The Seven-Day Target (20 page)

She sighed and dialed his number. They needed to have a difficult conversation, but now wasn’t the time.

He picked up after two rings. “Hello?”

“David, it’s Libby.”

“Hey, you!” She’d almost forgotten how chipper he could be. “Did you get my message?”

“Yeah. Look, it’s not a good time. I’ve kind of... It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” he said. “And I was just on my way over.”

“Now?” She glanced at the clock. “It’s late.”

“I know, but I was in the neighborhood and I wanted to see you. I have some chocolates from Switzerland.”

She smiled feebly. “Ah, you’ve figured out my weakness already.”

“So I can come over? I’m about five minutes away.”

She thought about it. What difference did it make? Maybe hearing about David’s trip would be a pleasant distraction. “Sure, why not. I was just about to make some tea.”

“See you in a few.”

Libby rushed to her room to change into something more presentable: jeans and a simple T-shirt. She splashed cold water on her face, but her eyes were still swollen from crying. It would have to do, she decided.

There was a knock at the front door, and David held out a small blue gift bag.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have.” She smiled politely. She opened the bag and removed a box of chocolates. “These look amazing.”

David smiled, and Libby looked away. They were barely dating. So why did she suddenly feel so guilty?

She stepped back to allow him inside. “How’s your father doing?” she asked.

David’s father, former mayor Jeb Sinclair, had been diagnosed with dementia several years ago and had been in a nursing home for some time.

“He’s not doing too well, to be honest. The doctors want to move him to a locked unit. He needs more care than he’s currently receiving.”

“I’m sorry,” Libby said as she poured two cups of tea. She’d known Jeb Sinclair practically her entire life, and she’d always remember him as he’d been in her youth: a smiling, towering figure of a man. “You know, I was looking through my dad’s old files and I found some of your father’s campaign flyers. I can show them to you later.”

David smiled. “Isn’t it funny how our fathers were friends and we found each other years later?”

Something about his tone made her skin prickle. Libby brushed the feeling aside. “Funny.”

He looked around the room. “Should we sit?”

She led him to the living room and he sat on the couch. She chose a chair across from him. “So tell me about your trip to Zurich.”

David tilted his head slightly. “Are you okay? You look like something’s wrong.”

She took a breath and began to assure him that she was fine, but instead, she slumped forward and said, “Oh, God. You have no idea what’s been going on this past week.”

She told him how her father’s former court reporter had been murdered over the weekend and a death threat directed at Libby had been left beside the body. She told him that Nick had stayed in town to protect her, and about the terrible signs the killer had left for them. Then she told him about the man who’d come up to her in the diner.

“This stalker—Reggie Henderson—David, he knew all these things about me. Where I work, what I eat for lunch, the roads I take.” She shuddered. “I was terrified.”

He leaned forward, his forehead creased with concern. “Tell me what happened.”

“He abducted me at gunpoint right from the diner. It was awful.”

He sat stiffly. “But...you escaped.”

“Yes, thank God. I broke his nose and ran away, and he was shooting at me. I was cornered, and I sprayed him in the eyes with wasp spray left out near some trash cans. Then I grabbed his gun when he dropped it, and when he lunged at me I shot him.” She sat up straighter. She couldn’t help but feel some pride as she remembered the incident. “Anyway, it’s over. I’m just rattled. It’s going to take some time to get to feeling normal again.”

“But you said there were six signs, didn’t you? What was sign six supposed to be?”

“Oh.” Libby shrugged. “I don’t know. Henderson is dead, so I guess it doesn’t matter. As far as I know, the police never figured that out.”

David nodded and sat back thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

She snorted. “Interesting? How about terrifying? Or, how about ‘Gee, Libby, I’m glad to hear your stalker didn’t kill you yesterday.’ Is ‘interesting’ the best you can do?”

He stared at her, and Libby froze. There was something odd about his glare.

“Is that what you want me to say, Elizabeth? That I’m glad you made it out alive?”

She swallowed. His response made her uncomfortable. “I think I’ve upset you. Is it because of Nick? Don’t read anything into that. We’re completely over. Completely.”

“Oh?” David arched a brow.

“Yes,” she said slowly, glancing at the clock. “You know, I’m tired. Maybe we can have coffee or something tomorrow.”

He smiled. “It’s almost midnight, Libby. If we wait twenty minutes or so it will be tomorrow.” He took a sip of his tea and then placed the mug on the coffee table. “Day seven.”

Her heart skipped. “That’s not even funny,” she said, but the look on his face told her that he hadn’t meant it as a joke. She stood. “I think you should leave. Now.”

“Now?” He laughed, and the sound raked her spine. “You didn’t even tell me the best part of the story!”

Libby’s lips grew cold. “What are you talking about?”

“You forgot to tell me the part where you learned that your father, the right and honorable Michael Andrews, agreed to prosecute Will Henderson in exchange for the
real
killer’s political and financial support when he ran for judge a few years later.”

He had a sick smile as he spoke to her, and his eyes had grown wide. He was taking an obvious delight in her unease. Her mouth went dry. “How did you know about that?”

“I do my research, too, Elizabeth.” He sneered as he rose from the couch. Libby’s muscles quivered—she knew she had to run, and yet she felt paralyzed. “Can you imagine? Judge Andrews knowingly prosecuted the wrong person for political gain. He knew who the serial killer was, and he allowed him to go free. Of course, he made him promise not to kill again, but even still...” He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “You must have been so disappointed.”

“Get out,” she stammered.

“Get out?” He laughed. “Don’t you want to know what the sixth sign is?”

“No.” A chill flushed her body. “You—”

“Me, Libby. Reggie Henderson planted the signs for
me.
You killed my accomplice. Well, that shouldn’t stop us from proceeding. And you’ve guessed what sign six is by now, haven’t you?” David reached into his pocket and retrieved a long hunting knife. He smiled. “A false sense of security.”

Chapter 15

A
fter driving aimlessly for hours and taking a long walk near the falls, Nick stopped at the diner on Main Street for a cup of coffee. It tasted stale, as if it had been sitting there all night.

He sat back in the booth and stared out the window. Growing up, he couldn’t wait for the day when he packed up and left this town for someplace more exciting. He’d seized that opportunity as soon as the FBI had offered it, and he admitted now that he hadn’t considered how Libby might have felt about starting over. He’d thought he loved her and that he’d been acting out of love for her, but now he realized that it was a selfish love.

The past few days, however, felt different.

He’d willingly risked his life and his career to protect Libby this week, not because he would have done that for anyone, but because it was Libby, the girl he’d chased after since they were in middle school. The girl he’d loved at first sight. Nearly three years ago he’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted: a life outside Arbor Falls and an exciting career. But he’d gotten those things by giving up the woman who made those accomplishments feel significant. She was what mattered, and it took a major screwup almost three years ago to realize it.

He stared blankly at the dark coffee before him and thought about the way Libby had professed to have given up coffee and then outdrank him all week. Her funny diets. The way she folded her T-shirts and wrinkled her nose at the wrappers in his car. How she held her head high when a police officer threatened her in open court. She was quirky, strong and surprisingly sensitive at her core, and he couldn’t imagine going back to Pittsburgh now, like this. With her hurting and angry and him lost without her.

The thought of her in that alley yesterday, held at gunpoint, had flooded his body with blind energy. He hadn’t thought about the gun or the man holding it. He hadn’t thought about his own life. At that moment all he thought about was Libby walking to school at twelve years old and all the time they’d had together since then, and he realized that those years weren’t enough. He would never have enough time with Libby.

He tensed his fingers around the mug. She was right that he’d always imagined his life with children. That seemed to be the way things happened: marriage, house, kids. But she’d been wrong to assume that he wanted children for their own sake. He’d always imagined having children with Libby. He wanted to grow old with
her,
not someone else. There
was
no one else. There could never be, and if that meant they couldn’t have children, he wasn’t sure he cared anymore. He’d been prepared to die for her this week. Surely that meant he could live without children.

He heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead, kicking himself for asking her if she would adopt. He hadn’t known what to say, but that was the wrong response. Libby prided herself on being perfect. She must have been shattered when she found out she couldn’t have children.

He lifted the mug to his lips, taking a big gulp of the terrible coffee. He wondered if he should continue to Pittsburgh or whether he should return to her house and beg for forgiveness.
She already gave you a second chance,
he thought bitterly. Asking for a third seemed like too much.

He tapped his index finger against the coffee ring stain on the Formica table. She’d told him that she never wanted to see him again. He should respect her wishes for once. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave town.

The bell above the diner door rang, and a man came in to sit at the counter. Nick looked around at the nearly deserted diner. He was tired of drinking coffee by himself. Being alone meant he called all the shots. He was tired of calling all the shots.

His mind drifted back to the case. He was still troubled by something that he couldn’t define. How was it possible that Reggie Henderson had known so much about Libby’s whereabouts? He’d always been right behind them, no matter where they went, except that Nick had never seen anyone trailing them. Was it possible that Reggie Henderson had known where he and Libby were going in advance? His pulse began to quicken. That would only be possible if he’d been spying on them somehow.

Nick left a few dollars on the table and walked quickly to his car. Could Henderson have planted something before he’d swapped his car for the rental? He opened the car trunk wide, examining it by the light of a streetlamp. He didn’t see anything out of place. He closed it and opened his door, checking under the seats and the floor mats, not knowing exactly what he was looking for. Nick paused and wondered whether he should check under the vehicle’s carriage.

He sat back in the front seat, feeling the frustration pool in his chest. He looked up at the streetlamp, watching it flicker.

His phone vibrated. “Foster.”

“Hello? Is this Nick?”

Nick pulled the phone away to stare at the number. It was Christopher Henzel, Will Henderson’s defense attorney. “Attorney Henzel? This is Nick.”

“I just turned on the news and saw that Libby shot someone in self-defense. Someone by the name of Reggie Henderson. You want to finally tell me the truth about that ‘book’ you two are writing?”

Nick rubbed at his forehead. “He was stalking her,” he said. “Following the pattern of the Arbor Falls Strangler and planting signs. We didn’t want to alarm you.”

Henzel was quiet. “Is she okay now?”

“Yes. He’s dead and it’s over.” There was a long pause on the other end. “Hello?”

“I’m still here.” Nick heard him take a breath. “There’s something I neglected to tell you.”

His heart skipped. “What’s that?”

“Henderson—Will Henderson—he wasn’t as innocent as I probably made him sound. He said some things...he knew some details that he would only have known if he’d been involved in the crimes in some way.”

“I don’t understand....”

“After his wife died, Henderson told me that the Strangler hired him to plant the signs. His fingerprints were all over some of the photographs mailed to the victims. I remember Andrews making a big to-do about that at trial.”

Nick’s pulse quickened. “So there were two people working together on the Arbor Falls murders? Damn it, Henzel, why didn’t you tell us this sooner?”

“Henderson was my client. I’ve never discussed my suspicions with anyone.” He paused. “For God’s sake, you should have been honest with me. I had no reason to believe Libby was in danger.”

Nick gripped the wheel. In a true reenactment of the Arbor Falls killings, Henderson would plant the signs and the real killer would enter the scene on day seven.

He checked the time. It was nearly midnight.

“Henzel, I have to go. I have to check on Libby.” He put the key in the ignition. “And Henzel—thanks.”

He tried Libby’s cell, but there was no answer. His pulse kicked as he tried not to think of the worst. He was backing up out of the parking space when he got another look at his BlackBerry. He slammed on the brake.
The cell phone.
They’d used a rental car and stayed at an inn, so the killer probably couldn’t have bugged those places, but he could have tracked them by listening to Libby’s cell phone conversations. That meant that whoever was after her was someone she’d allowed to get close. Someone she trusted.

Someone she would open the door to.

Nick sped out of the lot and called Dom’s cell phone, praying he answered. He did. “Vasquez.”

“Dom, it’s Nick. Libby’s in danger. I need you to meet me at her house, and I need backup.”

“What’s going on?”

“The Arbor Falls Strangler was two individuals, not one. One planted the signs, and the other killed the girls. If this is a true copycat, we only got the guy who planted the signs.”

Dom cursed. “I’m in the area. I’ve got your back.”

Nick hung up the phone. He sped along the deserted roads, feeling the car grip the sharp turns. He slowed for intersections and then proceeded straight through. He tried not to look at the clock.

Ten minutes to midnight. Ten minutes to day seven.

* * *

David sat Libby on a kitchen chair and bound her wrists and ankles with duct tape. Her hands tingled as the tape disrupted her circulation.

“The sixth sign is a tricky one,” he explained calmly. “It took me a while to figure that one out, myself.” Libby’s mouth opened and closed, her voice frozen. “Oh, come now. We’ve known each other for our whole lives, practically. We have so much in common. You see, your father was a corrupt bastard, and
my
father was the psychotic bastard who corrupted him.” He stood back and admired his handiwork. “It’s destiny, really.”

Her knees weakened. “Your father.” She remembered sitting with Nick and reviewing her father’s notes from when he’d interviewed the woman who’d claimed to see a tall, ruddy-faced man covered in blood walking from a victim’s home. Jeb Sinclair was easily six foot four, and his complexion had always been spotted by rosacea. The witness wouldn’t have recognized him because he didn’t run for mayor until four years after she saw him fleeing the scene of the crime. She kicked herself for not drawing the connection when she found those campaign flyers mixed in with the case documents.

“That’s right. Jeb Sinclair. The longest-serving mayor of Arbor Falls. A simply charming man, by all accounts.” He stepped back to study her. “But he was also the Arbor Falls Strangler. And a vicious child abuser.”

Libby winced reflexively. “I’m sorry.”

“Your apology means nothing to me,” he said flatly. “Your father could have saved me from years of torture if he’d been man enough to do the right thing.”

She tried to wet her lips, but her mouth was bone dry. “
You
could still do the right thing, David,” she said softly. “You’re more of a man than either of our fathers were. If you left right now, no one would have to know about any of this.”

“I’m not stupid, Libby. The second I left here you’d be on the phone to the police.”

“But why now? If it’s revenge you’re after, it’s too late. My father is dead and he’ll never know about any of this.”

“Actually, the timing was perfect,” he said. “Your father knew what happened all those years ago. I couldn’t risk taking my revenge and having him finally come out with the truth. That would have ruined everything.” He smiled, sending a bolt of ice through her center. “So I did the next best thing. When we went to visit him two days before he died, when he was in and out of consciousness, you left the room and I told him everything. That I was deceiving you the same way he’d deceived this town and that I was going to kill you the same way he’d killed me.” He stared at her. “It’s bigger than him now. It’s about justice. Someone has to pay. It’s only fair to sacrifice the favorite child.”

Bile rose in her throat as he circled like a shark. The hunting knife lay on the kitchen table. “H-how did you find out about your father?” Her lips felt rubbery.

“He told me. I was fifteen. He’d beaten me up again, broken a few bones. I threatened to call the police. He told me that he could do whatever he wanted and no one would care, that he was responsible for eight murders and he’d pulled some strings so that someone else agreed to take the fall.” His face darkened. “He actually bragged about it.”

As David paced the kitchen, Libby twisted her hands, trying to loosen the duct tape. Her senses felt heightened. She could hear the rush of blood in her veins, the blinking of her eyes, the flickering of the lightbulb she’d been meaning to change for weeks now. She wasn’t one for regrets, but as she sat there, she thought of Nick.

What wouldn’t she give to take back those final words, when she told him that she never wanted to see him again? She couldn’t face the heartbreak of falling short in his eyes or being the source of his resentment. Still, Nick deserved the truth, which was that she loved him and that she always had. That she loved him too much to want him to be unhappy.

Libby sat up. She had to stay sharp. There would be a way to escape, and she just had to take a deep breath and figure it out. She watched David pace like a caged lion, and her gaze drifted to the glinting blade. Terror collapsed across her as she realized how alone she was.

* * *

Nick didn’t even remember the roads he’d driven as he pulled onto Libby’s street, gripped as he was by the steel hand of terror. All he could think was that she was in serious danger. He couldn’t entertain the thought that he might already be too late.

He cut the headlights and slowed in front of her house. Libby’s driveway was empty except for her vehicle, but a dark BMW was parked across the street. He couldn’t be sure whether the BMW belonged to a neighbor or the killer, but he knew he hadn’t seen it before. His heart thundered as he called Dom again.

“Dom. There’s a strange car parked across from Libby’s house. I need someone to run the plates.” He read the number to Dom, hung up and continued past the house.

He parked the car three houses away. The road was silent except for the faint chirping of crickets, and dark except for the stars and the bright light of an almost full moon. The police backup he’d requested hadn’t arrived yet. He wasn’t about to wait.

Nick made his way stealthily across the grass until he reached Libby’s house. The shades were all drawn, but light filtered through. He tried to peer through a gap in the living room curtains, but he didn’t see any movement. Crouching low, he darted around the house to the kitchen and felt a burst of adrenaline when he saw that Libby had neglected to draw the curtains in the back of the house.

He crept silently across the back patio toward the window, straining to hear voices. His heart thrust against his rib cage when he heard only silence. Then he saw her, sitting in a chair, her wrists and ankles bound, her head sagging forward on her chest.

He was too late.

Nick struggled to breathe, his breath coming in sporadic bursts as he pressed his hand against the side of the house to steady himself. He was too late, and beautiful Libby—his Libby—was gone. His body went numb.

He’d only wanted one more minute with her, just one minute to tell her that he loved her, that he would give up everything he owned for her. Then he would have been out of her life forever, just as she’d wanted.