The Seven-Day Target (12 page)

Nick folded his arms across his chest and looked at the wall, apparently deep in thought. “What is it?” she asked.

“Maybe nothing.” He turned to face her. “But don’t you think it’s odd that a man would transition from mugging old ladies to playing some twisted psychological game?”

Libby blinked. “What do you mean?”

“In my experience criminals have their...modus operandi. They act in a way that works for them, and they don’t tend to stray from that path.”

“Sure, but there are plenty of criminals who evolve,” she reasoned. “I’ve handled too many domestic violence cases to count, and I’ve seen abuse progress from verbal insults to murder. It happens.”

Nick ran a hand through his thick, golden-brown hair as he thought. “I guess I don’t see it that way.”

“Oh? Then how do you see it?”

“In a domestic violence case, the abuse doesn’t change, it just becomes progressively worse. It’s a matter of degree. Here, you have a complete shift. If Will Henderson committed these crimes, we have to believe that he changed from a low-level creep who stole purses to a serial killer. And not just any serial killer, but a killer who tormented his victims and their families for days. He went from committing crimes of opportunity to becoming a calculated killer.” Nick grew silent, his mouth forming a tight line. “I’ve dealt with serial killers before, and something isn’t adding up.”

She shrugged. “I suppose it’s not fair of us to presume Henderson was guilty of those muggings when he was never brought to trial on those charges. Innocent until proven guilty.” Something on Nick’s face made her pause. “Why—what are you thinking?”

He looked down at a stack of papers in front of him, but she could tell that he was gathering his thoughts. “Maybe your dad locked up the wrong guy. Maybe Henderson was a mugger but not a killer. That could explain why someone would want revenge.”

Libby’s face grew hot. “Are you accusing my father of knowingly prosecuting the wrong person?” She tried without success to keep her voice from trembling.

“Not knowingly, Libby.” He held up his palms. “We can’t assume that. But I’m trying to explore all of the possibilities. Think about the pressure the police must have been under to find the Arbor Falls Strangler. Mistakes could have been made. Maybe they reached a dead end with the investigation and Henderson took the fall.”

Could it be possible? Had her father locked up the wrong suspect in the case that made his career? Her heart flailed in her chest and her hands shook. “My father was an honorable man. This is all speculation. We don’t even have any evidence.”

The metal door slammed shut behind him. They both jumped. “The doorstop must have been loose,” Nick said, and he stood and walked to the door. He turned the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge. “That’s strange,” he mumbled.

Libby’s face was burning as she returned to the documents before her. She needed to calm down and remain levelheaded if she was going to get through these boxes in time. “What’s strange?”

“The door is stuck.” Nick twisted and turned the doorknob, but it held resolutely still. He started knocking on the door. “There must be someone out there in the warehouse who can help us.”

“Wait a minute.” The blood drained from Libby’s face as she rose from her chair. “Are you saying we’re locked in here?” So much for remaining calm.

“I’m sure someone will hear us,” Nick replied, but the tone of his voice did little to reassure her. He began pounding on the door, and the sound of his fist on the metal echoed through the room.

She pulled out her cell phone. “I have John’s number. I’ll give him a call.” She frowned at the screen. “Shoot. I don’t get a signal here.”

“I’ll check mine.” He pressed a few buttons and waited. “I have a signal, but it’s spotty. My call isn’t going through.”

Libby’s breath came in shallow gasps. Nick turned to her, his eyes wide with concern. “Libby, have a seat. I’ll take care of this.”

She was frozen, her chest tightening as she felt how small the room was. She eased herself back into her chair and leaned forward until her head was between her knees. Breathe, she told herself. There’s plenty of air.

But then her eyes were drawn to the corner of the room, where a thin white line was trailing from one of the boxes.
Smoke.
“Nick,” she whispered, her throat clenched.

He was pounding on the door with both fists now and shouting for help. He didn’t hear her. Libby was frozen. The smoke was coming out of the holes in the sides of the box, gathering thickly and bouncing off the ceiling to collect at the top of the room. “Nick,” she repeated, only slightly louder.

He continued to hammer at the door with his fists and then turned to throw his shoulder against the door. He bounced off and winced, rubbing his arm. Finally his gaze caught on the same spot where Libby’s gaze was transfixed. His eyes widened. “Libby,” he said.

“Fire!” She jumped from her seat as a burst of energy coursed like a jolt of electricity through her marrow. Her muscles twitched, and she thought for a moment that she might be able to scratch through the cinder-block walls. “Oh, God.” She joined Nick and started beating on the door. “Help us!” She grabbed the doorknob, twisting and pulling at it.

Nick raced to the smoking box and threw it to the floor. Flames leaped out the sides. “We have to smother it!” He stomped on the box, but that only succeeded in sending flaming pieces of paper flying. The fire began to spread.

“Why isn’t the alarm going off?” Libby was nearly hyperventilating as the room filled with smoke.
Not this way,
she thought to herself.
I’m not dying this way.
She looked around and saw a red light on the ceiling. A smoke detector. “Nick, we have to set off the alarm,” she shouted.

He raced to Libby’s side. “I’ll lift you up. See if you can set it off manually.”

Nick crouched down to wrap his muscular arms around Libby’s thighs, squeezing her tightly before hoisting her toward the ceiling. The room was bathed in a thick haze of smoke, and Libby fumbled blindly around the alarm, trying to find a button of some kind. “I don’t feel anything,” she said.

“Keep looking,” said Nick, his voice hoarse. He coughed.

She pressed her fingers against the plastic. “Nick, there may not be anything. It was just a guess.” She stopped as the smoke detector cover twisted off in her hand. A strangled scream escaped from the back of her throat.

Nick tensed. “What happened?”

“I broke it.” Libby started to squirm. “Put me down. Now!” He obliged and Libby tossed the cover of the smoke detector onto the table. Her eyes were stinging. “What are we going to do?”

Nick looked around the room and then pointed to the ceiling. “I think I see a sprinkler.” He opened the nearest box and removed a thick stack of papers.

Libby coughed, trying to lift the weight settling into her lungs. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to set off the sprinkler.” He folded the papers lengthwise and held one end over the burning box. Once the paper caught fire, he sprinted to the sprinkler and held the flames against it. They waited.

“Nothing’s happening!” She was on the floor where the air was less smoky, her breath sputtering.

The papers in his hand were burning furiously. Nick dropped them to the ground and doubled over in a coughing fit just as a bell began to ring. Seconds later a spray of dirty water streamed from the sprinkler.

Nick lowered himself to the ground and crawled to Libby, who was still seated by the door and coughing. “Are you okay?” He placed one hand on the back of her head and lifted her face with the other.

She gripped his forearms and nodded, still unable to talk. Several sprinklers were spraying now, and the floor was covered with cold water. Nick pulled Libby against him and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s working,” he said, and the feel of his lips against her ear sent a shiver down her spine.

Nick’s hard body was warm amid the cold of the sprinklers, and the press of his arms around her shoulders felt so reassuring. Libby allowed herself to ease into the familiar comfort of his embrace as the water poured around them and the suffocating smoke began to dissipate.

They were sitting in this position, shivering, when Libby felt a rush of air and saw a figure in the doorway. It was John, the warehouse manager. “What’s going on in here?” He coughed as the smoke billowed into his face.

Nick sprang to his feet, pulling Libby with him as he ran out of the room. Libby choked as clean air filled her lungs, and she again doubled over in a fit of coughing. When she looked up, Nick had John’s back pressed against the wall, and was gripping the man’s shirt in his fists. “Nick, stop!” She ran to his side.

“I want some answers!” Nick was inches from the man’s face.

John had his hands up. “I don’t know anything! Please!” His eyes were wide.

“Tell me who shut that door!”

“Nick.” Libby placed her hand on his arm. “Please, stop.”

He clutched the shirt tighter, but then let go. John scurried out of reach, smoothing his shirt front with shaking hands. “I heard the alarm go off and came to see whether you two were all right. The fire department is on its way. And of course, the police will follow.”

“Someone shut the door and locked us in there,” Libby said.

“I swear, I don’t know anything. I came to help.”

Nick stepped forward, approaching him until their faces were inches apart. “You mean to tell us you have no idea who could’ve come by here and shut us in a room with a burning box?”

“Someone must have messed with the door. It shouldn’t have locked from the inside like that.” He met Nick’s gaze. “And I told you—I don’t know anything.”

They heard sirens outside the warehouse, and moments later a group of firemen streamed into the building. Nick and Libby stepped aside to let them through, and John walked toward a group of employees. Libby realized for the first time that she and Nick were soaking wet, their clothes covered in the black filth that had come streaming from the sprinklers. She shivered.

“Libby,” Nick said as he tried to place a hand on her shoulder. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” she said, and then stepped just out of his reach.

She didn’t know what had happened in that room, when she’d suddenly felt content to sit in Nick’s arms for the rest of eternity. Adrenaline, she reasoned. Nothing more. Life and death situations frequently brought people together. Whatever she’d felt, she couldn’t indulge it. Thank goodness for fresh air and clarity of thought.

One of the firemen came out of the room, holding the smoke detector in his gloved hand. “You two all right?”

“We will be,” Nick replied. He nodded to the smoke detector. “You should take a look at that. It didn’t even go off.”

“Yeah, well—” the fireman lifted it up to show them and continued “—it’s a fake.”

Libby’s heart froze. “What do you mean, it’s a fake?”

“It looks like someone has created a fake smoke detector. See? It’s hollow.” He showed it to Libby. “The real alarm was connected to the sprinklers.”

She narrowed her eyes. She hadn’t noticed with all of the smoke, but sure enough, the smoke detector was nothing more than a hollow piece of plastic, a battery and a red light. Nick cursed under his breath.

“The police will check it for fingerprints.” The fireman scratched at his forehead. “A locked door, a fire and a fake smoke detector, huh? I don’t want to scare you, but...” He looked at Libby and Nick with concern. “Let’s just say that it looks deliberate. You should talk to the police.” He returned to process the scene, leaving Nick and Libby alone.

Nick pulled two pairs of latex gloves from his jacket and handed one pair to Libby. “Fingerprints,” he explained.

She pulled on the pair of gloves and picked up the smoke detector from its resting place on the table. She turned it over in her hands, spotting something white inside. “Wait a minute,” she said, and ran her fingernail on the inside of the plastic. She caught the object and pulled it through the crack. A small piece of paper.

“What is that?” asked Nick.

His question was drowned out by the pounding of her heart in her ears as she clutched the paper with shaking fingers. Nick coaxed the paper from her hands and unfolded it. His face reddened as he read the message. “Nick, what’s it say?”

She took the paper back from him, her stomach twisting. There were only three words on it, a message written in a childish scrawl:
Three more days.

Libby’s mouth went dry. “The fourth sign,” she whispered.

As they locked gazes she could see the fury on Nick’s face. Somehow, the killer had found them.

Chapter 9

“W
e walked right into his trap!” Nick brought his fist down on the roof of his car. “I knew the clue could lead us into harm, but I took precautions. I had my gun, I secured the scene....” He stopped and shook his head.

“It’s impossible.” Libby was talking to herself more than responding to Nick. She leaned against the hood of the vehicle and crossed her arms. “It’s impossible that this was the plan.”

He snorted. “Seems pretty damn possible to me.”

“No, this couldn’t have been the plan.” She looked at him. “The D.A.’s Office keeps most of its records in Ridgefield. Some were moved here temporarily when the Ridgefield unit had flooding problems, including
State v. Henderson,
but he couldn’t have known that. The files were just moved two weeks ago, and I only learned about it this morning when I called over to the D.A.’s Office.” She chewed on her thumbnail, which did nothing to quell the anxious energy pulsing through her veins.

“But you knew that the files had been moved.”

“Yes, but only because I had access to that information through work.”

Nick furrowed his brow. “He could have known where those files were if he works with you.”

That was the obvious conclusion to draw, but hearing it out loud made Libby sick to her stomach. Did someone at work want to kill her? She thought of the look on Greg’s face on Monday when she interrogated him about her reputation for being uptight. No one would want to kill her for being uptight or insensitive...right? She ran through her list of colleagues and tried to assign a motive to each one.

“That can’t be right. No one who worked on the Henderson case works there anymore. It can’t be a colleague.” She took a breath. She knew she was on edge, but she didn’t need to be paranoid.

Nick leaned next to her, and they watched the police officers interrogate the warehouse employees. An investigator had discovered a homemade remote controlled device in the box that had caught fire and black paint on the lens of the security camera watching the room. One of the warehouse employees had readily admitted to pulling those boxes but claimed he had no idea that one box had been rigged. Libby believed he was telling the truth.

“That device could have been planted weeks ago,” Nick said. “Months, even. We don’t know how long this whole scheme has been in the works.”

“True,” she admitted. “But the note in the fire detector? That had to have been planted more recently because the files were just moved here. And I’m wondering if it was planted today.” She fumbled for her cell phone.

He shifted. “Who are you calling?”

“I know the warehouse manager in Ridgefield. I want to know what that smoke detector looks like.”

When the Ridgefield warehouse manager answered, she gave him some background and asked him to check the smoke detector in the file review room. “It’s a fake,” she announced as she snapped her cell phone shut. “And there was a note inside that said it was the fourth sign.”

He slid his palm over the stubble on his cheek as he thought. “So the killer must have been expecting us to go to Ridgefield. That’s where he’d set the trap. But instead, we came here, and he
still
found us.”

Libby wrapped her arms around herself. An hour after they’d fled the room, she was still damp, and the light breeze did nothing to help the chill seeping into her skin. All she could think about was getting back to the hotel and crawling into a hot bath again.

“How did he know, Nick? Are we wired? Is our room being bugged?”

“I’ve checked. I’ve checked every damn thing.” He gritted his teeth.

The Stillborough police sergeant Jay Katz approached them and grasped Nick’s hand. “Nick, Libby. We’ll be here for a while yet, but we have your statements. You’re free to go.”

“What are you learning, Sergeant?” Nick folded his hands across his chest.

“Not too much yet.” Katz scratched at the corner of his eye. “Seems there may have been some kind of break-in recently. We found some scratches on a back door that the manager says weren’t there last night. We also found what appears to be a remote controlled device on the door that may account for it suddenly closing on you. I’ll let you know if we find anything else after we’ve had some time to process the scene.”

Libby tugged at his sleeve. “Nick, the files.”

“I need the contents of those boxes, Sergeant. The ones in the room. I’m on a case.”

Katz squinted into the sunlight. “I’ll see what I can do. I can probably get them to you within a week or so.”

“I need them tonight.”

The sergeant emitted a loud laugh. “Hey, you’re funny, man. C’mon, you know how it is. These things take time.”

Nick leaned in closer. “Look, I don’t have time. I need these documents tonight, and I’m willing to cut a deal.”

Katz was still smirking. “What kind of deal?”

“Information for information.” Nick kept his voice level. “You want to impress the Stillborough mayor? Be a regular hero to the Stillborough residents?”

“I’m listening.”

Nick smiled slightly. “Stillborough likes its crystal. It’s no secret, Sergeant. It’s a little town with a big meth habit. I understand you had an incident on Christmas Day. A meth lab in a two-family house exploded and two young children were killed in the fire. It made national news.”

Katz reddened, looking slightly uncomfortable. “We’re following up on leads.”

“Of course you are,” said Nick. “But what if I told you that the Bureau is watching the person who caused that explosion closely and that I can give you some insight to his location?” He shrugged nonchalantly and stuck his hands in his pockets. “We have an informant. Your boy is a small player in a big drug ring we’ve had our eye on for a long time.”

“Are you serious?” Katz leaned in closer. “Don’t jerk me around—”

“I’m quite serious, Sergeant. You make that arrest, and you’ll be a local hero, tough on crime, tough on drugs.” Nick touched his shoulder and whispered, “We can work with you and make that arrest part of a larger drug bust, if you can hold out for a little while.”

Katz did not move. “And you want copies of those documents in return?”

“Tonight. It has to be tonight.”

Katz sucked his teeth, and his face twisted as he thought, but after a few moments had passed, he turned to Nick and said, “Deal.” He extended his hand.

Nick broke into a broad smile and accepted the sergeant’s handshake. “I’ll be in touch, then.”

Libby grabbed his arm as Katz walked away. “Nick,” she whispered, “you did it!” Hotheaded Nick had just coolly negotiated a deal. In their entire relationship he’d never amazed her as much as he had over the past two days.

The corner of his mouth rose in a grin. “You didn’t actually think I’d let you leave here without those files, did you?”

“I guess I never took you for a diplomat. You’re full of surprises.” She realized she was still gripping his arm. His biceps felt like steel beneath her fingertips—taut, barely restrained masculinity. She released him. “It’s good that we’ll be able to review those documents, after all.”

His face grew solemn. “You heard what he said about the break-in? The killer may have come out here this morning to set this trap.”

She shivered. “No one at the D.A.’s Office knew we were coming here. I spoke to the records administrator, but I’ve known him for years and we’re friendly. It’s not him.” Nick was silent, so she continued. “I’m guessing that whoever set that trap expected to destroy the files. Maybe it would be best if no one else knew we had copies. If you understand.”

A shadow crossed his face. “No one in Arbor Falls will know we have those files.” His voice was tight.

Libby didn’t have to say anything more. Dom Vasquez knew they were going to the Stillborough warehouse. He was the only one who knew.

* * *

Dom wasn’t the killer. Rationally, Nick knew that. But there were too many coincidences he couldn’t explain.

Dom was the only one who knew they were staying at Nick’s parents’ house, and that’s where the third sign was delivered. He was the only one who knew they were going to the Stillborough warehouse, where the fourth sign was delivered. Dom
didn’t
know that they were staying at the Ascher House, and no threat had appeared there. Too many coincidences.

He waited in the suite while Libby took a long bath, focusing on not thinking about her, soapy and wet, only paces away from where he sat. He was unsuccessful. She was all he could think about—curled up against him in the chaos of the warehouse or moaning softly in his ear against the wall of the suite the night before. He wanted her, and he had a sizable amount of evidence below his belt to prove it, and it was all damn inconvenient.

Regret settled in his belly. Nick had moved too quickly last night, scared her off. She wouldn’t talk about what had happened between them, which was a relief because he didn’t know. He hadn’t been looking for a relationship when he’d made that advance, he’d been thinking about getting relief for the raging desire that had plagued him almost from the moment he saw her again. He shifted, painfully aware that he hadn’t succeeded on that front, either.

He didn’t want a relationship. He knew that much. Everything about Libby and their shared history warned him off. He’d trusted her with his heart and she’d dumped him. Crumpled him up and thrown him out. Then again, last night at dinner Nick had started to understand for the first time why they’d broken up. It wasn’t because Libby had met someone else and had betrayed his trust. Maybe it was because he’d betrayed
her
trust by asking her to give up a career she loved so he could pursue a career
he
loved. Maybe he’d demanded too much.

He paced the room, still chilled from his damp clothing and eager to get into the shower himself. He’d demanded too much...but that didn’t excuse the iciness of that last conversation, or the way she’d informed him that despite all of their years together, she didn’t love him. She’d delivered the message with measured cruelty. The memory still cut.

He’d chosen to protect her knowing that she’d been disturbingly unaffected by their breakup. He’d expected her to be icy, stringent and uptight, exactly as her father had groomed her to be since she’d entered the legal profession. He hadn’t expected her to show him glimpses of the softer, more sensitive Libby, the girl he fell in love with when they were twelve years old. The smart, tough girl who wasn’t afraid to cry or fuss over babies. The woman he’d wanted to marry and have children with. The woman he’d wanted to devote his life to.

She’d thrown him for a loop.

Nick brought his hands down on the table by the bay window and looked outside at the bright afternoon. She seemed to be the old Libby, but he’d be foolish to get involved again. He’d given her some of the best years of his life and then asked her to marry him, and none of that had been enough to win her love in return. Loving her had left him vulnerable. He wouldn’t let his guard down again.

The sooner he accepted this opportunity with Libby as the chance to smooth over old hurt before moving on, the better. They were over.

He sat in the chair by the window, picked up his BlackBerry and checked his inbox. He had an email regarding his transfer that stated he would be relocating to Washington, D.C., that summer. This was the assignment he’d wanted, and yet his first thought was that he’d be ten hours away from Libby instead of five.

He shook his head.
Snap out of it.

Nick looked out the window, strumming his fingers on the table. He considered calling Dom. He should tell him about the latest threat, maybe gauge his response. His shoulders knotted against his neck. If Dom really was the killer, wouldn’t he suspect that they were on to him if Nick didn’t maintain contact? Shouldn’t he continue the charade?

He dialed Dom’s number. “Dom. It’s Nick. Thought you should know we received the fourth sign today. Bastard locked us in the file review room at the Stillborough warehouse and rigged one of the file boxes to catch fire.”

Dom mumbled something in Spanish. “When did this happen? Just now?”

“A few hours ago.”

“And you didn’t bother to call me?” His voice pitched. “I could have been at the scene! Now I’ve gotta go piece things together with the Stillborough P.D.”

Nick gripped the phone. “We spoke with Sergeant Katz. They were well-organized and methodical, and I’m sure they’ll cooperate with you.”

Silence. He heard Dom breathing and shuffling around. “Nick, I need you to tell me where you are. I can’t protect you and Libby unless I know that, and this guy is always a step ahead.”

He tensed. Nick had trusted his partner with his life for years, but he couldn’t trust him any longer. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why the hell not?”

He rubbed at his forehead. “It’s safer this way.”

Dom let out a string of curses and then lapsed into a long silence. When he spoke again, his tone was ominous. “You call me from now on if there are any developments. Got it?”

Nick hesitated but then hung up without responding. He felt queasy. Dom had done little to settle his suspicions.

* * *

Sergeant Katz called Nick late in the afternoon to tell him that the documents were ready. “There was a lot of damage,” Nick explained to Libby. “We’ll have to do what we can to piece it all together.”

They drove to meet one of the Stillborough officers at a neutral location in the center of town because Nick didn’t want anyone to know where they were staying. Libby noticed that he was on high alert—his body was tense, and she caught him stealing furtive glances at their surroundings. After they received the boxes of documents, Nick drove to a grocery store and they picked up nonperishable snacks and dinner.

“No going out tonight,” he said. “We can’t risk it. Tomorrow morning we’re packing up and heading somewhere new.”

They used to sit in a companionable silence when dating, but now the silence felt like another person in the room as they avoided a discussion of the night before and what it had meant. Nothing, she told herself. The encounter couldn’t mean anything because she and Nick couldn’t be together. She couldn’t deny that her heart still warmed every time he smiled, or that he had a unique ability to make her feel safe under this most trying circumstance, but she couldn’t pursue those feelings. Not when she knew how much Nick wanted children. She’d only be setting up heartbreak for both of them.