She tried to roll over and find her pillow at the same time, but something was wrong. Not only could she not find her pillow, she wasn’t even in her bed. Oh, shit! I’m not in a bed at all and can’t move my arms or legs!
It took her a moment to realize her immobility came from her limbs being restrained, although that didn’t make her feel any better. In fact, it was really, really bad. Blinking several times, she tried to bring the surrounding area into focus. She was in a room with no windows. A bare bulb hung above her, and around her, against the walls were cabinets and shelves. It was a storage room of sorts, and she was laying on a table. Grace yanked on her arms and legs, but she was securely fastened with leather straps attached to chains. The rattling sent chills down her spine.
Panicking, she opened her mouth. “Help! Somebody, help! Please! Help!”
Tears overflowed onto her cheeks and she screamed her throat raw, but no one answered. The dryness in her mouth caused her to start coughing and she tried to clear her throat. How did I get here? Who brought me here and where are they now? And where the fuck is “here”?
Wherever “here” was, she hoped Sean or the police would find her—and soon. But how? Do they even know I’m missing?
Grace resumed her screaming and pulled at her restraints until her arms ached and her voice was hoarse. Her heaving chest hurt and her face was now wet from a combination of tears and sweat. Her body sagged against the hard table.
“Please, Sean,” she whispered into the ensuing silence. “Please be my hero and find me.”
* * *
Barreling into the pharmacy, Sean ignored the startled look on the faces of the employees and customers. Brian, Lynch, and Rafe, followed him. On the way there, after Brian had called the car behind them with their destination, the sheriff’s detective had thrown on his lights and sirens, then pulled in front of Sean’s Mustang to lead the way. Either way, the federal agent would have broken every traffic law to get to the pharmacy. They ended up making the ten minute ride from Whisper to Nags Head, near the hospital, in five minutes flat.
Gripping the photo printout a little too tightly, Sean vaulted over the counter to the pharmacist’s work area. The female pharmacist gasped in alarm and another woman who was probably a pharmacy tech let out a scream, but it was cut short when Sean shoved the picture in her face. “Who the fuck is this?”
“Sean,” Brian warned from the other side of the counter. “Easy.” He smiled at the tech who appeared to be in shock. “Ma’am, I’m State Investigator Brian Malone. Can you tell us who the man in the photo is?”
The calm voice did nothing to stop the woman from shaking from fear. Her eyes slowly went to Brian, Rafe, and Lynch, before returning to the scary man in front of her. Sean waved the picture in her face again, but bit back the words on the tip of his tongue. The pharmacist, who was less rattled at the sudden intrusion, stepped forward, put her hand on her coworker’s arm, and gently moved her out of the way so she could look at the photo. “That’s George.”
“George who?” Sean practically growled.
“Wallace. George Wallace. He’s a pharmacist here.” Her eyes went wide as she concluded whatever the reason they were looking for her coworker, it couldn’t be good. “Why are you asking?”
“Where does he live, ma’am?” Brian asked.
“I-I don’t know.” She turned to the other woman. “Sherry, do you know?”
A very pale Sherry just squeaked and shook her head violently.
The pharmacist turned back to Sean. “His address is on file in the office.” She pointed to the door behind him. “If you let me pass, I’ll get it for you.”
He gave her a curt nod and stepped aside, a little too close for comfort for Sherry, who flinched. Finally realizing he’d been scaring the shit out of her, he gave her a tense smile. “I’m sorry, but it’s a matter of life and death.”
An uncontrolled bobbing of her head was her only answer. Turning, he followed the pharmacist into a small office where she pulled open the top drawer of a filing cabinet and selected a folder toward the back. Pulling out the top page, she held it at an angle so she and Sean could both see the information. The others stood in a small hallway outside the open door because there was not enough room for them all.
The woman pointed to an address located in Nags Head. “610 Park Terrace, in the Forest Glen condominiums.”
Sean was about to thank her when something caught his eye. Another address was above that one and had been crossed out. “Did he move recently?”
“Yes. Well, a few months ago. He moved here from Pennsylvania when his aunt passed away about six months ago. From what I understand, her house needs a lot of renovations before it’s habitable, so he’s living in the condo until it’s done. He said he was doing it himself. That’s the address for the house, I believe.”
Pushing past the others, Sean said, “38 Pelican Lane, Manns Harbor. Brad, send units to the Forest Glen condos just in case, but my bet is on Manns Harbor.”
He prayed he was right. Grace’s life depended on it.
CHAPTER
22
George grumbled as he strode back up the driveway toward the detached garage. He’d been gone way longer than planned. Fucking, whiny bitch. First it was the fucking lightbulb. Next came a dripping faucet. Then she’d asked him to put her Easter decorations up in the attic. He’d been thisfuckingclose to shoving her up there with all the dusty boxes and locking the trap door shut.
Finally, he’d offered to take her garbage to the curb on his way out and she jumped at the chance not to have to bring it there herself. One of these days . . .
Oh, well. There were plenty of other things he could do this evening to rid Mrs. Pain-in-the-ass Pennington from his mind, and they all involved the slut currently waiting for him.
He entered the garage and relocked the door behind him. As he took the stairs two at a time, he sorted through his keys for the one to the next lock. When he opened the door, the bitch started screaming, “Help! Somebody! Help!”
Quickly slamming the door and locking it, he stormed over to her and slapped her across the face. “Shut up, slut!”
“Who-who are you? Why are you doing this?”
“I’m your worst, fucking nightmare,” he snarled. “And your last.”
The fear on her face was making him hard, but there were things he had to take care of first. Stepping over to a cabinet, he found the jar of pennies right where it should be. Each one was dated 1993—the year he’d killed his worthless excuse for a mother and turned his life around for the better. It had been fate when his next kill had propositioned him years later. Before he’d left the prostitute’s dead body in the dirty motel room she’d brought him to, a lone penny on the floor had caught his eye. When he picked it up and saw the year on it was 1993, he knew it was a sign that this was his calling in life, and placed it on her forehead. He’d been collecting them ever since, choosing the shiniest ones for his masterpieces.
“Please tell me why you’re doing this. If you’re going . . . going to k-kill me, I have a right to understand why.”
Her voice was trembling, but soft. She hadn’t shouted, but had spoken as if she were speaking to a small child. Pivoting slowly, George stared at the slut. She was still scared but wanted to know—wanted to understand. None of the sluts before her had ever said that to him. Oh, they’d screamed, “Why are you doing this?”, but never that they wanted to understand. He’d known she would be different than the others; she wasn’t a party girl. But she was still a slut. Maybe this one time, he would let his victim know why he was going to kill her and turn her into his next masterpiece.
* * *
Sean remembered his tactical training and parked a house away from the suspect’s. Lynch and a marked deputy’s car pulled up behind him. The occupants poured out of the vehicles and met next to the Mustang just as Sean’s cell phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he saw it was Matt Griffin, and answered it. “What?”
“
Judge Sellers says you have reasonable cause to search for Grace and nothing else. Don’t open anything or look anywhere she can’t be hidden. Everything else, you have to wait for an official search warrant or it’s inadmissible. Got it?”
Sean nodded even though the other man couldn’t see him. “Yeah, Got it.”
“I’m about five minutes out, but don’t wait for me.”
Disconnecting the call, he addressed the others. “Grace only. Everything else has to wait.” He pointed at the two uniformed deputies. “Go around back and don’t let him know you’re there. Check if anything is unlocked or if you can see in the windows, but don’t enter without my okay.”
The two men started up the neighbor’s drive and would cut through the backyard.
“Want to play dumb and ring the doorbell, or go in like gangbusters?” Rafe asked.
Sean was about to respond when a little voice sounded from behind him. “Excuse me.”
Turning around, he found a little, old lady peering up at him with wide eyes. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I live over there.” She pointed at the house directly across from Wallace’s. “Is everything all right?”
This could work to their advantage. “Ma’am, I’m Special Agent Sean Malone from the FBI. Do you know your neighbor across the street, Mr. George Wallace?”
“Of course. Such a nice man. He was just visiting with me. He’s always coming over to help me with the chores this old body can’t do anymore.” It was clear she thought the man was a saint. Her gaze bounced from lawman to lawman before going back to Sean. “Why do you ask?”
Sean ignored her question, fighting the urge to storm Wallace’s house and rescue Grace. They needed all the intelligence they could get to ensure Wallace didn’t escalate and kill her swiftly. The man liked to toy with his victims and if he’d been over at this woman’s house that meant he’d had very little time with Grace so far. “You say he was just over your house? When did he get there and how long ago did he leave?”
“Why, he was helping me for about a half hour and left just a few minutes ago. He took out my trash and then went into his garage. I think he has a workshop or something on the second floor since whenever he’s here, he’s either renovating the house or he’s in the garage.” Thank God for nosy neighbors! “Not sure why he’s renovating though, because Susan, his aunt—God rest her soul—kept the house updated and clean. And she had it decorated so beautifully and—”
Rafe stepped forward, interrupting the woman. “You’re sure he’s still in the garage, ma’am?”
“Yes. He only went in there a few minutes before you got here. As a matter of fact, I’m baking him a Bundt cake right now to thank him for all he does for me.”
If Sean had his way, Wallace wouldn’t be getting the Bundt cake—he’d be eating shit in prison or burning in Hell. “Thanks for your help, ma’am. Why don’t you head back inside? You don’t want that cake to get overcooked.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, you’re right. There’s nothing worse than the smell of burnt food. Now, don’t tell George I’m making it for him; I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“Our lips are sealed, ma’am.”
Any hope they had of her returning to her house was lost when she asked, “Why did you say you were looking for George again? He’s such a nice man. If you want, I could introduce you to him and—”
While she’d been rambling, another uniformed deputy arrived on the scene and Sean waved him over before interrupting the older woman. He spoke loud enough for the approaching man to hear him. “Ma’am, this deputy is going to need your contact information and has some more questions for you. He can do that inside your home so you can check on that cake, all right?”
“Oh . . .” She looked at the deputy and then back at Sean. “Of course, yes. Are you sure you don’t need me to introduce—”
“No, ma’am, we’ve got it covered. Thank you.” Sean gave his head a subtle tilt toward her residence. “Deputy, if you could take care of that, I’d appreciate it.”
The man coughed what sounded like “bullshit” into his fist then grinned. “Sure, no problem.”
As the woman was escorted away, the men started for Wallace’s property. They met the other uniformed deputies at the top of the driveway and before the two could report anything, Sean signaled that their target was in the garage. He gestured for them to head around the back of the small building in case there was a rear exit or windows. Brian quietly stepped over to the pedestrian door on the side of the building. The overhead doors were a last resort as lifting them would alert Wallace.
Finding the door locked, Sean’s brother pulled the small lock pick set from the inside pocket of his jacket. Everyone else pulled their weapons from their holsters. Brian had the lock undone in under a minute, then put away the pick and drew his own gun. As quietly as he could, he turned the knob and opened the door. Rafe and Sean tactically rounded the door jamb as if they’d been partnered for years. Weapons out in front of them, they scanned the interior of the garage. The white car Wallace had been driving earlier was parked on the far side, while in the closest parking spot was a gray Toyota Camry with damage to the front passenger side. Right where it had made contact with Sean’s body a few days ago.
Brian tapped Sean on the shoulder and pointed at a set of wooden stairs leading to the second floor, enclosed loft. A closed door called to them from the top of the stairs. Sean led the way, moving as fast as he dared without making a sound. When he reached the door, he tried the knob and found it locked. This time he was foregoing the lock pick route. Busting the door down would get them in a lot faster and hopefully shock Wallace to the point he’d freeze before he hurt Grace.
Taking a half step back, Sean shifted his weight onto his left leg and lifted his right foot.
* * *
Keep him talking, Grace. Give Sean a chance to figure out you’re missing and who has you. But how the hell is he going to figure out the serial killer is a mild-mannered pharmacist who wears a white coat at work? White is the color the good guys always wear, right? Just keep praying Sean puts it all together and rescues you in time! Keep the psycho talking. Fall back on your psychology training. It had been a required course; use it now! It’s the only chance you have to give Sean more time!
It had taken a few minutes of the man’s cruel face bouncing around her memory before she finally recognized him. She had no idea what his name was, but she was certain he was the pharmacist who she’d handed Sean’s prescription to a few days ago.
The man stared at her, hopefully mulling over her last question, so she repeated it. “Why are you doing this? Did I do something to make you mad? Did those other women? I’m sorry if I did. It was never my intention to insult or hurt you.” Try to get him to humanize you. See you as a good person and not someone he wants to kill. “My-my name is Grace, I’m a physical therapist. Did you know that?”
He tilted his head, and his eyes narrowed, like he was confused. But still he remained silent as he stared at her. Her eyes flitted to his hand and her gut clenched as she saw him slowly twirling a knife between his fingers. It was a Leatherman knife, like her father owned, similar to a Swiss army knife. Trying not to panic, she swallowed hard and her eyes went back to his. “I don’t even know your name.”
That seemed to catch him off guard. The confusion in his eyes deepened. “Why do you want to know my name?”
“I-I guess it’s-it’s habit, when I tell someone my name, I like to know theirs.”
“Hmmm. You’re not like the others.” He took a step forward, the knife still spinning between his fingers as if he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
“I-I’m not?”
“No. The others didn’t ask questions like you.” Another step toward her.
Grace’s arms ached from the position they were in and the struggling from before. Her chest hurt. Her heart was pounding so hard she was shocked he didn’t hear it. Her mouth was so dry, and she was surprised she hadn’t pe
ed her pants from the fear coursing through her veins. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “D-Does it bother you that I’m asking questions?”
“George. My name is George.”
“That’s a nice name, George.”
He snarled and she flinched. “Nice name? Nice name! It’s not a nice, fucking name! It’s a name that got me picked on in school! And did that bitch care she gave me a faggot name? No!” Spittle shot from his lips as his face turned red.
“I-I’m s-sorry!”
Taking another step forward, the rage on his face told Grace he was going to kill her no matter what. She’d fucked up. “You have no idea what sorry is! Sorry? That’s a fucking a laugh! Do you know what that slut did? How she sold herself for drugs while giving me spare change, telling me to go to the fucking movies while she fucked her johns? Then she’d be high as fuck when I got home and couldn’t even feed me! Instead of buying her own son food with her sex money, she just blew it up her fucking nose! That fucking cunt!”
His arm swung up, holding the knife high, and Grace screamed. This was it, she was going to die! A loud bang startled George as the door splintered open. Yelled orders, Grace’s shrieks, and George’s roars, were drowned out by the sound of gunfire. The man’s body jolted as the bullets entered his chest, and bright, red blood shot out of his back in spurts, soaking his shirt and the wall behind him. He teetered on unsteady legs for a second or two before collapsing in a heap on the floor. His lifeless eyes stared up at Grace.
“Grace! Grace! It’s me! Hush! You’re all right! Sh, baby!”
She hadn’t known she was still screaming, until Sean’s shouts finally reached her ears. Her body had also been thrashing uncontrollably, but now as her eyes met Sean’s, her movements eased, but she still shook.
Sean cupped her head in his hands, demanding she focus on him. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. I’m here.”
Suddenly her arms and legs were free and it was then she noticed Brian, Rafe, and Brad Lynch were in the room. She burst into tears as Sean helped her sit up. Placing an arm under her knees and another at her lower back, he lifted her in his arms. As she buried her face in his chest, he carried her out of the room.
The Devil's Spare Change 2 Malone Brothers Page 19
