by Mary Burton
Santos dug a notebook out of his pocket and flipped through the pages. He wrote the name down along with several statistics Matthews had chronicled.
Beck flipped through her book. “He was tracking her for months, yet the book stops right before her murder. No shots of her after he killed her.”
“He was moving pretty quickly then. He’d killed three women in the span often days.”
“But the details were important to him. Why did he leave that last shot out of his book?”
Raines sat in his hotel room, perched on the edge of his bed staring at the television he’d not bothered to turn on. He’d been chasing this moment for over seven years and had never known what to expect when he’d reached it. He’d expected elation. A sense of peace that one feels when he’s jumped a major hurdle in his life.
But he felt none of that. He felt oddly empty. The purpose and goal that had robbed him of sleep, driven him to distraction, and, yes, given him a reason to live for so long was gone. And all he felt now was empty and let down.
A knock on his door had him tensing. He didn’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone. He wanted to be alone with his emptiness and figure out how the hell he was going to live the rest of his life.
“I know you’re in there, Raines.” Danni’s raspy voice cut through the door and reached him.
He lifted his head. “Go away, kid.”
“No can do. I came to see you. You’re the big damn hero according to the television.”
“Danni, go away.”
“Open the door, Raines.” If she’d demanded he’d have ignored her, but the quiet pleading in her voice was his undoing. He rose, his limbs weary with fatigue, and opened the door.
She grinned up at him, a sparkle in her dark eyes. “You look like shit.”
A half grin tipped the edge of his mouth. “Good to see you too.”
She held up a bottle of whiskey. “Got some of those fancy plastic cups in there?”
“You’re underage. How did you get that whiskey?”
She laughed. “Child’s play. You gonna let me in?”
He stepped aside and allowed her to pass.
“Where are your glasses?”
“You’re not drinking around me, kid.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was no force behind her words. “You’re such an old lady. I’ve drank before.”
He took the bottle from her. “I don’t care. Not around me.”
“Fine.” She vanished into the bathroom and returned with one plastic-covered cup. “You are gonna drink.”
His back ached, and his head throbbed. “A drink would hit the spot.”
She grinned, held out the cup, and watched as he filled the cup with the gold liquid. “You’ve had a day.”
He accepted the cup and took a liberal swallow. “Thanks.”
“How’s Lara?”
“She’s a little banged up, but she’s going to be okay.”
“Thanks for that. I like her. She’s been a good friend. You’ve been a good friend.”
He lifted his gaze from the bottom of the cup. “You’re a good kid.”
She arched a brow. “Ah, shucks, Mr. Raines. You’re gonna make me blush.”
“Smart-ass.”
“So this Jonathan Matthews asshole was a real bad dude from what I’m hearing on the news.”
He refilled the glass and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah. A bad dude.”
She sat down beside him, close but not close enough to touch. “I’m glad you got him. I’m glad he’s dead.”
He downed the second shot. “You’re a bloodthirsty kid.”
She touched his hand with hesitant reassurance. “He hurt women. He got what he deserved.”
“That he did.” He reached in a dresser drawer and pulled out a small white box with a red bow. “Got something for you.”
Danni accepted the envelope. “What is this?”
“Birthday present. Turning eighteen is a big deal.”
She glanced in the box and then reached for the bow.
“No, no, no,” he said. “You’ve got to wait for your birthday.”
“That’s just two days away.”
“Two days is two days. Promise me you’ll wait.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I hate waiting.”
He cocked his head. “But . . .”
“I’ll wait for you.”
“Good.”
“I’ll take you out for coffee, and I’ll open it in front of you.”
“Sounds good, but I might not be here. I got a trip to take and I want to make sure you are taken care of.”
“Where are you going?”
“Not far.”
“You’ll be back soon?”
He grinned. “As quick as I can.”
Chapter 22
Saturday, June 2, 8 AM
Lara woke the next morning feeling more like herself than she had in years. After a quick shower and a fresh change of clothes, she let Lincoln out and brewed herself a cup of coffee. She stood by the back window watching Lincoln rooting his nose in underbrush on a hunt for yet another rabbit. The dog had yet to catch a single animal, but that didn’t stop him from hunting.
Lara checked her watch. She had to get to the school and finish setting up the student art show and turn in her final grades for the semester. Once those two tasks were finished today, she was officially free to do whatever pleased her. In years past, every free moment had gone into her photography: scouring papers for crime reports, locating the scenes, finding the right time to snap her images, and then spending hours and hours in the darkroom.
She glanced at the black-and-white stills hanging on her walls. Like all her recent work they looked like landscapes, seascapes, or random city streets. But all were places of death. She’d shot them all hoping to see something that would tell her why people killed. But all the shots, though provocative, hadn’t told her anything that would have prepared her for Jonathan’s second attack.
There’d been dozens of calls from the media, but she’d let the answering machine take the messages. And when the machine had filled, well, then the calls just got dropped or ignored. She didn’t want to talk about Jonathan.
Cassidy had fielded dozens of calls, which she’d gladly taken. Lara had seen Cassidy on the news several times, talking grimly into the camera about the monster who had fooled them all. Of course, all her interviews had been at the gallery, in front of it or in front of one of Lara’s images. Sales had gone through the roof and Lara had already decided to donate the proceeds to a victim’s shelter. She considered the sales blood money, and she did not want them.
Lara and Beck had talked a couple of times, but there’d been no time to see each other. She missed him, missed being in his arms. With each passing day she wondered if whatever connection they’d shared had been real or raw need that came as quick as lightning.
Shoving out a breath, she packed her backpack for the trip into town. She thought back to the summers she’d spent with Jonathan when they’d been growing up.
When she was a kid she’d found a snake in the yard and screamed. He’d raced forward and killed the rattler. She’d been relieved. Called him her hero. He’d beamed. Later, he’d proudly shown her his new snakeskin wallet he’d sewn. He’d carried the wallet for years.
His trophy for a kill. She thought about his home. What other trophies had he taken from his victims?
She shuddered and set down her cup. The need to shoot more death images still lingered. And she found herself wondering if she should shoot the latest victim’s crime scene. Or perhaps she should shoot Jonathan’s house. Maybe there was something there that would make sense of the madness.
“Enough. Get on with your life.”
Grabbing her purse, she whistled for the dog and minutes later the two were in the truck and headed to the school. She arrived at the school and went straight to the gallery, where the unhung pictures remained. Her hope was to avoid all questions and people and
just get her work done. No more drama. No more death.
She spent the next half hour finishing up the student art exhibit. The pieces were a bright and lovely collection of potters, sculptors, painters, and collages. It was an impressive display.
After taking Lincoln for a quick walk outside, she retreated to her small office, where she found the collection of portfolios stacked on her desk. She spent the next several hours reviewing them. The portfolio collection held few surprises. Most of the kids had taken pictures of the average and ordinary and had done little to make it special. Though she hadn’t been expecting great art she’d hoped to find signs that the kids were learning.
The last portfolio she examined was Danni’s. She’d intentionally saved it for last. She lined up each piece on the long art table and studied the images. All in black-and-white, she’d taken pictures of homeless people on the streets of Austin. A man standing next to a grocery cart. He wore an old coat two sizes too large and a big hat. He was reading a book. Another image featured an old woman. She was sitting on the park bench. Danni had coaxed a bright smile from the woman. Another was of a mother and child sitting outside a homeless shelter.
Each picture, though sad and moving, held a message of hope. Life might have beaten these people down, but they’d found little ways to prevail.
Just like Danni. She reached for her cell and dialed Danni’s number. Before it could ring, the phone in her office rang, startling her. She hung up her cell and picked up the landline. “Lara Church.”
“Ms. Church, this is Lieutenant Davis with Austin Fire Department.”
“Yes.”
“There’s been a fire at your house.”
She gripped the telephone. “What?”
A heavy silence followed. “The place appears to be a loss.”
Her heart dropped into her belly. “I’ll be right there.”
Danni sat on the edge of her hotel bed staring at the white box decorated with the red bow. She had promised Raines that she wouldn’t open it, but the suspense was killing her.
She shook the gift. She tried to peer under the lid. Even held it up to a lightbulb hoping to see through the box’s paper sides. But as much as she tried to see inside the box without opening it, she couldn’t.
Danni set the box down on the bed and reached for the TV remote. She clicked on the TV and surfed through a couple of dozen channels, all the while aware of the box sitting on the bed.
“Damn you, Raines.” Why had he given her this puzzle? Why not just wait and give her the gift? Because he knew it would drive her crazy.
Frustrated, she shut off the television and tossed the remote on the bed. She picked up the box and studied the configuration of the bow. If she were super clever, she could untie the bow, peek inside, and then retie it without Raines ever being aware. When he did come back into town, she could make a show of being surprised and he’d never be the wiser.
Nibbling her bottom lip, she tugged gently at the bow. The loop slipped a millimeter. She pulled again. It slipped more. And then unable to handle the well of anticipation, she yanked the bow and it untied and the ribbon fell away from the box.
Glancing toward the door, as if she expected Raines to walk in, she pried off the box’s top. Inside was a piece of paper. Carefully, she opened it and read, Knew you couldn’t make it.
“Shit.” Danni laughed. The old devil knew her better than she thought. When she saw him next, she’d have to come clean.
She peered inside the box and pulled out what looked like a folded photograph. She opened the photograph and for a moment, stared at the image, blinking, as her mind absorbed the details.
When she fully registered what she was looking at, she dropped the box and screamed.
Lara hustled Lincoln out of the building and into the truck. Her hands trembled as she put the key in the ignition and fired up the engine. She thought about the house that had been home to her over a dozen summers, that held all her camera equipment and all her work. Was it all gone?
She sat forward in the seat clutching the wheel as she headed out toward the interstate. If she hustled, it would take her twenty minutes. In the past she’d never minded the drive. It was a quiet interlude to a hectic day. But now the minutes stretched like years.
“Don’t borrow trouble, Lara. Don’t.” Lincoln’s ears perked up at the sound of her voice. He whimpered. She glanced at him and tried a smile. “It’s okay, boy. We’re okay so the rest is fixable. Somehow.”
A car rolled up behind her on the interstate and at first she gave it little mind. But as the vehicle continued to hover behind her, her mind tripped to Jonathan and the women he’d stalked. He’d disabled their cars and when they were alone on the side of the road he’d attacked.
“Jonathan is dead,” she muttered. “You saw him die.”
She shrugged off the fear and kept driving. She had bigger problems on her hands now. She pressed the accelerator toward the floor and watched her speedometer nudge closer to eighty.
Her exit arrived within minutes, and she took it, braking as little as possible. She kept thinking about her house and all her belongings. Her work. Computers. Cameras. Was it all gone?
She glanced into the rearview and noticed the car she’d seen earlier was gone. Her cell phone rang and she jumped. A quick glance at the phone revealed an unrecognizable number. “Reporter,” she muttered.
Down the last road and up the driveway she came around the last bend and discovered her house was perfectly intact. No fire damage. No trucks. The house was as she left it.
“What the hell?” She got out of her car and pulled off her sunglasses. “This is someone’s idea of a joke.”
Lincoln bounded out of the car and up to the front porch. As far as he was concerned life was good and he was ready for dinner. “We might as well eat.” She dug her keys out of her pocket and moved to the front door. As she put the key in the lock a car pulled up her driveway. She turned, immediately tense, until she saw the driver.
“Lara,” Raines said.
Her muscles eased as relief washed over her. “What are you doing here?”
“I got a text. You said you wanted to meet me.”
Lincoln barked and growled at Raines, the hackles on his neck rising. She grabbed his collar. “I didn’t text you.” Every nerve in her body snapped with tension. “What are you doing out of jail?”
“I made bail.” He held up his cell phone. “I tried to call you, but you don’t have your cell phone anymore.”
“I saw the number but didn’t recognize it.” Still puzzled, she glanced at her house. “Someone called me and told me my house had burned to the ground.”
“No shit.”
“Somebody’s idea of a joke?” She patted Lincoln who stood tense and alert.
Carefully, he tucked his cell in his breast pocket. “Someone wanted us both out here.”
“But why?”
He nodded toward the house. “Can’t say. Did you tell Beck?”
“I didn’t get the chance. I was so panicked I came straight away.” She dragged trembling fingers through her hair. “I did not need this scare.”
A half grin tipped the edge of his mouth. “Since I’m out here how about a glass of water? This damn heat is killing me.”
“Sure.” As she leaned down to speak to Lincoln, she heard a clip unfasten. She turned and found Raines pointing a gun at her.
For a heart-stopping moment, she tried to make sense of this. Lincoln growled and barked. But instead of asking for an explanation, she released the dog. It lunged toward Raines.
The dog was fast but not fast enough. Raines shifted the tip of his gun and fired, hitting the dog in the hindquarters. Lincoln yelped wildly and dropped to the ground.
Lara screamed and dropped to her knees, skimming her hands over his body. In the midsection her hand felt the warm ooze of fresh blood.
“Get up,” Raines said.
Lincoln’s blood stained her pale fingers scarlet. “Why?”
“Fuck you! I’m not leaving my dog.”
“He’s still alive, but if you don’t get up now I will put a bullet in his brain.”
She glanced up at him, and the look in Raines’s eyes took her breath away. It was an absence of emotion or caring. He’d kill Lincoln now. “Why?”
“Get up.” He pointed the gun at the dog’s head.
She kissed the dog and whispered in his ear that she’d find a way to save him and then rose. He whimpered and his breathing was labored.
“Why, Raines? You saved my life yesterday.”
Raines shook his head. “Do you have any idea what trouble you and your private stalker Matthews were to me these last seven years?”
Her hands trembled as she scrambled to calm her mind. “What did I do?”
With the tip of his gun he motioned for her to stand. “You were the object of his obsession. You drove him to kill. You drove him to Seattle—to my town.” His calm tone was more frightening than Jonathan’s ranting. “Let’s go.”
She touched Lincoln one last time and then slowly rose. “How is that my fault? He was insane.” A breeze across the rolling hills chilled her skin.
“And then you couldn’t remember.” He sounded so reasonable. “I wanted to kill you seven years ago. I hated the idea that people thought I had raped you like some animal. The press couldn’t let that detail go. They called the Strangler a pervert. They said he was warped. I needed you to remember who your attacker was so that I could catch him.”
Fear compressed her chest. “I tried to remember!”
“God, but all I did to make you remember. And you couldn’t remember one goddamned detail.”
“You got Jonathan. You killed him. You are the hero of the hour.”
“And everyone knows me as the guy who killed the Strangler.”
She thought about running into the woods. If she could get past him and into the woods, she could call for help from her cell. “Why is that bad?”
