The Intended Victim

by Ivy, Alexandra

Ash frowned. He didn’t understand how filling the tunnels could cause damage, but he was a detective, not a structural engineer. “What did you do?”

  “We took some lumber down there and braced the tunnels,” Albert explained. “Gage wanted to make sure they wouldn’t collapse.”

  “Anything else?”

  “We sealed all the entrances to make sure no thieves could sneak inside,” Albert told him. “Plus, Mr. Gage wanted to keep out any nosy employees. They would sometimes snoop around.” The older man’s expression twisted into disgust. “One even dug up the gardens, looking for old skeletons.”

  Ash could sympathize with Gage’s reluctance to discuss the illegal activities of his wife’s family. As well as his eagerness to hide the physical proof.

  Still, it seemed odd that he’d never mentioned the passages to his own daughter. After all, Remi would inherit the estate someday.

  “Is there an entrance to the tunnels in the garage?” he asked, silently chiding himself for becoming distracted.

  What did it matter why Gage hadn’t mentioned the tunnels? Right now, he wanted to see them for himself.

  The older man looked wary. “I don’t know if I should be telling you.”

  “Albert, this is for Remi,” he said in pleading tones. “If the killer had her in the passageways, he might have left a clue to his identity.”

  There was a long silence as Albert mulled over his loyalty to his employer against his love for Remi. Finally, he heaved a resigned sigh.

  “Okay.” He nodded across the garage. “Over here.”

  Ash followed the man as he headed directly for the old-fashioned safe that was set in the paneled wall.

  He’d noticed it before. It was hard to overlook a heavy steel door that stood seven feet tall and five feet wide, with a spoked handle in the center. But he’d assumed it was decorative. Only a bank needed a safe that large. And even if Remi’s relatives had wanted a place to store secret stuff, why would they put it in the garage?

  Now he watched in silence as Albert bent in front of the door and started to turn the combination from left to right to left to right. At last, he reached for the handle and gave it a turn.

  There was a faint creak, then the door slid open.

  Curious, Ash stepped forward, peering into the dark. He could see shelves on the side walls, but they were empty.

  “Where’s the entrance?” he demanded.

  Albert pointed toward the back wall of the safe. “There’s a hidden door.”

  “Clever,” he murmured. He was impressed. If someone broke into the safe, they would be searching for gold or valuables, not entrances to secret passageways. “Who has the combination?”

  Albert shrugged. “Just me now that Mr. Gage is gone. He changed the lock after we finished our work.”

  “What about Liza?”

  “She never had any interest in the tunnels.”

  Ash frowned. He found it hard to believe that the older woman didn’t have access to every inch of this estate. She was obsessed with her family home.

  Then he dismissed the older woman from his mind. She might consider the tunnels a part of the estate that was better left forgotten.

  Moving forward, he entered the safe and glanced around. The overhead lights battled against the murky darkness, allowing Ash to make out footprints visible in the dust on the floor. He leaned down, but it was impossible to tell the size.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Albert, who hovered near the entrance. “Have you been in here recently?”

  Albert shook his head. “Not for years.”

  So who’d been in the safe? Ash straightened, moving toward the back of the container.

  “How does the hidden door open?” he asked.

  “There’s a switch on the floor that looks like a rock,” Albert said. “Just step on it.”

  It took a minute for Ash to locate the small chunk of stone that looked as if it had been randomly dropped. Reaching out his foot, he gingerly pressed it down. There was another creak, then the back wall of the safe slid aside to reveal an empty darkness.

  His nose wrinkled as he caught the scent of rich earth and stale air. “Are there lights?”

  “Yeah.” He heard Albert move into the safe behind him, running his hand under one of the shelves until he found the switch. Ash heard a click, then a dim glow allowed him to see the stairs leading downward.

  “Wooden steps,” he breathed, his mouth feeling oddly dry as he recalled Remi’s description of her dream.

  “What?” Albert questioned.

  “Nothing.” Ash shook his head as he considered his options.

  They were limited. He could call Jax and hope his brother could get a warrant to search the tunnels. Unfortunately, it seemed unlikely that a judge would allow the cops to invade Liza Harding-Walsh’s estate unless there was compelling evidence. And so far, all he had was the entrance to a passageway that Remi had seen in a dream.

  He could walk away and have Remi return to talk to her mother about any employee who might have discovered the tunnels.

  Or...

  “I’m going down,” he announced abruptly.

  He heard Albert mutter a curse. “Detective, that isn’t a good idea.”

  Ash released a sharp laugh. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” He glanced over his shoulder, his expression somber. “Call 911 if I’m not back in half an hour.”

  Albert pursed his lips. “I don’t like this.”

  “I can’t say I’m crazy about it,” Ash said. “But I have to see what’s down there.” He held the older man’s gaze. “Watch my back.”

  Albert gave a slow nod. “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jax pulled to a halt in front of the pale pink building with the tiled roof. The Paradiso. It took up an entire block, with long wings that had tall windows and arched openings that led to an inner courtyard. Jax climbed out of his car. The spa had the feeling of old Hollywood. A place where Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks might have spent a quiet weekend away from their hordes of fans.

  But as he walked forward, it was easy to see it was faded. And a little tarnished. The flagstone walkway was crumbling beneath his feet. And as he neared the sprawling structure, he could see the windows were dingy, with layers of dirt.

  He paused as he caught sight of the sign across the middle of the double doors.

  FOR SALE BY OWNER

  Well, well, well.

  Angling away from the front entrance, which was heavily padlocked, he walked through an arched entry and stepped into the courtyard.

  A smile touched his lips as he caught sight of the marble fountain in the center of the tiled floor. It was empty now, with a layer of mold, but there was no mistaking it was the same fountain he’d seen in the photo. He was standing in the same spot as his grandmother. The knowledge tugged at his heart and he took a second to imagine her strolling through the elegant spa, perhaps laughing and chatting with another guest.

  It was nice to think of her when she was young and happy, and feisty enough to slip away from the demands of her family for a little peace and quiet. He now understood where his mother had gotten her backbone.

  With a shake of his head, Jax walked toward the glass door that led toward the east wing of the building.

  He grabbed the handle and pulled. Locked. He swallowed a curse, pivoting to cross the tiled floor to try the door to the west wing.

  He was reaching toward the handle when he caught sight of a shadowed form moving across the wide foyer inside the building. With a quick movement, he unzipped his heavy coat to give himself ready access to his gun.

  As the form neared the glass door, Jax could start to make out details. He pressed his lips together, suppressing his smile. The person looked exactly like the clichéd owner of a fancy spa.

  He was slender, with a delicate build, and he was wearing a gray cashmere sweater and a pair of dark slacks that no doubt cost a fortune. His silver hair was carefully brushed to h
ide a growing bald spot, and as he pushed open the door, Jax caught sight of dark, bronzed skin that looked like it came from a tanning bed. The leathery color contrasted sharply with the unnaturally white teeth.

  Jax guessed his age to be close to sixty, but with his lean face frozen by Botox injections, it was hard to be certain.

  “We’re closed,” the man stated in a clipped voice.

  Jax forced a smile to his lips. “I noticed the for-sale sign on the front door.”

  The man ran a suspicious glance over Jax’s worn leather coat and down to his shoes, which came from a department store.

  “You’re interested in purchasing a spa?”

  “Not personally,” Jax said, trying to avoid a direct lie.

  “Are you a real estate broker?”

  Jax lowered his voice, speaking in a confidential tone. “I’d like to keep everything off the record until I’ve had a chance to look around,” he said. It was perfectly true. “Are you the owner?”

  The man remained suspicious, but he gave a nod of his head. “I’m the owner. What do you want to see?”

  Ah. This was Dr. Bode. Just the man he wanted. Jax felt a stab of satisfaction as he brushed past Bode to enter the foyer. “Let’s just wander around while you tell me about the history of this place,” he suggested.

  The doctor hesitated, looking annoyed at having his day interrupted. But then again, he was clearly anxious to sell the place.

  “My father bought the property in the late fifties,” he said, leading Jax across the tiled foyer, which had a high ceiling, a marble floor flecked with gold, and frescoes of palm trees and flamingos on the walls. “This lobby and the outer courtyard are part of the original mansion.”

  Jax hid his grimace. It was not his style, but it might have been the fashion back then. “Do you know who he bought it from?”

  There was the faintest hesitation. “Frank Pruitt.”

  Jax recognized the name. It was well before his time, but there were stacks of boxes at the station that included Pruitt’s arrests for extortion, illegal gambling, and even murder. Not one had led to a conviction. He had powerful friends in high places.

  Then he had suddenly disappeared. Had the elder Dr. Bode given him a new face in exchange for the property?

  “The name is familiar,” he murmured.

  “He was a prominent businessman,” Bode said, heading across the floor to the hallway.

  Jax followed, obediently standing next to the older man as he pulled open the first door to reveal an empty room that had a faded carpet on the floor and a tall window that needed to be washed.

  “This is one of the private rooms for the guests. As you can see, everything is built from the highest-quality material.” Bode pointed toward the crown molding near the ceiling and then toward the built-in cabinets. “You don’t get that sort of workmanship nowadays. Perfect if you wanted to convert the spa into a hotel.” He sent Jax a too-white smile. “And on the upper floors there are larger suites you could keep for premium guests or convert into smaller rooms to double the occupancy potential. Would you like to see them?”

  “Not now.” Jax stepped back. “Are there rooms in the other wing as well?”

  “No, but there’s an indoor pool with a hot tub and a steam room, as well as a small gym and a full kitchen,” Bode quickly assured him.

  Jax began strolling down the hallway, entering the foyer so he could peer out the glass door.

  “What about the upper floor?” he demanded.

  “It was a clinic until I closed it a few years ago.”

  Jax glanced toward the man, not having to fake his curiosity. “What sort of clinic?”

  “The spa used to offer beauty treatments, and I performed cosmetic surgery on guests who wanted more than a facial.”

  “You’re a doctor?” Jax feigned surprise.

  “Yes.”

  There was an edge in the man’s voice that told Jax he didn’t want to discuss his career as a physician. Why not? Jax was guessing he had something to hide.

  “Do you still do surgery in another clinic?”

  “No, I gave up my license when I decided to retire.” A muscle twitched at the base of Bode’s jaw, assuring Jax that the doctor hadn’t given up his license willingly. “The clinic could be renovated if you wanted to create more rooms.”

  “Can I see?” Jax demanded, wanting to inspect the clinic for himself.

  It should be easy to determine if it’d been used recently.

  Bode seemed to come to the same conclusion. Licking his lips, he reached into his pocket to pull out an ivory business card.

  “I’m busy today. If you want a full tour, I suggest you ask your client to call me to make an appointment for next week,” he said, pressing the card into Jax’s hand.

  Jax dropped the card on the floor, his smile fading. No more games. He needed answers. And he was going to get them one way or another.

  “Actually, I’m going to insist we do it now,” he said, pulling aside his coat to reveal his badge, attached to his belt.

  Bode frowned, leaning down to study the ID. “‘Detective Marcel,’” he read out loud, slowly straightening with a confused expression. “What’s this about?”

  “I have a few questions.”

  “About the spa? I assure you, all my zoning permits are in order.”

  “I’m a homicide detective,” Jax told the man. “I’m not interested in permits.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I told you.” Jax narrowed his eyes. “I would like to see your clinic.”

  Bode shifted from foot to foot. “Why? It hasn’t been used in years.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Jax’s voice was hard.

  “Check with the medical board,” the man tried to bluff. “They’ll tell you I haven’t worked as a doctor.”

  “I assume they took your license?”

  Anger flared in Bode’s eyes. “Yes. It was all a mistake, but they stole my ability to work as a surgeon.”

  Jax couldn’t care less why the doctor had lost his license. “You couldn’t perform surgery legally, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do it in secret.”

  It was a direct hit. Bode clenched his hands, his face paling despite the leathered bronze of his skin. “I think I should call my lawyer.”

  Jax shrugged, pretending to be indifferent to the threat. Inside, he was reminding himself to be careful. He could get a warrant to search the place, as well as force the man to talk even with a lawyer, but it would take ten times as long.

  He couldn’t risk the delay. Not with a serial killer stalking Remi.

  “Right now, I’m just looking for information,” he said, giving a casual shrug. “But if you want to make this official, we can finish our conversation downtown.”

  There was a brittle pause as Bode silently weighed his options. No doubt his logic was warning him to keep his mouth shut, but his pride was balking at the horror of being hauled into a police station.

  Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

  “Information about what?” he demanded at last.

  Jax released a silent breath of relief, reaching beneath his coat to retrieve the photos he’d tucked into the pocket of his suit jacket.

  “These two women,” he said, holding them out.

  The doctor took the photos, sucking in an audible breath as he obviously recognized Angel Conway and Rachel Burke.

  Bode coughed, reluctantly lifting his head to meet Jax’s steady gaze. “What about them?”

  “They recently had plastic surgery.”

  “And?” Bode tried to look bored. Instead, he looked like he’d swallowed something nasty. “There’re a thousand plastic surgeons in Chicago.”

  “And all of them have denied having these women as patients,” Jax said.

  Bode abruptly shoved the pictures back into Jax’s hand. “I don’t know what that has to do with me.”

  Jax carefully tucked the photos into his pocket, considering his words. Obviou
sly, the doctor was determined to deny any knowledge of the victims. Time for a different approach.

  “There’s a rumor your father used to make extra money offering mobsters new faces.”

  The man blinked, confused by the sudden accusation. “My father died twenty-five years ago.”

  “I know.” Jax folded his arms over his chest. “I thought you might have followed in his footsteps.”

  Bode forced out a harsh laugh. “Are you claiming those girls are mobsters?”

  “I’m saying you might have been in need of cash.” Jax deliberately glanced toward the wall where the palm trees were peeling and the flamingos had faded from pink to a nasty shade of salmon. “Why not do a little nip and tuck off the books?”

  Bode grimaced, seeming to at last realize that Jax wasn’t here on a whim. “Even if I did a few small procedures, and I’m not admitting anything—”

  “Of course not,” Jax interjected in dry tones.

  Bode ignored his interruption. “Why would a homicide detective be involved?”

  “Because those two women are now dead.”

  “What?” Bode jerked at Jax’s blunt explanation. “That’s impossible.”

  “Don’t you watch the news?” Jax demanded.

  Bode gave an absent shake of his head. “I have better things to do with my time. Besides, I’ve been preoccupied.” With a sharp movement, the doctor turned to pace across the foyer before spinning back to glare at Jax. “Dead. Are you sure?”

  Jax squashed his pang of disappointment as he studied the man’s horrified expression. He hadn’t known. No one was that good an actor. Dammit. Jax had realized it would be a long shot for Bode to be the Butcher, but he’d still clung to the hope. It would have solved all his problems.

  Of course, even if he wasn’t the killer, he had to know who was, he told himself.

  “It’s my job to be sure,” he told the older man.

  “What happened?” Bode demanded. “An accident?”

  “Both of them had their throats cut open.”

  Bode gasped, lifting his hand to his neck. “They were murdered?”

  “Yep.”

  “At the same time?”

  Jax shook his head. “No, it was a few days apart.”