“I hear ya. So . . .” Sean’s brow furrowed when his uncle’s words trailed off. The man was grinning and had a twinkle in his eyes.
“What?”
Dan shrugged not-so-innocently. “Nothing. Just wondering how things are going for you and Grace.”
“Oh, no.” Sean shook a finger at him. “Don’t start. At least, let me close this case before you and Bonnie start planning our wedding. Speaking of which, you two are spending a lot of time together lately. More so than usual.” He arched a questioning eyebrow. “Something you want to tell the rest of us?”
The man’s smile got even wider. Oh, yeah, there was something going on. “Well, since you asked, I’ve started courting Bonnie.”
A laugh burst from Sean’s chest—the first one since he’d been joking around with Grace that morning. “Courting? Do people still do that nowadays?”
“I don’t care what other people call it or do these days. I courted Annie, although it didn’t last long. We were married two months after we met.”
Sean knew that story well, but he couldn’t imagine going from just meeting someone to wedded bliss eight weeks later—even though that was basically what KC and Moriah had done, give or take a week. Apparently, back in the day, it wasn’t unheard of at all. In fact, his parents had only been “courting” three and a half months before they got engaged. But unlike Dan and Annie’s elopement, Tom and Megan Malone had done the church and reception thing after a six month engagement. “Well, good for you. I’m happy for both of you. But why now after all this time? Annie’s been gone for almost thirty years, and you and Bonnie have been good friends all along.”
This time, Dan shrugged. “I don’t know, to tell you the truth. Things just changed for the better between us, and I guess the time was right.”
“So when’s the wedding?” Sean teased.
“Don’t you turn the tables on me, boy. I’m getting all three of you married off before I can relax and settle down. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
“That’s calling the kettle black, old man.” He pushed off the car and clapped his uncle on the back. “Anyway, you and Bonnie have fun. Let me go get Grace and find out what she wants for dinner tonight.”
“I’m right behind you. She called a little while ago and asked me to bring over a wrench after I closed.” He pulled the tool out of his back pocket. “The hose for the washing machine is dripping a little.”
Sean pulled open the door to the business and Jinx rushed past him looking for one of his favorite humans. Grace’s receptionist had left at the end of her shift at 4:00 p.m., so there was no one sitting at the desk. The two men walked back to the therapy room and Sean glance around. The only people there were Tim and an older gentleman, who was in the process of buttoning up his dress shirt, getting ready to leave.
As Dan headed to the laundry room, Sean asked Tim, “Where’s Grace?”
The man pointed toward the back door. “She took the garbage out.” He checked the clock as if suddenly realizing more time had passed than he thought. “Shoot, but that was about ten minutes ago.”
Panicking, Sean set off at a dead run and slammed into the back door, throwing it open. His gaze went everywhere, hoping to find Grace was just talking to someone, having lost track of time. Jinx followed on his heels, and he heard Dan and Tim also come out behind him. Grace was nowhere in sight and her car was still parked in a space in the small lot.
“Grace!” he shouted, then pointed for Dan to head left while he went right, and for Tim to check the car. “Grace!”
Jinx made a beeline to the dumpster two stores down, sniffing like mad, seemingly understanding the urgency of the situation. The dog was the first one to spot the single, white, slip-on shoe Grace had been wearing earlier, and Sean’s heart and stomach sank when he saw it. Jinx sniffed the shoe, then whined and looked up at him in confusion. Leaving the shoe where it was, he pulled out his cell phone and found the number for the direct line to the on duty desk sergeant at the sheriff’s department. Fuck! Please let this be a nightmare or a joke. Please!
When the call was answered, he spoke with authority and a calm he didn’t feel. “This is Special Agent Sean Malone of the FBI. I need the sheriff and BCI to respond immediately to 113 Main Street in Whisper for a kidnapping by an unknown suspect. Grace Whitman, blonde female Caucasian, twenty-seven, last seen wearing khaki pants, navy blue, polo shirt. Abduction took place in the last ten to fifteen minutes, no description on a vehicle or suspect. Also contact Detective Brad Lynch and have him respond.”
After the sergeant confirmed the information, Sean disconnected the phone and turned to find his uncle looking pale and terrified. It was exactly how Sean felt. “Go be with Bonnie. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
His uncle gave him a stoic nod. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be praying for you both.”
“So will I.” I’m going to pray like the love of my life’s life depends on it. Because it does.
* * *
Pulling the car into the detached garage of his aunt’s home, George got out and shut the overhead door, blocking any view the neighbors might have. He hadn’t known his mother’s sister had ever existed until he was contacted by her lawyer after she’d passed away. The woman had never married and had no children, but her life had been far better than her sibling’s.
After years of disappointing her family left and right with poor decisions, George’s mother had run away from home at seventeen because she believed her dirtbag boyfriend loved her more than her parents had. That dirtbag had apparently been George’s sperm donor and had abandoned his girlfriend faster than he could take a dump when he found out the she was pregnant. Instead of returning to her prim and proper family for help, George’s mother had gone on welfare, and worked her way through a steady stream of johns and boyfriends. Luckily for her son, she hadn’t been into the heavy drugs of heroin and crack until a year or so after he was born.
Whereas his mother had always been a whiny bitch who hadn’t given a crap about anyone but herself, her sister had been a successful businesswoman with a nice, suburban home and an even nicer bank account. How she knew about George and why she hadn’t tried to find him before her death was a mystery that she took to her grave. All her lawyer had was George’s name, date of birth, and an address in Philadelphia where George and his mother had lived when he’d been in elementary school. His aunt had left instructions for a private investigator to be hired to find her only living heir upon her death. While part of him had been thrilled at his windfall, the other part hated the woman for not rescuing him from his crappy childhood.
Opening the trunk, he reached in and lifted the unconscious woman, carrying her up the stairs to the second floor. The large, windowless room had been the first thing he’d renovated in the house. He’d tripled the insulation in the walls, ceiling and floor, making it completely sound proof. It was now the place where the women he abducted became his masterpieces. No matter how much they screamed while he carved them, no one heard them but him; it was music to his ears. This was his playroom. The only one he hadn’t killed in this room since moving from Pennsylvania had been the bitch reporter. He hadn’t wanted to risk her telling anyone she was meeting him for the “exclusive,” and she didn’t deserve to be brought here after the names she’d called him.
The only thing that was still bothering him about this latest snatch was the cameras he’d seen at the firehouse after he’d driven by with his prize in the trunk. A reporter had been talking with some fireman in front of the station. It shouldn’t be a problem though, because there were several cars driving on the street at that time and he was just another person heading home from work or going out to meet some friends.
He dropped the slut unceremoniously onto a plank table in the middle of the room. She would be waking up soon, and he worked quickly to restrain her wrists and ankles. As he finished securing her, his cell phone chirped. One of the other things he’d added to the
house was a security system that he could control via his smartphone or computer. The alert was for someone ringing the bell at the front door of the house. Bringing up the picture of whoever was interrupting him, he rolled his eyes when an elderly neighbor from across the street appeared. Fucking pain in the ass. Every time she spotted him arriving at the house, she came over with some request for him to help her out—usually with something that needed to be repaired at her place. Whomever she’d bugged before him was probably thrilled she’d found someone else to annoy. Maintaining his friendly personae around her was getting harder every fucking day. He should just kill the bitch and end his misery.
The alert sounded again. The irritating bitch would continue pressing it until he answered the door—she must wait at her front window just watching for him to pull into the drive. Not worried about the slut screaming, he locked the door behind him and hurried down the stairs. Putting on his “nice neighbor” smile, he exited the garage through the pedestrian door and walked down the driveway instead of going through the house. “Mrs. Pennington? I’m over here.”
Turning away from the door where she’d been about to press the bell again, she looked at him in relief. “Oh, George. There you are. I hope I’m not bothering you.”
He fought the urge to roll his eyes or punch her in the face. “Well, I was kind of in the middle of something . . .”
Letting his voice trailed off, he hoped she would get the picture. No such luck.
“Oh, I’m sorry, but I was hoping you could just help me really quickly. My hallway light is out and I’m too old to climb up on a chair to change it. That, and I think I’m too short, even with the chair,” she added with a chuckle.
His laughter at her lame joke was forced and didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted her four-eyed, wrinkled face gone from his sight, but he’d worked hard to make the neighbors in the area think he was just a nice, quiet guy. He even had some of them bringing him dinner and baked goods. Meanwhile, a few had tried to set him up with their daughters, granddaughters, nieces, or friends, which he’d been able to get out of by conjuring up a long-distance relationship. The last thing he needed was anyone thinking he was rude or that something nefarious was going on behind his closed doors, and he still had some time before the slut woke up. “Sure, Mrs. Pennington. I’d be happy to help.”
CHAPTER
21
Everyone had swarmed to the scene as Sean’s panic and anger raged. He should have known . . . fuck! He should have fucking known the bastard would come after him again, and what better way than to take the woman he loved? But how the fuck had the killer known about Grace? Sean had been careful about being followed. He’d had one of the deputies check under his car a few minutes ago for a tracking device—nothing.
“Fuck!”
Brian startled next to him. “What?”
“This morning was a setup. It was more than him telling me he knew where I lived. My mind was all over the place as I drove over here this morning trying to think of how to tell Dan the house was a crime scene.” He ran a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to punch the brick wall of the building behind him. “Honestly, I don’t even remember the drive—the bastard could have been right on my ass, and I was so distracted I wouldn’t have even known it. This is my fucking fault! All of it!”
“Hey!” Brian grabbed him by the shoulders and got in his face. “This is not your fault, brother. It’s that fucking, psychotic asshole’s fault. Now fucking settle down and let’s think this through. Pull it the fuck together.”
As much as he didn’t believe Brian, Sean knew his last statement was what was needed. He could deal with the guilt of Grace’s kidnapping, later, after they found her—alive and unharmed. “All right. All right.” He glanced around. The deputies were questioning everyone they could find at the business and homes within a three block radius. The BCI techs were taking pictures and checking the dumpster and Grace’s car for any possible evidence. There were no fucking cameras in the alley, and none of the small businesses on either side of the street had security cameras outside, so they couldn’t even look for pictures of a car driving past or out of the alley. That was one of the drawbacks of small towns with very little crime.
“Got something!”
The two brothers turned and Griffin and Lynch joined them as Rafe came jogging down the alley, from the opposite direction of the dumpster, with a TV camera crew running behind him. An older gentlemen was shuffling along, trying to keep up with everyone. What the fuck?
Sean was just about to yell at the media sharks, but Rafe held up a hand to stop him. “We think we might have him on camera. Mr. Tomkins, here, lives down the side street. He was walking his dog and says he saw a man sitting in a white sedan at the end of the parking lot, but he didn’t think anything of it. Figured the guy was picking up a wife or girlfriend getting off of work.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t question him,” Mr. Tomkins said.
“It’s all right, sir,” Rafe assured the man before turning back to the others. “The camera crew was filming some footage at the firehouse, two blocks down, for the fundraiser they’re having next week. They were facing down the street toward Grace’s place, getting the firehouse, park, and businesses in the shot.”
Sean finally got it. “So we may have the guy driving past.”
“Yup.”
One of the two men from the news team held up a laptop so everyone could see and hit a button that started the video on the screen. “We get an exclusive out of this right?” His face fell when all five lawmen glared at him with the threat of impending death. “Can’t blame me for trying.” The video began inside the firehouse garage, and the guy hit a button, fast forwarding the video, then stopped. “This is the start of where the camera is pointing down the street.”
Rafe stepped to the side so Mr. Tomkins could get a better view. One minute passed. Two minutes. Several cars appeared on the screen and then disappeared again. The sound was muted so all they had was the video. Beside Sean, Brian tensed, and he knew his brother had seen what he’d also spotted. In the distance, a white car pulled out onto the street heading toward the camera. From that far away, it could have come from the driveway leading toward the rear parking lot they were now standing in, but they needed the witness to ID it without any coaching.
“That’s it!” Tomkins exclaimed. “That sure as hell looks like it.”
That was good enough for them to get an APB out on the car, but they couldn’t make out the driver or the license plate on the small screen. Sean held out his hand to the guy holding the laptop. “Let me have the disk. We need to get it to the lab for cleaning up the driver to see if we can ID him.”
The cameraman shook his head. “No need. I’ve got a setup in the van that’s pretty advanced. I can probably have it for you in about ten minutes.”
Everyone looked at Sean. Not only was he the lead federal agent on scene, it was his woman in peril. He nodded his head once. “Do it.”
After the cameraman ran back to the firehouse and drove the news van closer to the scene, Sean climbed into the back with the man while everyone else waited outside the sliding side door. There was scarcely enough room for Sean to be in there, and twice he’d banged his still tender shoulder on a low cabinet that hung behind the passenger seat. He was barely holding it together and fought the urge to yell at the guy to hurry up.
Working as fast as he could, the cameraman was typing on the keyboard, moving the mouse, turning dials, and flipping switches on a control board. Soon he had the image contained on the screen and began adjusting the pixels. An attempt to clear up the license plate so they could read it was a fail as it had been smeared with mud or something similar.
“Shit. Try the driver,” Sean instructed.
As the picture zoomed in on the driver and slowly became clearer, something niggled in Sean’s brain. Despite still being a little blurry, the driver looked familiar, but where the hell had he seen him before?
Turning to as
k Brian a question, Sean smacked his shoulder again and grunted in pain. Fuck! He could use a fucking painkiller after that impact. A lightbulb went off in his brain. “Holy shit!” His head whipped back to the screen, and he willed it to become clearer as the cameraman continued to fiddle with it. He knew he’d seen the guy before. Just one more adjustment and he’d be certain.
“What?” Brian asked, sticking his head in the van.
“Hang on.” Sean stared as the pixels danced once more and the picture of the driver came into focus. “Son of a fucking bitch! Can you print that?”
The cameraman nodded as his fingers flew over the keyboard. “Yeah, sure thing.”
The fifteen second wait for the photo to print was excruciating, and Sean ripped it from the console’s printer before the last few lines of pixels were added. Ignoring his throbbing shoulder, he jumped out of the van while everyone stared at him expectantly. He looked at the sheriff. “Have a deputy get names and a phone number for these guys. They’ll get their exclusive, but not before we get Grace back and nail this fucking bastard.” He glared at the other newsman. “Follow us, and you get nothing, understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
Pivoting, he pulled open the back door to Grace’s business. It was fastest way to get to his car out front, and Tim was still there to lock up. Brian was on Sean’s heels as Rafe and Lynch ran toward the latter’s department vehicle to meet them around front, clueless as to where they were going at the moment. Brian followed his brother out the front door. “You going to tell me who the hell that is and where we’re going?”
Sean yanked on his driver’s door. “We’re going to see a psycho pharmacist.”
* * *
Grace woke up in a fog to sheer silence. Her mouth felt like she’d swallowed a pound of cotton, and her head throbbed. What the hell did I drink last night to get a hangover like this? Heck, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been hungover.
The Devil's Spare Change 2 Malone Brothers Page 18
