14

by J. T. Ellison

  She didn’t respond.

  “Taylor, I want you to listen to me. You need to do what he says. Just go along with him, sweetheart, and you’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

  A recording. Her heart sank. Jesus, still being manipulated by this freak. She handed the phone to Baldwin, let him listen to the loop.

  With a shake of his head, he handed it back to her. Not her father. Just a voice recording. It could have been made anytime. There was nothing about it that said he was actually alive.

  The fury bubbled up in her chest and she turned the cell phone so it faced her, then screamed, long and loud, into the mouthpiece. She went to hit the end button, but heard a laugh coming from the speaker. She held it to her ear.

  That voice she did recognize. The same jeering tones that had spoken to her in the warehouse. He was laughing at her.

  Thirty-Nine

  Nashville, Tennessee

  Monday, December 22

  11:58 p.m.

  “Father?”

  Snow White was asleep in the chair in his expansive library. Charlotte looked at him, his body bent, the misshapen hands, and felt nothing. No pity, no sorrow for the pain he obviously suffered. It was fitting, actually, that a man who had been the source of such agony and misery, who had tortured the life out of ten young women, should be afflicted with a disease that crippled his tools of destruction.

  She had that feeling again, fleeting as it may be. She’d always wondered what it would feel like to empty the soul from a body. When it came down to it, she didn’t have the power, wasn’t able to consummate the burning desire she felt. So she fed on others who could.

  Which was the course that led her to her father’s apprentice. Where better to satisfy her lust than in the behavioral unit of the FBI? She was fed a steady diet of murder, of psychologically misfortunate beings who felt that same pull. She could study them, get to know them, and in some special cases, work with them on a more literal level.

  She’d never done that with her dad. After her mother died giving birth to Joshua, she’d been in charge of the house. When she’d walked in on him murdering Ava D’Angelo, the second of his victims, she’d calmly shut the door and gone to the kitchen to oversee the dinner preparations.

  He sought her out, later. He talked to her, discussed the murder with her. It was an experiment, he said. “Like the experiment I did on Joshua’s guinea pig?” she had asked. He’d seen it then, that he’d passed along the emptiness of soul that accompanies the desire to take life. Funny, she remembered the very moment when he kissed her forehead and entreated her to keep his secret. He was proud of her. As she was of him.

  That was the last they discussed his extracurricular activities. She’d gone away to school, then went on to college, got her Ph.D., and joined the FBI. He was forced to stop killing by the advancement of the arthritis. They were both complete, yet empty.

  Then Troy had come into their lives.

  It had taken her weeks to write the special program, to upload it into the CODIS database. It was a brilliant deception, a Trojan horse that took the information inputted by the various law enforcement officials across the country and filtered the results. She’d built the program to warn her of possible anomalies in DNA matches before they made it into the official system. This gave her the freedom to examine the kills, then pass them along unscathed to the official database, keeping back the murders she was most interested in. To be honest, she was astonished the program had failed. The IT support at Quantico must have rolled out an update that kicked her Trojan out of the system. That’s why the DNA matches suddenly poured in. Her system wasn’t flawless, after all. That could, would be fixed.

  She’d found Troy through a Web site designed for killers to talk freely about their escapades, had alerted her perverted CODIS program to his particulars. The sites were filled with poseurs and fakes, like wannabe vampires who had their teeth filed into fangs and drank the blood of their friends but weren’t really ever going to be burned to ash by sunlight. That was the kind of miscreant that usually populated these sites, the fantasy seekers. Fallacious seers and the unintended Apocrypha, murderous sycophants. After a few false alarms, she’d learned to spot the real ones.

  Once she’d found Troy, she couldn’t help herself. She’d known it was a bad idea from the beginning, but was compelled. Obsessed. She wanted to lay eyes on the man who was already such an accomplished, sophisticated killer. She knew he was the one she’d been waiting for.

  Troy was difficult at the start. He made no excuses, played no tricks. Except his name, of course. He refused to share his real name with her. It was nearly a deal breaker, but he was just so talented, she decided to let it slide. Feeling a bit like she’d been conquered, she christened him Troy.

  Charlotte started to gather the remnants of her father’s tea and medications when the phone rang, surprising her. The tea tray clattered to the floor; her father jerked awake with a groan.

  She answered the phone, then gave it wordlessly to Snow White. The caller spoke loudly; it wasn’t hard to overhear. Picking up the tubes and jars, the teapot and sugar, she listened.

  The call was brief. Her father didn’t bother to say a word. When he handed the phone back to her, he almost look ashamed. That’s when she realized he was scared.

  “Who was that?”

  “An old friend. Where is Troy?”

  “I believe he is teasing the girl.”

  Teasing, that’s what Troy liked to call it. Unlike his mentor, he enjoyed conversing with his victims beforehand, getting to know them a bit. Instilling a tiny fragment of hope into their beings that they might, might, get away with their lives.

  “Get him out of there, Charlotte. We must release her.”

  “Are you kidding? That’s like taking a gazelle out of a lion’s jaws. He’s already sunk his teeth into her juicy little neck. I can’t just let her go. He’s decided on her.”

  Snow White struggled up from his chair, stiff and slow. He shuffled to the wet bar, poured a measure of whiskey into a lead crystal highball. His hands shook now; he spilled as much as he got in the glass.

  “That was Malik. He is convinced the police are on to us.”

  “Us? You and Joshua?”

  “You and Troy, too. I told you he was more trouble than he was worth.”

  Charlotte tossed her hair over her shoulder in disdain. “Please. You’ve loved him like a son.”

  “And now he must go. Malik is furious at the transgression. Troy is out of my control, Charlotte. He is out of your control. He must be excised.”

  “Who is out of control?” a voice boomed from the doorway. Troy came into the room and poured himself a drink. Charlotte and Snow White froze. What had he overheard?

  “You are.” Charlotte advanced on him, purring. She could distract him, that was certain. Her father’s commands were buzzing through her mind. She wasn’t ready to give this up. She was having fun.

  “I’m not out of control at all. I’m just getting started. What do you think, old man? We’ve waited long enough. I need her. Let us climb the stairs together, now, and I will hold my hand over yours on the knife, and fuck her with my dick while you stroke her face and watch the light leave her eyes.”

  “No!” Snow White slammed his drink down on the table. “You must let her go. We’ve been over this already. We will find you another. We can go right now, we can take two, three. Whatever you wish. But the girl must go home. The police are too close. I’ve received a warning from an old friend who would know. Release her.”

  Troy started pacing through the library. “You can’t dictate to me, old man. Maybe I’ve already killed her. Maybe I’ve been lying to you all along.”

  “You haven’t. I would smell her blood on your hands.” He softened his harsh tone, tried to make the boy see reason. “You must understand, sometimes this is what has to happen. Not every hunter gets his buck each time out in the woods. We will find more. That is all.”

  Snow White collapsed i
n his chair, his energy exhausted.

  “You can’t stop me.” Troy turned to Charlotte, his fury palpable, barely contained. “I’m going to take her now. She is mine.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Troy. You need to see reason here. You’ve gotten us in a lot of trouble. Maybe it’s time for you to listen instead of act. Aren’t you having fun? Aren’t we giving you everything you ever desired? Aren’t we a family? I brought you into our lives because I knew you wanted a chance to grow, to learn. We’ve given you that, and more. We’ve given you love.”

  Troy wasn’t going to take that. Charlotte could see the slow burn flame into a raging inferno. He was dangerous when that fuse was lit, and she consciously took three steps back. He noticed her retreat, and that infuriated him all the more.

  “What, now you’re leaving me, too? What is this, Charlotte, some kind of game? Get me involved only to pull the rug out from under me?”

  “No, Troy, that’s not it.”

  “Liar!” he screamed, and slapped her. Her head rang with the blow. This was getting out of hand. Her service weapon was in her purse, but it was on the other side of the room.

  “How dare you hit me? When all I’ve done is help you. You bastard!”

  “Stop it now, both of you.”

  The commanding tone was enough to startle them both. They continued circling each other, warily testing for weaknesses, but the tension came down a notch.

  Snow White slowly, painfully lit a cigar. “Let’s all just sit down and talk this through. I’m sure we can find an equitable solution.”

  “No, old man. That isn’t how this works. I will not be directed. I don’t want to star in your sad little play. I don’t need you. I don’t need either one of you.” He stormed from the room, leaving Snow White to gaze at his daughter, his face etched in a combination of love and abhorrence for her.

  “Your plan will fail, Charlotte.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to ease the aching joints. “You can’t control a man who doesn’t know his own desires.”

  The shurring noise coming from her father’s hands was grating on her nerves. “He knows what he wants.”

  “Oh, come now, daughter. Surely you aren’t that stupid. Why do you think he copies? Why do you think you were able to bring him here, to emulate me? He doesn’t know what he is, and is still testing the waters to find out what he’s truly capable of. You should be wary, Charlotte. Your mother thought she could control me. Look where it got her.”

  They were arguing again; he could hear them through the walls into the conservatory. There was a way to settle their dispute. The man she called Troy would be angered, but Father would be pleased. Yes, it was a good plan. He only hoped his father and his sister were powerful enough to keep the bad man away from him.

  Forty

  Nashville, Tennessee

  Tuesday, December 23

  2:45 a.m.

  “Oh, yes. Yes. Yes!”

  Charlotte’s head thrashed against the pillow as she orgasmed. Her mind was utterly blank for a blessed moment, then the world came back into focus. It was dark in the room, the curtains drawn, the lights from the street muted in the dark velvet folds. She’d been through the ringer tonight, that was for sure.

  After the nasty argument with her father, she felt sick. The fight had taken so much out of him. It pained her to see him this…old. Broken. Mentally and physically, he was no longer the robust killer she’d always admired.

  She stormed out of the house, drove aimlessly. Took some time to think through what her father had told her. He was right, the bastard. Troy didn’t know his own mind. But treating him as an uninformed acolyte was much more dangerous.

  Calmed, she went back to Belle Meade. She found Troy sitting on the steps at the base of the entrance to Cheekwood. She spent nearly an hour talking him off the ledge. She felt derision toward his limitation, his inability to put the plan before his own needs. She just needed to get away. The excitement, the danger, it was intoxicating at the beginning. Now it was obvious that he was just another sick guy. She’d chosen her playmate poorly.

  The plan had gone awry, and it was time to cut bait and start over. The evening news showed the noose growing ever tighter. Something was happening at work; she could feel things slipping away. She couldn’t jeopardize her position. As much fun as this had been, the FBI provided all she needed. She wasn’t willing to give that up.

  As she drove back to the hotel, she vowed that would be the last she ever saw of the man her father called Apprentice. He was out of her control. She’d returned to the hotel, intent on formulating a new plan. One with her as the hero.

  The answer became readily apparent. Arresting Troy wasn’t a real possibility; he would have to be killed. Alive, he would implicate her in his schemes. But death, now that would make all the difference. She took a couple of pills and plotted for an hour, lost in her alternate world.

  It would be easy enough to kill them both. Stopping the apprentice would make her famous. The fact that she was Snow White’s daughter, well, that would make her a legend.

  She took another hit of X, stared out at the Christmas lights lining the buildings by the hotel. She had it all plotted out. The headlines, the interviews. How she’d decided to stop home to wish her old, sick father Merry Christmas and found him up to his neck in blood and gore. Oh, she’d have to kill that little girl in the attic, as well. The thought excited her. Tremendously.

  The checkmark in her win column would catapult her into the position she so longed for, the head of the BSU.

  A knock on the door had startled her. Troy had come to the hotel room, shaken like a little boy who has been exposed to a scary movie. Promised that it would never happen again. Begged her to stay with him, to help him. The sight of him, so handsome, so remorseful—she decided one last little fling couldn’t be all that bad. No sense wasting the X.

  They’d had frenzied sex, him plunging into her over and over so hard she felt the bruises form. He promised to take care of her forever. He told her he would do anything she wanted as long as she let him stay. He loved her. He’d never felt anything like this before.

  He’d made love to her then, taking his time, doing all the things that he knew she loved, until she’d screamed his name, and God’s, at the top of her lungs.

  Her breath was starting to return to normal. Maybe there was a way to make this work after all. He was still in her, had her pinned against the mattress like a butterfly on a piece of cork.

  “Let me up. I need to wash.”

  “No, Charlotte. But I do.”

  The blade was so sharp she didn’t feel the cut. Didn’t feel the knife sweep through the tender skin on her neck like it was butter. It took a moment to register what was happening, that he’d just done what he’d done. The lying bastard. Her eyes teared, and she tried to scream. There was the pain, finally, as she realized he’d cut her so deep, her vocal cords were severed. In a moment of disgust, she felt him harden in her and realized he was pumping away, coming again, crying out her name as she went away.

  Forty-One

  New York, New York

  Tuesday, December 23

  8:00 a.m.

  Lieutenant Tony Eldridge and Detective Emily Callahan sat across the breakfast table from Taylor and Baldwin, industriously sucking down cappuccinos. They were in the Heartbeat restaurant of the W Hotel, ostensibly coming up with a game plan, a breakfast strategy session.

  Ordering the food had taken nearly five minutes with all the specifics the New York cops asked for. Emily had requested organic granola, fruit cut with a fresh knife, local farm yogurt, wheat grass juice and an immunity-boosting smoothie, smiling unapologetically at Taylor. Eldridge opted for the steel-cut oatmeal with brown sugar, cranberries, raisins, toasted almonds and warm milk. Even Baldwin got caught up in the health frenzy, taking pastel eggs with fruitwood bacon and roasted potato veggie hash. Taylor tried to play along but felt like a child, ordering peanut-butter-and-jelly crepes. It was as close to normal
as she could find on the menu. Even the food added to her sense of dislocation. The one thing of comfort was the orange gerbera daisy in the stainless-steel vase. Hard beauty for such a gentle flower, but fitting, somehow.

  After the waitress left, Taylor fiddled with a ripe pear and took in the multicolored reflective glass column to her right. She wanted out of New York, wanted to get back home and…and…she didn’t know. She didn’t know what she wanted. Home seemed like a haven now, a place to escape to, to be rid of this city and its implied threats.

  Baldwin turned over the cell phone. Eldridge promised to do everything he could to trace its origins, see if they could find some answers.

  They talked of the things that gave them common ground until the meal was finished. Eldridge slurped the last of his espresso, setting the cup in the saucer delicately.

  “Okay, Lieutenant, let’s run through this again. Tell me everything you remember about Delglisi, everything he said. We must be missing something.”

  Taylor set the pear on her plate. She focused her thoughts, went back to that dank room. Smelled his cologne, heard his voice. Chills ran down her arms.

  “A few things stood out. He said he had a business proposition for me. I asked if this had anything to do with the Snow White case, and he said I was closer to him than I thought. He said there was a situation that needed to be handled, and that if something happened to screw with his interests in Nashville he’d take the heads of my team. He talked about family.”

  If something happens to jeopardize my interests in your fair city, I’ll start taking your friends’ heads off, one by one. She swallowed hard at the fury that rose in her gut. Just talking about the threat pissed her off.

  “Did you get the sense he was referring to Snow White, or something else?” Baldwin leaned back in his chair, his coffee cup held loosely in his hand.

  “Something else. He didn’t feel Snow White was a danger, that’s for sure. He called him a peon of a killer. Didn’t seem to think he was worth his time. I think there’s more to it, too. Lieutenant Eldridge, why don’t you fill us in a little more on Edward Delglisi? Maybe if I know more about him I’ll have an easier time making sense of his threats.”