by Janet Dailey
He knew he was looking at a video, but he had a feeling he was seeing exactly what Kenzie had seen. He grabbed her drawing and held it next to the screen.
The resemblance was startling. Linc was sure of it—Vic Kehoe was their stalker.
Linc clicked out of the iris scan. He didn’t know who to call first—Mike could do something. Kenzie had to know. He punched the speed dial for her cell phone, frustrated when the call went straight to voicemail. He wasn’t going to tell her over the phone. If he had to, he’d go find her.
He kept the message he left brief. “Call me. Like right away. I have to talk to you.”
He’d be out of here in fifteen and searching for her. Mike wasn’t so easy. The lieutenant would demand more than a visual comparison.
Working like a madman, Linc dredged up documents from different databases and stacked them like big index cards on the screen.
He started with a read-only PDF tagged with a red bar.
Victor Kehoe. Age: 31. U.S. citizen.
Freelance agent from Gulf War onward, supporting black-op teams on clandestine missions abroad. Wide skill range. In-depth knowledge of weapons, explosives, and all intel practices including psychological warfare. Specialist in close confinement and intel extraction. Quasi-military clearance. This individual operates under special-order rules for non-combatant contractors and cannot be held accountable under military law.
Kehoe displays mental toughness far above normal limits and a markedly high tolerance for physical pain. High IQ coupled with extreme focus.
There was more. He read quickly. The final paragraph offered a final chilling detail.
Mental breakdown of unknown cause ten years ago. Kehoe taken from posting for treatment at base hospital. Released six months later.
Removed from active service, reasons unspecified.
Linc knew he was looking at the profile of a killer.
His phone rang without his hearing it as anything more than background noise. He grabbed it on the last ring.
Blocked number. Dana Scott again.
He had to answer the call.
“Didn’t I just talk to you yesterday?” He forced a lightness into his voice.
“Yes. I just wanted you to know that I heard from the ballistics lab again. About that chunk of stuff you threw in with the vests.”
“What about it?”
“The Kevlar backing on one of those dummies stopped a rifle bullet. Not the most powerful, but even so—”
Linc’s memory provided a picture of himself and Kenzie shooting handguns at blank-faced targets. Where had the unknown bullet come from?
“It was sniper grade,” Dana continued. “What was behind you at the shooting range?”
The question wasn’t hypothetical.
“A high fence. A busy road.”
“Think,” she said.
“There was a building on the other side,” he said slowly. “About five or six stories high. Not right on the road. Set back, oh, several hundred feet. Maybe more. The total distance could have been half a mile.”
He could almost hear Dana frown. He took her meaning.
“Watch your back, Linc.” She didn’t say anything else.
CHAPTER 22
The mall parking lot was filled with cars by 10 a.m., and people coming and going. The sun shone brightly. It looked safe enough.
A heavyset attendant in an orange safety vest and ball cap jumped out of nowhere and made her slam on the brakes. She was about to roll down her window and yell at him when she realized he was waving her into a really nice space.
It wasn’t too far from the entrance, in an area framed by evergreen hedges. Prime territory.
The attendant seemed to take his job seriously. The mall’s logo decorated the ball cap jammed down over his pudgy forehead. She could just hear him muttering into the walkie-talkie in front of his face.
“Roger that. Over and out.”
Give me a break, she thought. But she drove where directed beside a brand-new van with large windows. A sign with sucker cups in the corners displayed the name of some daycare center.
Kenzie got out, careful not to swing her door into the side of the new van. It was fairly close. She locked her doors, glancing inside the other vehicle. The parking attendant was busy directing other cars elsewhere with the same self-important gestures.
She glanced inside the van. There were several seats and a few scattered toys, but no driver and no kids either. They’d probably gone inside to enjoy the pint-size rides in the mall’s atrium while their caregivers watched and relaxed with coffee.
The space on the other side of her car was empty. She wondered why it hadn’t been filled. Maybe the attendant was saving it for a friend.
Kenzie slung her purse over her shoulder and headed in to get the USB connector cord that Christine had asked for. Finding a store in a large mall was always a pain. She tended to lose her sense of direction in places with no windows.
The electric doors pulled apart well before she reached them, then closed behind her.
The parking attendant made sure she was inside before he peeked into his pocket to look at the wad of bills he’d stashed inside.
He had no idea why the man in the buttoned-up overcoat had paid him to be on the lookout for her, or why he wanted her in that particular spot. They could be lovers, meeting in secret. Or maybe the lady with the long dark hair was also getting paid.
The attendant looked around for him. Gone. He hoped he would see him again, then realized he didn’t have much of an idea what the guy looked like.
The wide-striped tie was brown with purple stripes. The sunglasses, brimmed hat, and camel overcoat sort of matched. He remembered enough.
All three items were being stuffed in the back of a car some distance away. The man the attendant had seen straightened, now down to a dark suit with a different tie in a subdued color.
Another clip-on. He hated the way it felt, but it was the fastest way to switch.
He got in to the driver’s seat of the car and waited. This was the only mall near the rehab center, and Kenzie had visited it before. Stood to reason she’d come here for a replacement cord.
He’d picked up the late-night conversation. Nothing else to do at the time. He had been restless. His constant thoughts of Kenzie had awakened his blood lust. He couldn’t control it. He didn’t want to.
Not with a beautiful, fiery-tempered victim in his sights.
He had been waiting too long. She would be the last before he left the country.
After he was gone, Slattery would find out what he’d done. It was over. He was tired of pretending he was anything but a killer.
And his final kill would be spectacular. His hard-earned expertise would pay off.
He didn’t know how he’d managed to hold back so long.
The first time he’d followed Kenzie here, alerted by the bug she didn’t know she was carrying, she had bought a reading pillow with padded arms and a cat figurine, then gone back to the rehab center.
Then there had been the window.
Hand to hand. He loved the terror in her eyes.
The encounter at the falls hadn’t scared her that much, he guessed. He’d startled her but he hadn’t touched her. And he’d pretended not to see her hiding under the tree.
Maybe she was willing to go out alone for her friend. Or maybe she was too tough to be scared for long.
He’d done a couple of practice runs to test his idea yesterday, choosing women not entirely at random. They had to be pretty and they had to be silly.
Kenzie fit the first requirement but not the second.
The attendant had been happy to accept a fat bribe. If for some reason it hadn’t worked, he would have tried something else, somewhere else.
It wasn’t the first time he’d hung around the mall. It was a magnet for pretty women—the shopping attracted them in droves. They generally cooperated with the parking attendant, pulling into choice spots the goofball saved by the si
mple expedient of standing in them. The men ignored the guy, driving past, occasionally flipping him the bird.
He took note of the details of the attendant’s outfit. The orange vest and padded sweater and ball cap made him into a nobody.
Always useful. People saw only what they wanted to see.
He might just buy the orange vest off the guy, keep it with the hiking parka and fake cop uniform. The color was as distracting as the whirling blue light he slapped on the hood of his car. That and the uniform had helped him pull over those two hookers who worked out of the D-Light a year ago. One had been ready to trade favors.
They’d died anyway. Cold case homicides, no grieving relatives.
Kenzie—well, someone would come looking for her. The geotag bug he had on her beeped. He checked it on the screen of his smartphone.
It was easy to follow her on a downloadable map of the mall. The geotag circle moved at a walking pace, then stopped at an information icon.
You are here.
With relief, Kenzie saw the mall map on a kiosk about fifty feet away. She studied it, getting her bearings. The computer store was one flight up and directly across from the escalator.
Two friends, dolled up and made up, were riding down as she rode up, checking their reflections in the mirrors to one side.
Kenzie smiled to herself. She didn’t think she’d ever dressed up just to go shopping. But there was no harm in it. Maybe it was something Christine would like to do.
She nodded to the women when they were level with each other. On the second floor, she passed the merry-go-round. There were several small children on it, waving to their moms and, she assumed, a few daycare employees.
The sales assistant looked up as she entered the computer store. She took the damaged cord out of her purse and showed it to him.
“I’ll see what we have,” he said politely and disappeared into the back room.
Kenzie waited. The ambient noise of the mall drifted in. Kids, parents, friends chatting—it was Main Street without cars.
“Looks like we don’t stock that one. It’s an unusual type. You should try online, or order direct from the manufacturer if the laptop’s still under warranty.”
“Oh. I don’t know if it is or not,” Kenzie said.
“Sorry,” the sales assistant said. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No. Not today. Thanks, though.”
She kept her frustration out of her voice. Without the cord, Christine wouldn’t be able to work on the SKC computer.
Kenzie rode back down the escalator. The food court was serving late breakfast customers—she caught a pleasant aroma of coffee and cinnamon.
Not right now. She was too nervous to eat, even though she knew she needed to. Later she would have to go somewhere else, maybe with Linc.
Kenzie went out through the same doors she’d come in, then realized that they weren’t the same.
Turned around again, she thought. She walked through the parking lot, which was nearly filled, looking for the daycare van, which was taller than her car. The parking attendant in the orange vest was nowhere in sight.
She spotted the van’s white roof and went that way, taking out her car keys in advance.
Kenzie squeezed through the high evergreens to get between her car and the van. The engine was running and there was someone at the wheel. She couldn’t see his face. He was wearing sunglasses that strapped around the back of his head.
The driver must have come back to get it started and move the vehicle nearer to the entrance so the children didn’t have to walk through the parking lot.
Something was wrong with the muffler. She wrinkled her nose when the foul-smelling cloud coming from the van reached her.
A second later, Kenzie crumpled to the asphalt. The cloud of gas dissipated into the air.
The van doors slid open when the driver turned around. He had on a lightweight gas mask. He hauled himself out of the seat and dragged her in.
No one was watching. He’d paid the attendant even more to direct everyone away.
He hauled her up and lifted her unresisting body into the back. Then he got in and ripped down the daycare sign.
In another second, he was in front again, removing the mask. He pressed a button that pulled shades down over the rear windows.
He headed for the exit, blocked at the turn by a fluffy-haired woman in a convertible. The ragtop was halfway lifted but stuck, jerking up and down.
Fuming, he glanced in his rearview mirror. A circling vehicle, a real beater, had just claimed the empty spot he’d vacated next to Kenzie’s rented car. The teenage driver pumped a victorious fist in the air, showing off for his buddy in the front seat.
Stupid punks. They had to be headed for the video arcade or the pizza palace. Either way, they were clueless.
He noted the make and model of the teenager’s banged-up car in his wide-angle rearview. He’d phone it in to the police hotline tomorrow.
With a lurch, the convertible got going and he zoomed past it in the left lane, glancing at the malfunctioning ragtop. The driver was jabbing at the button that controlled it, cursing a blue streak.
Even if she did remember him, there was always a white van somewhere around at every crime scene. It was like there was a law.
He was as good as invisible.
He heard a muffled ringtone coming from Kenzie’s purse. He’d look at the number later. He made a mental note to keep track of the cell phone. It was her only connection to the outside world. He would take it from her. She no longer needed it.
CHAPTER 23
Kenzie regained consciousness, but not completely. There was something heavy on her chest. She struggled to breathe.
The thing pressed against the center of her rib cage. On the edge of blacking out a second time, she tried to move it away.
Her hand moved over a foot encased in a heavy boot.
“Feeling better?” a man’s voice asked.
She closed her eyes against the tears. They were burning hot, but they cleared her vision.
Kenzie opened her eyes and looked up. The man’s face was one she recognized, but she did not know his name.
The boot pressed down.
“Who are you?” she whispered. Her throat was painfully raw. She remembered the van suddenly. And the cloud of toxic gas. Last of all, falling to the pavement.
“Don’t you know? Allow me to introduce myself.” His weird politeness made her more afraid. “My name is Vic Kehoe.”
Kenzie knew she’d heard the name. He had something to do with Christine—with SKC—it came back to her.
Why was he playing with her? Why hadn’t he just killed her?
He took his booted foot off her chest. Kenzie gulped in air, in agony, writhing on the floor. She was too weak to fight.
Kehoe lifted her top and took a long look. “Quite a bruise. Sorry about that.”
She sat up halfway and he slapped her back down.
Enraged, Kenzie went for him. She clawed at the man who had her in his grip, no match for his superior strength. But her nails ripped through the fabric of his shirt, baring his chest. She drew blood when she dragged them tightly over the skin of his iron-hard biceps.
Then she saw the tattoo she had revealed. Thorns twisted in a malevolent design, dipped in red blood. Not all of it was ink.
Kenzie heard him swear. Strong fingers closed punishingly around her upper arms. He pushed her to the floor and followed her down, holding her pinned with the weight of his body.
He let go of one arm. His hand circled her throat. He squeezed.
Kenzie woke up on a smooth floor, lying in darkness. Very slowly, her surroundings became clear. She couldn’t determine the source of the indirect light.
She rolled over, looking at the ceiling. It was much too high for her to reach if she stood up. The cell, if it was one, had nothing in it. Nothing to stand on. Or sit on. Or lie on, besides the floor.
The walls were white. She crept t
o the nearest one and ran her fingers over it. Whatever it was made of was as smooth as the floor. Some kind of high-impact plastic, she thought. Heat-sealed seams.
Part of the wall above her glowed more brightly. But there was no fixture that she could see—just a translucent white square. Kenzie made a fist and banged on the wall. There was no echo. The plastic surface or something behind it absorbed the sound. It didn’t give at all. She was locked in a high-tech prison. She tried to remember what little she knew about them.
Her head hurt.
Then it came back to her. Mobile prisons looked like boxes. Big boxes. Ten feet in height. Five deep by three wide. Outer walls of metal, sandwiching the soundproofing material with the smooth plastic. The whole thing was light enough for a helicopter to lift.
Ten feet high outside, she told herself. Eight feet inside. At least she would be able to stand up. Although at the moment she couldn’t.
She dragged herself over to a corner and sat with her arms folded over her bent knees, resting her head. Her mind was still foggy. Blearily, she noticed a drain set into the floor. Not a way out. It was no wider than a jar lid and its perforations were too small to get her fingers into. She knew what it was for.
In the opposite corner was a bottle of water and a trail bar. No labels. A snack for her. How very thoughtful.
The stalker was either coming back soon or wanted her to die slowly. The bottle and the bar could keep her alive for a few days. Thirst would get her before hunger did.
Kenzie looked up. There had to be ventilation. The air didn’t stir, but it didn’t seem stale. She focused on a faint pattern molded into the plastic ceiling. A grid of dots. Something that let air in.
She let her head loll against the wall. It was warm. There was no way of telling if the cell that held her was outdoors or indoors. The light from the square seemed to grow faintly brighter one minute, then dim again. Like the pulse of something living.
Then she saw the camera tucked unobtrusively into a corner. A triangular bracket as smooth as the walls held it in place.
