When a Heart Stops

by Lynette Eason

  She hung up and climbed into Paul’s Jeep Cherokee. Then thought about what she was doing. She called Colton and got his voice mail. He and Dominic were probably together working on something and couldn’t be interrupted.

  Her fingers hovered over the 911 button she’d programmed. But if Camille’s father came back and saw the police there, Camille would suffer for it.

  What do I do? What do I do?

  The screen blinked. R U COMING? PLS SERENA, I’M SCARED.

  Serena set her jaw and sent up a prayer.

  YES. ON THE WAY.

  Dominic looked up to see Hunter followed by two federal agents escort a man in his fifties toward his office.

  His father.

  Not that the man deserved the title, but nevertheless, that’s the one he had. He gave a nod toward the conference room. “More privacy.”

  Hunter nodded and escorted them down the hall. Dominic rose and followed. He stopped in the door and stared. His heart thudded, then slowed. David Allen didn’t look like the man Dominic remembered from childhood. He was withered and stooped, looking twenty years older than he was.

  The consequences of too much alcohol, drugs, and prison. He supposed that would do it to a person.

  Dominic waited for the emotions to hit him like they had a little over two months ago when he’d tracked his father down to find him in prison. Hate, love, anger, resentment, bitterness. He’d run the whole range. Today, he simply felt . . . pity.

  A broken shell of a man stood before him.

  A broken shell that needed a shower and a shave.

  He looked at Hunter.

  Hunter nodded. “I’ve got to go. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Dominic rubbed a hand down his face. “I’ve got it from here. Appreciate it.”

  Hunter left and Dominic turned to his fellow agents. “He cooperate?”

  The one who appeared to be the elder partner shook Dominic’s hand. “Sure thing. He didn’t give us any trouble. Said he was hungry and would we mind feeding him. We got him a double cheeseburger and shake on the way over.”

  Kindhearted agents.

  Once again Dominic nodded his thanks and the agents left.

  Dominic looked at his father who stood before him, head still bowed, shoulders stooped.

  And all of his dreams of confronting the man with accusations and recriminations flew out the window. “Have a seat.”

  The man sat, his eyes still on the floor.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” Do you know who I am? That was the question he wanted to ask.

  “No.” The quiet word came out on a grunt.

  Dominic rubbed his eyes. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “’Bout what?”

  His phone buzzed, but he didn’t take his eyes off the pathetic figure in front of him. “About some things that have been happening around here. I know you were found at a homeless shelter in Rock Hill, South Carolina. How long were you there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The man rocked back and looked up at Dominic. “Where am I?”

  Dominic frowned. “I’m an FBI agent and you’re wanted in the possible kidnapping of your daughter, Alexia Allen.”

  A befuddled look crossed the man’s face. “What?”

  “Dad . . .”

  “Dad? Why are you calling me Dad? Who are you? Who’s Alexia?”

  Serena pulled into the driveway of the rundown house. From Camille’s description, Serena knew it was a two-bedroom, one-bath house. Camille was an only child. Her mother had died when Camille was nine, leaving behind a devastated husband and a grieving child.

  The husband turned violent, taking his grief out on the little girl who learned to walk on eggshells and stay out of his way. Camille said as long as she stayed in her room, her father seemed to forget she was in the house.

  Serena wondered if she felt so connected to Camille because the girl reminded her so much of Alexia and her childhood.

  Whatever the reason, she was here. Since Dominic wasn’t answering his phone, she finally just texted him to let him know where she was and then texted Camille to tell her to come on out. And to make sure her father wasn’t back yet.

  His beat-up red truck wasn’t in the driveway. A good sign.

  But her nerves stretched tight as she thought about the man coming home and finding Serena spiriting his daughter off to Covenant House.

  He’d have a fit. A violent, life-endangering fit.

  Her phone buzzed. Colton. “Hello?”

  “I got your message. Please tell me you didn’t go out there by yourself. Dominic will have a conniption.”

  “Um . . . okay, I won’t tell you that.”

  “Stay there. I’m on the way.”

  “Where’s Dominic?”

  “He’s tied up with his father. Stay put. You hear?”

  “I hear.”

  She hung up, feeling better about her safety since Colton was on the way. It wouldn’t take him long to get here. She texted Camille again to come get in the car.

  When Camille didn’t appear in the door or text her back right away, a slow dread started to build in the pit of Serena’s stomach. She tapped the steering wheel and waited. Finally, she got out of the car and knocked on the door.

  And waited.

  Nothing.

  The dread turned to fear. Fear for Camille. Was Serena too late? Should she have called the cops?

  She dialed 911 and held her finger over the Send button.

  With her other hand, she tried the doorknob. It twisted in a smooth move. Her internal alarm bells clamored for her attention. She ignored them and stepped inside the house. Knowing Colton was only a few minutes away made her feel better.

  Shutting the door behind her, she took a tentative step forward into the living area of the house. “Camille?” She called softly. It didn’t seem right to raise her voice. Odors from the kitchen directly in front of her saturated the air, stimulating her gag reflex. Covenant House wasn’t a better option than this?

  As she walked into the den, she spied a small hallway to her left. The bedrooms.

  “Camille? Are you here?”

  A noise sounded. A scuffling sound, a shuffle or a scraping shoe. “Camille?”

  Worried the girl might be hurt or in trouble, that her father had finally snapped and done something awful, Serena threw caution to the wind and hurried down the hallway. The first room on her right held a twin bed, a Justin Bieber poster, and a scattering of clothing across the floor.

  Her stomach in knots, but unable to leave without making sure Camille was all right, Serena gathered her meager courage and pressed forward. She wished she had her father’s Glock, but she didn’t have a concealed weapons permit.

  Maybe she should have gotten one.

  Dominic glanced at his watch. 3:30. He’d promised to pick Serena up at 5:00. After the doctor finished with his father, he’d walk down to the morgue and check in with her. Concerned about the confusion his father had exhibited at the office, Dominic realized the man was either having some kind of psychotic break or he was ill. He’d managed to talk him into seeing a doctor, got him in the car and to the hospital without incident.

  Dr. Eileen Travis exited the room, her brow furrowed. Dominic pounced. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Without further testing, it’s hard to say, but I would hazard a guess that he’s in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.”

  The word struck a blow to Dominic’s heart. As much as he’d hated the man growing up, knowing the kind of death he was going to face gave him no satisfaction.

  “I see.”

  “We’ve given him some medication to calm him down, but he really needs a full workup of tests. If it is Alzheimer’s, we need to get him on the right regimen of medication.”

  “Do what you have to do. He doesn’t have insurance and I don’t know if he even has Medicaid. It doesn’t matter. I’ll make sure you get your money.”

  Dr. Travis nodded
and left to write her orders.

  Dominic pulled in a deep breath and thought about what he needed to do first. He had to call Alexia and Hunter and let them know what was going on.

  Then he’d go down and see Serena.

  He pulled out his phone and saw he had three missed calls and four texts. He checked Serena’s first and felt his heart drop into his shoes.

  Serena believed in evil. She’d seen it in action on a daily basis. Shootings, beatings, child abuse, suicide. Evil existed. And right now, she felt evil hovering around her.

  Immediately, she started to pray.

  A sound to her left.

  She whirled to face the danger head on, saw Camille’s father, mouth gagged, hands and feet tied. His terror-filled eyes stared at something behind her. She pressed her thumb on the Send button before she whirled . . .

  . . . and felt a prick in the back of her neck, then knew no more.

  34

  Dominic tried Serena again and still she didn’t answer. He hung up, fear crawling through his gut. He kept his car headed toward the address she’d left on his phone and kicked himself for not keeping his phone on ring. But she’d been safe. If she’d stayed at the hospital, she would still be safe.

  “You’re panicking for nothing,” he reassured himself out loud. “She’s fine. She’s just left her phone in the car or something.”

  She was fine.

  She probably was.

  But he needed to see that for himself.

  “Answer your phone,” he muttered as he gunned the car to pass a slower moving truck. He turned his lights on and they flashed, getting instant results. People moved out of his way.

  He could be there in less than ten minutes.

  Keeping his eyes open for those who might not be paying attention, he zipped through the traffic as fast as he dared.

  Soon, he turned onto Bolton Drive.

  And then he was in the driveway. Colton’s vehicle was parked against the curb. Dominic relaxed a fraction. Had Serena called Colton when she couldn’t get him? Why hadn’t Colton called him?

  The whole thing looked weird, the feeling that trouble waited just behind the front door.

  With everything in him, he wanted to shoot out of the car and burst through the door. Instead, he waited, watched, kept his eyes on the house, the surrounding area. Were there any neighbors home? And if Serena were here, how did she get here? Rick still had her car, he’d dropped her off at the morgue, so what had she driven? Had she taken a cab?

  Dominic dialed Colton’s phone and waited.

  His nerves twitched. His instincts shouted at him. Something was wrong.

  But before he called it in, he had to make sure. Climbing out of the vehicle, he stared at the front door. Then started toward it. He’d picked up no immediate threat in the area around him.

  No immediate threat.

  That didn’t mean one wasn’t waiting behind the door.

  Or causing Colton not to answer his phone.

  Dominic shoved the phone in his pocket and drew his weapon. With the other hand, he twisted the knob. It swung inward and Dominic stood to the side while he took in the small interior of the house.

  His gut said he needed to call for backup. And yet . . .

  “FBI! Come out and show me your hands!”

  He waited.

  “She’s not here.”

  Dominic froze. “Colton?”

  The man came from the kitchen. “Yeah. I just got here about thirty seconds ago. Kitchen’s clear.” His jaw worked. “Let’s clear the rest of the house.”

  “Something wrong with your phone?”

  “I felt it buzzing but hadn’t cleared the area yet, so couldn’t answer. Sorry. Still have to clear the rest of the place.”

  “Let’s do it then.”

  Slowly, Dominic made his way through the den, stopping at the side of the door that led into the kitchen. Rounding it, his gun held ready, he cleared the room and continued down the hall. Colton had his back.

  His pulse pounded, senses sharp.

  Where was Serena? Or Camille?

  At the first bedroom, he repeated his actions to clear the room and stepped inside.

  Checked behind the door and froze.

  Nash stared sightlessly from his bound position on the floor. The bullet hole in the middle of his forehead told the story. “Oh man.”

  Colton stepped past him, walked down the hall. “Clear!”

  There was nothing he could do for the man now. Quickly and efficiently, Dominic and Colton cleared the last room and bathroom, then got on the phone. He called CSU and reported his find to Rick.

  His next call was to Hunter and Katie. “Get out to 114 Bolton Drive. We’ve got a dead body and a missing teen.” He prayed Serena had arrived, grabbed Camille, and left before the killer had shown up, but he had a bad feeling that wasn’t the way it had gone down.

  He didn’t want to wait on the others, but he also didn’t want the scene contaminated in any way. Back on the phone with Hunter, he asked, “Where are you?”

  “Five minutes out.”

  “Rick’s on the way. I don’t know where Serena or Camille are, but this dead body’s not making me feel very good about things.” In fact, he’d never reacted this way with a case before.

  But Serena was more than a case. She was the woman—

  He cut that train of thought off and said, “No sign of forced entry.”

  “Someone let the killer in.”

  “It’s her, Hunter. The Doll Maker Killer’s copycat.” His gaze dropped to the floor as he paced and watched Colton grab a pool stick from the corner of the room and use it to dislodge an item under Mr. Nash’s left leg. “You recognize that?”

  Dominic looked down to see Serena’s phone with the purple and pink cover lying on the floor. “She’s got her.”

  The pounding in her head was her first clue that she was still alive.

  Quiet sobs reached her ears.

  Serena forced her eyes open. They fell shut. With effort, she shoved them open. And began to register her surroundings.

  A table with a green covering and cards spread out over it. Blue, red, and white chips. Dice.

  A casino?

  She blinked again.

  “Serena?” A bare whisper that she almost didn’t hear.

  She turned her head and her eyes landed on Camille. With her ankle cuffed to the steel chair, the girl sat huddled on the floor, her terror stamped plainly in her eyes. Serena tried to talk and found her throat dry and scratchy. She managed to force out a hoarse, “Are you okay?”

  “No. What’s going on? I think I’m going to puke.”

  “Did you see who did this? What happened?”

  “I saw her.”

  “Her?”

  “Yes. Her.”

  Serena turned at the voice. Slowly, so as not to aggravate the dizziness making her head spin and stomach churn.

  But when she laid eyes on the woman in the doorway, she gaped. “Dorie?”

  “Hmm. Yes, but you can call me Gwendolyn.”

  Dominic was on the phone rounding up everyone he could think of to help with the search for Serena and Camille. “Ping their phones. I want tower locations, text message transcripts, phone calls. Everything you can dig up.”

  Terry’s computer began clicking and Dominic used his Bluetooth in order to have both hands free. He hung up with Terry and dialed Hunter. “I need a SWAT team on standby in case this turns into a hostage situation.”

  “Roger that,” Hunter said. “I’ll put the call in.”

  “And check with the taxi services to see if they let a woman off anywhere near Nash’s address.”

  Dominic hung up with Hunter and placed a call to Nate Lindell.

  The man answered on the second ring and Dominic got right to it. “This is Special Agent Dominic Allen again.”

  A pause. “I believe I’ve answered all the questions I can.”

  “Last time we met, you said you’d been wondering if yo
ur sister could somehow be involved in the killings. You were right.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me.”

  “And right now, she’s got Serena Hopkins and possibly a young girl by the name of Camille Nash. Where would she take them?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I haven’t seen my sister in twenty years.”

  “Think, man! I need a location. Did your father own any other real estate property? Anything?”

  “She would take her somewhere she wouldn’t be interrupted.” He spoke slowly, as though he were talking to himself. “The old place? No, she couldn’t do that . . .”

  “We already checked the old place, the shed is gone, as is the room that was under it. The bank repossessed the house and a young family bought it and has been living there for the past twelve years.”

  “I know.”

  Nate sounded distracted and Dominic wanted to scream at the man to pay attention. “Hey, Nate. Come on, think.”

  “I don’t want to think. That’s not a part of my life I want to revisit. Now leave me alone.”

  Click.

  Nate had hung up.

  Dominic clenched his hand around the wheel. God, I need your help. Please let me find her.

  Serena let her eyes follow the woman as she crossed the room. “You lost weight.”

  The inane words helped her try to put everything together. The pistol in her hand terrified her. Dorie King was Allison Kingston. Who was Gwendolyn Lindell. Daughter of the Doll Maker Killer.

  The woman laughed, surprise flickering across her face. “I’ve lost weight? That’s the first thing you can say?” She glanced down at her now slender form. “Yeah, I knew once the girls started dying, the cops would be doing all kinds of research on the Doll Maker Killer. Figured my picture would come up as the daughter of Drake Lindell. Couldn’t take a chance on anyone recognizing me from those.”

  Serena blurted, “You killed Howard?”

  Gwendolyn’s brow furrowed. “Yes. He’d pretty much outlived his usefulness.”

  Confusion riddled Serena. Maybe when her mind cleared a bit she would be able to figure it all out. “You were in my house,” she whispered. Darkness wanted to claim her once again, but she resisted. What had Dorie . . . Gwendolyn . . . used on her?