She Can Kill

by Melinda Leigh

  She turned her back on them and left the apartment. The door closed behind her. He tried to shut off the memory, but the reel continued into a haze of machine-gun fire, screams, and blood. In the center of the carnage, Eva lay on the terra-cotta tiles, her red sundress soaked with blood. He reached for her, his fingers splaying on the Sun of May tattoo in the center of her back, her flesh still warm under his palm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  On Monday morning, Cristan parked at the curb in front of the school. “Are you sure I can’t talk you into staying home this week?”

  “Dad, you have no idea if or when something could happen. I can’t hide forever. I promise not to go outside at lunch, and I’ll wait until I see you at the curb before I come out at the end of the day.” She got out of the car. “I have a big algebra test today.”

  Still struggling with the truth, she was frustratingly reasonable and a little too distant for his liking. Eventually, her emotions had to come to the surface. In the meantime, there was only so much Cristan could do.

  Mike had called the principal and asked her to keep security tight. He’d bent the truth a little and suggested that a possible child predator had been seen nearby.

  Lucia leaned into the vehicle to haul out her backpack. “Don’t worry. Now that you’ve been honest with me, and I know there’s a risk, I can be extra careful.”

  “I love you.”

  Nodding, she closed the car door.

  He waited until she disappeared behind the glass doors before pulling away. He stopped at a diner on the interstate and killed an hour with coffee and the news via his electronic tablet.

  He wanted—needed to go on the offensive. The first step was to find Maria. She had to be staying somewhere nearby. Mike was checking local motels, but a motel wouldn’t provide enough privacy or the luxury Maria had been raised to enjoy. The next best option would be a rental house. There were many in the area as the mountainous region was a popular vacation destination. At nine o’clock, with his photo of Maria in hand, he drove from agency to agency to see if any of them recognized Maria’s picture. He had no picture of Aline, but given that Maria had been at the horse show at the winter festival, she was the more likely suspect.

  The first five real estate agencies denied having seen her. Most of their bookings occurred online. Typically, they only saw a client twice for a few seconds each time when they picked up and dropped off the keys to a rental property. But Cristan thought a single meeting would be enough to remember Maria. As he well knew, an accent was hard to lose, and people picked up on his immediately.

  The sixth office was in the neighboring community of Cooperstown. The smell of musty carpet greeted him as he went inside. A woman in her midfifties turned her platinum-blond head as he approached her desk. “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so.” He smiled. “I’m looking for a woman.” He pulled a photo of Maria from his pocket and showed it to the secretary. “She likely rented a vacation home in this area.”

  The secretary’s eyes flickered to the picture. She stared for a few seconds, considering. “I’m not sure.” She lifted her gaze from the picture. “Who are you?”

  Cristan went with a near-truth. “Her brother-in-law. My wife is very worried about her sister. She isn’t well.”

  “You’re not the police?”

  “No.” He shook his head.

  “Then you’re out of luck.” She turned back to her computer. “We don’t give out any information about our clients. Good-bye.”

  So it was Maria. He thought of the way she’d tagged along behind him and Eva, the schoolgirl crush he’d suspected she had on him, and that night in the barn when he and Eva had saved her from being raped. Why would she want him dead? Why didn’t she simply contact him if she knew he was alive? In order to learn the answers, he had to locate her.

  “Good day.” He left the building and slid into his car. Hacking into the agency’s computer system shouldn’t be that difficult.

  He checked his phone. No call from Sarah. She’d promised to let him know how she fared in court. He drove home, ready to snoop through the real estate agency’s client database.

  Maria was here, and he was going to find her before she got to Lucia.

  In his office, he opened his virtual private network. Hacking into the real estate management firm’s records was simple, but sorting through possibilities in the client management database would be a time-consuming task. He wrote a basic query and turned his attention to his e-mail while it ran. There were several messages in the open account he used for Lucia’s school and other unsecure communications. He scanned the list. A message from a TORmail account caught his eye. The TOR service was used explicitly to encrypt messages and hide a sender’s identity. He should know. He used TOR for communications he wished to keep private and anonymous. Unease stirred in his chest as he opened the message. It was an animation of the nighttime photo of him and Sarah in front of her house—it played on a loop, with the recurring appearance of a bloody hole in the center of Sarah’s forehead.

  “Hi, Brooke. Is Luke here?” Mike asked as she opened the door to her yellow farmhouse. Luke Holloway, his neighborhood hacker, had moved in with the self-defense instructor over the winter.

  “He’s in the office.” She led the way through her kitchen to the office in the back of the house. Her old collie, Sunshine, scrambled to shaky legs and greeted Mike with a wet nose and a wag. Mike paused to give the old dog a gentle ear rub.

  “Sorry to make him work on a Sunday.”

  “We weren’t busy, and he’s happy to help.” Brooke waved to piles of papers on the kitchen table. “I’m grading unit algebra tests anyway.”

  Luke stuck his head out of a doorway. “Hey, Mike.”

  Mike joined him in an office with an impressive row of computer monitors and hardware. Luke rounded his desk and sat down. His fingers danced across a keyboard.

  “How are things?” Mike took a chair in front of Luke’s desk.

  “Things are good.” Luke blinked up from his monitor.

  “You really get paid to hack into computer systems?”

  “Unbelievable, isn’t it?” Luke grinned. A former Internet security analyst, he’d returned home and hung out his shingle as a freelance ethical hacker after being injured in a bombing overseas.

  “I appreciate your helping me out.”

  “It wasn’t that hard.” Luke turned back to his computer.

  “You’re sure no one knew you were looking?”

  “Please, Mike. This is what I do. I was invisible.” Luke hit Enter. “Twenty-seven members of the Vargas family were killed in the attack.” He turned his chair and collected a stack of papers from the printer behind his desk.

  “Where did you find all this?”

  “I told you when I agreed to do this that I wouldn’t be able to reveal my sources.” Luke stopped.

  “I’m sorry. You did.” Mike held up a hand. Luke had likely broken the law to get the information. “And thank you.”

  “Some of the images are disturbing.” Luke dealt the pages onto the desktop like playing cards.

  Guilt ripped through Mike as he scanned the images. Luke had enough nightmares of his own. He didn’t need to borrow any visuals. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s OK. I’m glad I could help.” Luke pushed the pages toward Mike. “I verified the death certificate for Eva Vargas. The medical examiner confirmed her ID with DNA taken from the apartment she shared with her husband. Christopher and the baby disappeared after the massacre. The case remains open, and he’s still wanted as a person of interest. But charges were never filed against Christopher. The police suspect the crime was committed by a rival gang headed by a woman named Aline Barba. There’s some additional background information in the pile.”

  “What about Maria Vargas?” Mike asked. So far, everything Cristan
had told him was true, which was a relief.

  “She was targeted by the tabloids for a time after the attack, but she keeps a low profile. Eventually they got bored and moved on to another tragedy.”

  Mike gathered the papers. “Thanks, Luke. I owe you.”

  “One thing, Mike. This crime scene was a mess. This is the official record, but it isn’t the most reliable information in the world.”

  Though the judge had granted Sarah her restraining order, she felt no sense of victory as she left the courthouse Monday morning. If anything, the judge’s agreement brought a wave of depression over her. Troy could have no contact with her. He was supposed to take the girls the next day, but after listening to the messages he’d left on Sarah’s phone, the judge had nixed that as well. Until Troy could demonstrate he had his temper in check, visitations with the girls would be supervised by a social worker. What would Troy do when he learned the judge had ruled in her favor?

  Underneath her sadness, discomfort lurked. Troy hadn’t shown up for the hearing. This was the first court appearance he’d missed. What did that mean? Could he be giving up?

  She zipped her jacket against the chill and crossed the parking lot to her minivan. Settling inside, she started the engine. Em had woken with a headache, so she and Bandit were with Mrs. Holloway. Alex was at daycare and had made it clear she did not want to be picked up early. Sarah could stop for her paycheck, then go home and change her dress slacks for jeans before driving out to Mrs. Holloway’s house.

  She stopped at the inn. Behind the registration desk, Herb waved with a bandaged hand.

  Before she could ask him about it, Jacob called from the hallway, “Can I see you in my office for a minute, Sarah?”

  A sense of foreboding fell over her as she went into the small room behind the kitchen.

  “Close the door,” he said.

  Uh-oh.

  Not trusting her knees, Sarah lowered her butt into a chair facing his desk.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Herb burned his hand this morning while he was trying to do your job.” Jacob handed her a long envelope. “Here’s your check. I’m sorry to say, it’ll have to be your last one. I’m sorry, but I need a sous chef who can keep regular hours. Herb is too old and shaky to work in the kitchen anymore, and it isn’t fair to leave him shorthanded.”

  Sarah’s heart dropped. He was firing her.

  “You’re great in the kitchen. Please don’t think this is a reflection of your abilities.”

  “I understand. Thank you for giving me the chance.” She exited the office and slipped out the back door. Her van was in the back of the lot. Sliding behind the wheel, she took a deep breath. Employment opportunities were slim in her rural hometown, and until Troy stopped messing with her daily schedule, getting one was going to be impossible. What was she going to do? Wiping a stray tear from under one eye, she straightened her spine. She had no time for self-pity. Her energy would be better spent on starting her own catering business. At least she’d have control over her schedule.

  She was almost home when her phone buzzed. Apprehensive, she glanced down, but the call wasn’t from Troy. Cristan’s name displayed on her screen. He’d texted her several times the previous day to check on her, and he’d known she was due in court this morning. She answered the call hands-free.

  “How did it go?” he asked over the hollow echo of the speakerphone connection.

  “The judge granted the restraining order and revoked Troy’s unsupervised visitation.”

  “That’s good to hear.” But there was something else in his voice.

  “Yes. I’m relieved the girls won’t be alone with him tomorrow.” Though her single victory felt like only one step forward when she’d been forced backward a mile, her girls would be safe. For now. While Troy had little interest in the kids, she didn’t doubt that he’d used them to get even.

  “You’ll have to be careful,” Cristan said. “He won’t take this well.”

  “Probably not.” She turned onto her street, scanning the curb for Troy’s truck out of habit, but she saw no sign of him. On one bright note, Tim Newell’s car was parked in front of his house, so Kenzie was no longer alone.

  “Are you home?” An accelerating engine sounded over the connection. Cristan must be in his car too.

  “Yes. What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m on my way to your house.”

  “Why?” As much as Sarah wanted to see him, she needed to focus, and letting a man take care of her is how she got into this mess. She parked in her driveway. Her fingers closed over the fob in her purse and she slipped it into her jacket pocket with her keys. Switching her phone off speaker, she gathered her purse, got out of the minivan, and pushed the heavy door closed with her hip.

  “I’ll tell you when I get there.” He paused. “But I want you to go inside and lock your door.”

  She balanced the phone between her face and shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “Please, just do it. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes and explain everything.”

  “All right.” She shuffled her purse to her left hand to retrieve her keys when Troy stepped out from around the corner of the house, the gun in his hand pointed straight at her. “Hello, Sarah.”

  He’d given up his guns for visitation rights, but she knew it had been an empty gesture. The sporting goods store was stocked with weapons. An avid hunter, Troy had used rifles, bows, and handguns since his boyhood. If he fired that gun at her, he wouldn’t miss.

  His eyes were cool and calculated. He wasn’t consumed in a fit of anger. Troy had planned this ambush. Sarah had never seen him this unemotional. Her fear amplified.

  “Troy.” Her purse and phone fell to the grass. Terror gripped her voice.

  Thank God the girls weren’t with her.

  Troy walked closer and shoved her toward the house. She tripped, her feet suddenly uncoordinated.

  “Fucking move, bitch.” Troy shoved the gun into his waistband. His hand slid around her bicep as he maneuvered her toward the house. On the front walk, he slipped an arm around her neck. His forearm pressed on her windpipe, and she gagged.

  No! She had to resist. Being alone with him would be the worst-case scenario. But what could she do? He had a gun.

  The techniques she’d learned in self-defense class came to her in a jumble. Brooke’s voice sounded in her mind. Protect your airway! Sarah turned her chin toward the crook of Troy’s elbow, alleviating the pressure on her windpipe. Then she tucked her chin to her chest to keep him from getting his arm under her jaw again. Her breathing eased. But that wasn’t enough. She had to get away from him. She’d seen him angry on many occasions, but this time seemed different. This wasn’t a drunken outburst of violence. Troy was thinking and planning. Fed by his damaged ego, the violence inside him had grown. He wanted to hurt her with a deep and nourished hatred.

  He dragged her up the front steps.

  She brought both hands up to grab his wrist and elbow, pinning his arm across her collarbone and giving her another millimeter of space to breathe. Cristan was on his way. How long would it take for him to reach her? No one had been outside when she’d parked, but in case a neighbor was within earshot, she drew in a deep breath and yelled, “Help!”

  “Shut up!” Troy screamed in her ear as his hand fumbled in her pocket. He pulled out her keys and the alarm fob. Unlocking the door, he hauled her over the threshold. The security system panel emitted a steady stream of beeps. Troy pressed the button on the fob. The beeping ceased.

  “That stunt you pulled this morning was a big mistake.” Troy tossed her keys and fob on the table next to the door.

  Sarah released his arm with one hand, made a fist, and jabbed Troy in the ribs with her elbow. He sucked wind and dropped her. With the sudden release, she fell forward. Her knees hit the floor, and pain jol
ted through her legs. She got her feet under her body and dove toward the door.

  But Troy was faster. His hand closed over her ankle. He yanked her toward him, and she fell to her belly on the carpet. He adjusted his grip on her foot. One hand closed over her toes; the other cupped her heel. With a twist of his hands—and her ankle—he flipped her onto her back, then stepped over her. She tried to roll away, but his short jab connected with her jaw. Pain exploded in her face as his high school ring hit her jawbone. Her head snapped back, and she slumped to the floor. Adrenaline pumped through her, numbing everything.

  Troy loomed over her. He was dressed for hunting, from his hiking boots to his camouflage pants and shirt, to the smears of brown and green paint on his face. The white of his eyes shone crazy-bright from under his brown cap.

  With a feral smile, he dragged her by the foot into the small kitchen. Stopping in front of the stove, he turned on all four burners and snapped off the knobs. The hiss of gas sent a fresh burst of terror shooting through her veins.

  “Troy, stop,” she pleaded, knowing her words would have no effect. Sarah had seen him lose his temper many times, but this was different. Fear seeped cold into her belly. Troy had gone beyond anger. He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to get even or make her pay for what she’d done.

  He wanted her dead, and he was willing to kill himself in the process.

  She needed to get away from him—and the gas that was filling the house. She kicked off his grip and shuffled backward like a crab through the doorway into the living room. Troy was on her in an instant. He lifted a foot, and Sarah curled on her side, raising her arms to protect her head from the imminent boot. But instead of kicking her, he planted a boot on her hip to pin her in place. Then he pulled a gun from his pocket and pointed it at her face.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The scream sounded tinny and helpless over the Bluetooth speaker in the car.

  “Sarah?” Cristan pressed the gas pedal to the floor, roaring down the middle of Main Street. Horns and shouts protested his sudden acceleration. Then he dialed Mike and explained what he’d heard.