Sucking in a deep breath, shoving the terror as far away as she could, she knew she was on her own. She and God, once again.
“What are you doing?”
His voice froze the blood in her veins. Without turning, she said, “Praying.”
He grunted. “Won’t do you any good. Didn’t help me any when I was a kid, isn’t going to help you now. Get out here.”
She spoke to the wall again. “I think I’m going to throw up. It’ll be easier to clean up if I stay where I am.”
Silence from behind her. Had she surprised him? She knew she wasn’t responding as he’d expected. Twelve years ago, she’d just begged and screamed. But she was a different person now. A stronger one. One that he didn’t know quite what to do with?
She could only hope.
A hand slapped against the wooden door frame, and she jumped, her breath hitching. A phone rang from the vicinity of the kitchen.
“Fine. I’ll be back.”
Relief wilted her shoulders as he spun and stomped away.
“Sam, you get the computer. Connor, you start with the files. I don’t want a piece of dust undisturbed in here. I also need to know who that red truck belongs to.”
Samantha settled herself behind George’s desk.
Jake lifted a print from the phone. “I’ll just run this and see what pops up. Be right back.”
He left and Dakota hit the boxes in the corner. The ones he’d asked George about just the other day.
Connor got on the phone with a longtime therapist from Eastside Psychiatrics where George used to work.
The one-sided conversation hummed in the back of Dakota’s mind as he focused on the awards and plaques all made out to George Horton. Uncertainty hit for a brief moment. Had he been wrong?
No, the picture Jazz had sent him of George Horton had been an African American.
The wrong George Horton?
Again, no, he was the only George Horton at the medical school at the time of the incident with his girlfriend and Howard Wilkins.
I’m coming, Jamie, I’m coming. Just hold on, darlin’, be strong.
His hands shook as he ripped open the next box. Work fast, Jazz, Jamie’s counting on us. He switched over to prayer. Please, God, I don’t even know how to pray, but Jamie loves you. Keep her safe. Give her the smarts to deal with this guy. Please!
Jazz was working on locating the African American George while the rest of them searched for the one who’d been using this office for the last few months.
Jake stuck his head in the door. “Fingerprints came up as a match to our guy. George Horton.”
Dakota stopped what he was doing for a minute and thought. “The guy worked for the police. He’d have access to computer files. Could he have hacked in and matched up his prints in case they were ever run?”
A shrug. “It’s possible. Difficult maybe, but possible. I would have thought they’d have run them before he was hired.”
Samantha said, “He could have had someone he went to school with or an acquaintance hack in and change them before he applied.”
“Wouldn’t alarms go off like crazy that the system had been infiltrated?”
She raised a brow. “Not if you’re good.”
Dakota knew Samantha could do it. And if she could, there was probably someone else out there who could.
Or someone within the system itself. He snapped his fingers. “If George had a user ID and a password from someone who had legitimate access, he wouldn’t have had to hack in.”
“You’re right.” Sam nodded. “No alarms whatsoever to worry about then.”
Frowning, Dakota wracked his brain. What was he missing? “I’ve got an idea. Give me a picture of George … our George.”
Samantha let out a whistle. “Guys, you’re going to want to see this one.”
Crowding around the desk, they looked over her shoulder to see the screen. She clicked. “This file contains articles on the missing girls.” She scrolled through them. Each one, all the way back to Jamie.
Connor hung up. “I just got off the phone with one of the docs who remembers George. Said George treated a patient who later committed suicide. He was fired from the practice.”
“He twisted the story around. Made it sound like he left because of another doctor’s negligence. And I swallowed it, every word.” Dakota slammed a fist against the wall.
“You had no reason to doubt him. None of us did. He was one of us.” Connor shoved his phone back into his pocket. “All right, what else do you have, Sam?”
“A lot.”
“Show us.”
“Pictures. Tons of them. He must have downloaded them from a flash drive so he could get his jollies looking at them throughout the day. They’re all pictures of the missing and dead girls.”
“And look …” She drew in a quick breath. “A map.”
Dakota muttered. “X marks the spot.”
“Where all the graves are. Jamie’s going to have her work cut out for her.”
“If we get her back,” Connor breathed.
“We’ll get her back,” Dakota said sharply, “there’s no other option.”
A few more clicks and Samantha said, “Here’s his caseload. Let’s take a look at who he treated.” She scrolled through the names.
One made her blink. “Look at this.”
Dakota read, “Evan Johannes. The guy we found dead in his house after delivering that package to Jamie!”
“Oh wow. Check this out. I just found our link to Karen Fuller, the girl from New Jersey. Moira Fuller was a patient of George’s. Look who she lists as next of kin and as an emergency contact.”
“Doreen Fuller. Isn’t that Karen’s mother?”
“Sure is. Apparently Doreen and Moira are sisters.”
“When was Moira’s last appointment?”
Sam’s fingers flew over the keys. “Look,” she breathed in a ragged breath. “The day Karen disappeared.”
“What you want to bet she came to the office with her aunt and that’s when George got a look at her.”
“She probably said something about a party that he overheard.”
“We may never know. Doesn’t matter anyway. But it does answer our question about the connection between this guy and Karen.”
A knock on the door brought their heads around. Dakota gave a surprised, relieved cry, and rushed forward to gather the woman standing there in his arms. “Jamie! Where’ve you been? We’ve been so worried looking for you …”
The woman struggled from his grip. “Hey, back off, big guy. I’m not Jamie.”
He pulled back and looked down. What was she talking about? “What?” His hands went to her head. “Did you bump your head? How did you get away from him?” He blinked, then said, “Your hair’s shorter.”
Gentle hands pushed his away. “I’m not Jamie.”
“You’re Kit,” a voice breathed from behind them.
Jamie’s smile lit up the room. And yet it wasn’t her smile. It curled up at the corner and the dimple was on the wrong side. Dakota grabbed her arm and shoved up the sleeve of her sweater. No scars.
He jerked back as though touching her burned him. “Who … how …”
A hand settled on his back. “Dakota, meet Kathryn Kenyon, better known as Kit. She’s my sister. The other one. It’s a really long story.” Samantha’s voice sounded teary.
Dakota still couldn’t find his.
In the back of his mind, he knew they didn’t have time for this, Jamie was missing. He gathered his composure. “All right, you guys can explain all this later. We’ve got to find Jamie.”
Kit stepped into the room and stared at Samantha. “I’ve waited a long time to meet you.”
Samantha engulfed her in a hug, swiped a tear, and looked at Connor. “I’ll explain later.”
He nodded and kissed her nose.
“What’s this about Jamie being missing?” Kit asked, stepping into the office.
“A killer has her and we’ve
got to track him down,” Dakota muttered.
Concern creased the woman’s forehead. “How can I help?”
Dakota and Connor exchanged a glance. “There’s really nothing you can do. Better just let us do our job and we’ll let you know when we find her.”
“But I can help.”
Now that he had a picture of George in his hands, Dakota was impatient to get moving. “You can’t help, now just stay out of the way, please.”
She crossed her arms and set her jaw. She looked so much like Jamie his heart nearly burst. “I might be in a position to help you more than you know. If Jamie’s a hostage, you might be able to use my skills.”
“Which are?”
“I’m a detective with specialized training in hostage negotiation. I work with the Raleigh, North Carolina, police department.”
33
Jamie blinked her eyes. Slowly. Groggy, lethargic, and a mushy brain. He’d drugged her.
Nausea swirled and the room shifted. Shadows said the sun had moved and it was now late afternoon.
What had he done to her? She felt awful.
Taking inventory, she decided nothing hurt except where he’d hit her earlier. No new pains. No broken bones.
That seemed to be the good news.
The bad news? She was still handcuffed to the bed and her lab coat lay tossed over the chair in the corner. Panic nearly set in. She’d waited too long. She had to get to her coat. Pulling on the cuffs told her they were snug.
Just like before.
And she was cold. Shivers wracked her. Had he turned the air-conditioning up? Why was she so cold?
And burning up at the same time? How odd. Her face felt hot. It hurt to breathe.
Dakota, where are you? Please find me!
The door opened and she tensed. He stood there, the mask no longer needed. The baseball bat over his shoulder.
A scream gathered in her throat.
No matter what it took, she wouldn’t release it. But she couldn’t stop the terror from darting through her. Oh God, please …
Panting shallow breaths escaped. She licked dry lips. So thirsty. And so scared.
No fear, don’t show him you’re scared. Act like you don’t care.
Another chill shook her and her teeth chattered.
She looked at him again and swallowed. “Just get it over with.”
He cocked an eyebrow. She’d surprised him. “Ah, Jamie, why would you want to hurry?”
“You said it was your duty to release me from the pain. So release me.” She shivered.
He frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”
Jamie managed to choke out a little laugh. “If you have to ask …”
The bat swung down and cracked against the bedpost. She jumped, adrenaline surging.
But she didn’t scream.
A hand shot out to touch her forehead and she couldn’t help the flinch, then she stilled.
“You’re burning up with fever.” He sighed in disgust. Tapped the bat against a palm.
Then he reached up and unhooked the chain that kept the cuffs attached to the bed rail above her head. He pulled the cuffs down and hooked the other chain to the center link. “Here, you’ll be more comfortable this way.”
Shock rippled and she stared at him in disbelief. She would never understand this man. Why did he care whether she was comfortable or not? She kept her mouth shut.
He strode to the door. “I’ll get you some ibuprofen for the fever.”
Two minutes later he was back with two little orange pills and a cup of water. “Here.”
She swallowed them, praying she could keep them in her system and that they really would reduce her fever. She’d give the pills as long as possible to work, then it would be time to act.
Dakota watched Samantha work her magic with the computer. The picture of George as he looked today had been scanned into the system.
Samantha pulled up the mug shot from fourteen years ago. Side by side they looked like two different people. Then she moved her mouse and snagged the first picture, dragged it over to the second, and released it.
A perfect match. Except for the nose. The bump was gone.
“He had plastic surgery on his nose,” Samantha said.
Dakota punched a fist into his other palm. “Unbelievable. George Horton and Howard Wilkins are one and the same.”
“He’s got to have a contact in the police department somewhere,” Connor insisted. “Someone who could fix his prints.”
“Look up everyone who works here with the last name or maiden name of Wilkins.”
Samantha tapped a few more keys. “Beth Wilkins. Works in the records department.”
Dakota’s phone rang again. He snatched it with an impatient snarl. “Yeah.”
“The red truck is registered to a Beth Wilkins.”
Thanking the woman, he shot a look at Connor. “Let’s go get her.” He looked at Samantha. “You stay put.”
She waved them on. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Not even a twinge of pain.”
Dakota didn’t believe her, but the clock was ticking. Almost as an afterthought, he looked at Kit. “You coming?”
He didn’t have to ask twice. She shot him a grateful look and waved goodbye to Sam.
Bypassing the elevator, the trio raced outside and down the sidewalk to Connor’s car. Hopping in, Connor cranked it, and squealed from the parking lot before Dakota had his door shut. Kit had moved faster and was grabbing her seat belt.
Less than a minute and a half later, they were parked at the police station and headed inside the front door. Down the stairs, around the corner, and to the end of the hall.
Connor stopped at the door marked Records.
Dakota didn’t. Shoving it opened, he charged in. “Where’s Beth Wilkins?”
A woman jumped up. A mousy-looking thing with frightened eyes and pale skin. “I … I’m Beth.”
Dakota could feel the vein jumping in his neck. Making an effort to calm his racing pulse, he could see the woman in front of him looked ready to bolt. “Ma’am, we need to ask you a few questions.”
“O-okay. About what?”
“Let’s go in the conference room down the hall.”
She pulled her white sweater closer around her neck, her eyes darted to each of them. Dakota, Connor, Kit. Back to the floor to follow her feet into the room.
Once inside, Dakota motioned for her to have a seat.
She did.
Her throat convulsed. “This is about what I did, isn’t it?”
Dakota shot a look at Connor then back to the woman. “What is it you did, ma’am?”
“I … well … I …” Tears filled her eyes and she looked down. “I knew this job was too good to be true,” she whispered.
“What do you mean, Ms. Wilkins?”
“Howard. He got me this job. Told me I should apply. That I was a perfect fit for it. He was right. I love it.”
“He needed you on the inside, didn’t he?”
Resignation slumped her shoulders. “I … I … guess. I’ve been here almost seven months.” She twisted the edge of her sweater. “About a month after I was hired, Howard came to me and said there was the perfect opening in the psych department at the hospital and he wanted to act as a consultant to the police. He … he had all the documentation, credentials, everything.”
Kit stood at the door taking it all in, processing the information. Dakota’s heart clenched as he noticed that she looked almost exactly like Jamie when she was deep in thought. Oh God, please …
He cleared his throat. “So, he wanted to work for the hospital and the police. But he had a record because of the rape and almost killing that girl in college.”
She winced and nodded.
“And?” Dakota prompted.
“And,” more twisting of the sweater, a glance above the glasses, “he knew they’d run his prints. So, I switched them with the name he gave me. If you run a search for George Horton anywhere outside of the police departm
ent, they’ll come up with the real one. But in this system, Howard’s face comes up.”
“Why? What do you owe him?”
Her face crumpled. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t obey,” she whispered. “He killed our mother. I knew he would kill me too. So I did it. I’m sorry, but I did it.”
“Do you know that your brother is a serial killer?”
She gasped and looked up, meeting Dakota’s eyes for the first time. “What? What do you mean? No. I mean, yes, he killed our mother, but she really deserved it.” A humorless chuckle. “You never met anyone so mean, she was beating me and beating me,” she closed her eyes and more tears leaked out. “And he killed her.” When she opened her eyes, they had an almost defiant light in them. “And I was glad. I was grateful and I thanked him over and over.” She blinked, coming back from whatever memory she’d been lost in. “But Howard? A serial killer? I … I don’t think so.” “Do you own a red truck?”
“Yes.” A wary look. “Why?”
“Did you drive it to work today?”
“No, I took the bus. Howard said his car was in the shop and he needed to borrow my truck.” She shrugged. “I let him.”
Connor shifted. “Where would Howard go if he wanted to get away from things? A place to hide, maybe?”
She blinked, looking owlish behind the large round glasses. “I don’t know. There’s my place, I guess, but he doesn’t stop by very often.” She swallowed. “Just to let me know he’s still watching me and for me to keep my mouth shut. I … I … wouldn’t have said anything now, except I could tell you already knew what I did.” She sniffed. “He doesn’t tell me anything about his personal life and I don’t ask.”
“Any place else you can think of? A friend. Another residence?” “No … no,” she shook her head, “he doesn’t have many friends. At least none that I know of. I can’t think – ” She stopped, sucked in a breath.
Dakota leaned in. “You’ve thought of something. What is it?”
“I don’t know … I … it could be nothing.”
“We’ll take it. What is it?”
With the back of her sleeve-covered hand, she wiped a stray tear from her face. “Um … he might go to our childhood home. Maybe.” She shuddered. “I wouldn’t ever go back there, but he … ,” another deep breath, “he said he sometimes goes to … think. To remember.”
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