by Kallie Lane
Why feel sorry for someone when he may have cost other women their lives…could still cost Breeana her life. Shit, don’t go there!
He snapped the lid on his anger and continued to search, checking the oven, dragging cereal boxes, coffee cans, and pasta containers out of cupboards. He ripped everything apart. Nada.
Sal tackled the bedroom and study while Sully moved on to the bathroom. Next up was the basement. A mountain of sealed cardboard boxes took up half the space, as if Millette had moved in years ago and never bothered to unpack. He was also a collector—balls of twine, empty liquor bottles, old newspapers, tin cans. You name it, the sergeant salted it away. Sully checked out the washer and dryer, and even opened the furnace door, just to be sure. Nothing inside.
When dispatch rang on his cell phone, he welcomed the distraction. “This is Sauvage.”
“Lieutenant, Dr. McGill’s security company called. Someone’s tripped the alarm at the doc’s house. Your brother and some MBPD uniforms are there now, waiting for you to take charge.”
He thought for a minute. “Call Tactical and get a SWAT team there, STAT. MBPD can handle the perimeter. Have them set up road blocks and patrols on the water. Dr. McGill’s house borders the lake.”
“I’m on it, Lieutenant.”
He disconnected. “Sal!”
Clemente met him at the top of the stairs. “Yeah, boss?”
“I’m taking off. There’s been a break-in at Dr. McGill’s residence.”
“No shit? Let’s boogie.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got back-up on this one. You stay here and search the attic.”
Sully hit the bar lights and siren and burned rubber. Dodging in and out of traffic, a sick feeling nailed him in the gut. Was The Shepherd somehow making a move on Bree by staging an invasion at her house? It made no sense, since she wasn’t even there.
But, was he stupid enough to trip the alarm system? Hell, no. The guy was smart, way too smart. The tripped alarm seemed like a diversionary tactic.
What does the bastard hope to gain? It was only a matter of time before shit hit the goddamn fan and he had no answers. The Shepherd was coming and Sully had to be ready.
****
Detective Clemente rolled to the curb outside the veterinary clinic and hopped out of his unmarked. Hawke called to him and came out the back door to meet him. Sully’s Spec Ops buddy must remember him from the night at the hospital. Yeah, their paths had crossed during the foiled kidnapping on Dr. McGill’s son.
“What’s up, Detective? Is there any news on Millette’s condition?”
Clemente strolled up to him, scanning the parking lot before moving his gaze to Hawke. “He’s still holding his own, for what it’s worth. He’s in a coma. Even if he survives, the doctors think there could be brain damage and paralysis.”
Hawke shook his head. “A hell of a price to pay for not following police procedure.”
“Tell me about it. I never figured the sergeant for a loose cannon, but it looks like he screwed up. Even if he fully recovers, he’s finished on the force. No one would take a chance on him again. They’ll pension him off.”
“Really sucks, man. So, what brings you here?”
“The lieutenant got the message about the break-in from the alarm company. He’s on his way to Dr. McGill’s house to check it out. But, he’s not convinced the break-in is legit.”
Clemente watched the back door to the clinic for signs of movement; no one watching from inside. The parking lot was still deserted. His gaze swung back to Hawke. “He thought you’d need a hand protecting the doctor until he and his brother get back here. You never know what The Shepherd is going to do.”
“Right.”
Clemente could see gears turning inside Hawke’s head. The prick knows I’m lying. Yeah, I should have realized. The lieutenant never left anything to chance. He would have called Hawke to tell him, if he’d really sent him there on protection duty.
He slid the Taser X26 from the back of his waistband, wrapping his fingers around the grip. It felt cool to the touch and gave him the power. A big guy like Hawke would crash and burn after only one hit. Aw shucks, you’re protecting a whore. And now you’re gonna pay up.
Clemente struck with the speed of a viper, hitting Hawke square in the chest with the weapon. Hawke fell to his knees, pitched sideways, and rolled onto his back. Sweat broke out on the guy’s brow, and Clemente watched it roll over his temple before he grabbed his ankles.
Using a tugging motion, he dragged him behind a dumpster. Even so, Hawke swore while he drooled, as if he thought he could still overpower him. Guess he hadn’t counted on the two-by-four he pulled from the dumpster.
“Shit.” Hawke flailed, trying to roll out of the way. He didn’t get far.
“What did you expect, defending a bitch like her?” Blood spurted when wood connected with flesh and bone. Clemente saw the blood spatter and almost cringed. Sure, he was The Shepherd, but it didn’t mean he enjoyed the task. Hawke was one of the good guys. Still, he’d stood between him and Breeana. That would never do.
****
Laura was in the examining room, soothing a Great Dane, when a police detective slipped into Breeana’s office and closed the door. He flashed his badge and introduced himself. Breeana frowned, staring at him, pen poised over the file she updated.
Why did he close the door? “What’s going on, Detective? Is Sully all right?”
“The lieutenant sent me to get you,” Clemente said. “Good news, Doctor. The team nailed The Shepherd inside your house.”
“What?”
He sidled over to her desk and leaned in close. “The lieutenant wants me to bring you down to the station for a line-up, to see if you recognize the creep.”
Breeana couldn’t say how she knew, but she knew the detective was lying. Maybe it was the way he eyed her…detached…like a cat stalking a mouse and waiting to chomp its head off. She sucked in a breath, scanning her desk for anything she could use as a weapon. There was nothing, except for the pen clutched in her fingers.
Stall for time. Don’t let him know you’re nervous. “The lieutenant knows I can’t leave the clinic when I have patients to see. Tell him I’ll have Hawke drive me downtown after clinic hours.”
Trying to look anywhere but his face, her gaze landed on the cuff of his shirt sleeve.
Blood. Oh, God. Where is Hawke? She opened her mouth to scream. He was on her in a flash. His fingers squeezed a pressure point in her neck. Before she could fight back, her vision went dark, and she pitched forward. The last thing she saw was paperwork as she slumped over her desk.
Chapter Sixteen
Sully passed Theo a Kevlar vest and shrugged into his own. They drew their weapons, checked their load, and grabbed headsets. Six of SWAT’s best officers were suited up and waiting for them. “I want two of you around back. The rest of you are with me.”
“Here, use this,” he said, handing the door key to the mountain of a man with the battering ram. Approaching the house, Sully could hear the dogs barking and growling—not a happy sound. “I’m first inside. No one shoots the dogs.”
They breached the door in seconds. Sully snagged Bear and Bruiser’s collars and motioned to the stairs; signaling two officers up and the other two down to sweep the basement. He and Theo took the ground floor. The living room was clear. After scoping out the bathroom, Sully motioned the dogs inside and closed the door. The kitchen, study and sunroom appeared undisturbed. He could hear footfalls overhead and then the “all clear” on his headset; ditto from the men in the basement a minute later. Everything seemed untouched, except for a broken window in the living room and the rock someone had heaved through it. SWAT moved outside.
“The Shepherd was never inside the house, bro,” Theo said, opening the bathroom door to let the dogs out.
“Otherwise Bruiser would have ripped him apart,” Sully agreed, bagging the rock. “The dog’s got a score to settle with him for killing his mistress. So, why trip the a
larm in the first place?”
His cell phone rang, and he grabbed for it. As he flipped it open, a hysterical voice came through the line.
“Lieutenant Sauvage…thank God!”
“Laura?” he asked, his heart cranking into overdrive.
“I think something terrible has happened!”
“Talk to me.” Motioning to his brother, he held the phone to his ear and raced for the Tahoe. Right on his heels, Theo slid into the passenger seat. He started the engine, hit the bar lights, and stepped on the gas, squealing out of the driveway on two wheels. “What’s going on?”
“Breeana and Hawke have disappeared. I don’t know where they are. Breeana would never leave the clinic with patients waiting!”
“I’m on my way.”
Sully roared into the clinic parking lot just minutes after receiving the call, his heart pounding like a battering ram. He and Theo were out of the SUV, racing for the back door when they spied blood on the ground, trickling from behind the dumpster edged up against the brownstone.
Don’t let it be her. Please!
Theo nudged his shoulder, calmed him down. “Give me a hand.”
They rolled the dumpster aside. Sully’s knees went loose for a second. Sweet Jesus, Hawke. Bloody and unconscious, a gash ran from his temple to the top of his head. His eyes rolled. His pupils were dilated. Still, he had a faint pulse. Thank God for that blessing.
Theo used his jacket to staunch the blood flow. Sully called for EMTs from his cell phone as he charged through the back door of the clinic. A quick search of the consulting rooms and the stricken look on Laura’s face said it all. Breeana was gone.
Taking Laura by the arm, he drew her into the office. “Before Breeana and Hawke disappeared, who else was at the clinic?”
Looking pale-faced, Laura’s hands trembled as she said, “I-I don’t know. There was no one else here. O-only the clients still out in the waiting room.”
“Come on, Laura, think. Something must have happened.” Sully poured a cup of coffee laced with sugar and placed it in her hands. “Where was Bree the last time you saw her?”
“Wait. I remember now. I was in an examination room with a dog for a few minutes. Breeana had stitched him up and gone to her office to write up the chart. I only noticed she was gone when I brought the dog back out to the waiting room. I-I asked if anyone had seen her or Hawke leave. But, no one saw anything.”
No leads to follow. For a few minutes Sully couldn’t think straight, couldn’t breathe. He could only react through his years of training and do what needed to be done. He had never before felt so powerless.
Lord Jesus God. The Shepherd had his woman and he didn’t know how to get her back. Hell, he didn’t even know who the bastard was. He cursed Millette’s stupidity for the hundredth time. He wasn’t unsympathetic—the man’s life hung by a thread and he had paid heavily for withholding evidence—but now Breeana was snared by the freak.
He ignored the little voice in his head, the one insisting she could already be dead. He refused to believe it. No. The bastard was angrier with her than he had been with any of his other victims. He would keep her alive and make her suffer before he killed her. Gawd damn!
The EMTs loaded Hawke into the back of the ambulance while Sully dialed Clemente’s number. “Sal? Send crime scene techs to the veterinary clinic. STAT! Dr. McGill’s been snatched by The Shepherd.”
****
Clemente almost laughed at the naked fear in the lieutenant’s voice. He glanced over at Breeana, slumped unconscious on the seat beside him. The tinted windows on his unmarked proved to be a blessing. They shielded her from the passing gazes of motorists as he waited for the light to change at an intersection.
“The whole case has gone straight to hell, Loot. I’ll notify the criminalists right away. What else do you need?”
“Get over to Ben Prewitt’s and bring him in for questioning. Be careful, Sal. He could be The Shepherd. Take Sanchez and Lemieux with you to pick him up. You can reach me on my cell if you need me.”
“Hey, I’m on it. I’m still at Millette’s completing the search, but I’ll leave right away. Where will you be?”
“I’ll let you know. Call me back when you have Prewitt in custody.”
Clemente disconnected and reached over to clasp Breeana’s hand. She was so beautiful, curled up on the seat beside him like a kitten. She belonged to him for as long as he wanted, until he sent her to the Lord.
Only one more loose end to take care of—the kid from juvie he’d paid to break the window at Breeana’s to trip the alarm. He still had time. He’d kill him later.
****
Breeana awoke slowly, as if from a fog. She had the mother of all hangovers. Disoriented and confused, she rubbed her forehead. What had happened?
The room was cold and dank. The mattress she lay on was lumpy and reeked of urine and mildew. Where am I?
Sitting up was a dizzying experience. She raised a hand to her aching neck and a chain rattled, pulling taut from a ring bolted to the wall. She was handcuffed to the wall by her wrist.
With that realization, everything else came rushing back at her. The Shepherd. Detective Sal Clemente was the killer. He had kidnapped her.
Terror struck in a rush. It twisted up her spine and threatened to paralyze her limbs. Breeana steeled herself to keep from passing out. She would not hyperventilate. She was not going to die.
“Hey, Breeana?”
His singsong voice reached out from the shadows. Excited. Like a kid waiting to open the best birthday present of his life. Her gaze widened as she searched the darkness for a glimmer of movement. Nothing. Her heart tumbled in her rib cage. The man was a deranged lunatic. Her life was in his hands. She froze and clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.
Where is he? She could smell him—the sweet-sour odor of donuts on his breath and nervous sweat radiating from his pores. She almost retched, swallowing hard to push back the bile.
“If you have a brain in your head, you’ll let me go, Clemente!” The strength of her voice steadied her. She’d always been good at bluffing in poker.
“I can’t do it, my darling.” The detective separated himself from the gloom and moved toward her. His sick smile ghosted in light coming from a solitary window high up on a wall. Bending low, he crouched on his haunches, running a finger along her cheek, capturing her face in cold fingers. “Poor baby. I hated to hurt you, you know.”
Liar. Fear welled inside her like a living thing. She jerked from his touch. Wrestling with panic, she refused to allow him to see it. He would feed on her terror and use it to destroy her. “Stay away from me, you sick pervert!”
“Tsk, tsk. Such talk, Breeana. And such bravado.”
Coward. Unshackle my wrist and I’ll show you bravado. One well placed kick and you’ll be singing soprano while I boot it for the door.
As if reading her thoughts, his hands trailed from her face to the column of her neck. His fingers coiled like snakes, wrapping themselves from her collarbone to her ears. She stiffened, bit back a scream. His reach was longer than hers. If he tightened the pressure, she would die. She stared into the face of death. Such bland features, it was hard to believe they hid the soul of a monster.
The Shepherd shook his head and chuckled. His fingers loosened their grip. “I think we understand each other. However, I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our little chat. Duty calls, you know. The lieutenant wants me to help him catch The Shepherd. Can you imagine? He’s relying on me, Breeana. I can’t disappoint him. But, I’ll be back soon. Then we’ll have more time together. Meanwhile, make yourself comfortable.”
“Drop dead, you freak.” She raised her head, jutted out her chin, and glared at him. “You won’t get away with it. Sully is going to kill you when he catches you.”
“Darling girl, I’ve been getting away with murder for years. Doing the Lord’s bidding as He sees fit.” Clemente threw back his head and roared with laughter. “The lieutenant doesn
’t have a clue who I am. So, who’s going to stop me? Hmm? Do you really believe Sauvage can protect you from the Lord and what He has ordained?”
“Maybe not,” she said, her voice shrill. “But I know he can protect me from a maniac like you.”
Breeana worked saliva into her mouth and spat full in his face. Clemente swiped at the spittle hanging from his chin with the back of a hand. “You will do penance, you disgusting witch. When I get back, we’ll see how brave you really are.”
“Wait! You can’t keep me chained up. I need to use the bathroom.” Any excuse would do, just as long as he released her from the chain on the wall.
“Why, of course. Let me show you to the toilet.”
The filthy bucket Clemente kicked toward her clattered to a stop at her feet. “It’s the maid’s day off, so I don’t have any little guest soaps or fluffy towels, but I’m sure you’ll manage.”
She could hear his sick laughter as he made his way to the top of the stairs. There was the thud of a door closing and then absolute silence. She was alone with her terror.
Push it back. Don’t think about anything but getting out of here. You’re on your own. Sully can’t help you now.
Her eyes adjusted to the dark space around her. The walls seemed to be a mixture of crumbling cement and earth. She must be underground, which would explain the dampness permeating the air. She could make out dusty jars filled with jams and pickles on planked shelves lining a far wall. An antique apple-peeler was shoved into another corner.
There were boxes of empty jars, lids and sealing wax. Bins of rotten vegetables were scattered about the room. She must be in a root cellar. The house had to be old because newer homes didn’t have underground storage. She guessed she was down by the lake. The newer developments were out by the highway.
