Waking Nightmare

by Kylie Brant

  “Not much in this.” She gripped her wallet, withdrew her hand to hold it up for him. “But robbery was never your thing, was it? Not enough pain involved.” She threw it in the same direction the keys had landed.

  “You’re going to find out about pain. Even sooner if you don’t give me that damn purse!”

  Reluctant to push him further, Abbie set the bag on the floor, praying the call she’d made had gone through. With a slight kick, it skittered across the floor, coming to rest several feet from him.

  She saw the fury fade from his expression. He was feeling in control again. “You made it almost too easy, you and Robel, you know that? All it took was setting the fire, injecting myself, and making sure the blood work got to Dixon’s girlfriend. You practically fed me your progress on the case every time you talked to me.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Not too intelligent, were you? Are you smart enough to guess what I have in store for you tonight?”

  Abbie took the opportunity to glance at Callie. She appeared to be unconscious. How badly was she injured?

  “All out of ideas?” Grant’s voice was conversational. “Then I’ll tell you. We’re going to your bedroom and wait for your sister to wake up.” His eyes narrowed and he smiled nastily. “She really needs to be awake to appreciate this. You both do. After I tie you both up, we’ll play ‘Father Knows Best.’” He laughed silently. “From what your sister told me, your dad had a lot in common with my stepfather.”

  “Is he the reason you always use electrical cord?” Abbie asked conversationally, gauging the distance between them. Now that he’d moved away from Callie, she had nothing to lose by springing at him. With the element of surprise, she might be able to disarm him.

  The odds were dismal, but her options were limited.

  “He was an electrician. Always had a spool of wire in the basement when he dragged me down there. But he paid for that. Just like your dad did.”

  She eyed him carefully. “My father died from a fall.”

  “Callie never told you she pushed the drunk bastard down the stairs?” He shrugged. “He got what was coming to him, same as mine. Just sorry I didn’t get to watch the bastard burn. But yours . . . I think he’d appreciate tonight’s events. You’re going to get to listen to your sister getting fucked again tonight. Better yet, you get to watch. Be like old times, won’t it, Abbie?”

  Sick horror rose, nearly gagged her. What had possessed Callie to confide in him? And how much had she told him?

  “I’ll only tie one of your hands to the doorknob. Your other one has to be free to handle the razor blade, doesn’t it?” His expression was alight with an unholy glee. “I’m guessing I’ll be a lot more imaginative than Daddy was. Every one of those scars I’ve heard about will be reopened. And then once I finish with Callie, I’ll start on you.” He cocked his head. “Did you predict that, bitch, when you were pretending to the world that you know how I think?”

  She abruptly switched tactics. Pandering to his ego had had no effect. Slowly, derisively, she applauded. “Very creative. You and my father do have a lot in common. You’re both sick and twisted. But that doesn’t make you special. Just the opposite.”

  Grant’s face flushed. “You’ll pay for that, cunt.”

  “That’s what your whole life’s been about, hasn’t it?” She circled toward her sister, and he had to move farther from Callie to keep Abbie in his sights. “Making other people pay for what was done to you? That only makes you pathetic, not smart. It makes you weak.”

  “Maybe we’ll start the cutting early.” He brandished the knife and stalked toward her. “There’s nothing like the first slice to bring clarity. Remember that first slice, Abbie? It almost feels like pleasure, doesn’t it? Just at first?”

  She wanted to check on Callie again, but couldn’t afford to take her eyes off him. Although she trembled from the effort, she waited for him to get closer. Her muscles bunched. Her weight shifted to the balls of her feet.

  “We’ll have the lights out for the production. You like the dark, don’t you?”

  The shudder that worked through her was real. He saw it, and smiled. A step closer. Then another. The blade rose.

  Abbie kicked out at the hand wielding the knife. He shifted away and slashed downward, cutting her across the top of her foot above her shoe. He laughed at her sharply indrawn breath, perfect teeth gleaming. “You’ll be begging me to end it before we’re done. And this time I’ll have to.” He lunged to slice at her arm, but she dodged away. “Pity. You two just might be my most brilliant vision yet. I want Robel to find you. I’m good at research. Found out he fucked up a case in Boston. And now he’ll discover he’s fucked up a—”

  She pivoted to lash out violently at his injured arm, surprising a howl of pain from him. While he was distracted, she followed up by kicking the wrist holding the knife. It clattered to the ground and she dove for it.

  “Think that will do you any good, you miserable cunt?” He stumbled back, drew her weapon from his waistband, and aimed it at her. “You fucking worthless whore. It was your fault that bitch Bradford had a gun. You ruined that. You aren’t ruining this. Drop the fucking knife!”

  “Or what?” Her voice was deadly calm. An eerie sense of composure had glossed over her earlier panic. If he pointed the gun at Callie, should she relinquish the knife? Knowing what he had planned for them? Or was Raiker right? Was she giving up all chances of survival by disarming?

  “You’re not ruining this. Tonight is going to be perfect.” Grant’s face was mottled, and she caught a glimpse of the emotion she’d seen when she’d interviewed him the second time. He was a master of pretense, but he wasn’t pretending now. He was losing control. And she could imagine too well the image he’d planted in her brain.

  Reliving their past. Using it against them. Making their last breathing moments an unimaginable hell.

  She’d have only one opportunity to make a bid for her and Callie’s lives. She’d aim for the heart. At this range, it was doubtful he’d miss his shot, but there was a chance. There was always a chance.

  “Really? Is this perfect? Did you plan this?” She waggled the knife at him, watched his face carefully for the right time to strike. “Face it, you’re the one who fucked up. You’re a fuckup and a loser who can’t do anything right.”

  “You cocksucking whore!” His face twisted. His finger tightened on the trigger. Abbie lunged.

  “No-o-o-o!”

  Time freeze-framed. Each fraction of an instant slowed.

  Callie. On her knees. Swaying. Hands flailing. Grabbing Grant’s leg. Pulling him off balance.

  The man stumbling, going to one knee. Abbie frantically changing position. Callie doing the same.

  The sound of the shot punctuating the struggle.

  The knife plunging into his chest. Blood spurting.

  A scream. His. Or was it Callie’s?

  In the next moment the scene fast-forwarded, everything happening in a blur of motion. A tremendous crash as the front door smashed open. Bodies pouring into the room, weapons drawn. Shouted commands. Grant dropping slowly to the floor, hands on the knife handle protruding from his chest.

  But Abbie’s attention was focused on her sister. “Callie!” Blood poured from the hole in her back, and a sick panic welled up inside her. Abbie ignored the pandemonium around her. Ripping at her shirt, she wadded it up to stanch the flow of blood, praying to a God who’d always seemed absent when it came to her sister.

  “Hang on. Just hang on,” she pleaded. “C’mon, Cal.” Abbie lay on the floor, one hand maintaining pressure on her sister’s wound, so she could look into her face. “Look at me. Open your eyes. It’s Abbie.”

  Callie’s eyelids fluttered, but remained closed. Her lips moved, but no words emerged. But when Abbie squeezed her hand, she thought her sister’s fingers moved. Squeezed back.

  “We’re okay,” Abbie whispered. “We’re fine.” They were eight and twelve again, clutched together in the darkness,
rocking to comfort each other long after their father slept. “Everything’s all right now.”

  But the words seemed as empty now as they had then.

  “Come on, Abbie. They’ve got her. Come on.” She fought the hands that drew her inexorably from her sister’s side, watched helplessly as uniformed officers knelt to take her place.

  “Are you hurt?” She recognized Ryne’s rough voice, felt his hands moving over her searchingly.

  She responded to the emotion, rather than the words. “No. I’m okay.”

  He muttered an oath. “You’re bleeding.”

  Dazed, her gaze left her sister, and she looked down at herself. There was blood on her wrist. On her foot. “Cuts. I’m all right.” Her attention bounced back to her sister. “Is she okay?” she asked the officer nearest to her. “Is she . . .” Alive. Breathing. Her chest constricted. She couldn’t manage the words.

  “She’s hanging in there,” the officer assured her.

  Hearing a siren in the distance, she sank against Ryne, grateful for the support. “I want to go with her. When the ambulance comes. I have to be with her.”

  His arms wrapped around her so tightly that her words were muffled against his chest. “I have to go with her,” she said more insistently.

  Ryne ducked his head, his voice husky in her ear. “They won’t let you in the ambulance.” Her chin snapped up, but he forestalled the argument she would have made. “I’ll take you myself. We’ll be right behind them.”

  A breath shuddered out of her as she craned her head to keep her sister’s form in sight. “He was going to shoot me. She threw herself in front of the gun. She’s been taking bullets for me all my life, in one way or another. How do you thank someone for that? How do you repay that kind of sacrifice?” Her voice broke, weighted by twenty years of tears.

  He rocked with her a little, his arms feeling strong. Bless edly secure. “I guess you just live.” His lips brushed her forehead. “No one can ask for more than that.”

  Epilogue

  HILLSIDE ESTATES HOSPITAL, VIRGINIA THREE MONTHS LATER

  “Callie seemed good.” Ryne shrugged at Abbie’s sidelong glance. “She’s still Callie. But a little less so, you know?”

  She gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean. And she is making progress.”

  Fall leaves crunched underfoot as they strolled back to the parking lot, but the weather was still relatively mild, requiring only long sleeves. Indian summer was always a gift to be appreciated.

  Abbie had a much longer list of things to be thankful for.

  Her sister had come out of surgery like a trooper, and worked harder at rehabilitation for her injury than anyone could have expected. She’d been less willing, however, to focus on her emotional health.

  With a grimace, Abbie recalled the unpleasant scenes they’d had a few weeks ago, before she’d finally convinced her sister to seek long-term intensive care for her mental health issues.

  Callie could walk out of Hillside anytime she wanted. That was a reality Abbie faced every day. But as long as her sister stayed, she was receiving help. Over years of dealing with her sister’s illness, she’d learned to take the positives where she could.

  “So you got the serial kidnapping case in Phoenix tied up in record time,” Ryne commented.

  The case had occupied the better part of the last three weeks, which at times had seemed interminable to Abbie. She still marveled—and worried—at how quickly Ryne had become such an integral part of her life. She’d gotten used to seeing him a couple weekends a month, along with daily phone calls. Thoughts of him had often interrupted her usual single-minded focus on the kidnapping investigation. Something else she’d have to get used to.

  She bumped shoulders with him companionably. “Perp turned out to be a local youth baseball coach. And the lead detective on the case was about as welcoming as you were when I joined the task force.”

  That seemed to amuse him. “Give you a hard time, did he?”

  The Phoenix detective had been a bit of a jerk, but had thawed over the course of the case. “He came around. My charm and charisma eventually overwhelmed him.”

  “Yeah, that’s what got to me, too,” Ryne said musingly. “Your charm and charisma. Not to mention your killer ass.”

  Her tone was pure innocence. “That’s exactly what he said.”

  Ryne stopped and tugged her into his arms with satisfying swiftness. “You know, it’s not exactly safe to bait a frustrated man. We can be unpredictable.”

  Linking her arms around his neck, she inquired, “Pretty frustrated, are you?”

  “What do you think?” he growled, lowering his face to nip at her neck, then soothe the sensitive spot with his tongue.

  Her muscles took on the consistency of warm wax. “I think it was a long three weeks.” His kiss had just enough demand to it to have Abbie mentally calculating the minutes by car to get back to her place.

  “Young lovers engaged in public displays of affection on a brilliant fall day. Could there be anything more revolting?”

  The familiar voice had Abbie jerking away. But Ryne kept her close with one arm around her waist. “Adam. What are you doing here?” Having her boss catch her in a clinch with Ryne ranked right up there with getting caught in class passing notes.

  Adam Raiker set both hands on top of his cane in front of him, and leaned his weight against it. His expression was cynically amused. “You mean other than being forced into the unwilling role of voyeur? I came to talk to you. Are your lips free?”

  “Not for long,” Ryne put in, not a bit embarrassed. “So talk fast.”

  Raiker fixed him with a gimlet stare from his lone eye. “Robel. Reconsidered my job offer yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “You will.” That absolute certainty of his put a lot of people off, Abbie knew. But Ryne just gave him an enigmatic smile and said nothing.

  “Walk with me. I’ve got a meeting in a couple hours at Quantico and traffic is always a bitch.” They fell into step alongside the man. “Got a call on my way there, as a matter of fact. Headquarters said you were here, Abbie, so thought I’d swing by and pass on the news.”

  “A new development on Grant?” She exchanged a look with Ryne. Karen Larsen, aka Sean Grant, had been in custody for months. But he’d lawyered up immediately and had refused to answer any questions. The last she’d heard, his attorney was trying to line up expert witnesses to bolster a diminished capacity plea.

  “Indirectly. Ryne’s contact, that sheriff in Montana, finally moved on Trevor Holden.”

  “They’ve had Holden under surveillance for weeks,” Ryne put in. “Ever since testing on that tox screen he sent me matched those of our victims. Jepperson finally tracked down that runaway who had been assaulted and she tentatively ID’d Holden as the guy.”

  “No doubt now that he was responsible,” Raiker said grimly. “They caught sight of him burying something in back of his barn. Got a warrant and swarmed the place.”

  “A body?” Abbie guessed.

  Raiker nodded. “And they discovered four more before they were finished. All had been tortured. He had the barn equipped with a sort of home lab, where he was manufacturing the drug. Had a big enough supply to keep him and Larsen in business for a long time. The place was also outfitted with small cells and equipped with some pretty heavy-duty torture devices.”

  “He must have been stealing samples of TTX all along and running his own experiments until he had a perfect product for his perversions,” Abbie surmised. “But I thought he was just a tech at Ketrum. How would he have the expertise?”

  “It was your idea to look for a relationship between him and the rapist,” Ryne said in an aside to Abbie. For Raiker’s benefit, he added, “A high school classmate of his claimed he was some kind of chemistry brain. I got a yearbook photo of Holden and another of someone he’d befriended at the juvie center.” He shook his head, as if the shock of recognition were still fresh. “I wouldn’t have r
ecognized the name. Larsen was the name of his sister and stepfather. But once I saw his face, things started coming together pretty quickly.” His focus shifted back to Abbie. “Then I got your call. Heard enough to figure out you were in danger and headed over.”

  The phone call on her cell after she’d been surprised by Grant. The memory of the scene could still bring a prickle to her skin, despite the warm temperature. “Grant claimed the fire that killed his parents was deliberate.”

  Raiker scowled, the expression, coupled with his eye patch and the scar bisecting his throat, making him look like a ferocious modern-day pirate. “Three guesses who set it.”

  “Holden,” Abbie breathed. Of course. It would have seemed the perfect crime. If the police had been suspicious, the first one they would have looked at was Sean Grant, who would have still been safely locked away.

  “Not surprisingly, Holden’s feeling pretty talkative faced with five homicide charges. He’s spilling everything he knows on Grant in hopes of a reduced plea. He admits he was released three weeks prior to Grant, and set the fire at his request. Apparently he’s been calling in favors, first for that and then for sharing the drug. He claims his last three victims were delivered to him by Grant.”

  “Busy little fuck,” muttered Ryne.

  Raiker’s answering smile was chilly. “There’s more. Holden also maintains that Grant killed Karen more than six years ago and disposed of her body.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Abbie said softly. She’d done a thorough background check on Karen Larsen. The woman had existed. Long enough to establish an identity her brother could later don at will. He’d even followed his half sister into nursing school, although he’d only gotten a two-year degree.

  “You said it all along,” Ryne told her. “That women will confide personal stuff to someone they trust. That’s got to be how he got to some of the victims. Maybe they came into whichever medical place he was working at as Karen Larsen. Or he ran across them at the volunteer sites. Whatever. They’d open up to a woman in a way they never would to a man.”