“Did you… I mean, did you actually go?” Bella couldn’t stifle the elated disbelief in her voice.
Officer Turner shrugged. She was a short woman but built like a lightweight boxer: all muscle and tendon without an inch of extra body fat. The first thing Bella had noticed about her, besides the flash of her silver smile, was the faded tear tattoo under her left eye. She was a survivor, too, apparently.
“I got off work, and I was in the area. What can I say? I thought I’d take a little spin around, bring you a treat for your breakfast, like you asked.”
She hadn’t asked Turner for cronuts. She’d mentioned the place in passing but only as a segue into what she really wanted. Kyle had found nothing when it came to rented apartments in Ross’s stomping grounds. None of the houses were tenanted; none of the dilapidated blocks of housing had been recently let. There hadn’t been a house sold in that area in years. There was no way Salem Ross was in that area legitimately.
Bella had begged Kyle to go himself, to take a look for houses that might be abandoned or filled with squatters, but he’d refused.
“I’ve got too much else to do, and to tell you the truth—” He had lowered his voice then, but Bella could still hear the echo from the bathroom stall he was hiding in. “—Brooks is starting to give me the old stink eye every time he passes my desk. I’ve got two presentations to do this week, and we just don’t have the officers to send down there right now. I’ll put my neck on the line for you, Bella, but you gotta let me pull it back in on occasion.”
She’d thanked him for his help, hung up, and then marched herself right down to the ever-present patrol car outside her apartment to ask Officer Turner instead.
They’d built up a rapport. There was something in the way she looked at Bella, pulling her glasses down over her nose and leaning out the car window, that hinted that Officer Turner would be willing to do a little off-hours research on the side.
Bella could’ve hugged her.
“You,” Bella said, holding up the bag, “are amazing”
Turner blushed, her wide native cheekbones coloring despite the girl’s obvious attempts to keep it cool. “Yeah, well, I hate to see a woman as smart as you locked up. It’s against my nature.”
“Did you see anything?” Bella was done with the weird flirting. She itched with impatience.
Officer Turner reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone. She moved closer to Bella and brought up her photos. Bella took the phone and looked down at the image of a compact rancher hidden behind a sagging chain-link fence. She knew where the home was. Of course she did. At this point, she knew the entire area as if she’d grown up there.
Bella looked up. “That’s off Harrison Street, right before the street curves to those apartments.”
“You’re good,” Turner said. “That’s it. Shit neighborhood though. I don’t know who would live there on purpose.”
“Is it empty?” Bella used two fingers to zoom farther into the picture. The lawn was overgrown to the point that it was beginning to encroach on the front steps. Even in the blurry picture, she could make out the piles of forgotten newspapers, crushed cans, and dog shit that carpeted the walk.
“From what I could tell. I was off duty, so I didn’t knock on the door or anything. Took a peek in the windows though.”
“And?” Bella searched Turner’s blue eyes. They met hers steadily, unflinching.
“You were right. Someone’s squatting in there. The place is owned by some Asian businessman who used to rent it out back when Goose Hollow was, you know, a place people wanted to be. When his last tenants moved out, the guy just let it sit there, I guess.”
“You called the guy?”
Turner beamed again, her brilliant smile as tough as the steel she’d decorated it with.
“Like I said, I hate to see a lady locked up,” she continued. “You can see how all the front windows are blocked with tinfoil and stuff, right? I went around back and got a peek in the kitchen. Someone is in there all right—I could see the television light, and there’s a ton of boxes lying around.”
The urge to hug Turner swept over her again. She took an awkward step forward before stopping herself. Physical contact sometimes seemed like a good idea, but she always regretted it. She couldn’t even wrap her arms around her own father without feeling a tiny bit nauseous.
“Amazing,” she repeated instead. Her body was vibrating with excitement. She’d found him. “Incredible work, Turner.”
“Don’t tell anyone. Captain Hook will throw me overboard if he even gets a hint of what we’ve all been doing here.”
Bella’s hand was on the door. She spoke through the diminishing crack as she closed it, her mind whirling. She’d found him. She’d finally found him. After twenty-five years she knew exactly where he was. “I won’t say a thing. Soon as I’m out of here, I’m taking you all out for drinks.” She was prattling promises, the greasy bag forgotten in her hand. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Go get him, lady.”
The door closed. Bella rushed to her coffee table. Tossing the bag of treats on the clutter-covered glass, she picked up her phone. Jabbing through her contacts list, she paced her apartment. She hadn’t been for a run in days, and she could feel her body straining with pent-up energy. In the state she was in, she’d be outside Salem’s house in thirty minutes tops, gun in hand and her own record broken.
She was about to click on the captain’s number when she stopped.
What if it wasn’t him? What if she called her father and convinced him to send the entire cavalry down there only to frighten some useless drug addict into a cardiac arrest? With the amount of media coverage this case had, she could only imagine the amount of shame this would bring the department.
And Kyle. It would come out that he’d been her direct line for forbidden information these last few days. She had pictures and files taped to her wall that she wasn’t supposed to have under any circumstances. She’d been manipulating the officers stationed outside her apartment like an expert to get them to act as her proxy. There went Officer Turner’s career. There went the lives of everyone she’d charmed into her own little circle of madness.
Her finger had been hovering. She closed it into a fist. She brought her phone absently to her mouth and bit into the top of the case, glaring at the kaleidoscope of information in front of her.
No, she couldn’t do that. She’d have to wrap this up the same way she’d been doing everything else. She’d have to do this on her own.
Wouldn’t she?
Chapter Eighteen
She was yakking again. That Sandy woman—the talking head with the blonde hair that didn’t move, and the mouth so pink it looked obscene. Leaning toward the camera, Salem could make out a hint of rounded cleavage winking at the camera. It was like subliminal advertising. I’m a serious reporter, but I’m sexy, too. How he hated her. A couple of times he’d considered pulling what his brothers used to call a “full Elvis.” He’d even found his hand on the gun he kept by the sofa a few times without him knowing it. It was like his entire body was in rebellion against the nasty whore.
She continued talking, her face so sincere and so concerned as his mug shot floated on the screen beside her. Salem sat up straight from where he’d been slouching and pulled the remote control from between the cushions. He pounded the volume button until the practiced lilt of her voice filled the entire house.
“Having identified the Portland Predator at the beginning of this week, the police are still asking the public to come forward with any information they can about Salem Ross. Tips are still coming in, but as of now there are still no concrete leads to his location or if he intends to strike again. Detective Kyle Gray of the…”
Salem yelled. A deep, gravelly holler of rage drowned out Sandy’s report, only growing louder when Detective Gray appeared on screen. He didn’t give a shit what that kid had to say. In fact, the sooner he could wrap his hands around his perfectly shav
ed little neck the better. He’d thought he’d got it out of his system when he carved up his last victim, but the urge had returned and was only growing. He wasn’t the one he wanted. He wanted Isabella. Where the hell was Isabella?
Still screaming, Salem threw his remote at the screen. The plastic cracked as soon as it hit the glass, sending a spray of batteries, wires, and black plastic throughout the room. Detective Gray carried on, his oh-so-handsome eyes oh-so-concerned and oh-so-capable.
Salem sprung from the couch, striding across the floor. The dust balls, packing peanuts, and bubble wrap that covered the floor scattered like frightened ghosts as he moved.
“Fuck you, you little runt.” He yanked the television cord from the wall and the voices came to an abrupt halt. He’d had enough. “No more Mr. Handsome, no more Captain Boring, no more fucking tips from concerned citizens.”
He paced the room so fast his T-shirt fluttered against his bony chest. Mumbling, he rubbed his hands across his mouth. His patience had been pushed to the limit. He had been pushed to the limit, and his anger kept him there.
All he wanted was for Isabella to come out and play. Was that too much to ask? Breaking into her house had been a mistake, he knew that now. The cops had her locked up in that expensive loft of hers tighter than she’d been in his cellar. All the fun he’d been having following her during her runs or waiting outside her gym had come to an end, and he was sick with longing for more.
He wanted her fear. He craved it like a drug.
The bra he’d taken from her apartment that night disgusted him now more than anything else. He couldn’t marry the two ideas in his mind. Women wore those things—women like Sandy and her buoyant, leaking, filthy adult body. His little duckling wasn’t like that. Not at all. She was ageless; she was pure. She was special and didn’t need to whore herself up. Not for him.
He had to remind her of how special she really was. He needed to take her down memory lane—to flip through their mental photo album and relive all of those magical moments they’d spent together.
He felt the humming begin then. It’d been absent since the captain had stashed his duckling away, but he could feel it starting up all over again. It rumbled in his chest, a great surge of excitement he could practically see, glittering and golden as it raced through his veins. His smile stretched across his face, and he stifled a laugh at the base of his throat.
If they weren’t going to bring her to him, he’d have to be the bigger man and plan this reunion all by himself. No more waiting—it was time.
Chapter Nineteen
Losing nerve was an unfamiliar sensation for Detective Cruz, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all. When she’d stood in front of her tattooed city map this morning triumphant with her theory, she’d felt invincible. If only she’d left right then, she could’ve distracted her guards and then burst into Salem’s squat, fully powered with the feeling of beautiful immunity that’d filled her at that moment. But she couldn’t. And she didn’t.
Instead, she had to spend ten long hours feeling that power drain away. The doubts that replaced it were crippling. If she’d been honest with herself, she might have even managed to identify the other sensation hiding beneath her insecurity for what it was: fear.
She’d waited until it was night before she slipped out. Dressed in black jeans and her dark anorak, she’d ridden the elevator for what seemed like hours as she waited for a lady to get on. When she did, eyeing her suspiciously where she stood in the corner, she managed a half-smile to put the stranger at ease. When they left the elevator, Bella had followed closely behind. Thanks to her size, she was able to keep pace with the large man who entered the elevator and then shadow him out the door and past the patrol car. She’d glanced inside as she passed and saw the two on-duty officers, their faces inches from their phones while they stuffed fries in their mouths. For a moment she’d felt like an idiot for ever thinking she was safe.
Not that what she was planning on doing was going to improve that in any way.
Now that she was free, Bella spun her phone where it sat on the highly polished table in front of her. But where was he? She spun it in the other direction, looking into the night outside the coffee shop. Had she at last exceeded Kyle’s tolerance for her bullshit? She’d called him, breathless and recently escaped from her apartment; he’d been furious. She’d seen him angry before, but there was an edge to it this time that made her think she’d made a mistake.
She shouldn’t have called him. She should’ve committed to doing this alone. That way, if she died, she wouldn’t drag anyone else down with her. If Salem managed to get close enough to touch her, to hurt her…
Bella closed her eyes. Behind her lids she saw the cellar stretch out before her. She saw the bulging shadows standing guard at every corner as clear as if she were there. She could almost hear the whining of the dog against the window, and the creaking—the horrible squeeze and moan of that goddamn air mattress.
Bella had stopped breathing. She shot open her eyes, focusing on the quiet jazz of the coffee shop and the bites of banal conversations that carried above it.
You’ve got this. You’re a survivor.
Then why did it feel like all her nerve was gone? She was suddenly back in the cellar again, her scratched fingers reaching for the collar of the neighbor’s dog through the tiny crack, only to feel it slipping away. That wriggling animal was her courage, puppy-dumb and loping away out of sight.
There was the hissing sound of traffic as the door to the shop opened and closed. Bella knew it was Kyle before she looked. He walked toward her, almost unrecognizable in an oversized sweater and a rain-dappled Mariners ball cap. His eyes under the rim of his cap were furious.
“I—” she began.
“You’re supposed to be my partner, right?” he said, pulling back the chair opposite her. He didn’t sit but rested his hands on the high back and leaned his weight into it.
She looked up at him, hoping he wouldn’t detect the nervousness that ran through her like electricity. “I am your partner.”
“And my superior. You’ve been doing this longer than me by… how many years now?”
“Almost five.”
“Almost five, right. That’s it.” He sat down at last, the bare knees poking from his shorts pink with the cold. He took off his hat and pushed his hair back from his forehead where it tumbled down. Bella was distracted by a strange pulse in her chest. She’d never seen him out of his work clothes before. He was different. Sure, he was still achingly wholesome, but without his polished shoes and tie he was something else, too—he was attractive.
Bella cleared her throat and looked away from where he was glaring at her.
“So my superior officer—a woman I respect and have put my entire career on the line for—sneaks out of her apartment against orders and calls me in the middle of the night to tell me she’s going to go catch the most wanted man in the city all on her own?”
Bella could only nod. Her hands went uselessly from her phone to her lap and then to her hair. She would’ve given anything for him to stop looking at her like that. He was pinning her like a bug to paper. “That appears to be the gist of it,” she said, sounding more like a sullen teen than she wanted.
“Hunt him down, Batman-style?” Kyle continued. “No regard for procedure, no regard for anything. No regard for yourself, which is even worse, to be honest.”
“I know it’s him, Kyle. Everything I told you on the phone makes sense.
“And like I told you on the phone, Detective, I can’t let you take that risk alone.”
When Bella spoke, her voice went from surly to irate. “I’m not asking you to come with me. I don’t need you with me. I wanted…” She paused. She’d just been questioning why she called him, and she still couldn’t think of an intelligent reason. “Look, I wanted you to know what I was doing, that’s all. I guess I wanted you to know where I was in case I didn’t—”
Kyle interrupted her. “In cas
e you didn’t come back.”
His words fell heavy between them, filling up the distance from where he rested his hands on the table and where she gripped the edges. They both looked down, the coffee-scented reality of the average world circling them where they sat. They were like two black holes, absorbing the light around them.
Bella picked up her untouched coffee and took a sip. It was cold, and the cream coated her dry tongue. He was right. This visit with Kyle was as close to a last will and testament as she was going to get. “In case I didn’t come back, yes.”
They glared at each other again, without words. Bella watched Kyle’s mind working away behind his eyes, his pupils projecting all the pros and cons of what he was about to say like a home movie on fast-forward.
She was surprised when he didn’t speak. Instead, he placed his wet hat back on his head and patted his sides through the saggy, striped sweater he wore. He frowned, and then his face relaxed. “Oh yeah, I left it in the car.”
“Left what?” Bella watched as he stood up, his chair moaning against the floor.
“My sidearm. You’ve got yours, right?”
Bella was confused. She almost flashed open her anorak to show him, but she remembered where they were. “Yeah, I’ve got mine. Why?”
“Let’s go, then,” he said. “Let’s get this shit over with so everything can go back to normal.”
Chapter Twenty
Bella looked over her shoulder just in time to see an old woman’s face disappearing behind the lace that hung in her window. She’d noticed the light as soon as they’d turned the corner to make their way up Harrison Road. It was late, and most houses on the street were either completely shut down or filled with the blue light of televisions. The house was easy to spot—directly across from what Bella was convinced was Salem’s rancher, it’d been lit up like a jack-o’-lantern. The light from her windows stretched across the pavement like fingers reaching for the gate they stood in front of.
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