The Killer in Me

by Winter Austin

  “You want to run the risk of missing crucial evidence being left up there because you’re worried the floor will collapse?”

  “Yes. As you so eloquently put it, my Viking butt is too heavy for that questionably stable floor.”

  “Just because a porcelain tub caved in the floor of a bathroom, where I’m sure there had been water damage to weaken the integrity of the wood, doesn’t mean the rest of the upstairs is compromised.”

  Lundquist gestured for her to climb the steps. “Be my guest. I think I’ll stick to the first floor.”

  “All right.” Lila looked down at her duty belt. “Better still.” Nimble fingers went to work removing her belt. “Hold this. A little less weight.”

  He took her belt. “Be quick about it.”

  She mounted the first step. “Not how an investigator does their job. Fast work is sloppy work.” Which steps were the ones she had to avoid or risk falling through?

  “You know what I mean.”

  Lila peered at him over the stair railing. “Do I?”

  His features hardened. Guess that answered her question. Setting aside the oddity that was Kyle Lundquist, Lila crept up the stairs, locating the weak steps as she went.

  “I’ll look over the stairwell,” Lundquist said when she reached the top.

  “You do that.”

  Start from the big hole that was the bathroom and work her way back to the stairs? Or begin from where she stood?

  A creak at the end of the hall made her shiver.

  End of hall back to the stairs it was.

  As she passed the smear on the wall, she hesitated and looked at it closely. If memory served her right, the condition of Regan’s body didn’t determine if her bloodied injuries were caused peri- or postmortem. Lila studied the sweep and angle of the smear. Turning her back to the hole, she swiped her hand through the air in the same direction of the stain.

  Before it plunged into the hole, she thought the tub had blood in it, but it was pockmarked by rust, making it difficult to determine one way or the other.

  “Lundquist?”

  “Did you find something?”

  “Not yet. Hey, think about the condition Regan’s body was in when she was discovered.”

  After a few seconds of silence. “Okay?”

  “Do you think it’s possible she’d been beaten? Tortured?”

  Lila looked down the hall, picturing the bathroom once more whole. The image that came to her turned her body cold.

  “Are you thinking, whether she was alive or not, the killer brought Regan here to torment Maya before they killed her too?”

  Bile burned the back of Lila’s throat.

  “My God,” Lundquist groaned. “Who the hell does something like that?”

  “Someone bent on protecting their identity.”

  Lila turned to the bedroom behind her, the room where the possum carcass stank up the place. She entered the room, gagging on the sickly sweet stench. Last time, she’d only glanced at the room, repulsed by the corpse. Finding a sturdy, rusted curtain rod, she used it to leverage the body up and flipped it over.

  “Maya, you clever girl. Found them!”

  Digging out gloves and a baggie, she picked up the two cell phones, gagging through it, and dumped them in the bag. She hoped the body fluids hadn’t ruined the SIM cards and computer components. A tiny part of her felt sorry for the tech who was going to have to deal with the juiced over devices.

  She double-timed her way out of the room and down the hall. She waved the bag at a relieved Lundquist as she picked her way down the steps.

  Lundquist handed over her duty belt and took the bagged cell phones. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I can’t believe my hunch proved right,” Lila said as she stepped out into the fresh winter air.

  “You’re just lucky you didn’t fall through the floor again.”

  Rounding the corner of the house, they pulled up short at the shotgun pointed at them. Lila clutched the nylon straps, itching to grab her gun. How could she have let her guard down?

  “Don’t even think of doing it. Give me the phones.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Elizabeth came to a screeching halt. “What are you doing here?”

  Fitzgerald, wearing his civvies, was camped out at his desk. “I waited for Sheehan for an hour and he never showed. Marnie told me it’d look suspicious if I continued to sit there all afternoon not drinking and sitting in his spot.”

  “What if he’s there now?”

  “Marnie promised she’d call me if he showed up,” he bit back.

  “Why does she know what you’re doing?”

  Fitzgerald blanched.

  For the love of all that was holy. “You told her?”

  “No,” he snapped. “She figured out what I was doing. She wanted me to tell you that this idea is crap and it never would have worked.”

  “Damn it.” Elizabeth looked at Rafe. “On today of all days, he pulls a disappearing act.”

  “He only has so many places to go. That we know of.” Rafe settled into his desk chair.

  “We just can’t have Ben show up at his home pretending to be defecting.”

  “If he’s not at The Watering Hole, he’s probably at the Elks or the country club,” Georgia supplied.

  Elizabeth made a face. “The Elks and the country club allowed him membership?”

  “If he pays his dues, they have to. Doesn’t hurt when your cronies run the place.”

  Growling, Elizabeth stalked to her office. “I’m getting exactly nowhere today but further in the hole.” She slapped a hand on the doorframe. “Have Dayne and Lundquist called in?”

  Georgia shook her head.

  Curling her hand into a fist, Elizabeth pressed her knuckles into the wood frame. A good scream would feel great right about now. Every muscle strained, pulling on her bones until she felt like they’d snap. But no. She must be in control. She was the sheriff. To show even an ounce female response to stress would set back any progress she’d made as an authoritative figure.

  Bentley curled herself around Elizabeth’s legs, gazing up lovingly at her. Stroking her companion’s head, she let the motions soothe her frazzled brain.

  “Ellie, all is not lost,” Rafe said. “We know more about what happened to our victims than we did two days ago.”

  “But we don’t know why Brent was shot or who shot him.”

  The phone rang, making her jerk. Georgia answered.

  “We’re all tired,” Rafe continued. “Rest and give Dayne and Lundquist a little more time.”

  “I can go to the hospital and keep an eye on Meyer,” Fitzgerald offered.

  “Wait to see if Marnie calls you. If nothing happens in the next hour, we reassess. I’m hoping Olivia is able to get to the Pelham autopsy before the day is out.”

  “Ellie,” Georgia said. “It’s Joel.”

  Scowling, Elizabeth stepped over Bentley and stalked to her desk. She grabbed the receiver and punched the blinking line. “What?”

  “Ellie . . . your . . . house. I’m shot.”

  Her exhausted brain took a moment to unravel what he said, then her legs gave out and she landed hard on the chair.

  “What?”

  Rafe and Ben appeared in her doorway, probably summoned forward by Georgia.

  “Elizabeth, I’m . . . shot . . . ” The line went silent.

  Elizabeth’s body went slack, the receiver slipping free and cracking against the edge of her desk. A strangled sound ripped from her lips.

  Rafe was at her side. “Ellie?”

  “Joel’s dying.”

  He rocked back on his heels, his body slamming into her desk. “No. Where is he?”

  “My house.” Elizabeth didn’t recognize her voice.

  Fitzgerald swore and ran out of the office. “Georgia, send an EMS unit to the sheriff’s place. I’m on my way.”

  Rafe took hold of Elizabeth’s face. “Look at me.”

  She met his gaze.<
br />
  “We have to go to him. Now.” He straightened, grasped her hand, and helped her to her feet. “Bentley, stay.”

  Numb, feeling like she was floating, Elizabeth let Rafe lead her out of the building.

  “This isn’t happening,” she uttered.

  But it was. Decades of living in a constant state of readiness as an army wife, prepared for that inevitable call, she thought she knew how she’d react. But she was divorced. This was not her life.

  Rafe bundled her inside his car. She was losing it again. Letting him take charge.

  Damn it all! She was the sheriff.

  He slammed the driver’s side door and held up a finger as she turned and opened her mouth. “No arguing. Buckle up. We’re leaving.”

  *

  Elizabeth bailed from the Charger before Rafe had even put the car in park. The ambulance was rolling to a stop on the street as she ran up the drive. She mounted the porch steps two at a time.

  As she grabbed the screen door, Fitzgerald appeared and caught her before she could enter the house. “Sheriff, no.” He wheeled her backward.

  She slammed her fists against his chest. “Let go of me.”

  Grimacing under her blows, he held fast, wrangling her out of the way as Rafe and the paramedics raced into the house.

  “No!” she screamed, sagging into Fitzgerald’s arms.

  “Sheriff, listen to me.” He hauled her up, but she gave up caring. “Listen, Joel is still alive. Let the medics do their job.”

  “I need to see him.”

  “Not a good idea. Stay out here.”

  How was it possible to hurt Joel? Who in this town was capable of hurting him? Joel was an expert solider. He was trained in the art of war. He wasn’t easily waylaid.

  “Marnie, take her,” Fitzgerald said over her head.

  In the transfer from his hold to her sister’s, Elizabeth’s body gave out and she crumpled to the porch, dragging her sister down with her. Marnie cradled Elizabeth, allowing her to watch the door.

  “Did you hear it?”

  “No. I heard only the sirens.” Marnie stroked her head. “He’ll survive. He’s too damn stubborn to die.”

  Clattering wheels stopped both women. A medic backed the gurney through the screen door. Elizabeth scrambled out of Marnie’s arms and bolted to her feet as the men wheeled her ex out of the house. Crimson bandages covered his chest, blood streaked his bare abdomen. Following next to the gurney, Rafe squeezed an oxygen bag. Elizabeth took two wobbling steps to follow but was blocked when Marnie stood.

  Over her sister’s shoulder, Elizabeth watched the medics load Joel into the ambulance, then Rafe scrambling back as the doors were closed. The slap of the doors slammed home the reality of this for her. A man who had suffered nothing more serious than bruises and a few broken fingers was fighting for his life. Joel had lived through war only to be cut down on his home turf by someone breaking into her home.

  Rafe’s face was a mask of agony and fury. Whoever did this would regret their decision to take down a Fontaine brother. Swiping a bloodied hand against his pant leg, Rafe turned and ran to his Charger. He roared out after the ambulance, leaving her behind.

  Elizabeth felt something rip inside of her.

  “Sheriff.”

  A .22 dangled by the trigger guard on a pen Fitzgerald held out. Blood smeared the slide and handle. Joel’s blood.

  “He was holding it when I came in.”

  “He tried to stop them.” Marnie gripped Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I bet that’s how he got shot.”

  “Call Lundquist. Get him back at the office. I want that thing dusted for prints.” Elizabeth snapped her spine straight. “I want my house processed top to bottom. They’re not getting away this time.”

  As Fitzgerald put through the call to his fellow deputy, Elizabeth staggered into her house. The puddle of blood beside the partition was the lone thing to prove a crime had been committed.

  “Sheriff, he’s not answering,” Fitzgerald said.

  “Keep trying.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  She wheeled around. “Try harder!”

  “His phone goes straight to voice mail. It’s been turned off.”

  “Call Lila.”

  “I did. The same thing happens.”

  “What the hell!?”

  The screen door screeched open, and Elizabeth’s blood pressure rocketed. He would dare show his pompous, corrupt face in her presence. Her hand slapped to her sidearm. Shoot him now. Shoot him and be done with this whole affair. For Bre. For all the other people he had hurt or swindled. Their cry for justice deserved it.

  “Get out of my home.”

  Looking about in his typical nonchalant way, Sheehan ignored her.

  Elizabeth drew her weapon and stalked past Fitzgerald, right up to Sheehan, aiming the gun in his face. “Get! Out!”

  He swiped her gun to the side and stepped into her personal space, preventing her from rising her hands. “Careful, Sheriff. The last thing you need on your watch is a police shooting.”

  “In this instance I’m not the sheriff or a law enforcement officer. I’m a woman defending her home.”

  His gaze narrowed. “No. In every situation you are the sheriff.” He backed away from her. “He’s reacting. You learned too much, and now he’s cleaning up. Your deputies are in trouble.”

  “He who?”

  A wicked grin gave his bearded face a macabre look. “Holster your weapon, Sheriff.”

  Sliding her sidearm home, she crossed her arms. “He who?”

  “What I tell you gives me immunity from anything you learn about any perceived involvement I might have.”

  “Perceived or not, I’m coming for you, Kelley.”

  “Immunity or I walk.”

  Elizabeth glanced at Fitzgerald, who shook his head. Marnie shrugged. Her gaze returned to Sheehan, who was tapping a finger against his watch face.

  God forgive her for this.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Lila squared off with the shotgun-wielding woman. “Dangerous game you’re playing here.”

  One leather-clad shoulder lifted. “I’ve been courting danger the whole of my life, missy.” She jerked her chin at the open doorway behind Lila. “Join your boyfriend.”

  The chill from the walk-in cooler buffeted Lila’s back. There was no way in hell she was going to be frozen to death.

  “Move.” The shotgun came up. “Or I let my boy have his way with you, and we let lover boy watch. And once he’s finished, he throws your used body in there.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend or my lover.”

  “Lila,” Lundquist growled.

  “You’re a real piece of shit work. What kind of woman threatens sexual violence against another woman?”

  Martha Kauffmann’s features turned ugly. “I don’t have to threaten it.” She raised the shotgun to eye level. “But I’m not against just shooting you and letting you suffer a horrible death.”

  “And how is freezing to death any better?”

  “You have some real sass in you, girl.”

  “Must be my Chicago upbringing.”

  Lundquist grasped her arm and tugged her back as Karl advanced. Dragging her inside the cooler, Lundquist stepped in front of Lila. Karl smirked as he stood in the doorway.

  “This isn’t going to end like you think it will,” Lundquist said. “Sheriff Benoit knows where we are.”

  “She’ll be too busy to worry about you two.” Karl’s swing was blinding and landed hard in Lundquist’s gut. With a laugh, he stepped back as Lundquist fell to the floor.

  Lila glared at the brute as he sneered at her.

  “I’m all up for a good hump.”

  “Pay a visit to Rosy Palms and her five sisters. They’re always willing.”

  Spitting a cruel word, he slammed the cooler door.

  Lila’s body wobbled. If it had come down to it, she would have fought, risking a gut full of buckshot before she let Karl tou
ch her. She slid to her knees next to Lundquist.

  He heaved and moaned.

  “Breathe through it.”

  “I’m tryin’,” he gasped.

  Settling her hand on his shoulder, she eased him through the pain. He rolled onto his back and stared up at her.

  “Now what?” he asked, his breath a cloud.

  She looked around at the steel racks and the packages of food DCI had left in the cooler. No windows. The door was most likely locked. And she’d watched Ma turn the temp down on the thermostat. How long did they have before hypothermia kicked in and weakened them to the point of death?

  Ma and Karl had stripped them of their coats, belts, boots, vests, and any device that could be used to free them or alert anyone to their predicament. Left in socks, pants, and their undershirts, the cold would do its damage long before anyone would figure out where they were.

  “Why didn’t she just shoot us?”

  “It’s a control thing for her.” Lundquist groaned as he sat up. “I don’t think Ma is really keen on watching people die.”

  “She just has others, her son in particular, do it for her.” Lila noticed the dark blue ink peeking from under his shirtsleeve. She gently lifted the sleeve, revealing the anchor tattoo. “I thought so.”

  He grasped her hand and pulled it down. “We need to figure out how to get out of here.”

  “Would it have bothered you if Karl had raped me in front of you?”

  “Yes.” He scowled. “Why would you think it wouldn’t?”

  She shrugged and backed away. “Isn’t there another son?”

  “Stephen.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Good question.”

  But it was Karl’s taunt before he punched Kyle that she couldn’t shake. “What do you think he meant by the sheriff being too busy to worry about us?”

  Lundquist winced. “Ma did something to divert attention.”

  “Maybe that’s why Brent was shot. To throw us off her trail.”

  “What if they shot Ellie? She’d be the only one to remember we’re out here.”

  “Didn’t she and Fontaine set up cameras out here?”

  “Ma probably disabled them.”

  Clambering to her feet, Lila moved to the wall. “This is an exterior wall, right?”