Night Stalker

by Shirlee McCoy

  “She is,” Charlotte confirmed. “She told me she’d be working on the first floor today. Those are the rehab patients. Usually short-term.”

  “The first floor would be really convenient if her boyfriend happened to want her to let him in a side door.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel safer,” Charlotte murmured as she led the way down the hall. Dark hardwood floor gleamed in the bright corridor light and several card tables and chairs were set up against the cream-colored walls. Paintings hung in neat rows, the frames the same rich dark wood as the floor. Some of them were oil paintings, professional and brightly colored. Others were drawings or chalk sketches, watercolors or collages. Adam guessed that they’d been done by the residents.

  “The activities room is right around this corner. We usually spend a half hour there.” She walked through a double-wide doorway.

  Adam followed, his gaze skimming over the residents as he made a note of each entrance and exit point to the room. There were three. The main entrance and two doors on the adjacent walls. “Where do those doors go?” he asked as Charlotte released Clover from his leash and pulled a lightweight ball from her purse.

  “One goes to a snack room. There’s a fridge, stove, sink. I think the idea was to allow residents to make snacks for themselves, but as many times as I’ve been here, the door has never been unlocked. I only know what’s in there because Anna brought me there one day.”

  “How about the other door?” he asked.

  “Stairs. No one ever uses them. The main staircase is easier for residents to navigate, but I guess they have to be there to meet the fire escape code.”

  “Have you been in the stairwell?” he asked, and she shook her head.

  “I never had any reason to be. I know we’re here on a mission,” she added. “But I can’t ignore the residents. They love our visits.”

  She walked away, her slim body hidden beneath her heavy wool coat, the ball still in her hand.

  Clover walked beside her, happy but calm.

  As Adam watched, Charlotte patted an elderly woman’s shoulder, said something he couldn’t hear and handed her the ball. She grinned, tossing it with just enough strength to send it rolling off her lap and onto the floor.

  Clover chased after it, and several people laughed.

  “It’s a good thing she’s doing here,” River said, his eyes tracking the movement of the ball as Clover carried it from one person to another, gently setting it on a lap or in a hand, and then waited patiently for it to be thrown or dropped.

  “I don’t just mean bringing her dog to visit people others might forget. I mean helping us bring the Night Stalker in.”

  “Will you be saying that if she’s hurt doing it?”

  “She won’t be,” River responded, glancing at his phone. “A moving truck just drove around to the back of the building. Sam says he’s keeping an eye on it.”

  “Can he see the driver?”

  “Negative.” He frowned. “The license plate is unreadable. He can’t call it in.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Me neither. I’ll go down and check it out.” He jogged from the room, and Adam told himself there was nothing to worry about. People moved in and out of places like this all the time. A moving truck was a natural thing to see here, and it had rained the previous night. Dirt and mud had probably splattered up from the road and covered the plate.

  He told himself that, but he felt uneasy, his senses on high alert. He scanned the room, eyeing the residents and Charlotte. She didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary. But then, she was caught up playing with Clover, bringing him from one person to another with the ball.

  A high-pitched screech filled the air. Mechanical and so loud that it blocked every other sound. Adam knew that some of the residents were crying and some were screaming, but all he could hear was the siren.

  Charlotte ran toward him, skidding to a stop a few inches away. “Fire alarm,” she mouthed. “The staff and nurses should be here shortly.”

  As if on cue, a dozen people raced into the room. Seconds later, it was empty. All the residents and staff gone.

  The siren was still blaring.

  Charlotte hooked Clover to his leash and darted away.

  Adam grabbed her hand, pulling her in the opposite direction. This was the kind of situation that caused chaos. Chaos and crowds were never a good combination.

  When someone like the Night Stalker was around, they were even worse.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Avoiding the crowd,” he said, opening the stairwell door and tugging her inside.

  ELEVEN

  The siren stopped as they hit the third-floor landing, the sudden silence dizzying. Charlotte would have stopped, too, but Adam was pulling her along, his hand wrapped around hers as he sprinted down the next flight of stairs. He was on a mission, and Charlotte was part of it. Whether she wanted to be or not.

  “I think maybe we can slow down,” she panted, her legs shaky with the last vestiges of fear.

  “Not until we’re out of here.”

  “I might be dead from overexertion before then,” she replied.

  He slowed.

  Not much, but enough that she didn’t feel like she had to fly to keep up.

  “You do know the sirens are off, right?” she managed to say through panting breaths. “The building isn’t burning down.”

  “And the person who set them off in the first place is probably still around? Yeah. I know. That’s why I’m in a hurry.” They reached the second-floor landing, still moving so quickly she couldn’t catch her breath.

  “You’re assuming that someone did. Maybe it was a drill. Or maybe they burned the meat loaf in the kitchen. There’s no reason to believe that the alarm was tripped purposely.”

  The door below them flew open, crashing against the wall with so much force the stairs seemed to shake with it.

  Charlotte stumbled, Adam’s hand tightening on hers, and then they were running again, this time up the stairs. Clover’s paws tapped the concrete as they sprinted back the way they’d come.

  Adam reached the door a step ahead of her, threw it open and shoved her back into the activities room.

  “Do not leave this room,” he said, slamming the door before she could respond.

  And suddenly she was standing in the middle of an empty room, Clover beside her, the building too quiet and too still. She should have heard the residents returning by now. Voices carrying through the hall. Wheels rolling across the floor. All she heard was the thundering beat of her own heart.

  She backed away from the stairwell, her gaze never leaving the door.

  That was her fatal mistake, her irredeemable error.

  Clover stiffened. She felt it more than saw it, his tension feeding into her, his body vibrating with a new kind of energy. He swung around, barking frantically.

  She’d have turned, too, but the barrel of a gun pressed into the space between her shoulder blades.

  She froze, her heart pounding so hard she was certain her entire body was vibrating with the force of it.

  “Tell him to quiet down,” someone said, the voice feminine and so surprising that Charlotte jumped.

  “I mean it,” the woman continued when Charlotte didn’t respond immediately, her voice familiar and unexpected.

  “Anna?” Charlotte said.

  “I don’t want to hurt Clover, Charlotte, but if you don’t tell him to stop, I’ll shoot him dead right now.” She didn’t confirm or deny her identity.

  She didn’t need to.

  Charlotte was certain that Anna was behind the gun.

  And that Liam was behind her actions.

  “Clover. Cease,” she commanded, and he fell silent except for the low
rumble of a growl coming from somewhere in the back of his throat.

  “Let’s go,” Anna said, nudging the gun so deep into Charlotte’s flesh she could almost feel the cold metal of the barrel through her coat and T-shirt.

  She dropped Clover’s leash, took her first step with her right rather than her left foot. It was his signal to stay, something instilled in him in their first days of training heel together.

  She hoped he’d obey.

  She didn’t want him hurt.

  She didn’t want to be hurt, either, and she shuffled her feet a little, moving as slowly as she dared.

  “Don’t,” Anna said, nudging her toward the snack room.

  They reached it in seconds, and the gun shifted just a little as Anna fumbled for keys to open the door.

  Go! a voice in Charlotte’s head screamed, and she swung around, slamming her hand against the side of the barrel.

  She felt the first shot reverberate through metal and into her hand, the barrel shaking as the bullet exploded from it. The second bullet whistled past her ear as she took off, running toward the corridor, Anna screaming something behind her.

  This wasn’t how things were supposed to play out.

  She wasn’t supposed to even be navigating this alone.

  She’d had the rules of engagement drilled into her head.

  She knew she should be with Adam or River or both, that if she couldn’t find them, she needed to seek public spaces, but the hallway was empty, the faint sound of voices drifting up from below.

  She ran to the main staircase, was halfway down the first flight, when Clover yipped in pain.

  She swung around, nearly falling in her haste.

  Anna was at the top of the steps, one hand on Clover’s collar, the other holding the gun.

  “I really don’t want to hurt him,” she repeated.

  “You already did,” Charlotte responded, frozen in place, her gaze on Clover. He looked scared, his tail low and stiff, that deep growl still issuing from his throat. “It’s okay, buddy,” she crooned, and he offered a slow sweep of his tail.

  “I didn’t hurt him. I gave him a love tap. Just to let him know who’s in charge. Come up here, and I’ll let him go when you get back to the top.”

  It was a lie, and they both knew it, but Charlotte did as she was told anyway. She couldn’t bear to see Clover hurt again. She couldn’t stand the thought of him being mistreated by someone he’d trusted.

  And he had trusted Anna.

  So had Charlotte.

  Even Adam’s team had seemed convinced that she wasn’t involved in Liam’s crimes.

  “This way.” Anna released Clover’s collar and grabbed Charlotte’s arm, pressing the barrel of the gun into her side. “And don’t drag your feet. The residents are on their way back up. I don’t want any of them being traumatized by this.”

  “That’s really good of you, Anna,” Charlotte said, giving Clover the hand signal to stay. Adam and River had to be close. There was no way they’d left her to do this on her own.

  She hoped.

  Because she wasn’t prepared. She had no experience with weapons or hand-to-hand combat. Even when she’d been a rebellious kid with an attitude, she’d never gotten into a fistfight.

  “I didn’t take you for a sarcastic person,” Anna said, fumbling with the keys as they walked back into the activities room. She seemed determined to get Charlotte into the snack room.

  Charlotte was just as determined to stay out of it.

  “I didn’t take you for a murderer,” she replied. “But here we are.”

  “I’m not a murderer, and this isn’t my fault. I’m not saying it’s yours, either. We’re both just doing what we think is right.”

  “Right? How is holding a gun on someone right?” Charlotte asked, glancing at the stairwell door. Adam hadn’t appeared, and she hadn’t heard a sound from beyond the door since he’d thrust her across the threshold and closed it.

  Was he okay?

  Had Liam somehow managed to disarm him? Hurt him?

  Please, Lord, she prayed silently. Keep him safe.

  She didn’t want him to be injured protecting her.

  She didn’t want to lose him, either.

  Not after she’d finally found him again.

  Her throat tightened on the thought, her mind acknowledging what her heart had known the moment she’d opened her eyes in the hospital and seen him there.

  She’d never stopped thinking about Adam.

  She’d never stopped wishing he’d come back to her.

  She should have told him that when she’d had the chance. Instead of pushing him away when he’d tried to get her to talk to him, she should have spoken the truth.

  We’re both mature enough to speak our truths now.

  If we aren’t, we’ve got no business sharing our hearts in stairwells.

  The truth was, she loved him, and if she had another chance to say it, she would.

  “I’m protecting someone I love from false accusations,” Anna said, finally finding the correct key and opening the door.

  “How do you know they’re false?” Charlotte asked, her skin crawling as she stared into the dark snack room. She hadn’t realized how small it was, or how black the corners of it were when the lights were off.

  “Liam is the kindest, most loving person I’ve ever met. He won’t even swat a mosquito. There’s no way he could kill a human being.” She jabbed the gun into Charlotte’s side. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” She stepped into the darkness, cold dank air sweeping around her feet as Anna stepped in behind her and shut the door.

  There was an exterior door opened somewhere. Or a window.

  “Liam has a cabin in the woods. I’ve never been, but he says it’s heated. Plenty of food and water. You’ll be fine there.”

  “Neither of us will be fine if he gets us out there. I hope you know that, Anna,” she said, her voice shaking. She hoped the wire she was carrying was picking up enough of the conversation to get the team moving in her direction. She hoped that someone was on the way to the rescue. She hoped a lot of things, but mostly she hoped she never, ever saw the place where nine women had been taken to die.

  “Like I said, Liam is the gentlest person I know. He wouldn’t hurt either of us.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Do you think I don’t know my own fiancé?” Anna huffed, grabbing Charlotte’s arm and dragging her across the dark room.

  “Since when are you two engaged?” Charlotte responded, her eyes finally adjusting to the darkness.

  “Since last night. He told me he had to leave town. He explained what the FBI was accusing him of, and he begged me to come with him. But, of course, he didn’t want me to come without a ring on my finger.”

  “Wouldn’t it have made more sense for the two of you to leave town right then? You have a car. No one was watching your place. Why not just go?” she asked, and the gun barrel dropped a quarter of an inch.

  Obviously, Anna had been wondering the same thing.

  “I suggested that, but Liam explained that we needed a distraction. Some way of throwing the federal officers off our trail.”

  “Come on, Anna. You’re smarter than that.”

  “No,” a man said. “She really isn’t.”

  Charlotte tried to scream, but a hand slammed over her mouth, and she was dragged backward, the cold air she’d been feeling sweeping across her face as she was forced through a narrow opening in the paneled wall.

  “Liam!” Anna cried. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Shut up, close the panel and pull down the ladder!” he responded. “We don’t have time for drama. I barely made it in here. That FBI agent nearly caught me in the stairwell, and he’s probably searching every room on this floor, trying to figure out where I�
�ve gone.”

  The FBI agent had to be Adam, and Charlotte was so relieved to know he was alive and okay that her knees went weak.

  “None of that,” Liam growled, jerking her up against his side, his fingers digging into her upper arm with so much force it felt like he was trying to push them through the bone.

  She felt sick with the pain, but she tried to push it out of her mind, tried to focus on the small space they were standing in. It wasn’t really a room. It looked more like a pantry—shelves lining the walls, food stored in neat rows. Cans. Crackers. Cookies. Coffee. A single light bulb illuminated the small space, revealing a gleaming floor and dustless shelves.

  Obviously, it was a pantry, and Anna couldn’t be the only one who knew about it.

  She stood a few feet away, looking confused and hurt and still convinced that the man who’d just called her stupid was the answer to all her prayers.

  “I said,” Liam snapped, “pull down the ladder.”

  Anna frowned but reached for a thick chord that hung from an access panel in the ceiling. She tugged, and it unfolded, revealing rickety stairs and sunlight.

  “Let’s go. Up the ladder.” Liam shoved Charlotte so hard she fell, her knees cracking against the hardwood floor, something in her wrist popping.

  He didn’t give the pain time to register.

  He had her by the back of her hair, was yanking her up, shoving her toward the stairs again.

  “Liam,” Anna cried, moving toward Charlotte, reaching for her, the gun dangling from her right hand. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “The need to survive,” he replied. “And you’ve become a liability in that.”

  He yanked a gun from beneath his coat, and Charlotte moved, grabbing a large can of coffee from the closest shelf and throwing it at his face.

  It hit its mark, smacking into his nose and cheek.

  The gun jerked to the side as he fired, the bullet slamming into a bag of sugar. It exploded, white powder flying into the air. Anna screamed and screamed and screamed, her gun on the floor, her eyes wide.