“Don’t leave me,” her sister whispered. “Please, Chase, don’t leave me.”
Chase screamed.
Then she turned and ran.
CHAPTER 31
Chase awoke drenched in sweat. Her pillow, one of many, once a fluffy, down-filled, eighty-dollar affair, was sagging from the weight of her perspiration.
Momentarily disoriented, she blinked rapidly, trying to force her eyes to focus. Every time they closed, even for a split second, she saw her sister’s face, her cute, button nose, her wide green eyes.
And the man in the aviator shades was looming behind her.
“Shit,” she swore.
Her body ached, but she managed to pull herself to a seated position, scratching absently at the insides of her elbows.
It had been a long, long week, week and a half. And it had finally taken its toll on her.
Chase sighed and stretched her legs.
One thing was for certain: the W hotel was a fine sight better than the roach motel she had crashed in in Anchorage.
With a groan, Chase stood and checked the digital clock on the night table.
Then she swore again.
It was almost nine in the evening; somehow, despite her nightmares, she had managed to sleep all day.
Chase rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes and when she pulled her fists away, she found herself staring at the stainless steel mini fridge embedded across from her bed.
One hour… one hour until I have to meet Martinez and Jasper.
Chase stood and made her way to the fridge. She opened it, but instead of reaching inside, she first let the cool air wash over her damp, sweaty skin. Clad only in bra and underwear, she pulled out the first thing that her clammy fingers touched: a bottle of Modelo.
She glanced at the gold paper covering the top, decided that it was too much work, and went for a bottle of Budweiser instead.
The beer went down smooth and quick, and in three chugs, she had finished it.
Like the cold air from the still open fridge, the beer felt great in her stomach. In fact, it felt so good that she immediately reached for another.
After finishing her second beer, in twice as many gulps this time, Chase hopped into the shower and scraped the sweat from her skin.
The water caused her hair to form clumps in front of her face, and an image of Francine’s frozen hair, her eyes white, mouth open, flashed in her mind.
Chase shook her head and quickly finished washing up.
“Why are these cases fucking with my head?” she said out loud as she stepped from the shower.
And why are memories of Georgina coming back so strongly?
Her sister was never far from her mind, nor was what had happened that day. But after nearly thirty years, things had a way of slipping into the background. Never quite gone, but…
And now they were back and as vivid as they had ever been.
The inside of her arms started to itch and Chase scratched furiously at the small dots that forever marked her flesh.
A half-chewed nail broke the skin and she winced.
Cursing, Chase dabbed at the blood with a piece of toilet paper.
Serves you right.
After toweling off, she headed back to the bedroom. Chase went to the fridge first to grab another beer, and then turned on the radio.
Ironically, it was a Drake tune: Hotline Bling. She chuckled to herself, and took a swig of beer.
Then she turned the music up loud and swayed to the beat as she started to dress.
~
“There she is!” Agent Martinez hollered, raising his glass. “And look at that, only half an hour late.”
Chase smirked and walked over to the booth in which Agent Martinez and Detective Jasper sat. Both men were dressed in matching blue sweaters and jeans. If it weren’t for their very different faces—Martinez was handsome with tanned skin, whereas Jasper had bold features and skin the consistency and texture of stewed oatmeal—Chase might have thought them the Bobsy Twins.
“Two for one sale?” she said as she took the seat across from Martinez.
Jasper threw his head back and laughed.
She saw his tonsils then, and knew that like her, the glass in front of him was far from his first; his demeanor couldn’t be more different than it had been earlier in the day at the boardwalk.
“What’s a lady gotta do to get a drink around here?” she said.
Martinez held up a hand.
“Hey! Let’s get—” he turned to her. “What do you drink? You look like a beer type of girl to me.”
Chase raspberried her lips.
“Beer’ll do.”
“Alrighty then. Let’s get this woman a beer!”
~
Anchor Bar was relatively quiet, which wasn’t surprising for a Tuesday in March, and the two FBI Agents and the Boston PD Detective were its only patrons as PM bled into AM.
Over the course of the evening, Detective Jasper’s skin had gone from pasty to beet red, a shade that darkened with every subsequent beverage. His words had also gone from crisp, abrupt sentences to ones that lacked punctuation and maybe even spaces.
Chase noticed this, but not overtly. She too was feeling the effects of the alcohol and her senses, in addition to her inhibitions, had been numbed.
“Goddamn musta been hard to swim without flippers,” Jasper said with a chuckle. Chase could tell the man had meant it as a joke, but it was in such poor taste that even in her inebriated state she couldn’t help but cringe.
“And that, gggentlemen, ‘s’my key to leave,” she slurred, pounding back the last of her beer. She went to stand, but teetered and Martinez put a hand on her arm.
Chase smiled wanly.
“Thanks.”
“Sure,” he said, also rising. At some point during the evening, he had rolled up his sleeves and now that he was steadying her, Chase saw a strange tattoo that ran the length of his forearm. It was simply drawn, without shading: an outline of a snake devouring an eyeball.
What a strange tattoo, she thought absently.
“You know what? We’re both staying at the same hotel. Why don’t we just cab together?”
“So long as the Agency picks up the tab, doesn’t bother me at all,” Chase replied.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Jasper,” Martinez said with a nod in the red-faced man’s direction. “We’ll visit Vishniov’s store, see if there’s anything there. Let’s wrap this one up and move on to the next.”
“Sounds good. My men’ve already been through th’place, but it’ll be good to get another set of eyes,” Jasper slurred. “Fuckin’ drug pushers, low life scum. Got what they deserved, maybe.”
Chase squinted at the man. Martinez also shot him a queer look, and was about to turn and leave, when Jasper’s hand shot out and grabbed Martinez by the forearm.
Martinez glanced at the man’s hand briefly before shrugging him off. Then in a move that seemed to Chase to fall just short of being casual, her partner pulled his sleeve down and covered the tattoo.
Jasper tilted his head, indicating for Martinez to move closer, then offered a not so subtle look in Chase’s direction.
Chase politely looked away, but perked her ears.
She couldn’t help it.
“So, Chris, how you doin’? You know, after what happened to Anna? Things still—”
Martinez said nothing, but shot Jasper such a look that the man visibly recoiled.
Then Chase’s partner smiled and patted Jasper gently on the shoulder.
“See you tomorrow, Jasper. Sleep it off, man.”
CHAPTER 32
Chase had managed to hold it together fairly well at the bar, but once outside the Anchor, things immediately started to deteriorate. Alcohol wasn’t foreign to her—Martinez was right, she was a beer girl—but she usually limited herself to two or three.
Not seven, like she had imbibed tonight. That, and her irregular, broken sleep pattern had made for a toxic combinatio
n.
Inside the cab, her vision started to swim, and she was forced to open the window; the shock of the rushing air kept her grounded.
The good thing was, Chase was drunk enough not to think about… anything, really.
Except for the sweet taste of beer on her palate.
Martinez was predictably silent during the ride, which was fine by her. She suspected by the way that his head dipped periodically that he was drunker than he was letting on too, and that was fine.
Maybe it would serve to loosen him up a little.
The cab pulled up to the W, and Martinez reached into his wallet. He pulled out a twenty and handed it to the driver.
“You gonna be alright, miss?” the driver asked, lifting his eyes to the rearview.
Chase smirked.
“I’ll be fine,” she bit her lip. “And keep the change.”
The air was cold, and it was sharp in her nose as she inhaled. In the car, it had seemed mild out, what with the wind whipping in from the crack in the window. But outside it seemed as cold as it had in Anchorage, despite her alcohol consumption.
Chase shivered and hurried to catch up with Martinez, who had already started toward the entrance.
The doorman gave her a look as they passed, his expression similar to the one that the cab driver had given her, but thankfully the man fell short of asking if she was okay.
What is with this world that every man thinks that it’s their job to protect me? As if every woman is a victim?
It seemed like Martinez was the only man who hadn’t asked if she was okay, if she was fine, alright, good, perfect, if she needed something, wanted something, desired for anything.
The irony was that Chase wasn’t okay; she hadn’t been okay for some time now. And yet she got by. She got by and solved murders, put bad people under the watch of slightly better people, and she was good at.
Like Brent Pine… I got him, I got justice for those poor girls…
The elevator ride and subsequent walk to her room were a blur, and before she knew it, she was outside her door.
Chase glanced over at Martinez, who had the room next to her.
“Goodnight, Chris,” she said softly.
The man stared directly into her eyes.
“Goodnight, Chase. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Even though he hadn’t asked if she was okay, he was gentlemen enough to watch as she struggled with her keycard before finally getting the lock to disengage.
“Goodnight,” she said again, although this time the words were more for herself than for Martinez’s benefit.
With a deep breath, she entered the room and closed the door. Then she pressed her back against it from the inside.
Shutting her eyes, she waited for the visions to come.
They took a while, but eventually they showed up, intoxicated or not.
First, of Georgina, then of the man with the aviator shades.
Then the girls… the dead girls with the missing limbs.
The syringe.
The reek of sweat.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
When are they going to leave me alone? When is Georgina finally going to let me move on?
But she knew the answer to that question. Georgina would never let her go, not until Chase found her.
And found the man responsible.
A single tear traced a line down her cheek and she swiped at it awkwardly with the back of a trembling hand.
With her other, she slipped it into her purse and pulled out her cell phone.
She didn’t want to be alone tonight. Tonight, she wanted to hear someone’s voice, someone she loved.
When Chase saw that Brad hadn’t called, that she had no missed messages, she unexpectedly started to sob.
“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Chase dialed Brad’s number, but there was no answer.
“Where are you? Why don’t you answer my calls? Why don’t you pick up the fucking phone?”
Drunk or not, she was smart enough not to leave a message. Chase hung up then dialed Agent Stitts’s number.
Her whole life she had wanted to be an FBI Agent, and now that she had achieved this goal, she realized that this had done nothing to satisfy her needs.
Because Georgina was still out there… somewhere.
Stitts didn’t answer either, and Chase took a deep, shuddering breath. She wiped the tears from her eyes and then made a decision.
She didn’t want to be alone tonight, not with her thoughts, with her strange visions, her memories.
Chase clenched her jaw and pulled away from the door. She opened it and then walked to the room next to hers.
She knocked once and waited.
Several seconds passed before a shirtless Martinez pulled the door wide.
Chase lowered her eyes, and then she stepped inside.
CHAPTER 33
Chase shivered herself awake. She blinked twice, then pulled the sheet up over her naked body, tucking it tightly beneath her chin.
Then she looked around.
Martinez was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, his bare back to her. She saw some papers on the table, including what looked like a ticket stub and receipt from his flight from Anchorage to Boston. Martinez was fiddling with something in his lap, but she couldn’t make out what it was.
“I’m sorry about your sister,” Chase said, unsure of what had prompted the words.
Had I been dreaming? Dreaming about Georgina?
Martinez froze.
“Go back to sleep, Chase. We have a busy day tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder.
Chase closed her eyes, and sleep took her again.
CHAPTER 34
The cell phone alarm, a piercing jingle, sounded like the soundtrack to a nightmare.
Chase awoke with a start, her head spinning, her tongue thick with the sickly-sweet taste of fermented alcohol.
Bile rose in her throat, and she leapt to her feet, barely noticing that she was completely nude.
She made it to the bathroom, but not to the toilet. Holding her hair back with one hand, she puked into the sink.
Hot, sour liquid splashed the porcelain, and the sight of the greenish-brown substance inspired another bout of vomit.
After voiding her stomach of its contents, and adding a few desperate dry heaves just to be sure, Chase splashed ice cold water on her face. Then she pulled the sallow skin below her eyes down with her fingertips, noting that the edges were tinged pink.
A quick glance around only served to further disorient her. It looked like her room, seemed almost exactly like her room, in fact, only it wasn’t; it was different.
It took her a few moments to figure it out: it was a mirror image of her room.
And with this realization, memories of the previous night came roaring back.
“No,” she moaned. If she needed further proof, she spotted a used condom hanging over the edge of the plastic wastebasket. “Fuck.”
Chase slammed her hands down against the basin and instantly regretted it. The sound sent a blistering shard through her skull.
What have I done? What the hell have I done?
But she knew what she had done.
“Martinez?” she said softly.
No answer.
Chase pulled away from the sink and leaned back into the room.
It was empty and for this, she was grateful.
Chase hurried to dress, and then grabbed her cell phone and sat on the side of the bed. She didn’t even remember bringing it last night.
Instinctively scrolling to her husband’s name, Chase hesitated before making the call.
Even though she doubted that Brad would answer, she didn’t trust herself in her present state not leave a message that would only come back to haunt her later.
Still in a daze, she looked about the room. Not only was Martinez not there, but it appeared as if the man had taken most of his b
elongings with him when he’d left. Everything, in fact, except for a single sheet of paper lying in the center of the table Chase had awoken to him sitting at in the middle of the night.
It read, simply: 210 Ashburn Road—Oren’s restaurant. Paul will take you there. M.
Chase allowed herself a final moment of self pity, and then did what she always did when things went south.
She buried herself in her work.
~
Paul’s sedan was waiting outside the W, just as Martinez had written it would be. The man leaned out the window as she approached and waved her over. He was chain smoking, and didn’t bother hiding this fact from her.
Chase got into the passenger seat and took a sip of the scalding coffee she had poured herself in the lobby. After her vomiting session, most of her hangover had subsided, leaving her with just an odd, lightheaded feeling.
“Rough night?” Paul asked with a smirk.
Chase ignored the comment.
“Take me to 210 Ashburn,” she said.
Paul put the car into drive.
“Yes ma’am,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Regardless of what had happened the night before, she still had a killer to catch.
And this was, and always would be, Chase Adams’s priority.
CHAPTER 35
If Oren Vishniov’s joint was a five-star restaurant, then Girdwood Motel was the Taj Mahal. Situated in the back of a warehouse, the nondescript building was rundown, bordering on derelict. The brick exterior was worn and covered in graffiti, and the service desk, a crude opening cut out of the wall, was filthy.
Paul pulled his car behind Martinez’s rental and what she assumed was Detective Jasper’s unmarked police vehicle.
The glass door beside the service desk was propped open, and as Chase approached, she realized that the top pane of glass had been smashed.
She announced her presence, and both Martinez and Jasper turned to face her.
“Morning,” Martinez offered. Jasper grumbled the same.
Whatever joviality and friendliness that had fallen over them the night prior in the pub had clearly been expended. Martinez, for one, turned away immediately after saying hello. Chase thought she picked up a smirk on Jasper’s pale face, but she knew enough not to mistaken this for kindness.
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