Closer Than You Think

by Karen Rose

  Stew. What the hell? Someone was making beef stew.

  He slunk around the building, squinting into the surrounding woods. No car. Peering through the window, he saw a dirty backpack, and a dirtier young man standing at the stove, stirring a pot.

  A trespasser. A squatter. They happened from time to time, even in the best of homes. He’d had a few of them himself, but any who’d been foolish enough to enter the O’Bannion house were buried in his basement.

  This trespasser had made himself at home. The trash can in the back was filled with empty cans of soup. At this rate, the pantry would be empty and the gas tank drained.

  He slid his gun from his waistband and palmed it. The interloper would have to be dealt with. Cleanly, of course. It wouldn’t be wise to leave a mess inside.

  He made his way quietly to the gas tank and twisted the knob, cutting off the flow. A few minutes later, he was rewarded with an oath from inside the cabin.

  ‘Sonofabitch!’ the young man said. ‘Do not tell me the gas is out.’

  He pressed his back to the cabin wall, waiting patiently in the shadows, rewarded when the front door slammed and the young man came around the back, his steps loud enough to wake the dead. The kid had his arms wrapped around himself, shivering as he walked up to the gas tank and bent over to read the gauge.

  The young man never looked up as he approached. One bullet to the back of the head, and the body crumpled to the ground, blood spilling all over the recently fallen leaves.

  Luckily the guy was skinny, otherwise he’d have to dig an even bigger hole.

  Eastern Kentucky, Monday 3 November, 9.55 P.M.

  Corinne flinched at the single shot, her heart beating so hard that it hurt. She’d heard the door slam. Then nothing until the gunshot.

  He’s going to kill us. Her and the girl. He’s going to shoot us and kill us.

  But why hadn’t he done that already? Why wait? She didn’t know and was too afraid to guess. All she knew was that she hadn’t had enough time to cut through the ropes. It had taken her forever just to open the old man’s penknife and position it where she could cut the rope around her wrists without hurting herself.

  And sawing through rope? A helluva lot harder than she’d thought it would be.

  She was covered in sweat and teetering on exhaustion. Even if she managed to free herself, she couldn’t fight him. And if she did, she couldn’t run. Her legs were too sore, her joints too swollen. More time, she thought, sawing the rope across the knife wildly. Just a little more time.

  Cincinnati, Ohio, Monday 3 November, 10.25 P.M.

  ‘I’m all done in there,’ the nurse said, closing the door to the small, unoccupied office where she’d taken Faith’s personal information. ‘You can go in now. I’ll let Dr Novak know you’re ready for her when she comes in.’

  Deacon found Faith sitting at a small round table, hands folded in front of her. It was the first time he’d seen her in normal light. Her skin was porcelain, with a faint spattering of freckles over her nose. Her eyes were a darker green than they’d appeared in the dim light of his SUV.

  Leaning over her, he took a second to check the roots of her hair before sitting next to her, angling his chair so that he could fully see her face. She was frowning, just as he’d expected.

  ‘What were you looking at?’

  He hadn’t lied yet, and decided not to start now. ‘Your hair. Your coloring is very unique.’

  She gave his hair a pointed glance. ‘So is yours.’

  He inclined his head. ‘Touché.’ He took a notepad from his coat pocket and dropped it on the table. ‘When did your grandmother die? The exact date?’

  She blinked at him. ‘September twenty-fifth. Why?’

  ‘Because I’m starting from the position that you are a completely innocent bystander and that your finding Arianna was simple coincidence.’

  She stilled. ‘It doesn’t sound like you believe either of those things,’ she said quietly.

  He held her gaze. ‘I don’t, but only because Arianna knew your name.’

  ‘Because she heard it from her captor. He had to have known that I’d inherited the house.’

  ‘How would he know that?’

  ‘If I were squatting in someone’s basement, I’d want to know what was going on with the owner. I’d do a property search online. It’s easy enough to do. He wouldn’t need to have super cyber skills. How long has he been there?’

  ‘Why?’

  A muted sound of frustration. ‘Because if it was longer than two weeks, he would have found my grandmother’s name on the deed, not mine.’

  He thought of the basement’s torture room, the well-used cot with its rusted shackles. The office and the kitchen and the little sleeping alcove. ‘Assume it was longer.’

  ‘All right. Then he would have known that my grandmother was the owner. He’d also know that her death was just a matter of time,’ she added sadly.

  ‘How would he know that?’ Deacon asked.

  She shrugged. ‘She was eighty-four. Even if she’d been in the best of health – which she hadn’t been in years – she wasn’t going to live forever. If I’d been squatting, I’d set up a Google alert to let me know as soon as she died, because the house would change hands. There’s lots of activity when a house changes hands. Realtors, appraisers, buyers, tax assessors. He would want to be gone before they descended. He’d also want to know about the new owner. My grandmother’s attorney transferred the deed into my name two weeks ago. It’s public record.’

  ‘So you’re assuming that whoever assaulted Arianna has a computer and is tech savvy.’

  ‘Who doesn’t have a computer these days? He might not be young, but he’s not old either. You said there was evidence of a fight behind the house and the power company tech is missing. He had to have moved the body, so he has some strength. He’s not eighty-four, that’s for damn sure. And even if he weren’t tech savvy, there’s always the public records office. He could have gotten my name any number of ways.’

  She was right about that. Why Arianna’s abductor would have revealed Faith’s name to his captive was another question. ‘When was the will read, and who was there?’

  ‘October first. The attorney called us into his office individually. I don’t know if he does that all the time, or if he expected one of my uncles to make a scene.’

  He lifted his brows. ‘So you were here more recently than twenty-three years ago.’

  ‘In the city, yes, for the will, and several times over the years to visit my grandmother. But I never went to see the house, not when she was alive and not when she was gone.’

  He’d suspected as much. ‘Why not? It was your property.’

  ‘Because,’ she said calmly, ‘as you so astutely noted earlier, I don’t like it. I didn’t intend to live in it.’

  He glanced at the hollow of her throat where her pulse beat rapidly. She wasn’t as calm as she appeared. ‘What had you intended to do with it?’

  ‘On the day I found out I’d inherited it? Nothing. I was too shocked. I thought she might leave me a few of the paintings she’d hung in the townhouse, but not the house. Never the house.’

  Every time she referred to the house, she recoiled. It was a subtle reaction, Deacon thought, one that seemed deeply ingrained. He made a mental note of it, planning to dig deeper later. ‘Did you see either of your uncles when you were here before?’

  ‘I had lunch with Jordan.’

  Outwardly she was the picture of serenity, but her pulse continued to hammer in the hollow of her throat. Deacon wished he knew if it was his mention of the house that was still agitating her, or her uncle – or both uncles. ‘You don’t trust Jeremy, but what about Jordan?’

  She shook her head slightly. ‘I’m not going there, Agent Novak. I’m not throwing my family under the bus, as Kimble so colorfully put it. Investigate Jeremy for this by all means. But other than a few childhood memories – which did not seem to have any validity when I checked them o
ut as an adult – I don’t know him.’

  ‘And Jordan?’

  ‘We were closer when I was a teenager. For the last twelve years or so, I only saw him when I came to visit my grandmother, and then only a few minutes here and there. He took care of her for twenty-three years and never once complained, but he did appreciate when I visited because he got a little break. He’d usually go off and paint.’

  ‘How did he feel about you inheriting the house?’

  ‘He was thrilled, because it meant he wouldn’t have to fight with Jeremy over it.’

  ‘Jeremy wanted the house?’

  ‘I don’t know that for sure,’ she said hastily. ‘I never heard him say so because I haven’t talked to him in years. But if Jordan had inherited the house, he told me that he and Jeremy would have probably ended up in court contesting the will. My grandmother made it clear that she did not want Jeremy to get a penny.’

  ‘Just because he was gay?’ Deacon asked mildly, although he knew families that had been bitterly divided over the very issue.

  She shook her head, making all that dark red hair pool on her shoulders before sliding down her back. Like silk, he thought, and wondered how it would feel running through his fingers—

  Whoa. He stopped that train of thought in its tracks. No, no, no. Not like silk. Like hair. It would feel like hair. Nothing special.

  ‘I think Gran’s issue was really that Jeremy wouldn’t just hide it. She said that he sent my grandfather to an early grave. Anyway, Jordan said that my inheriting the house saved him a lot of trouble and a fortune in attorney’s fees. I need to call him about what’s going on.’

  ‘I called him while you were asleep in the car. I called both of your uncles. Neither was home, so I left messages on their answering machines asking them to call me back.’

  ‘Jordan is never home this time of the night. He’s an art dealer and always seems to be at a party. You’ll have a better chance of contacting him after eleven in the morning. But . . .’ she bit her lip again, ‘if Jeremy’s involved – and I am not saying that he is, but if he is – won’t leaving him a message just tip him off?’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about that right now.’

  She gave him an annoyed look. ‘Because you put surveillance on his house.’

  And outside his office at the medical school as well, Deacon thought, but didn’t mention it. Instead, he held her gaze steadily, giving away nothing, until she rolled her eyes and muttered in a twangy drawl, ‘You don’t need to worry ’bout that right now, little lady.’

  He bit back a grin. ‘I never called you “little lady”.’

  She arched one eyebrow. ‘But you thought it.’

  ‘I can assure you that I did not,’ he said firmly. ‘You said you didn’t plan to live in the house when you first inherited it. When did you decide to live in it?’

  ‘Friday afternoon.’

  He let a beat pass, but she said no more. ‘This past Friday? Three days ago?’ The day that Arianna and Corinne disappeared. He didn’t like that at all, but kept his voice mild. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I got a job offer.’

  ‘At a bank,’ he remembered, and she nodded. ‘But you had to have applied for that job before Friday afternoon, so you must have at least considered living in the house before.’

  ‘Not really. What I knew was that I needed to leave Miami. I didn’t care where I went.’

  ‘Because of Peter Combs.’

  An involuntary swallow. Her pulse had kicked up again. ‘Yes. I feared for my life.’

  ‘When did you decide to leave Miami?’

  ‘A month ago, although I’d been thinking about it for months before that. I wasn’t picky about where I went, so I applied for a lot of jobs online, all over the country. The bank job was something of a whim, truthfully. The listing jumped out at me because I’d just come home from Cincinnati after seeing my grandmother’s attorney. I met the job’s qualifications and it paid more than any of the other positions I was applying for. They interviewed me over Skype the following week, but I didn’t hear back from them again until they called me on Friday afternoon. By then I’d nearly forgotten about them.’

  ‘So you loaded up your Jeep and drove up the next day?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Who knew you were leaving on Friday?’

  ‘I already told you. No one except my father and stepmother, and they thought it was only for a few days, to meet with a realtor and sell the house.’

  ‘Why did they think that?’

  ‘Because my dad is recovering from a stroke. He assumed it and I . . . let him.’

  His brows shot up. ‘You mean you lied to him?’ he said mockingly, then immediately regretted it because her eyes filled with sudden tears.

  She swiped at them with the back of her bandaged hand. ‘To protect him. He knows about what Combs did four years ago.’ She touched the scar on her throat. ‘My dad never left my side while I was in the hospital. But he doesn’t know about the stalking. Combs was paroled a few weeks after my dad had his stroke. I knew it would upset him, so I didn’t tell him.’

  Chastised, Deacon found a packet of tissues in his coat pocket. ‘They’re crumpled, but unused.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She dabbed at her eyes, letting out a teary laugh. ‘I keep expecting robotic arms to pop out of your coat pockets like Inspector Gadget. What else do you have hidden?’

  He grinned, relieved to hear her laugh. ‘I’ve been compared to a lot of cartoons, but never Gadget.’ He leaned back, watching her. ‘You’ll have to tell him you’re living here sometime.’

  ‘He knows now. I called him while I was driving to the house tonight and told him that I was relocating, but I didn’t tell him why. I just said I needed a change. Please don’t contact him about any of this. He might not survive it and I would never forgive myself.’

  He wished he could tell her what she wanted to hear. ‘I said I wouldn’t lie to you, Faith. You know better than to ask me for that. If I need to talk to him, then I will, but I won’t unless I must. It’s the best I can do. When was Combs paroled?’

  She went still, the fear in her eyes giving way to a fiery rage that took him aback, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore. ‘December first, a year ago, at 2.15 in the afternoon. At 6.30 that night, he was shopping for vegetables in my neighborhood Publix.’

  Sonofabitch. It was all he could do not to snarl. ‘That wasn’t a violation of his parole?’

  A muscle in her jaw twitched. ‘No.’

  He needed to find out why, but the look on her face told him it would be better to come back to it later. ‘You must have been scared,’ he said calmly, hoping to soothe her.

  She actually snarled at him. ‘Y’think? He’d show up outside the dry cleaner’s, the bank, doctor’s appointments, even my hair salon, for God’s sake. He joined my gym and I’d find him watching me from across the weight room. From the floor when I was climbing the rock wall. He’d come up behind me when I was running on the track and just smile at me. He’d send me flowers and candy. It went on like that for months.’

  ‘Did you consider a restraining order?’

  ‘Of course I considered a restraining order!’ she hissed. ‘Why the fucking hell do you think I went to all the trouble of filing all those complaints? I’m not stupid, Agent Novak.’

  ‘I haven’t thought that for a single moment, Faith.’

  She took a deep breath and then continued. ‘To answer your question, I did get a restraining order. A few weeks later, I’d gone out to dinner with my boss and some people from work. Came out of the restaurant and got in my car, then Combs walked up and got into his – the one parked right next to me. When I filed the complaint that he’d violated the TRO, he told the police that he didn’t know I’d be there, that his girlfriend had sent him to the drugstore to pick up her prescription. The girlfriend excuse checked out.’

  Sonofabitch. ‘What happened to his wife – the mother of the girl he molested
?’

  ‘She found another man while Combs was in prison and divorced him.’

  ‘Poor guy. My heart bleeds.’

  Faith sighed. ‘She never got her daughter more therapy after the court mandate was no longer in effect. She’d moved in with someone else the day after Combs was sentenced.’

  That she knew the family’s business struck him as odd, but he pocketed that for later, too. ‘What kind of car does Combs drive?’

  ‘Nissan Sentra, red. It’s registered to his newest girlfriend.’ She grabbed his pad and wrote down the license plate number. ‘I know it by heart.’

  ‘Give me a minute.’ Deacon texted the information to Bishop, Adam, and Crandall, then put out a BOLO for the vehicle.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked warily, leaning over to look at his phone.

  Giving him a perfect view of what lay under her sweater. His heart skipped a beat, then thudded to beat all hell. Rounded breasts swelling above black lace. Creamy white skin. Soft, he thought. Her skin would be so soft. And he needed to look away. Now.

  With an effort, he did so, turning his phone so that it captured her attention for the moment it took to get his racing pulse under control. ‘Putting out a BOLO on Combs’s car.’

  She looked up at him, genuinely confused. ‘Why?’

  ‘Just in case he followed you, or might follow you later.’ Or followed you before. That Combs was involved in this case was still not out of the realm of possibility. ‘We’ll do our best to keep your name out of the press, but it’s going to happen sooner or later.’

  She returned to her chair, sitting back with a rigid control that clearly broadcasted her fear. ‘I know. I knew it as soon as I called 911 tonight.’

  Yet she’d called anyway. She wasn’t guilty. Deacon’s gut and brain were in complete agreement. ‘We need to find out how he knew about your schedule. Do you store your calendar on your phone?’

  ‘I did. But my phone was always with me.’

  Deacon gave her a rueful smile. ‘These days it doesn’t matter. If he hacked into your phone, he’d know everything about you.’

  ‘He hacked . . .? I never even . . .’ She paled. ‘He could have been tracking me all this time. Dammit. That was so stupid of me. He was a programmer too. Why didn’t I see that?’