann Worthy. And Mindy Faulkner.

  And Lisa.

  Everything came back to Lisa. Lisa tattling to that special agent Booker. Lisa taking the stand against him. Lisa turning him away and looking at him like he was a monster.

  In the haze of gray murky light enveloping him, he saw Dr. Langley. First condemning him. Then hovering above him. His surgical mask in place. His eyes peering at him as if he was looking into his soul. His hand poised and ready to kill him or save his life.