by Debra Webb
Russ sat up, dropped his feet to the floor and rested his forearms on his thighs. “Tell me about your nightmares.” She’d mentioned them in the meeting with the reporter. Anything she recalled could prove useful to the investigation. And maybe it would get her mind off genetics.
Olivia pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her flannel-clad legs. “They’re mostly dark. Creepy. The typical childhood night terrors. My parents—my adoptive parents—always blamed some movie I watched with my cousin when I was five.” She hesitated as if she’d just realized the timing. “Of course, they told me that since it was the easiest way to explain any memories that might have surfaced from my life before becoming a Westfield.” Her eyes filled with pain. “When I confronted them they told me how bad it was that first year. I was practically catatonic. They held me out of school an extra year in hopes I would be better adjusted before thrusting me into a new stressful situation.”
The thought of what she may have witnessed as a child twisted inside him. How could either of her parents have been truly innocent? How could either not have known what the other was doing?
“Do you remember anything at all from the nightmares? Images, sounds or voices?”
“I remember darkness. Always the darkness.” She rested her head on her knees. Her voice had turned so low and quiet that he wondered if she was reliving those awful moments. “And the screaming. Lots of screaming.”
“Was it you screaming? Or one of your sisters? Were the screams close to you or coming from someplace else? Another room maybe?”
“Not me.” She frowned in concentration. “I mean, it wasn’t my voice. But it wasn’t another child’s, either. I think it was an adult.”
“A woman’s screams or a man’s?” Olivia might know far more than she realized, Russ thought. The slightest piece of information, like who was screaming, could make a difference.
“A woman’s. Absolutely a woman’s.” Her expression told him that she was searching the past, seeking those vague nuances from her memory banks. “She wasn’t in the room with us.” She shrugged. “I guess it was a room but it was small, cramped and very dark. Pitch-black.”
“Was there anyone in the room with you?” She had two younger sisters; chances were they had been with their big sister.
She mulled over that question for a bit. “I think so. There was shaking and soft…” She inclined her head and appeared to concentrate hard. “There were softer sounds, like sobbing or whimpering but so soft I might be mistaken. Maybe it was just me breathing.”
“When you wake up from the nightmares are you still in the dark room listening to the screams?”
She gave a slow, hesitant shake of her head. “I’m in a bigger room and there’s blood. Everywhere.” She shuddered. “I hear this humming. Some tune I should know but I don’t. That’s when I wake up. Screaming, usually.”
She took a big breath. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore tonight.” Her lips curved into a forced smile. “Good night.” She switched off the lamp on her side of the table between the beds and curled up with her pillow.
“G’night.” Russ hadn’t enjoyed pressing her on the issue but there was something there. If she’d seen blood in the house, then she may have witnessed one of the murders.
Sixteen days was all the time they had left before Rafe Barker would be executed. They needed a break in this investigation. A single scrap of information that would point them in the right direction.
After checking the lock on the door again and the rear parking lot via the window, he grabbed his bag and moved to the bathroom. Too damned tired to do more than strip off his clothes and leave them in a pile, he climbed into the shower and set the spray to hot. He left the door open. Closing it was too much of a risk. Privacy be damned.
The water immediately started to loosen up his stiff muscles. He’d been running on adrenaline for hours now. With a trip to Granger on the agenda in just a few hours, he needed at least a little sleep. Judging by what Olivia had encountered in Granger already, the welcome, particularly from the local authorities, would probably be less than friendly. He needed to be on his A game.
His shower took all of three minutes. He dragged on a clean pair of jeans and a tee, checked the parking lot again, tucked his weapon under his pillow and then collapsed into the bed.
With the bathroom light filtering from the crack where he’d left the door ajar, he watched Olivia sleep. Like her sisters, her life would be vastly different after all this. He hoped she would find the peace she needed to move on from here.
Nothing about it was going to be easy.
* * *
THE DARKNESS WAS THICK ENOUGH to touch. She could feel it vibrating around her. And the screams… Oh, the screams were so terrifying. She wanted to scream, too, but she kept her teeth clenched to hold back the fear bulging in her throat. Her heart rammed harder and harder against her breastbone.
Mommy…
Her mommy was screaming. And the crying, softly agonizing. Her sisters were crying and she couldn’t help them. She did as she was told. She took them into the closet and they hid. Huddled together in that tiny space, their trembling bodies vibrating like an unbalanced washing machine on the spin cycle.
Bad things were happening and Olivia couldn’t make them stop. She could hear the awful sounds. Wailing and screaming. There would be blood. There was always blood. So much blood.
The dogs were barking. She could hear them out in the clinic. They knew something was wrong, too. But they couldn’t stop it, either. There was nothing to do but hide and hope the monster wouldn’t get them. Mommy always said when the monster came they had to hide and be very, very quiet.
He was here tonight. And this time he might just get them all… .
Waking with a start, Olivia bolted upright. The air sawed in and out of her throat even as it tried to close. The nightmare. Just another nightmare. She shouldn’t have talked about it. That only made it worse…made it more vivid.
Arms reached around her in the darkness. She screamed and tried to pull away.
“Olivia, it’s me, Russ.”
The voice sounded familiar and strong. Light chased away the darkness and she saw his face. Russ St. James. The man Rafe Barker had sent to protect her.
Olivia hugged her arms around her knees and fought harder to stop the trembling. “Sorry. It was…the nightmare.”
The same old nightmare, this time on steroids. She swiped at her face, only then realizing she had been crying. So much worse this time.
St. James scooted closer, settling on the bed beside her. “You’re okay now.”
“Of course I’m okay,” she snapped. She wasn’t a child. She didn’t need him taking care of her. “I’m fine.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” He chuckled softly. “That must’ve been a hell of a nightmare. If we had any neighbors someone would have called the police by now.”
God. She pressed her forehead to her knees. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to be sorry. You need some water or something?”
A good stiff drink would be more suitable. She lifted her head and sighed. “No. I’ll pull it together in a minute.”
She wanted to resent that he was so close. Hovering around her with his big strong body all warm and solid. But she couldn’t. She actually wanted to lean into him and try to forget. But she couldn’t forget. Anything she could remember might help solve this awful mystery.
“Do you feel up to talking about it?”
She dared to meet his gaze. The concern in those blue eyes almost undid her. She had to look away. “It was the same only this time I remember more. It’s like you said, my sisters were there with me. In a closet. That’s why it’s so dark. We would hide in the closet whenever the trouble started. I can hear her screaming. It’s her…Clare.” Her mother. Screaming her lungs out. At least it was a woman…although maybe it was one of the victims. But the sound was more mature somehow. And she was scream
ing words that Olivia couldn’t make out.
“Why did you hide in the closet?”
She didn’t want to talk about it but she couldn’t resist answering him. His voice drew her. Made her want to lean into the strength he offered.
“Because it was the only place to hide and she told me to hide there. To take my sisters and stay in the closet until the monster was gone.”
“Clare told you to do this?”
He knew the answer. Why did he ask? “Yes. Clare.”
“Was Clare frightened when she told you this?”
“Yes…” Olivia’s head ached with trying to remember. “She was always frightened of the monster. He did bad things.”
That she recalled those sensations so vividly gave her pause. She inclined her head and listened to the voice whispering through her mind. Soft, gentle. And another sound…the humming. Olivia couldn’t place the tune but it was so familiar. What was the name of that song?
“Did you see or hear Rafe?”
The question startled her. No, she didn’t see her father. He was…he was…she didn’t know. There was nothing. No feelings whatsoever. She shook her head. “I don’t see or hear him in the dreams. And I don’t feel him.” She turned to St. James. “What do you think that means? That I was totally disconnected from him? Emotionally disengaged?” People did that as a self-protection. Could that be why she didn’t remember him?
Then again, she didn’t exactly remember Clare. It was more a feeling that the woman’s voice was her mother’s.
“You should try and get another hour’s sleep. It’s barely four o’clock. It’s going to be a long day.”
He was right, she knew. But the idea of closing her eyes and going back to the dark place held no appeal whatsoever. “I’m not so sure I can do that. Maybe if you help me relax.” There was no way to miss the glint of sexual interest in his eyes. She cocked an eyebrow. “I mean, tell me a story, St. James. About you. I know almost nothing about you.” The idea that he was interested warmed her, filled that nasty void the nightmare had left in her chest. God, she hated those damned dreams.
“All right.”
To her dismay, which she hoped didn’t show, he moved back to his own bed.
“I grew up in Dallas. Studied criminology in college and went on to be a cop. Made it all the way to detective lieutenant before I walked.”
She had him figured for a cop. She’d watched enough of them in the courtroom giving testimony. “Why’d you walk away from your career?” Like she had any room to talk. She’d walked away from law school barely a year shy of graduation.
He relaxed against the headboard, his hands clasped behind his head. The position forced the cotton tee to mold to his well-muscled body. “We’d take them off the streets and hotshot attorneys would put them right back on the street. I got sick of it and decided to go where I could do more for the victim, rather than wasting the taxpayers’ money.”
She shot him a speculative look. His expression shifted to one of understanding, then contrition. “I work in a law firm that specializes in putting them back on the street.”
“Sorry about that.” He shrugged. “But it’s true far too often.”
“I know what you mean,” she confessed. “Sometimes it’s not fair, but it’s the way our justice system works.” Attorneys had no choice but to represent their clients to the best of their abilities—even when they discovered they were guilty.
“Why didn’t you finish law school?”
She shouldn’t be surprised he’d asked. He knew everything else about her. “I just decided one day that I didn’t want that ultimate responsibility. It’s kind of like choosing to be a nurse over being a doctor. You still get to help the sick and injured, but you don’t have to carry the load when it comes to the politics and business side of the job. I get to counsel clients to a degree. I do lots of volunteer work. The boundaries are a little different. I have more freedom than my boss.” And the truth was she’d chickened out. Deep inside she’d felt she wasn’t worthy. Maybe now she understood why.
“You have any siblings? Parents still alive?” she asked him.
“One sister. Two parents. We get together on holidays and birthdays. We’re all busy.”
The tiniest hint of sadness tinged his voice. “You should make it a point to get together more often.” Again, she had no room to talk.
He rolled onto his side and fixed those blue eyes on her. “I’ll be sure to do that. You should, too.”
“Touché.” She managed a smile. “G’night.”
He switched off the light. “G’night.”
Chapter Nine
Polunsky Prison, 8:55 a.m.
Victoria leaned forward and peered at the crowd gathered around the gate of the prison. “Wait before you make the turn, please,” she said to her driver.
“Yes, ma’am. It looks as though every media outlet in Texas has descended upon the prison. And those picketers don’t look too happy. To make that turn, ma’am, we’d be forced to drive right through the worst of the crowd.”
Unfortunately, he was all too correct. Dozens of news vans lined the road. Hundreds of people carrying signs and shouting had crowded the prison entrance. Her cell chimed and she reached into her purse to find it without taking her eyes off the massive crowd. She checked the screen. Warden Prentice. “Good morning. It appears you have an onslaught this morning. What’s going on?”
“We believe Rafe Barker got word to a reporter that his case was being reviewed by a celebrated private investigations agency. A reporter from Austin called to demand an interview with me as well as Barker and when I denied his request he went public. This is only going to get worse.”
The situation was not a completely unexpected turn of events. Victoria had anticipated the news would leak in time, though she had hoped it would be later rather than sooner.
“How did Barker get word to this reporter?” No mail left the prison unscreened. No calls or visitors got in without the warden’s knowledge. After Weeden had smuggled out the letter from Barker to Victoria, all prison employees had been warned again that such behavior would not be tolerated.
Yet, someone inside had to have gotten the word out.
“Have you determined the source of the leak?” she prompted when Prentice remained silent. The prison staff with access to Barker was limited. Learning the identity of the culprit shouldn’t prove difficult.
“At first I was certain it had to be someone from your agency. There are only four on staff with access to Barker now. But certain discrepancies in their statements changed my mind. No one has admitted to delivering his message, but we believe it was one of the two guards. I suspect one or the other will confess eventually but the damage is done.”
“I’m just outside the gate, beyond the media and protest encampment. Is my meeting with Barker still on?” Whatever Barker had to say to her might or might not be relevant, but Victoria had questions for him. Demands, actually. She refused to play any more of his games. Admittedly, he had her at a disadvantage. It wasn’t as if she could walk away from the case. Until this was over, Sadie, Laney and Olivia had to be protected. And the idea that Clare needed help, too, wouldn’t be shaken from the fringes of Victoria’s thoughts.
“That’s why I’m calling you,” Prentice explained. “Barker announced five minutes ago that he won’t see you.”
Victoria absorbed the ramifications of that statement for a moment before responding. “Did he provide a reason for this sudden change of heart? He was the one who demanded the meeting in the first place.”
She asked the question knowing there would be no reasonable explanation. Rafe Barker was playing a game and she had just fallen into his trap.
“He refused to say anything more.” The warden’s hiss of frustration echoed across the line. “He’s toying with us all, Victoria. He has what he wants now—whatever the hell that is—and he’s going to sit back and relish the show until he’s either executed or the governor grants a stay.�
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Prentice was perhaps more right than he knew. “He has a plan, I’ll grant you that,” she acknowledged. “But I don’t believe that plan involves sitting back and waiting for anything. There’s more coming. We simply haven’t felt the repercussions of it yet.”
“We have him on suicide watch. Not that I feel he intends himself harm. To the contrary. I’m fully expecting a final hoorah of some sort. I just hope it doesn’t involve a full-on riot in my prison. At this point, I recognize that Barker, despite his decades of silence, has an influence here I never suspected for a second.”
“You’re aware, I’m certain,” Victoria felt compelled to mention, “that an attorney in San Antonio is petitioning for a stay of execution.”
“The state D.A. called me an hour ago. I’m sure it’ll be breaking news before noon.”
“Please keep me advised of any developments involving Barker.” Victoria hoped he’d done all the damage within his power for now. But evil knew no boundaries. And she was fully convinced that Rafe Barker was far more evil than he asserted his wife to be.
Whether Clare was equally heinous was yet to be seen. It would seem, in light of recent events, that she was squarely on that path, whether by her own accord or not. If she was innocent, at least in part, how long would it take her to know she was falling into the same trap a second time?
Victoria ended the call. “You can take me back home, Clarence. My appointment here has been cancelled.”
“We may have a problem, ma’am.”
An abrupt commotion on the road in front of the car drew Victoria’s attention beyond the windshield. A throng of reporters were racing toward them. Just behind the reporters and their cameramen was a crowd of protesters, signs waving, voices raised in demonstration.
“I’m backing up, ma’am.”
Victoria braced for the maneuvers she knew would be required to avoid the trouble roaring directly at them.
Clarence slammed on the brakes. Victoria twisted in her seat to see what had stopped his retreat. Another news van had arrived and stalled at an angle across the road, preventing their escape.
