“So I won’t burn in hell?”
He placed a finger over her lips, hushing her. “Cammie, you are the best present of all.”
For a moment he reset his gaze on her eyes, and then once again his lips found hers and time seemed to bend so that she couldn’t quite track where she was in space. The music downstairs was a part of it, the soft fluted notes of Celtic music her grandmother had put on, the snipping sound the shears made as she cut the red roses, the way Justin’s hands cupped the sides of her face. His fingers wound through her hair just as she heard it, the sound that penetrated into her brain, like a wrong note. It was a
ping
, coming from her computer.
“Justin,” she said, her voice tight. “Wait. Did you hear that?”
He registered her shifting mood immediately. “What?”
“My computer.”
She didn’t have to say more. Justin’s gaze snapped over to her screen. Her computer was on, just as Andrew had told her to leave it, but the screen saver shimmered across the screen like waves of water blotting out the message.
“Lyric?”
“Maybe. But she knows what’s going on, that everything is being watched. I don’t think it’s Lyric.”
Justin pushed her behind him, as if the danger were on the screen itself. Together they walked toward the desk, Cameryn trailing by a half step, the feeling of dread spreading through her as the screen loomed large. Before he went to the computer he snapped her curtains shut. Then he reached over and shook the mouse. “Stop hiding, you bastard,” he said in a voice so hard Cameryn barely recognized it as Justin’s. Instantly, the screen saver vanished, and there, in the prearranged chat room, were the words that made the blood turn to water in her veins.
Happy Valentine’s Day, my
anam cara
. I want to be sure this is you and not the police. What was the shape of my grandmother’s tombstone? I showed it to you in the cemetery.
Staring at the screen with single-minded ferocity, Justin demanded, “Cameryn, do you know the answer?”
She nodded, her heart thrumming in her chest. Clutching the back of her chair, she felt her legs wobble. She looked at the screen, and then up at Justin, but he was already punching numbers into his phone.
“Cammie, type back to him,” he ordered. “We’ve got to keep him going.” On the phone, he began to talk to Sheriff Jacobs, looking sharply from the screen to the window and then to Cameryn while he fired off commands as though it were he, and not the sheriff, who was in charge.
She found she couldn’t move. Wide-eyed, she stared at the screen. Justin turned to her, his lips pressed into a hard line. How had her body seized up like that, to disconnect her mind from her flesh? Placing a hand on each of her shoulders, he pulled her closer to him, ever so slightly.
“I know you’re scared—I understand. Tell me what to write and I’ll do it for you,” he told her. “Please.” He looked at her with such a focused intensity that she found herself coming back. It was like following a beacon in a lighthouse. “Andrew is coming right now. Tell me the shape of his grandmother’s tombstone and I’ll type the words. You don’t have to do a thing. Cammie, Kyle won’t hurt you. I won’t let him.”
“I can do it.” Her voice sounded far away.
“Mrs. Mahoney!” he bellowed. “Call Patrick. O’Neil has just made contact. The police are on their way.”
“Oh my God.” She heard her grandmother’s soft cry.
Justin was about to sit in the chair but Cameryn sank into it first. “I said I can do it.” Her fingers were shaking so hard it was difficult to type out the words.
I’m here. It’s me, Cammie. The tombstone looked like the pages on an open book. What do you want?
The message was delivered instantly. A second later, and she read his response.
You.
Justin cursed under his breath. Jerking his hands through his hair, he said, “Tell him you know he killed Leather Ed. Ask him why he did it.”
Obedient, Cameryn transcribed Justin’s words.
A moment later she read:
I knew it would get your attention. I heard the warning on the news for the druggies to dump their cocaine, so I figured you got my little messages I left. I hope it was you who figured it out. I remember how much you like puzzles.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard without Justin’s prompting.
You are insane. You said you did not kill Brent Safer and Joseph Stein and now I know you did.
A heartbeat later he wrote:
They were collateral damage. I am NOT insane, Cammie. I am like you. I think that part scares you—finding that we are the same person. And before you condemn me for killing a man, be aware that I listened to you. This time I chose a person less important than Brad Oakes. Leather Ed was a waste of skin. He was a drug dealer. I hardly think he’ll be missed. Don’t you think it’s fun playing together again?
Justin’s words were like bullets. “What is
collateral damage
? Ask him why he killed Safer and Stein.”
The message had barely been sent when Kyle’s words chimed back.
Their deaths were pure, random chance. I broke into Leather Ed’s and toyed with his drugs. It was like a lottery ticket, you know? I mixed in only a few bad bags with the good. Then I watched to see what would happen. It was wild that one of the men who ended up with my concoction was a BIG celebrity. There is a truth in that: the rich die just like the poor. Leather Ed snorted his last line in his room, sitting in his chair, while I waited in his basement. He didn’t know what hit him.
Another
ping
sounded just as they finished reading.
Is Justin with you?
Cameryn whipped around to look at Justin, who in turn shook his head hard. “Tell him no.” His voice cracked like breaking ice.
No.
And then the one word typed back:
Liar.
At that point she heard a commotion at her front door, then her mammaw leading Andrew the FBI agent and Sheriff Jacobs up the stairs, their boots matching the pounding of her heart. Justin quickly filled them in on what was happening, finishing up by saying, “I don’t know what to do now. It may be a bluff or O’Neil might be watching.” The panic was rising in his voice. “My goal was to keep him communicating but I can’t see my way to the next move.”
It was Andrew who took control. In a calm voice, he said, “Deputy, you did a fine job. We’ve got our people tracking him but it’s going to be next to impossible now that he’s using the chat room.”
“What’s the answer, then?” asked Jacobs. Cameryn could hear their voices behind her, but she didn’t turn around. As she watched their shadow images flicker across the screen, her mind pulsed against the one word.
Liar.
Did Kyle know she was surrounded by people, or was he somewhere far away, playing games?
“We need to get him to use a phone,” Andrew said. “We’ve checked the inventory of Leather Ed’s belongings and his cell phone is missing. Our guess is that O’Neil’s got it. Try to have him call you on that phone, Cameryn. We can track it if you do.”
Now she did turn around. “How am I going to get him to do that?”
Andrew was dressed down today, in khakis and a tan shirt. His hair looked silver in the light, his jaw more square. “I want you to type exactly what I’m going to tell you to say. Are you ready to catch him?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a brave girl. Now, the first thing I want you to do is to type to him that you really care about him.”
Cameryn gasped, balking at the idea.
“No!”
“You’ve got to get him to trust you,” Andrew said. He was leaning close to her shoulder, and she could smell the faintest whiff of aftershave. “Write down a memory you two shared, then tell him you are worried about what will happen to him. We’ll do this one piece at a time.”
“Justin?” She looked to him for confirmation, but he nodded in agreement.
“Do it,” he said. “If we catch him it’ll be over.”
She searched her memory, trying to find a strand she could pull from her memories with Kyle, thoughts she’d tried so hard to forget.
Do you remember when we were in the church and I told you about my mother? I told you all about Hannah. I told you how she left me when I was little, and you sat and listened to me.
“Good, good,” Andrew crooned. “Keep going.”
I think you understood how hard that was. I know your mom left you, too. Kyle, you have to be careful. You could get killed.
She swallowed hard before adding a line that was a lie that was not venial, but mortal. A black mark on her soul.
I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.
Patting her shoulder, Andrew said, “Perfect. You need to connect with him in a way that makes him feel safe. We’ve got to get his guard down. Send it.”
She did.
That’s just the thing, Cammie. I don’t care anymore. I’ve played the game and I’ve won. There’s nothing left for me now.
Andrew looked excited. With darting movements he assessed the room, then made a steeple with his hands, crossing his thumbs, and tapped his fingers against his pursed lips. “He’s showing vulnerability. That’s exactly what we want. Keep him typing. We have to go slow and draw him out carefully. This is all about strategy.”
Andrew droned on in her ear as Cameryn, compliant, typed the words. She wrote that what Kyle did was in some ways understandable. That it must be hard to live apart from everyone else, and for the first time she, Cammie, could see the world from his side. She told him he was not alone. Back and forth, back and forth, they typed for an hour, then two. Justin paced behind her while she transcribed, urging her to add personal details wherever they fit so that Kyle knew the words were coming from her. Her father arrived, too worried to say anything, his paw of a hand resting on the top of her head before he sat in a chair to watch the drama unfold. The female CBI agent, Chris, kept up a constant stream of talk over the phone with a judge who was waiting to grant a warrant at a moment’s notice. The muscles in Cameryn’s back were a mass of knots as she wrote words she did not believe. Her fingers, at first cold, had slowly turned to ice.
Give yourself up. Please. It’s the only way.
That message was repeated in various ways, just as Andrew told her to do. And, exactly as he predicted, Kyle’s writing became more personal. He spoke of his rage, his despair, the sense of apartness he felt from the rest of the human race. He told her of his crushing loneliness and the fact that only she understood his need for death, because she, too, was drawn to that place; it was a rope, he said, that would lead them both back to the living. The last line he wrote was that he loved her. He typed the words again and again.
“All right, I think we’ve got him where we want him.” Andrew’s voice could barely contain his excitement. He pointed to the screen. “It’s showtime. Tell him you want to hear his voice. Tell him you
need
to hear it.”
Kyle, I want to talk to you. I need to hear your voice.
She felt as though someone had physically punched her in the gut. The message back took longer this time:
The minutes on my phone are gone. I bought a disposable phone and the minutes are gone. We have to type.
“This is it,” Andrew said. He took a deep breath and blew it between his teeth. “Tell him to use Leather Ed’s. If he forgets we can trace a regular cell phone, we got him. Try, Cammie.”
Please call me on Leather Ed’s phone. I know you have it. I need to talk to you. It’s important that I hear your voice even if it’s only for a minute.
She stared at her blank screen. Everyone had crowded inside her small room and she could feel their collective body heat; her grandmother, her father, Andrew, Chris, Sheriff Jacobs, and Justin, each quietly waiting on pins and needles. Justin stood behind her, his hands gripping her shoulders as he stared, expectant, at the screen. “He’s not answering. Maybe we scared him off,” he said softly. “Maybe we pushed too hard.”
“We had to make our move,” Andrew replied. “The cell phone is our only hope. Chris has a judge at the ready. We’ll have the warrant within seconds and we can trace the cell phone using locater pings. The guy needs to call. Just one mistake.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Pick up the phone, O’Neil. Call. Just call.”
And then, like an answer to prayer, Cameryn’s BlackBerry went off in her back pocket. The spit had dried in her mouth, as she held up the screen and said the two words she never wanted to say. “It’s him.”
Chapter Fourteen
CAMERYN PACED BACK
and forth in front of Justin’s desk, anxious and infuriated by his apparent calm. He was in his too-small office chair, one finger pressed in his ear as he spoke to Sheriff Jacobs. His feet were propped on his desk, the tips of his boots so scuffed they resembled sandpaper.