by Dana R. Lynn
If only. She squeezed her eyes and lips tightly shut, straining to hold in the tears that wanted to break free, but they couldn’t be repressed. Her levee was broken. Hot tears cascaded down her face. Turning from the door, she crashed down onto the bed and pulled the pillow to her. Held it to her mouth to bury whatever sound she made while weeping. She’d learned early on that hearing people could hear her when she sobbed. Muffling the sobs as best she could, she allowed herself the luxury of her tears. For herself. For Ashley. And especially for Holly.
Half an hour later, she presented herself to Miles, outwardly calm and ready to go to work. If Miles noticed her red, puffy eyes, he was kind enough to ignore them.
When they arrived at the bookstore, he spent a few minutes questioning Tracy. Rebecca wasn’t privy to the conversation, but judging by the way Miles tightened his lips, he wasn’t happy with her answers.
He stalked over to Rebecca, blue eyes shooting sparks. “Sergeant Parker just pulled up. He will remain on the premises until your shift is done and then drive you back to the Travis’s home. I am heading into the station, but I will call you tomorrow morning.”
“Wait!” She pulled at his sleeve as he made to leave. “What did you ask Tracy? I could see that her answers annoyed you.”
He shrugged, his lips twisting. He’s not going to tell me, she thought.
“Please. I need to know. Do you think I will be safe here? Has she noticed something suspicious?”
Miles turned his blue eyes directly on her, and she felt her face warm. Inside her stomach, she had a fluttery, squirmy feeling. What was it about him that disturbed her equilibrium so bad? She had never felt this way around any man. In fact, since she’d been kidnapped, she avoided men. Feared them. She had learned firsthand what her mother had tried for years to instill in her. A handsome face sometimes hid an evil heart.
But Miles didn’t inspire fear. She wasn’t afraid that he would try to control her, to overpower her. Instead, she felt safe and protected when in his care.
Which probably wasn’t good. It meant she was dropping her guard.
Lifting her gaze back to his face, she saw his face had softened. “I asked Tracy if anyone had been in asking about you, or if she had told anyone that you were staying at Jess’s house.”
A lead ball of anxiety dropped into her stomach. She had told Tracy where she was staying and hadn’t thought to mention that the girl should keep it to herself, so if that was how the man today had found her, then that meant it was her fault it had happened. Her fault Jess and Seth’s home had been damaged. Her fault that Miles had nearly gotten shot protecting her. “You’re telling me that she did tell someone?”
Please say no.
He nodded. She wasn’t surprised, but her mouth suddenly felt as if she had swallowed cotton. “She claims a man came in late last night, right before she closed, claiming to be a friend of your brother’s,” he signed. “He asked if you were working, and said he had stopped by your apartment to see you, but you weren’t there. He was worried. She told him you were fine, but staying at Jess’s. She didn’t think anything of it, because he didn’t ask for the address, just smiled and left.”
“If she gave Jess’s last name, he could have looked it up,” she signed, feeling hollow inside.
He brushed her shoulder. “If he was working with someone who knows you—knows where you live and who your friends are—he wouldn’t need to have her last name.”
Working with someone who knows her? That would make sense. Although the idea that someone she knew could be helping the man targeting her was terrifying.
Questions bubbled to the surface. She welcomed them, as they replaced the panic that was circling, waiting for the opportunity to pounce. Before she could ask them, another officer arrived. Miles introduced him as Sergeant Ryan Parker. He seemed like a nice enough man. Certainly, there was nothing alarming about the handsome officer, with his brown eyes, friendly grin and close-cut auburn hair.
But he wasn’t Miles. As Miles left her in the sergeant’s care, she straightened her shoulders and went to work, stocking shelves and filling online orders. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.
Lord, I surrender this day to Your care, she prayed.
* * *
Miles dropped the phone back onto the holder, then sat back in his chair. Pushing off with his feet, he tipped back his chair, bringing the front legs off the floor. He swept his hands through his hair.
His suspicions had been confirmed. Somehow, it brought very little comfort.
He rocked his chair, ignoring the sharp squeaks of protest the chair emitted. What did he know? Mentally, he began adding up the facts and events from the past few days.
“Olsen? You planning on buying a new chair when that one breaks?” The smooth drawl slammed into his consciousness, breaking him off midthought. The wheels of his chair crashed against the floor with a hard clatter.
Chief Kennedy stood before him, a quizzical half smile on his face. Miles felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Or possibly a kid who’d been caught trying to sneak a snake into his bedroom. Which he’d done. To his grandmother’s horror.
“Sir!” He faced his chief. “Just thinking about the case. I had a few suspicions. And I’m just about positive that they just got confirmed. I got a little wrapped up in my thoughts.”
The chief dipped his chin. “It happens. Want to tell me what you’ve come up with so far?”
Glad that he wasn’t going to hear more about the chair, Miles proceeded to give the chief an overview of the events of the case.
“And we are sure that Gleason had nothing to do with any of these attacks?”
Something in the chief’s voice made Miles sit up straighter. The chief wasn’t doubting him. He was seriously wanting to hear Miles’s thoughts and conclusions. As if he valued them.
“I just got off the phone with the warden of the prison where he was being held. He passed away almost a year ago. Cancer. The first attack—on Ashley—happened recently.”
“What’re you figurin’?”
Miles leaned back again and swiveled his chair slightly, back and forth, as he collected his thoughts. “Well, it’s definitely not playing out as a copycat situation. The attacks and murders aren’t following any pattern. At least not that I can tell. The only connection is the fact the people attacked were all survivors from Gleason’s final binge. The ones who sent him to jail. This is personal. It feels like vengeance. But by who?” Unable to keep still, he got up and paced a few feet from the desk before turning to face the chief again. In his mind, he was ticking through the facts he knew.
“Does Gleason have any kin? Or did he have a significant other? Someone who could be carrying a grudge?” the chief asked.
Miles shook his head. He’d wondered the same thing. “No, sir. No hint of any relationships. Nor any kin that would want to hurt these girls. He was an only child of two only children. He was three when they adopted him. His conviction devastated them, but they never denied his guilt. Or theirs. I spoke with them just a few minutes before you arrived. They said he was in and out of trouble all his life, filled with anger and a sense of having been wronged. In their words, he felt the world owed him something.” Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “He was almost nineteen. They decided to take a cruise, so they left him on his own for three weeks. His mother didn’t want to. Didn’t trust him. But they thought if they gave him some responsibility, it would force him to mature a bit.”
Miles popped back down into his chair and scooted to his desk. Where had he put the paper? Yep. That’s the one. He snatched up the notes he’d taken and read through.
“These are my notes from the prison warden. Gleason insisted until the day he died that the girls were at fault for what happened. It turns out he did know them. At least
he knew Ashley and Jasmine.”
“Check in to that. Also, let’s widen our search. Do we know who visited him in prison?”
“The list is being sent to me, sir.”
Chief Kennedy pursed his lips, deep in thought. “So out of the five young women Gleason abducted, two are dead and one is unconscious. You are keeping watch over Miss Miller. What do we know of the last girl?”
He was ready for that one. “Brooke Cole. Out of the country right now. Her family knows to beware.”
The chief nodded, his dark eyes shadowed. “Good plan. If everything works out, we can catch this guy before she comes home. You’re doing a fine job, Olsen. A fine job.”
Miles felt his eyes widening. Something tight in him relaxed. He had been waiting a long time to hear those words. Words he had feared would never come his way after his gaffe. Even now, almost three years later, he couldn’t believe that he had allowed his grief and anger to sap him of his self-control and good sense.
When his stepsister, Sylvie, had been killed, his stepmother had been devastated. The trial and conviction of the woman they all believed to be guilty had brought some closure—but that closure was shattered when Melanie Swanson was released from prison just a few years later. The public hadn’t been happy with her release and there were threats and vandalism—even an attack on Melanie’s aunt. Enough violent activity to get her police protection, which had included Miles.
Driven by his worry for his stepmother, and his anger over his stepsister’s death, he’d taken the opportunity to sneak in some anonymous harassment of his own, hoping that Melanie would get fed up and decide to leave LaMar Pond once and for all, letting them all finally put Sylvie’s death behind them. He hadn’t known—none of them had—that Sylvie’s death hadn’t been Melanie’s fault at all. That she’d been framed, and that the same people who had ruined her life and gotten her thrown in jail were also trying to kill her once she was released.
Everything had ended well. The real criminals had been caught and imprisoned. Melanie had gotten through her ordeal and had fallen in love with one of her police officer protectors. They were happily married now. But the knowledge that everything worked out didn’t take away Miles’s feelings of guilt over what he’d done. He was reminded of it every time he saw Lieutenant Tucker. How that man tolerated him after what he had done to his wife was beyond Miles’s comprehension.
Clearing his throat, he swiveled to face the chief again. “Thank you, sir.”
The chief glanced at the clock on the wall. “Why don’t you finish up and go get Miss Miller? Her shift is almost done. I think you are the best man for the job of protecting her right now.”
“Okay. Give me about twenty minutes to finish up here, then I’ll head out.”
“Keep me posted.” Whistling, the chief strolled away. Why was it always The Andy Griffith Show theme song? He’d be hearing it in his mind all day now.
He grabbed the bottle of Mountain Dew sitting on his desk and took a long swig. He put down the bottle and wiped his mouth, then set about making some more phone calls. Half an hour later, he felt he had accomplished all he could do there.
Flipping his wrist over to see the time, he noted he still had time to get to the bookstore before Rebecca’s shift ended. He gathered up his keys and finished off the Mountain Dew before tossing the bottle in the recyclables can. He tapped his watch, bringing up Rebecca’s contact information, and sent her a text to let her know he was on his way. It was only polite. Plus, he didn’t want her to worry if she saw him pull up when he’d said he would talk with her tomorrow.
He was in his vehicle two minutes later, and there was still no response. Which could mean nothing, he told himself. Not everyone was attached to their phones. When he sent a text to Parker and got no response, though, he couldn’t ignore the voice that told him the situation was off.
His pager crackled. The dispatcher’s voice broke through the static. “Suspected high-level carbon-monoxide event at 309 Main Street, A Novel Idea Bookstore, with multiple victims.”
Fear clenched his heart like a fist. Rebecca was there! Miles flipped on his siren, and peeled away from the curb. Cars pulled to the side as he whizzed past. He switched on his own radio and yelled, “LaMar Pond PD unit six en route to the scene.”
Why didn’t Parker respond? As a police officer, he should have been aware of the situation before it became critical and started to evacuate the premises. Unless there was more going on than just a carbon-monoxide poisoning.
There was no way this was accidental.
The dispatcher acknowledged his call. Then repeated the call for the local volunteer fire departments to respond. It was the middle of the day. On a beautiful Saturday. He knew from experience that in the rural areas responses might be slower. And he also knew it would take twenty minutes for the local ambulance to arrive. He was Rebecca’s best hope.
Please, Lord Jesus, help me be on time.
There was an empty parking space across the street from the store. He parallel-parked, then leaped from his car, running across the street as soon as it was clear. A couple of older customers milled around outside of the store, concern etched on their wrinkled faces. A cursory glance into the window made his heart rate spike. No one was in view. And he knew that there was a minimum of three people who were supposed to be in that store and who were unaccounted for.
“Ladies! Is anyone in there?”
“Yes, officer.” One of the women stepped forward. “We were in there and saw the girl at the counter fall down. She didn’t move. Then Margie here said she felt funny.” She pointed to the other woman.
Miles switched his gaze to Margie. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
“Yes. My son is an EMT for East Mead township. I know the signs of carbon-monoxide poisoning, so we came out and called 911. There were two other people in the store, but I didn’t see them when we left.”
“We tried to move the lady behind the counter,” the other woman interrupted her. “She was too heavy for us.”
Miles thanked them and ran to the entrance. He grabbed the door handle and swung the door open, flipping the mechanism at the top of the door to hold it open.
“Ladies,” he said to the women outside, “I need to go into the store and start bringing people out. When the paramedics arrive, you need to let them know that there are at least three people inside, four including me. This door needs to remain open so the fumes can begin to air out.”
He waited just long enough to receive a nod of agreement, then dashed inside. As he passed the checkout counter, he could see a pale arm stretched out behind the edge of the counter. He recognized the charm bracelet on the slim wrist as the one that Tracy had been wearing earlier that day. Still no sign of Rebecca. Panic rocketed inside him, but he forced himself to push it down. Unfortunately, there was a book cart jammed up against the counter. Not a very safe place for it. Jumping over the counter, he stepped to Tracy’s head, and bent down to hook his hands under her armpits. Moving backward, he pulled the unconscious woman out from behind the counter, shoving the book cart out of his way with his hip until he could pick her up. He paused long enough to take the decorative scarf off Tracy’s neck and wrap it over his face. He knew it wouldn’t provide that much protection, but maybe it would provide just enough for him to do the job.
All the while, Rebecca and Parker were still unaccounted for. Dear Lord, he prayed. Guide me. Help me find them before it’s too late.
What if it was already too late? He couldn’t go there. He just could not face the sense of failure he would experience if he let her down. Why did he agree to let her go to work?
A wail split the air. An ambulance was parking up against the curb, its siren wailing. The two paramedics exited, one of them immediately going to Tracy and the customers to check on their condition and start them on oxygen. The other one was holdi
ng a handheld carbon-monoxide tester. As soon as he stepped into the building, the tester started beeping. Paling, the young man read the results. “Over eight hundred parts per million! That’s almost impossible. Anyone inside is in immediate danger. This level of poisoning acts quickly. Unconsciousness within two hours, death within three!”
“There are still two more people inside, but I couldn’t see them! One of them is deaf, so calling out for her won’t do any good, even if she’s still conscious.”
A second emergency vehicle pulled in across the street. Good. But they were still not exiting quickly enough for his peace of mind.
Miles bolted back through the door, ignoring the paramedic who bellowed after him to stop. He should wait, let someone else go in who had protective gear and hadn’t already been exposed. But he couldn’t be sure there was time, not with two people missing.
This was life and death.
NINE
Miles ran through the bookstore, searching every nook and cranny. He peered around every case as he passed it. Nothing. He began to cough. He knew that the scarf wouldn’t provide that much protection. He had hoped it would give him a little more time, though. Reaching the back of the store, he took hold of the doorknob and turned it, pushing the door open with more force than was required. The door slammed against the back wall and bounced back, hitting his shoulder as he charged through it. He barely noticed. All his attention was focused on the scene before him.
Parker was unconscious against the wall, blood dripping from a wound on his head. Given the angle he was at, it was highly unlikely his injury had happened as a result of a fall. More likely, he had interrupted the attacker and had been bludgeoned into unconsciousness. Beyond him lay Rebecca. For one terrifying second, he thought she had stopped breathing. No. Her breaths were erratic and shallow, but he could see her chest rising and falling.
A paramedic burst through the door, followed by an EMT. They nodded as Miles went to Rebecca. Between the two men, they managed to get Parker off the floor and carry him out, going through the back door instead of retracing their steps through the gas-filled store. Good idea.
