by Kylie Brant
The shot hurt his ears. Sonny looked down. His fingers were loose on Mommy’s throat. Odd. The second shot drove him up and back and he felt the pain now, the searing agony. Worse than when she’d let the men use him. Even worse than that. The third shot had him slumping to the floor next to her. The buzzing in his head ceased.
He never felt the next two bullets.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” The woman known as Rhonda Klaussen screamed the words as she rose. “You’ve ruined everything you stupid little prick. Everything!” She kicked Sonny’s lifeless body, over and over again until the exertion calmed her. Then remorse filtered through. Her little Sonny. Her baby boy. Someone was going to pay for this.
She ran to the TV and turned it to the local channel. A female anchor’s somber face filled the screen. “…county manhunt for the man many have coined The Zombie Lover. He’s believed to be an accomplice of Mason Vance, who’s awaiting trial for the alleged murders of…
Not waiting to hear more, Rhonda hurried to the spare bedroom. If her idiot son was on the run, the cops wouldn’t be far behind him. And by coming here he’d ruined a smooth little operation that had netted them nearly a couple hundred thousand a year, and that was aside from what the women had brought in. Fuck. She grabbed a bag and started stuffing in bankbooks, cash, records and receipts…anything that would give the bastards a place to start.
She ran through the house and out the door, sprinting for the detached garage that held the brand new four-wheel drive pickup that Mase had just had to have. Liked to spend it, that guy did. Throwing the bag into the second seat, she climbed into the truck and revved it to life.
When the cops got here—and she had no doubt they were on their way—they’d find the kid. Sonny. Probably eventually find old Gladys Stewart, too, if they happened to search that abandoned cistern behind the barn.
Rhonda pulled out of the drive and headed down the road, the back of the truck skidding a bit when she hit a patch of loose gravel. That agent, Prescott…she had a feeling he’d never completely bought her story. It was only a matter of time until he discovered that the real Rhonda Klaussen had been dead for almost eight years. Time to ditch that identity.
And go back to being Vickie Baxter.
* * * *
The farmhouse was cleared much too quickly for the offender to be hiding inside it. With a flicker of surprise Sophia saw Cam come to the back door, wave her inside only minutes after the team had swarmed the home. Agents Beachum, Robbins and Patrick headed out the door and fanned out on the property.
“UNSUB’s dead inside,” Alex Beachum said as he passed her.
The relief was overpowering. Sophia stood still, drawing several deep breaths until the strength returned to her knees. It was over. The words reverberated through her mind, rippling and eddying, making them hard to hang on to. There would be no new victims. More bodies, she grimaced, remembering the call Cam had taken right before he and his team had surrounded the house. But no new ones. Lucy was alive.
She winged a silent prayer to Courtney Van Wheton as she climbed the two back steps to the house. The only thing that would make this ending perfect would be to get word that the woman had come out of the coma she’d been in since shortly after her escape.
Baxter’s body was in the living room. Sophia recoiled, just a little at the bizarre sight. Still dressed in Moxley’s clothes, he was sprawled on his side in pools of blood that hadn’t yet congealed.
“Suicide?”
Cam, not surprisingly, was on the phone. He covered the mouthpiece to say, “Homicide. I’m guessing no more than fifteen minutes ago. Maybe less.” While he resumed his conversation Sophia looked through the house, careful not to touch anything before the crime scene team arrived.
The décor was dated. In one bedroom she found a double bed with an afghan coverlet neatly folded at its foot. On the walls were wedding pictures that had to be at least fifty years old, judging by the hairstyles. She used the sleeve of her jacket to cover the knob of the closet door so she could open it. Women’s clothing hung from rods inside. Sophia checked the dress sizes. Fourteen. Nothing that looked to have been in fashion for years.
When she rejoined Cam in the library he was off the phone. Squatted next to the body. “According to the plat directory this residence belongs to Gladys Stewart.”
“Is she…” Sophia hated to put the thought into words. “Still alive?”
His mouth flattened. “Guess we’ll find out. That was the lab on the phone. They cleaned up that bracelet found on one of the victims. Just a cheap mass-market-produced rubber bracelet, but they were able to recover enough of the message to be fairly certain of it. Prayers for Ivan.”
From the expression on his face that information was obviously supposed to mean something to her. It didn’t. “What’s the significance of that?”
“According to the lab, Ivan Krensky was a five-year-old boy from Norwalk fighting a rare form of leukemia. The bracelets were sold as a fundraiser to help his parents seek experimental medical treatment for him. He died six years ago.”
“Six…but…Vance was in jail six years ago.”
“Sort of puts a whole new light on things doesn’t it?” He squatted down, pulled out a pair of scissors he must have taken from the kitchen. Began cutting the sweater and underlying shirt off Baxter’s body, slicing it down the back into two neat halves.
“What are you doing?” His actions were as baffling as his words had been moments earlier. Dead bodies were the jurisdiction of the ME. Period, end of story.
“Checking out a hunch. DHS said that when Baxter was a kid his mother beat him. Burned him. I started thinking about Klaussen. And how the picture changes if you ignore the story she told us about being Vance’s first victim.” He dropped the scissors back in his suit pocket and carefully pulled aside the two halves of material. Unconsciously, Sophia stepped closer to look at what he bared. Found her stomach hollowing out.
The scars on Baxter’s skin were old. Faded. But the number they formed was unmistakable. Two.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. Mental puzzle pieces snapped into place, but the picture still wasn’t clear. “Klaussen lied about not knowing him. She had to have. Maybe the three of them were connected some way even before Vance went to prison in Nebraska.” She shook her head. The pieces still didn’t make sense. “Fedorawicz pegged Baxter’s age as twenty-eight. He’d have still been a teen when Vance went inside…”
“Vance isn’t responsible for the four, no, make it five bullet holes in Baxter.” Their gazes met in mingled comprehension.
“Klaussen did this?”
“No honor among thieves. Or serial killers, as the case may be.” He got to his feet. “I’m guessing one of the agents out there is going to find the old wreck of a vehicle Klaussen was given to drive hidden in one of the outbuildings.”
Sophia didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because the details of the evidence found on the property wasn’t her primary concern right now.
It was the inescapable fact that this case wasn’t over at all. Not even close.
* * * *
Cam looked around as they were led to their table on the outdoor patio of Mickey’s. “The significance of this place doesn’t escape me. I’ve grown increasingly fond of it in the last few weeks.”
She smiled sedately. The first night they’d gone home together last month Cam had happened upon her sitting at this very table, not entirely sober and brooding over a margarita. The news that her ex was going to be a father, coupled with his wedding announcement had held enough bite to send her out to drown her sorrows. She smiled wryly. Amazing what being kidnapped, beaten, nearly raped and almost assassinated would do to realign a woman’s priorities.
But that was giving Mason Vance much too much credit. The man sitting across from her was the cause of her uncharacteristic change from a woman who kept her feet firmly on the ground to the one who now, emotionally at least, was on the high wire working without a net.
The waitress brought the drinks Sophia had pre-ordered. A glass of wine for her and a Blue Moon for Cam. He took a drink of the beer and set it down again, a satisfied expression on his face. “Feels good to relax for a little while. Think about the things that have gone right, lately.”
Sophia raised her glass, toasted him. “Lucy is alive. Gavin will be okay.” Although not, she felt a pang, without a second surgery and some grueling rehab. “Agent Boggs is recovering nicely at home, according to his wife. Plenty to be thankful for.”
He drank, set his bottle down. “I received a new batch of lab results that I need to go through. And the ME’s office called about the autopsy tomorrow on victim…”
“Just an hour away from the case.” Sophia reached over to touch his hand. “Sixty minutes or the length of the meal, whichever is longer. We deserve that much, don’t you think?”
“You do.” In a smooth motion he had her hand in his. “You deserve far more. You can’t deny the case is taking a toll.” His fingers stroked the back of her hand.
“And no talking about the case while we’re here.”
“Wow,” he said mildly, reaching to tip his bottle to his lips again. “You’re strict. That’s kind of hot. It’d be more so if you were dressed in leather issuing commands, but still…”
“Incorrigible.” She didn’t try to hide her amusement. “And it’s not a command, it’s…a suggestion.”
“Well, as it happens,” he curled her hand in his, “I’m in the mood to be easily swayed by suggestion. Especially yours.”
Seeing her opening, she took a deep breath. “That’s good. Because I have another. It concerns the two of us.”
She told herself that she was prepared for the immediate mask of wariness that descended over his expression. But judging from the kick in her chest, she’d been lying to herself. It took a measure of courage to continue meeting his gaze. “I know you think my joining you in the shower the other night was…an aberration.”
He moved his shoulders uncomfortably. The shadows turned his eyes dark. Unfathomable. “Not the phrase I’d use, but yeah. Something like that.”
Sophia leaned forward. “It wasn’t. I knew exactly what I wanted then and I do now. My thinking has actually cleared over the last few weeks.”
This time the pull he took from his beer was longer, as if he required fortitude. When he put the bottle down, he seemed to choose his words carefully. “You’re a professional, Soph. You’ve worked with people who have gone through traumatic experiences, and I’m guessing one of the things you’d tell them would be not to make life- altering decisions until their emotions settle down. I have it on good authority that relationships that get their start under intense circumstances never last.”
She pulled away and sat back, torn between hurt and humor. “Even I know that’s a movie quote. And I rarely watch movies.”
He lifted a hand. “Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves, Speed I. But it’s still true. Trauma affects the way we think. That’s why the agency made damn sure the PTSD I suffered from after the task force was under control before I was cleared for active duty again.”
“You’re forgetting one thing.” She waited for his gaze to meet hers. “Our relationship started before this case ever began.”
“I’m not forgetting anything. Actually it was over before the case started, and I’m certain you had your reasons. Didn’t tell me what they were, but you had them.”
“They seemed to make sense at the time.” Thinking of the awkward breakup, she winced a little. “I’d spent my entire life doing what was safe. What was smart. Getting involved with you was neither.” She stroked the stem of her wine glass as she spoke. The rhythmic movement calmed her jittery nerves a little. “But guess what? Playing it safe doesn’t guarantee safety. Being smart doesn’t guarantee happiness. So I’m through playing it safe.”
She met his eyes. He barely seemed to be breathing. “I had sex with you the other night because I wanted to. Because I’m through running away from my feelings. I plan to do it again. Frequently. So consider this fair warning.”
Sophia took her time rising, rounding the table to bend down and kiss him lingeringly before straightening. “And now…I’m going to the ladies room to give you the opportunity to miss me a little.”
Before she could leave he pulled her back down for a more thorough kiss. Both of them were breathing heavily when their lips parted. “I miss you already.”
Sophia smiled slowly. “That was the plan.”
Cam watched her wend her way through the tables to enter the building. Stop to throw him a glance over her shoulder before continuing through the doors. He sat back and blew out a breath, feeling like he’d just been pole-axed. There wasn’t a man with a pulse who wouldn’t react to that kind of invitation from Sophia Channing. With or without the wig and makeup she was still Sophie. Still fascinating. Complex. Gut-wrenchingly sexy.
And if he were being perfectly honest, he was probably more susceptible than most. It’d be easy to pass off his feelings for her as protectiveness. Concern. But like she’d said, they’d started before the case ever began. And when she’d walked away his feelings hadn’t dimmed.
He ran his thumbnail around the label of the bottle. Chances were, there’d come a time, probably not in the far off future when she’d come to her senses again. When she’d recognize that every reason she’d had for walking away the first time was still valid. He let the certainty of that thought sink over him, knotting the muscles in his gut. She wasn’t a risk-taker. She hadn’t needed to tell him that.
But he was. And if ever there was a risk worth taking, it was Sophie Channing. He rose, withdrawing his wallet to extract a couple bills to throw on the table. He headed headed for the doors she’d disappeared through in search of her.
There were far more pleasurable ways to spend sixty minutes than having dinner.
* * * *
Sophia smiled at her reflection in the mirror after touching up her lipstick. The woman looking back at her was still a stranger, but it wasn’t the disguise that mattered. It was the act of bravery—and it had required more emotional courage than it should have—to tell Cam how she felt. He didn’t quite believe it, not yet, but if he were given a chance, he would.
She snapped her purse shut and left the restroom, ridiculously eager to return to their table. A man brushed against her, muttered an apology. “It’s fine,” she started to say. Until he turned and said loudly, “Mona Kilby, is that you? My God, how long has it been?” He pulled her close for a hug, murmuring in her ear, “I have a gun pointed at your gut. Messy cleanup. Do what I say.”
Her organs froze in reaction. She tried to shove him away, at least to wedge enough distance between them that she could get a better look at his face. And when she succeeded her heart stuttered in her chest.
Matthew Baldwin.
The man who Cam had risked his career to save. The same one who might well be in Iowa to kill Cam for his part in crippling the Sinaloa Cartel.
She thought fast. “My car is parked out front. Why don’t we continue this…reunion out there?”
The man’s teeth flashed. “You’re a cool one.” One hand was in his jacket pocket. A jacket, though it was still eighty degrees out. Her gaze lingered on the bulge there. “I happen to know there’s a very bored federal agent parked very close to your car. So I’m going to take a pass on that.”
“What do you want?”
“I want a conversation with Cam.” He propped a hand on the wall close to her face, leaning in like an old friend catching up. People passed them without a glance. “I figure in another few minutes he’ll come looking for you. Until then, you’re not going to scream, you’re not going to make a scene or do any one of the things running through your head right now. Or when he walks up to us I’ll put a bullet in his skull. Got it?”
She moistened her lips. “I understand.” There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he’d follow through on his threat. And she was equally certain that s
he’d do everything she could to prevent it. She gasped suddenly, then began wheezing, feigning an asthma attack. “I…it’s my asthma. Please.” She fumbled with her purse. The small can of pepper spray was still on her key ring, courtesy of Agent Micki Loring. Sophia had her hand in the purse searching for it when it was snatched away from her.
“Looking for a nebulizer? Or…this?” He brought out her keys, the spray cupped in his palm and grinned at her. Sophia’s balls curled into fists. The next person that happened by, she’d shove the man, run to warn Cam. He wouldn’t shoot her in view of a witness. She was almost certain of it.
“Well. Someone’s impatient.” Following the direction of his gaze, Sophia’s heart plummeted. Cam was approaching the back of the restaurant. And she recognized the exact moment when he noticed them together.
His face went hard. Expressionless. And as he closed the distance between them Sophia seized on the fact that he too, was armed. It didn’t diminish her concern. But it helped even the odds.
“Old buddy. How ’bout those Cubbies?”
Cam surveyed the man unflinchingly. “Matt. Came a long way to talk baseball.”
“Well, it’s my passion.” He gave Cam a once over. “Prison suits you. But then again, you didn’t go to prison after that bust, did you?”
“Neither did you.”
The undercurrents to their words were rife with meaning. Cam stared at him a minute longer than said, “We’ll discuss it one-on-one. She doesn’t need to be here.”
Baldwin shook his head. “Can’t take the chance that she’ll alert your federal friends out front. She stays. I’m not carrying.” He took his hand out of his pocket and held both arms away from his body. Cam did a brisk thorough frisk. Nodded. “Okay. But we’re not going out the back. Not that I don’t trust you, old pal, but I don’t want to run into any buddies you might have waiting in the alley.”
“Fair enough.” The man turned around, spied an open booth, walked toward it. Feeling a bit surreal, Sophia slid in next to Cam.
“Moreno has Gabriela and Zoe.” The man wasted no time. “They’re staying at his estate. He pretends it’s to provide care for Zoe after she was so sick a while ago, but they’re not free to leave. Gabriela realizes that. She’s scared for the baby.” Matt swallowed hard. “I’m scared for both of them.”
