Closer Than You Think

by Karen Rose

  ‘Only if they’d been twelve-year-old mothers themselves,’ Bishop said.

  ‘When does Sophie start scanning the basement floor?’ Deacon asked Tanaka.

  ‘In the morning,’ Tanaka said. ‘I’ll tell her that we may be missing a victim.’

  Deacon turned to his to-do list. ‘All right, guys. Let’s get this done so we can all go home and get some sleep. On my list: find out how he got the kid’s knife, find Henson the Third, get sketches of the mystery lady and Roza.’ He looked through his notes. ‘Did Crandall run a list of properties owned by Jeremy O’Bannion?’

  ‘He did,’ Isenberg said. ‘Jeremy’s listed as owning only the house in Indian Hill.’

  ‘Damn,’ he muttered. ‘The other loose end we had was checking to see how our killer got from Cincinnati to Miami and back on Saturday to tamper with Faith’s old car. Combs’s face isn’t showing up in any of the Bureau’s facial recognition checks. I’m adding Jeremy, Stone and Herbie Three to the list of faces to search for.’ He sighed heavily. ‘And we need to begin notifying the victims’ families.’

  ‘I’ll make a plan for this,’ Isenberg said. ‘We’ll share the burden.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Deacon said quietly.

  Adam cleared his throat. ‘I’ll take care of finding Faith a new safe house.’

  Everyone around the table was clearly stunned. You will? seemed to be the unspoken consensus. The tangible apprehension pouring off of Deacon didn’t help. ‘You don’t have to do that,’ he said. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  ‘I’ve worked Homicide for years,’ Adam said mildly. ‘I can locate safe shelter for one person. I already have a place in mind. I just have to make sure that it’s not currently in use.’

  ‘All right,’ Deacon said. ‘Go home and sleep. Everyone work their to-do items in the morning and we’ll reconvene at oh-nine-hundred.’

  ‘Lynda, how are you going to notify Roxanne Dupree’s family?’ Bishop asked as she rose and gathered her things. ‘We could ask Vega to—’

  Faith’s heart stuttered. ‘Wait. Did you say Roxanne Dupree? From Miami?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bishop said, sharing an uncertain glance with Deacon. ‘Do you know her?’

  No, no. Don’t let it be her. Her hands shaking, Faith ran to the bulletin board and took down the photo of Roxanne Dupree. Her eyes stared out from the photo, lifeless. She’s dead.

  ‘She’s mine,’ she whispered, her knees buckling. Oh God. No. No. ‘She’s one of mine.’

  Cincinnati, Ohio, Wednesday 5 November, 1.50 A.M.

  Deacon rushed to catch Faith as she crumpled, but wasn’t in time. Her knees hit the floor with a sickening thud, but she didn’t seem to notice as she stared at the photo she clutched in her shaking hands.

  Gently he pulled her to her feet, guided her back to her chair. ‘What do you mean, she’s yours? Faith?’ He went down on one knee beside her, looked up into her devastated face.

  ‘Goddamn you, you sonofabitch,’ she whispered brokenly, her eyes still frozen on the picture. ‘She was making it. She was going to be all right. Now she’s dead. Because of me.’

  Deacon took the photo from her hands and gave it to Isenberg, who looked as helpless as he felt. Her hands now empty, Faith wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself as she rocked in place. No tears flowed. Her eyes were completely dry. But empty.

  Which was somehow far worse than wrenching sobs. Alarmed, Deacon rubbed her back gently. ‘No, not because of you.’

  ‘Then who?’ she whispered, sounding so lost. Slowly she turned her head to meet his gaze. ‘Who, Deacon? If not me, then who?’

  Her eyes were dry, but Deacon’s stung. ‘He’s evil, Faith. You know that evil exists.’

  ‘When does this stop? How do I make him stop?’

  ‘You don’t,’ Deacon said. ‘We do.’

  She shook her head as if he hadn’t said a word. ‘How many more people have to die? Maybe I should just . . .’ She closed her eyes. ‘I don’t want to die. But I can’t live with this.’

  Fear sliced through his heart. ‘No way. You are not giving yourself up.’

  ‘I know. But I just want him to stop.’ Her eyes opened, still dry. Now haunted. ‘How did he know she was mine?’

  ‘That’s a damn good question,’ he said.

  Bishop knelt on the other side of Faith’s chair. ‘Who was she? How was she yours?’

  ‘She came to me when she was sixteen, and so damn brave. She’d been molested by her father for four years. Her mother accused her of lying and threatened to throw her out if she told anyone else. But Roxie was going away to college, leaving her eleven-year-old sister behind. She couldn’t let her father start up with her sister, so she reported him. Her father was convicted, but not jailed like she’d hoped. Because it was his first offense,’ she added bitterly.

  Deacon exhaled wearily. ‘Probation only. And court-ordered therapy with you.’

  ‘Yes. Roxie was devastated. Her sister was still in danger. Her father was just biding his time until Roxie was out of the house. Her mother was in denial so deep . . . and blaming Roxie because he wasn’t allowed to live with them during the time he was in counseling.’

  ‘What did you do, Faith?’ Bishop asked softly.

  ‘I gave her a micro-camera. Told her where to plant it in her sister’s room, then to pretend to spend the night with a friend, but hide in her sister’s closet. To text me when her father came into her sister’s room, then call 911 and break out of the closet to stop him – with the operator still on the line so she could hear what was happening.’

  ‘Where were you?’ Isenberg asked.

  ‘In my car, right across the street with my telephoto lens. And my gun. Roxie did everything I said, but her father grabbed her phone, hung up on 911 and ran. I got his picture as he was running out the front door, zipping his pants. When the cops came for him, he claimed the girls were lying. But Roxie had video from the hidden camera. My friend Deb was the arresting officer. I sent her the photo of him leaving the house – anonymously, but she figured out what I’d done. It was the first case we worked on together. He got three years.’

  ‘And when he got out?’ Isenberg asked.

  ‘Wife still in denial. Younger daughter sleeping with a butcher knife under her pillow. First night home, Dad sneaks into her room and ends up dead.’ Now her eyes filled. Spilled. Quiet tears. ‘Roxie had a lot of lingering issues – drinking, indiscriminate sex. Shoplifting trinkets. But she was working on them in therapy.’

  ‘You were her therapist?’ Bishop asked.

  ‘Before her father went to jail. She was seeing a counselor at the college. I was just her friend. She always called me when she got in trouble, and I’d go bail her out.’

  ‘You paid her bail?’ Adam asked in disbelief. ‘With your own money?’

  Deacon blinked, startled. He’d all but forgotten that Adam was there.

  Faith shrugged again. ‘Used my alimony. Knew it would piss Charlie off. Double bonus.’

  Deacon had also all but forgotten she’d been married. What kind of man had her ex been that he let her get away? Luckily for Deacon, Charlie Frye was apparently a stupid man.

  And then a thought occurred, making him ill. Roxanne Dupree had just been released from jail when she disappeared. ‘When was the last time you bailed her out?’ he asked.

  ‘It was the day after the white van tried to run me off the bridge, so three weeks ago.’

  Bishop closed her eyes for a moment, then sighed. ‘Where did you drop her off?’

  Faith’s hands froze, then slowly lowered to her lap, her eyes wide. Horrified anew. ‘No. No.’ She shook her head. ‘Tell me I did not lead him to her. Tell me.’ When they said nothing, a spasm of pain contorted her face. She dropped her chin to her chest and wept silently.

  Breaking Deacon’s heart. He rose slowly, feeling five hundred years old. He stroked her hair as he looked around the room and saw understanding in the eyes of the team. They knew what she’d do
ne. And why.

  In Adam’s eyes he also saw shame. And respect. ‘You worked both sides of the fence, didn’t you?’ he said quietly. ‘You helped put Combs away. That’s why he hates you so much.’

  ‘If she did, she might lose her license,’ Deacon said, his voice sharp.

  Adam shook his head. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell.’

  Isenberg blew out an unsteady breath. ‘None of this leaves this room.’

  Tanaka blinked several times. ‘None of what, Lynda?’

  Isenberg nodded. ‘Get her out of here, Deacon. And figure out who’s behind this before she does something stupid, like give herself up.’ Drawing a deep breath, she left the room.

  ‘I will,’ Deacon promised, still stroking Faith’s hair. She continued to weep, still silently.

  Adam hung back when the others had left. ‘When did she tell you?’ he asked.

  ‘Late last night, when I took her to the ER.’

  ‘But somehow you knew earlier. I’m sorry, Deacon.’ He turned to Faith and put his hand gently on her shoulder. ‘And Faith, I . . . forgive me. I didn’t know.’

  She didn’t lift her head, but managed a small nod.

  Adam gathered her laptop case and overnight bag along with the box he’d brought with him earlier. ‘I have a safe place for her to stay. I’ll text you the address and meet you there.’

  Deacon looked his cousin in the eye, daring Adam to say he planned to stay the night with them. Adam lifted one black brow. ‘I’ll meet you there to give you the key and show you the security system,’ he clarified.

  ‘Thank you,’ Deacon said and waited for Adam to leave. Then he pulled Faith to her feet and into his arms, holding her tight as she wept for a young woman who’d escaped one monster only to be killed by another.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Cincinnati, Ohio, Wednesday 5 November, 2.30 A.M.

  ‘Wow.’ Deacon looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the view of the city below. Adam’s safe place was a penthouse on the top floor of a high-rise on the river. Apparently it belonged to a corporate bigwig who was currently on assignment in Southeast Asia. The man’s daughter had been kidnapped and Adam had been the one to bring her home safely and bring her kidnapper to justice. Grateful for her safe return, he’d offered his condo for the department’s use while he was away if they should ever need it. Adam had contacted the man, who had agreed to let Faith stay there.

  Deacon turned from the city lights to Faith, who sat on a sofa, her shoulders pitched forward, her head hanging low, her grief-ravaged face hidden by a waterfall of thick red hair. Her hands neatly folded in her lap, she hadn’t moved a muscle since he’d put her there ten minutes before.

  She was hiding from him, there in plain sight.

  ‘The fridge is stocked,’ Adam said, coming out of the kitchen. ‘Toiletries in each bathroom. Anything that isn’t in a locked cabinet is yours for the taking.’ He handed a set of keys to Deacon. ‘The elevator is keyed only to come straight to this floor from the parking garage in the basement. No one should bother you. Isenberg’s got a uniform by the elevator in the garage and one by the stairwell door, just in case.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Deacon tore his attention from Faith to meet his cousin’s dark eyes. ‘Are we okay, Adam? You and me?’

  Adam swallowed hard. ‘Yeah. I’ve been a dick and I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘It’s forgotten.’ Deacon pulled him close for a hard hug, slapping him on the back. ‘Go home. See your mother. And if you want to tell me what happened, I’ll be around.’

  ‘I’m glad. We’ve missed you, Dani and I. See you tomorrow morning.’ Adam looked at Faith, then lowered his voice. ‘There are ice packs in the freezer if she wants one for her face.’ Without waiting for a reply, he jogged to the door and let himself out.

  For a moment, there was only silence, heavy and tense.

  ‘An ice pack would be nice,’ Faith murmured from behind her hair. ‘I must look a fright.’

  Deacon brought her one, then, before she could protest, lifted her in his arms and settled them both into the corner of the sofa, her body tucked up against him, his hand curving over her round bottom to keep her close. His body immediately responded, but she didn’t pull away.

  He tipped her chin up, but she covered her face with the ice pack. Undeterred, he kissed the top of her head. ‘You cried because you care. How can I see you as anything but beautiful?’

  She rested her head against his shoulder. ‘My head hurts. My heart, too.’

  ‘I know.’ He tugged the ice pack away from her face. ‘You’ll get freezer burn,’ he teased, and was rewarded with a hiccuped laugh. ‘You are the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, so please don’t hide from me.’

  She searched his face. ‘What are we going to do, Deacon?’

  ‘Right now, we’re going to sleep. I’m so tired I can’t think straight, and I know you are too. Come with me.’ He stood, letting her slide down his body until her feet hit the floor. He wasn’t so selfish that he’d expect sex after what she’d been through, but he wanted her to know exactly what she did to him. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he took her to the bedroom, where Adam had placed her Hello Kitty overnight bag.

  ‘Arms up,’ he said brusquely, and proceeded to undress her down to her panties. Biting back his lust, he pulled the blanket aside. ‘Get in.’

  He tucked her in, unable to resist stroking the silky skin of her back before he drew the covers up to her neck, determined to walk away and sleep in the next bedroom. Otherwise he’d never be able to keep his hands off her.

  A little moan escaped her throat. ‘That felt good. Can you do it again?’

  ‘Sure.’ I am a goddamned saint, he thought, gritting his teeth as he toed off his shoes. He climbed on to the bed, torturing himself by straddling her so that her bottom brushed against his now painfully hard erection. He tugged the blanket down to bare her back and massaged her with long, deep strokes that had her sighing.

  Her sighs grew quieter, her body still as she finally fell asleep. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the blanket up to her neck and climbed off the bed, taking care not to wake her.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she mumbled just as he got to the door.

  He didn’t turn around. ‘To sleep in my own room.’

  ‘Why? Don’t go. Please stay.’ He heard the sheets rustle and couldn’t help but picture all that beautiful creamy bare skin. ‘Sleep here. With me.’

  ‘I can’t. I can’t be that close to you and not touch you.’

  ‘I know. Come to bed with me, Deacon.’

  His pants hit the floor in a jingle of change. He didn’t even remember lowering the zipper, but he was climbing into bed beside her wearing only the black silk boxers with little red flames that he’d pulled on that morning. When he’d taken the comfort she’d offered. He pulled her back against his chest, wrapping one arm around her waist.

  And forgot how to breathe when she moved his hand up to cover her breast. His heart was beating so hard it was all he could hear. He leaned up to look at her face on the pillow. Her lips were parted, her breathing deep and even. She was nearly asleep already, so he took the opportunity to simply look at her. So damn pretty.

  He didn’t know how many seconds ticked by as he watched her sleep. She’s finally calm. Finally unafraid. Her brow was smooth, unfurrowed with worry and guilt. He wanted this for her waking hours, wanted her to be completely unafraid. He had to stop this monster. Before she did something stupid. Isenberg was right. Too many more victims on her conscience and Faith would give herself up, just to make it stop.

  Not on my watch. He’d figure it out. He had to. He’d just found her. I won’t lose you now. Pressing a kiss to her shoulder, he snuggled behind her and let his mind disconnect.

  Eastern Kentucky, Wednesday 5 November, 6.45 A.M.

  He took the S-curves at a decent clip, appreciating the way the pickup truck grabbed the roads. He’d never been the pickup type and wou
ld never have chosen the vehicle. It was the owner he’d targeted as she’d come out of the hospital. She’d been in her fifties, wearing a designer suit that had probably cost more than the truck. And she was lightweight. She couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds.

  Light enough to pick up and toss in the backseat after he’d come up behind her, clamped one hand over her mouth and slit her throat with the other.

  But even though she’d been wealthy, she’d been too greedy to pay for parking in a lighted area, and that had been her downfall. When he’d first followed her, he’d expected her to drive a classy sedan or SUV. He hadn’t expected her to walk up to the big King Cab truck.

  According to the Facebook profile she’d left open on her phone, she owned a barn full of fancy horses and had just become a grandmother, which was why she’d been at the hospital all night. The truck was deluxe, with all the bells and whistles. He’d have liked to keep it, but a vehicle like this would be noticed, especially in his neighborhood. So he’d get the job done and ditch it.

  He stopped in front of the cabin, almost sorry he’d already arrived. He got out . . . and went still. The door was open. He’d closed it. He’d locked it. He was sure he had.

  Leaving the truck door open in case he needed a quick escape, he pulled the gun from his waistband and approached carefully. He opened the door. And felt his heart stop.

  The floorboards had been pulled up and tossed in a pile. The bodies had been discovered. He crept inside, listening for any sound of a trap. But there was only silence, deep and oppressive. He aimed the beam of his flashlight into the ground. The bodies had been unearthed, head to waist. The Earl Power logo was clearly visible on the power tech’s jacket.