The Last Time I Saw Her

by Karen Robards

  Tony emerged from the basement, followed by Lena and Buzz. Charlie smiled at him, but he wasn’t paying any attention to her and didn’t see. Instead he was focused exclusively on Michael, who was still talking to the other cops. As Tony stopped beside Michael with Buzz hovering at his elbow, Lena came on over to join Charlie and Tam, whom the three FBI agents knew from a previous case. Michael finished his conversation with the cops. As they moved away, he was left alone with Tony and Buzz.

  Charlie was suddenly very interested in listening in on that conversation.

  “So where exactly did you learn to throw a knife like that?” Tony asked Michael. Charlie didn’t even have to strain her ears to hear him. Tony’s voice wasn’t loud, but there was a quality to it that made it carry. A hard quality, like he was talking to a suspect.

  “It’s a hobby of mine. I practice a lot,” Michael replied, perfectly bland.

  “That’s quite a skill set you have. Throwing knives, breaking necks.” Tony’s body language was all cop. Like Michael, and Buzz and Lena, too, he was dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing the day before, but unlike Michael Tony had managed a shave. “Quite a body count, too. Three killed in two days.”

  Michael said, “I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time to make a difference.”

  Charlie couldn’t help it: her lips curved a little at that one. He sounded like a beauty contestant proclaiming that her greatest wish was world peace.

  Lena was standing beside Charlie. She leaned close to whisper, “Bartoli thinks Hughes has to have had some advanced military training, but we can’t find any record of it. And that was before he saw the knife in Abell’s neck. Now he’s going ape. He doesn’t think there’s any way a man with Hughes’s background should have been able to do that.”

  “He saved my life. And Melissa and Glory Powell’s. And Paris Troyan’s,” Charlie pointed out, as she had already done to Tony. “However he came by the skill set, I’m grateful.”

  Still whispering, Lena continued, “The boss says there’s something wrong somewhere. He’s got people looking into the serial killer angle you suggested. He thinks there’s something to it.”

  Charlie barely stifled a sigh. That was exactly what she wanted, except for the cursed issue of timing.

  “Umm,” she said. So maybe she wasn’t at her eloquent best. She’d had a trauma, damn it. And the Michael/Hughes situation was getting twisted beyond unraveling.

  Lena said, “I just wanted to let you know. Because I’ve seen the way you’re looking at him, and the way he’s looking back. Not that I’d blame you for tapping that, I totally would, too, but given what we all suspect, you should probably be careful.”

  Charlie had to fight the urge to drop her head into her hands: she’d thought she was being discreet. Apparently not. Tam’s eyes slid her way in silent commiseration. She’d clearly overheard. Denying that she had the slightest interest in Hughes occurred to Charlie, and had the advantage of being absolutely true, but would probably do more harm than good. Least said, soonest mended were actually good words to live by, she’d discovered. Lena was warning her out of the purest goodwill, she realized, which she took as another step forward in their building friendship, so Charlie did the only thing she could do.

  She said, “Thanks. I appreciate you looking out for me,” and smiled at Lena. Lena’s brows snapped together, and she frowned back. Ah, well. Baby steps.

  Tam said to Lena, “That was really nice of him to take your shift as well as his own last night and let you sleep an extra two hours.” As Lena’s frown darkened and Charlie’s eyes widened, Tam’s significant glance at Buzz confirmed who she was talking about.

  “I didn’t ask him to.” Lena’s voice was no less fierce for being kept low. The glance she shot at Buzz was poisonous. Fortunately for him, he was looking at Michael and thus remained oblivious. “I didn’t want him to. He was supposed to wake me up.”

  Tam said gently, “I can feel that he really cares about you.”

  As Lena sputtered with indignation and denial, inspiration hit Charlie, and that, coupled with a desire to rescue Michael, had her saying to hell with her unreliable knees and standing up and walking over to Tony. After all, Abell was dead, she was no longer in danger, and there were missing teens out there. She could sit around and be traumatized later. All three men looked at her as she joined them. She consciously did not look at Michael. Still, after what Lena had picked up, she was afraid that she might be sending I’m-so-in-love-with-you vibes in his direction. God, she hoped not. How absolutely lame and embarrassing would that be?

  “You know, Tam might be able to help locate some of these people,” Charlie said to Tony.

  Officially, the FBI did not authorize the use of psychics. On their last case, Tony had taken a gamble and Charlie’s word, and turned to Tam for help when time was of the essence and the situation was desperate. Tam had more than established her bona fides with this team, and both Tony and Buzz looked at Charlie with approval.

  “Good idea,” Tony said, glancing at Tam, who was still talking to Lena. As if she felt their eyes on her, Tam looked at them. Charlie smiled and beckoned. Tam looked wary, but stood up and joined them. Her face like a thundercloud now, Lena came with her.

  Tony told Tam about Charlie’s suggestion.

  “I can try,” Tam said. She was absolutely confident in her abilities, her face and voice serene. “It would help if I had something that belonged to the subject or that the subject had some contact with.”

  Charlie, Tony, Buzz, and Lena looked at each other.

  “Torres, Ware, and Doyle will have personal belongings at the Ridge,” Charlie said.

  “I’m better with past events,” Tam warned. “More accurate and detailed. For present and future events, I tend to get mostly feelings and impressions. For example, I can feel danger hanging over someone, but I can’t see exactly what that danger is.”

  The five people standing around her nodded their comprehension. Charlie had already told Tony and company that Tam had arrived in Big Stone Gap unexpectedly because she’d felt Charlie was in danger and had then seen more danger even after Charlie had survived the ordeal in the school bus, and Michael had firsthand knowledge because he’d been there. Clearly, the horror with Abell had been the additional danger Tam had foreseen. Looking at Tam, Charlie thought, Accurate again. Actually, in Charlie’s experience, Tam had never been wrong. Sometimes muddled, but never wrong.

  “Any help you can give us will be appreciated,” Tony told Tam, and smiled at her. Tam smiled back. Then he looked at Lena and Buzz. “When we get up there, I want you two to interview as many people as you can while their memory of what happened is fresh. Our meeting got blown out of the water, but you can talk to Pugh and whoever else is available. We need to try to nail down exactly what happened in that prison. The who, how, and why of how a bunch of death row convicts were able to break out of a supermax.”

  Charlie frowned as a memory surfaced. Speaking slowly as she tried to dredge up the exact words she was remembering, she said, “While we were on the bus, Abell said something to Ware. It was along the lines of if Ware had a problem with what they were doing he could have stayed in his cell and taken a chance on being the next one hit.”

  Although she was still being careful not to look at him, Charlie happened to catch the expression on Michael’s face from the corner of her eye as she said that. His eyes sharpened with interest.

  Crap. Was deliberately not looking at him even more obvious than looking at him? Who knew?

  “Next one hit?” Buzz frowned at her. “You have any idea what he meant by that?”

  Charlie was glad of the distraction. “Three death row inmates have died violently while in custody at the Ridge within the last few months. One was a supposed suicide, one was stabbed by another inmate”—that death would have been Michael’s; still deliberately not looking at him, she glanced from Tony to Buzz instead—“you two were there for that—and the last
one was Walter Spivey, who died in mysterious circumstances in the infirmary after attacking me.”

  Everybody except Tam nodded. They all remembered that one, and Tony and Buzz—and Michael—clearly remembered Michael’s death as well.

  “You think someone’s killing death row inmates up at the prison?” Tony asked.

  Charlie said, “I think someone’s killing convicted serial killers who are on death row at the prison, and I think that’s why the remaining serial killers on death row were motivated enough to figure out how to pull off a break out. People tend to forget that, despite their psychopathology, serial killers are generally highly intelligent and resourceful.”

  The rattle of a gurney coming through the kitchen distracted them. It was being wheeled purposefully toward the basement door, and Charlie realized that they would be using it to carry out Abell’s body.

  She shuddered inwardly. She so did not want to be here for that.

  Totally by accident, her eyes met Michael’s. His expression was inscrutable, but she was sure he could read what she was feeling in her face.

  “If you’re heading up to the prison, I could use a ride,” Michael said easily to Tony. “My car’s up there.” His gaze shifted to Charlie. She looked back at him, hoping that her expression was as impenetrable as his, but fairly certain it was not. “Plus you owe me some files. I’ll collect them while I’m there.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The logistics involved in getting all six of them up to Wallens Ridge were enough to make Charlie long for more Advil to combat the resulting headache. First, they had to get past the TV crews and journalists going nuts over the home invasion and Abell’s subsequent killing that were camped out en masse in front of the Powells’ house. Then, in ways that she feared would abruptly get much less subtle if she ignored them, Michael made it clear that he wasn’t about to leave her side, not that she wanted him to. But what caused that to be awkward was that Tony made it equally clear that he wasn’t about to leave her in Michael’s company without his—Tony’s—protection. Clearly the knife-throwing, neck-breaking thing had put Tony on edge about what the supposed Rick Hughes was capable of, and he didn’t trust even Lena or Buzz to stand between Charlie and an increasingly viable-seeming serial killer suspect whose company she didn’t seem to have the good sense to avoid. Since Charlie emphatically didn’t want to be in a car with only Michael and Tony—think ping-pong ball between two paddles, mouse between two cats, that kind of thing—she locked her hand around Tam’s elbow and announced that she was riding with Tam to the prison. Michael promptly said he’d come with them, which led to Tony opting for Tam’s car, too. Then when that was settled and they’d snuck through the backyard to her driveway and were getting ready to pile into the small white Kia Tam had rented, Tam automatically headed for the driver’s seat, Tony held the passenger-side door open for Charlie, and Charlie was faced with the horrifying prospect of two large and deadly men who didn’t like each other crammed into a tiny backseat. Her eyes met Tam’s over the roof of the car as they exchanged some urgent nonverbal communication. The upshot was that Tony ended up driving, because his badge was the golden ticket that would get them through the prison gate, Charlie was in the front passenger seat because Tony showed an alarming tendency to get all stony-jawed at the idea of Charlie getting in back with Michael, and a surprisingly zen Michael and Tam sat in the back together and, equally surprising, appeared perfectly companionable despite the close quarters. Conversation was sparse for the entire winding road trip up to the prison as each one of them seemed lost in thought. But no wars broke out, and Charlie counted that as a win.

  Left by default to drive up in the big black Bronco Tony had rented, Lena and Buzz pulled in beside them as they were getting out of the car in the prison lot where Charlie always parked. Her car, she saw at a glance, was right where she had left it, and she was experiencing a moment of thanksgiving for the spare key she always kept in a magnetic case under the bumper when Lena sprang out of the passenger seat of the Bronco. Shouting, “No!” through the open door at Buzz, who was driving, Lena slammed the door so hard the Bronco shook. She stalked away toward the prison, totally ignoring the rest of them, her face aflame.

  Climbing out of the Bronco a second later, a scowling Buzz met four sets of interested eyes and grimaced.

  “What the hell?” Tony asked him, throwing out his hands in a gesture of mystified inquiry. “You two were fine fifteen minutes ago.”

  Buzz’s jaw worked. “I asked her to marry me, all right?” he said, and, thrusting his hands deep in his pants pockets, dropped his head, said something indecipherable under his breath, and kicked the Bronco’s rear tire.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Tony ground out, rounding the Kia to glare at Buzz. “Shake it off and move your ass. We have work to do.” As Charlie was already scooting after Lena, who was booking it toward the glass double doors where two corrections officers stood guard, Charlie barely caught Tony’s next remark, uttered as he shoved a hand into Buzz’s shoulder to urge him forward. “You ever hear of candlelight and flowers, numbskull?”

  “Lena.” Charlie looked at the other woman as she caught up with her. Lena’s jaw could have been carved from granite. Her eyes focused dead ahead. “Want to talk about it?”

  Lena shook her head. They reached the door, which was the main outside entrance to the administrative wing and was located maybe fifty feet away from the stairwell exit that had been used to evacuate the building when it caught fire. The building was not yet back in use and access was restricted, as evidenced by the guards stationed outside the door. Lena flashed her cred pack at the guards to gain admittance and Charlie, who they already knew, nodded as she was allowed to pass as well. Once they were inside and walking through the gray-walled, terrazzo-floored visitor admission center, Lena said in a furious undertone, “I cannot believe he did that.”

  “Proposed?” Charlie questioned cautiously as she trailed Lena toward the elevator banks. A glance over her shoulder located Michael and Tam, who, not possessing the necessary credentials, were being forced to wait outside the glass doors for Tony and Buzz to catch up to them. Michael was looking at her hard, and Charlie got from his expression that he didn’t want her getting out of his sight.

  Considering the number of times she’d nearly died in the last twenty-four hours, this was not exactly paranoia. She reassured him with a little, stop-worrying wave.

  “Who does that?” Lena gave the up button a savage jab.

  “Somebody who’s in love with you?” Charlie tried.

  “He doesn’t know who he’s in love with. He spent years being in love with my sister. He proposed to her, too,” Lena snapped. The fact that Buzz had once been engaged to Lena’s older sister, Giselle, was a major stumbling block to their relationship.

  “He’s acknowledged that he made a mistake.” Charlie could feel herself slipping into professional mode. “The question you need to be asking yourself is: What do you want? Are you in love with him?”

  Lena gave her a startled look, but the nearly simultaneous arrival of the elevator and the other four members of their party kept her from replying. Lips thin, Lena said not a word to Buzz or anyone else as they all rode up the elevator together. What with one thing and another, the atmosphere in the elevator was so thick Charlie was surprised any of them could even breathe.

  The minute they stepped off, Charlie was hit by the smell of smoke. Although the wing was nonoperational in the wake of the fire, a surprising number of people were present on her floor: investigators from the Bureau of Prisons and the FBI, identifiable by their windbreakers and badges, corrections officers, construction workers, cleaning crews, random strangers about whose function she had no clue. There was no visible damage to the hall, but as they walked toward Charlie’s office and the library beyond it the smell of smoke grew stronger.

  Charlie shuddered to think about what had happened in that library. The closer they got to it, the colder she felt. That sign
ified the presence of the dead. In significant numbers. She was glad to see the library blocked off and guarded.

  One of the guards stationed in front of the library raised a hand in greeting as he saw her. It was Johnson, and as Charlie waved back she remembered something.

  She slowed her step, purposefully falling a little behind the group, and a flick of her eyes at Michael had him falling back with her.

  In a quick whisper she told him, “When Johnson saw Hughes in my office before the fire, he was obviously rattled by how much he looked like you. He asked me if I thought we had something like a High Plains Drifter situation going on. I know it’s a Clint Eastwood movie, but other than that I’m out. I have no idea what that means. Do you?”

  Michael looked down the hall at Johnson. His face darkened and hardened. His body tightened. Instinctively, she put a hand on his arm only to feel aggression coursing through his muscles. Whatever a High Plains Drifter situation meant, clearly it was bad.

  He said, “Yeah, I do.”

  Charlie would have demanded an explanation, but they reached her office just then, which was where they were going to have Tam do her thing and where Tony had called ahead to have objects belonging to Torres, Ware, and Doyle sent. Tam, Lena, and Buzz walked on inside while Tony stopped at the door and looked around to see where Charlie was.