She couldn’t lift her if she struggled, so she gritted her teeth and Tased her again. Louisa went still, and Caitlin hefted her over her shoulders, then began limping toward her star. She could hear sirens in the night. The police were here somewhere. Probably the fire department, too. All she had to do was keep going until someone found her. A sudden thought clouded her mind. What if no one did? Who could find her in a maze, when she didn’t even know where she was herself. Then a light appeared, and near it, another. Not stars but flashlights, on either side of her, dancing in the night.
“Caity!”
She heard his voice and cried out with all her might. “Over here, Spense, we’re over here!”
And then he was beside her. Asking no questions, he grabbed Louisa and dumped her over his own shoulder. “Haul ass.”
“I hate to disappoint you,” Caitlin huffed to Louisa’s limp form, as she hustled after Spense and the Uniform who appeared from behind him. “But you are not going to die in a cornfield. You’re going to die in prison, after standing trial for conspiracy to murder Gail Falconer.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tuesday, October 1
Superior Court Building
Phoenix, Arizona
CAITLIN GLANCED AROUND the first-floor conference room in the Superior Court Building. Nothing about the cream-colored walls, unadorned save for a photograph of the governor, sturdy table and chairs, and fluorescent lighting hinted of the drama that had taken place here a month ago. Spense motioned for her to take a seat, and she pictured Harvey Baumgartner sitting across from her, speaking to her like an old friend. A shiver ran across the backs of her knees. “No thanks, I think I’ll stand if you don’t mind.”
He arched a disapproving brow. During her struggle with Louisa, her wound had dehisced, requiring surgical repair and a transfusion. But that was a week ago. She’d been out of the hospital two days already and now considered herself good as new . . . or at least capable of standing for more than a few minutes at a time. He narrowed his eyes at her, and she returned the glare.
That made him grin. “Okay, okay. Stand if you want.” He crossed to her and took her hand. “Sorry to bring you back here.”
The DA wanted to meet with them, and given her packed schedule, this had been the most convenient spot for her. Caitlin’s fingers entwined with Spense’s, and she gave him a full-on smile. “It’s no problem.” In fact, if anything, returning to this room might be good for her. She didn’t want to give an ordinary room the power to make her feel frightened or small. She didn’t want to give any person or place that kind of power. Closing her eyes, she drew in a fortifying breath, then slowly released it.
“Spense . . .” He tugged on her hand, pulling her closer, and she could feel the heat wafting from his body. If she wanted to lay her head on his chest, feel his heart beat against her ear, all she had to do was take one more step. “Do you think Elizabeth and Deejay will stay long with your mother?”
“Mom’s got them both enrolled in school again. They’re up to their eyeballs in homework and cookies, and I think the plan is for them to stay awhile.”
Caitlin nodded. With Spense’s mom, Elizabeth and Deejay would get the kind of motherly affection they’d never had before, and she felt better knowing someone was around to reach those high boxes. The girls’ needing a place to stay might turn out to be the best thing that could’ve happened to all of them.
“Is that what you’re thinking about? I figured you’d have your mind on Louisa.”
Lately, just the sound of his voice made warmth spread out from her solar plexus. What she’d really been thinking about was taking that last step. The one that would put Spense in her world for real. It’d just been easier to ask about the girls instead. “Dizzy’s doing really well, too,” she offered, though she knew Spense had seen her yesterday—and just about every day since he’d carried her out of that burning cornfield. Caitlin had found Dizzy a spot in an intensive, outpatient, counseling program, one where her mother could participate, too, and the initial report from her therapist was encouraging.
“Caity, why are we making small talk?” His gaze swept over her in the most unnerving way.
Apparently, Spense wasn’t going to let her keep avoiding the issues between them. “I’m sorry. The DA should be here any minute, what else did you want to talk about?”
“Tahiti.” He lifted her hand, joined with his, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “You promised to consider coming away with me once this was all over. And doll, it’s all over.”
She swallowed hard, imagining lying beside Spense on the warm sand. Sliding her hands up and down his body while they played in the surf. She looked up at Spense and found he’d been waiting to meet her gaze. His irises deepened to the most intense shade of amber, and he looked at her the way a man does the moment before he enters you. She drew in a sharp breath at the unbidden thought, but it was true. In this moment, Spense concealed nothing from her. And she wanted to conceal nothing from him. She took that last step and laid her head over his heart, felt the beat, so strongly against her ear. “Yes. I’ll go to Tahiti with you.”
“Thank God.” His voice came out in a low growl, and he pressed against her. Titling her chin up, he bent his head to hers. His lips brushed over her eyelids, then her cheeks, and, finally, her mouth. She wrapped her arms about him and tiptoed up, pulling his mouth down hard against hers, opening for him, wanting to taste and touch and feel him inside her.
Just then, she heard the click of heels down the hall and quickly pulled away, smoothing her hair into place as Gretchen Herrera entered the room. “The DA can’t make it. But I’ve got news from her and from the BAU.”
As usual, Gretchen got straight to the point.
“What from the DA?” Spense asked. Caity had been on edge ever since they got the request for a meeting, and Spense was putting her needs first.
“She’s offered a deal to Louisa Baumgartner, and it appears she’ll take it.”
Gretchen’s words dumped over Caitlin like a bucket of ice. There wasn’t going to be a trial. Louisa Baumgartner wasn’t going to face a jury of her peers. “But she will be held accountable?” Caitlin finally managed.
Gretchen waved a hand in the air. “Of course. The death penalty has been taken out of play, that’s all. Louisa knows where the bodies are buried. Literally. According to Louisa, Harvey Baumgartner killed five women, and the DA thinks it’s worth it to bring closure to the families of these missing girls to offer Louisa a deal. It’s a good trade.”
“I’m sorry, Caity, but I have to agree,” Spense said in a hushed voice.
Closure for the families. Mutely, Caitlin nodded. Of course it was the right thing to do. “What about Gail Falconer?” she immediately thought not just of herself and her mother but of Randy Cantrell.
“It’s in the deal. The DA is recommending your father’s conviction be vacated. Louisa will plead guilty to conspiracy in the Falconer case, the murder of her own husband, and Judd Kramer. She’s also pleading guilty to the murder of Junior and the man she poisoned in that cornfield.” Gretchen leaned forward. “And do you remember that courthouse janitor found dead of a heroin overdose?”
Spense planted his hands on the table. “That was Louisa, too?”
Gretchen shot him a look that conveyed admiration. “Sure was. It was just like you originally suspected. The janitor brought that gun into the courthouse piece by piece and left it hidden for Silas Graham. Louisa targeted that particular worker because he had an expensive habit, and she’d known he wouldn’t be able to resist a bribe.” She turned back to Caitlin. “I know it’s overwhelming, but if you think about it, at least this way she’s going away for life. There are a lot of arguments that a clever attorney could make on Louisa’s behalf, including painting her as the victim of an abusive husband. And there are some jurors who might secretly think she
did the world a favor by getting rid of Labyrinth.”
“What about Annie Bayberry? Is Louisa pleading to conspiracy in that case, too?”
“No. She claims Junior murdered Annie entirely on his own. After the courthouse shootings, he replicated the Falconer case and planted Gail’s ring on the body as a tribute to his dead father. He wanted to “honor” his father’s first kill. Louisa supposedly knew nothing about it until after the fact, then she was furious with her son when she found out what he’d done.”
Spense grimaced. “Tell me the deal is life without parole.”
Gretchen nodded. “Life without parole. She’s never getting out, Caitlin.”
Relief welled inside her and something else, too. She felt her eyes brimming with emotion, and she started to blink hard, pushing down the feelings that threatened to break loose. Spense put his hands on her shoulders and turned her body to his. “Don’t Caity. You don’t have to shut down, this time. You’re among friends.”
She looked from Spense to Gretchen and back again. The tears fell slowly at first, then began falling furiously down her face, but she didn’t try to stop them. She was among friends. She stepped close to Spense, and his arms tightened around her.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been crying before Gretchen finally cleared her throat. Caitlin wound down and accepted the tissue Gretchen held out to her. Unapologetically, she blew her nose, then said, “Thanks, I needed that. You said you had news from the BAU?”
Gretchen eyed Spense. “Yes. I heard you put in for leave, but . . .”
“I need the leave.” He shook his head violently, and Caitlin knew he was thinking of her and their plans.
Knowing they’d have time in the future, she swallowed her disappointment. She wasn’t letting go of Special Agent Atticus Spenser anytime soon. “It’s okay, Spense, if you’re needed back in Virginia—”
“Not Virginia,” Gretchen interrupted. “Los Angeles.”
“Hollywood?” Interest lit his eyes, and Caitlin could see he had some idea of what Gretchen was about to say.
“The locals sent up a distress signal. They’re looking for assistance with the Walk of Fame Killer, and the BAU figured since you’re the closest profiler, you might as well have a look.” Gretchen’s lips quirked into a smile. “It was my idea to have Caitlin assist, too. They’re expecting you both by the end of the week. If Caitlin is well enough and willing, I’ve got contracts for her to sign back at the field office.”
Caitlin could see by Spense’s expression he was conflicted. He wanted that vacation, and she did, too, but this was big. And they’d be working together. Grinning, she tugged her ear. He tugged his back.
Gretchen shook her head. “Geez, people. Get a better code, will you? A two-year-old could crack that. I presume this means you’ll do it?”
“We’re in,” they said at once. Then Spense offered his hand to Caity, and she took it, holding on tight for a partners’ shake.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the real FBI profilers whose lives inspired this series. For forensic, procedural, and other technical advice, I’d like to thank Angela Bell and the FBI Office of Public Affairs, Randi Woods, RN; Nancy Flovin, RNC; Sergeant Alan Goodman, Elizabeth Heiter, the Crime Scene Writer’s loop, Lee Lofland and all the instructors at the Writers’ Police Academy, especially my ride-along instructor, Deputy Michael Eckard; all my mistakes are my own.
Thank you to my family, Bill, Shannon, Erik, and Sarah. You guys are my everything. Thank you to the women who keep me going, inspire me and help me not only in my writing but in my life, Courtney Milan, Leigh LaValle, and Tessa Dare. Thanks to the many others who share their brilliance and offer support, Brenna Aubrey, Sarah Andre, Diana Belchase, Manda Collins, Lena Diaz (with a special shout out for all her emergency brainstorming help and overall plotting genius), Rachel Grant, Krista Hall, Gwen Hernandez, and Sharon Wray.
Finally thank you to my wonderful agent, Nalini Akolekar, and to my amazing editor, Chelsey Emmelhainz, who manages to keep me on my toes and at the same time be a dream to work with.
Author’s Note
There is no Tempe University, Southwest Museum of Art, Good Hope Hospital, or Mountainside police precinct in Phoenix, Arizona. I’ve taken a writer’s liberty with these names. I’ve also taken care to use IP addresses that are not currently in use. If at some future date these become activated, they have no connection to any events in this work of fiction.
Ready for more suspense?
Don’t miss Carey Baldwin’s heart-pounding psychological thriller
CONFESSION
Available now wherever ebooks are sold.
An excerpt from
CONFESSION
Saint Catherine’s School for Boys
Near Santa Fe, New Mexico
Ten years ago—Friday, August 15, 11:00 P.M.
I’M NOT AFRAID of going to hell. Not one damn bit.
We’re deep in the woods, miles from the boys’ dormitory, and my thighs are burning because I walked all this way with Sister Bernadette on my back. Now I’ve got her laid out on the soggy ground underneath a hulking ponderosa pine. A bright rim of moonlight encircles her face. Black robes flow around her, engulfing her small body and blending with the night. Her face, floating on top of all that darkness, reminds me of a ghost head in a haunted house—but she’s not dead.
Not yet.
My cheek stings where Sister scratched me. I wipe the spot with my sleeve and sniff the air soaked with rotting moss, sickly-sweet pinesap, and fresh piss. I pissed myself when I clubbed her on the head with that croquet mallet. Ironic, since my pissing problem is why I picked Sister Bernadette in the first place. She ought to have left that alone.
I hear a gurgling noise.
Good.
Sister Bernadette is starting to come around.
This is what I’ve been waiting for.
With her rosary wound tightly around my forearm, the grooves of the carved sandalwood beads cutting deep into the flesh of my wrist, I squat on rubber legs, shove my hands under her armpits, and drag her into a sitting position against the fat tree trunk. Her head slumps forward, but I yank her by the hair until her face tilts up, and her cloudy eyes open to meet mine. Her lips are moving. Syllables form within the bubbles coming out of her mouth. I press my stinging cheek against her cold, sticky one.
Like a lover, she whispers in my ear, “God is merciful.”
The nuns have got one fucked-up idea of mercy.
“Repent.” She’s gasping. “Heaven . . .”
“I’m too far gone for heaven.”
The God I know is just and fierce and is never going to let a creep like me through the pearly gates because I say a few Hail Marys. “God metes out justice, and that’s how I know I will not be going to heaven.”
To prove my point, I draw back, pull out my pocketknife, and press the silver blade against her throat. Tonight, I am more than a shadow. A shadow can’t feel the weight of the knife in his palm. A shadow can’t shiver in anticipation. A shadow is not to be feared, but I am not a shadow. Not in this moment.
She moves her lips some more, but this time, no sound comes out. I can see in her eyes what she wants to say to me. Don’t do it. You’ll go to hell.
I twist the knife so that the tip bites into the sweet hollow of her throat. “I’m not afraid of going to hell.”
It’s the idea of purgatory that makes my teeth hurt and my stomach cramp and my shit go to water. I mean, what if my heart isn’t black enough to guarantee me a passage straight to hell? What if God slams down his gavel, and says, Son, you’re a sinner, but I have to take your family situation into account. That’s a mitigating circumstance.
A single drop of blood drips off my blade like a tear.
“What if God sends me to purgatory?” My words taste like puke on my t
ongue. “I’d rather dangle over a fiery pit for eternity than spend a single day of the afterlife in a place like this one.”
I watch a spider crawl across her face.
My thoughts crawl around my brain like that spider.
You could make a pretty good case, I think, that St. Catherine’s School for Boys is earth’s version of purgatory. I mean, it’s a place where you don’t exist. A place where no one curses you, but no one loves you, either. Sure, back home, your father hits you and calls you a bastard, but you are a bastard, so it’s okay he calls you one. Behind me, I hear the sound of rustling leaves and cast a glance over my shoulder.
Do it! You want to get into hell, don’t you?
I turn back to Sister and flick the spider off her cheek.
The spider disappears, but I’m still here.
At St. Catherine’s, no one notices you enough to knock you around. Every day is the same as the one that came before it, and the one that’s coming after. At St. Catherine’s, you wait and wait for your turn to leave, only guess what, you dumb-ass bastard, your turn is never going to come, because you, my friend, are in purgatory, and you can’t get out until you repent.
Sister Bernadette lets out another gurgle.
I spit right in her face.
I won’t repent, and I can’t bear to spend eternity in purgatory, which is I why I came up with a plan. A plan that’ll rocket me straight past purgatory, directly to hell.
Sister Bernadette is the first page of my blueprint. I have the book to guide me the rest of the way. For her sake, not mine, I make the sign of the cross.
She’s not moving, but her eyes are open, and I hear her breathing. I want her to know she is going to die. “You are going to help me get into hell. In return, I will help you get into heaven.”
I shake my arm and loosen the rosary. The strand slithers down my wrist. One bead after another drops into my open palm, electrifying my skin at the point of contact. My blood zings through me, like a high-voltage current. I am not a shadow.
Judgment Page 28
