Noah kept his eyes averted. “We need to talk.”
“Right now is not a good time.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” He thought of the photos in
his pocket, of Buckland out there somewhere with a telephoto lens. “But it’s
important.”
She huffed impatiently. “Fine. What
ever
. You
can look now.”
Noah saw with relief that she’d wrapped her body in a
robe. “I’m sorry,” he said. “When you didn’t answer your phones, I panicked.
What happened to Brock?”
“Snowmobile accident,” she said briefly. “Teenager
went through some pond ice. He was dead by the time Brock got to the scene. Kid
was only fifteen.”
Noah closed his eyes briefly. “I’m sorry, Tree. Is
Brock okay?”
“He would have been better if you’d let us finish,”
she said dryly. “I’d say he’s a little on the frustrated side right now.”
“Therapeutic sex,” Noah said, pursing his lips, and
she nodded.
“In the shower. Kids can’t hear the moans that way.”
“Trina.” His protest bordered on a whine and her lips
twitched.
“Told you, you need to get some. At the moment, so do
Brock and I.”
“O-kay. I’ll make this quick. A reporter got wind of
this case I’m working.” He lifted a brow. “The one Eve referred to tonight in
the bar during your little visit.”
Trina didn’t flinch. “I’m not apologizing for that.”
“Somehow I didn’t think you would. Anyway, this
reporter has been trying to get Eve to give him inside information and she
refused. Tonight he got rough.”
Trina’s attitude disappeared. “Is she okay?”
“Other than a bruise, she’s fine. He was trying to
force her to look at some pictures. These.” He gave the envelope to Trina and
watched her face grow hot and angry.
“Son of a bitch.”
“What?” Brock returned, swiping a towel over his wet
head. The soaked robe was gone, changed for dry sweats. “What happened?”
Trina gave him the pictures. “Sunday. I gave Noah a
hug after your boxing match.”
Brock’s eyes flashed. “What is this?” he snarled
softly.
“Attempted extortion by a reporter who wants a story
way too badly. He left those pictures in Eve’s computer bag and unloaded the
gun she keeps there. I saw them, knew he’d been here, and I panicked.” He
gestured weakly to the bathroom. “I’m sorry.”
Brock sat on the edge of his bed. “I guess I can
understand the urgency.”
Trina put her arm around Brock’s shoulders. “Those
photos might have caused a major family breach, Noah. I’m glad Brock is a smart
man.”
“And that he trusts you,” Noah said. Unlike Eve, who
thought he had an agenda.
Which I guess I do.
“Keep an eye on the boys,
okay?”
“You bet.” Brock gave him the pictures. “You’re going
to report this guy, right?”
“First thing in the morning. I—” His cell vibrated in
his pocket. “It’s Eve. She told me to call when I made sure you were all
right.” He angled his body away from Brock and Trina, more to avoid the knowing
smirk they shared than to hide his conversation. “They’re okay,” he said. “Just
a… misunderstanding.”
“That’s good,” she said. “Because I’m thinking
Rachel’s not.” He listened as she explained, his jaw going taut. “You weren’t
supposed to approach anyone.”
“Well, I did. Sue me. Noah, she’s in trouble. What did
the cruisers say?”
He checked his watch and frowned. “Nothing yet and I
should have heard. I’ll call you back.” He dialed Dispatch and was displeased
with what he heard. “Then tell the second cruiser to proceed at fastest
possible speed. Lights, no siren. I’m on my way.” He turned back to Trina and
Brock, who no longer smirked. “The first cruiser came up on an accident, car
slipped on the ice and hit a pole. They’re with the accident victims.”
“They were first responders,” Trina said evenly. “You
know we have to stay. It’s regs.”
“I know,” Noah said grimly. “I just hope we’re not too
late. Watch the boys. I’ll call you tomorrow. I have to go.”
Wednesday, February 24, 2:20 a.m.
Oh God
.
Rachel tried to breathe, but couldn’t draw a deep enough breath. He’d wrapped
her arms around her. She couldn’t move. Vaguely she remembered her arms being
shoved into sleeves, crossed over her body. Viciously yanked as he’d rolled her
to her stomach, his knee sharp in her back. He’d tied her… tied the sleeves.
Her chin dropped to her chest as awareness returned in
jolts. White. She blinked hard. White fabric covered her to her hips. Beyond
that… she saw her own bare legs, felt the cold air between her thighs and knew
she was naked.
Help me
.
Her heart raced but her mind was still… slow.
Scream.
But all that came out was a muted mewling. Her mouth was taped closed.
Where
am I?
Her eyes darted, frantically.
Basement. I’m in my own basement
.
Sitting on a stool from her kitchen counter.
She couldn’t see him, didn’t know him. She flinched.
He was behind her. She could hear him breathing. Then she could smell it.
Gasoline
.
It burned her nose, her eyes, and she remembered that night. The gas, the
smoke, the heat. The stench of burning flesh. And the screams. She heard the
screams of agony of the ones that hadn’t gotten out.
No. Get out. Get away
. She wrenched her body, but went nowhere.
I’m
tied. I can’t get away
. Her heart was beating so fast. Too fast. Her head
swam, dizzy.
Bernie.
It had to be Bernie.
Somehow he got out
.
He’d planned this. His revenge.
He’s going to kill me.
She wrenched again, violently, felt the stool give,
but it was brought swiftly back, all four legs on the floor with a thud that
shuddered through her.
“Better,” he murmured in her ear. Her head jerked to
the sound, but he was still behind her. Then he walked around the stool,
stopped in front of her, and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look into his
eyes.
Not Bernie
. “Not fully cogent, but more aware.”
Her breath hitched. A lighter. He held it in front of
her eyes and flicked it to life. She reared back, unable to take her eyes from
the flame. He smiled. Smugly.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Rachel. You thought after
your public display of good behavior that you could slip into the shadows, and
live the life you craved in a fantasy world. You thought Delilah was invisible,
but no one is truly invisible.”
Delilah. Shadowland.
John.
It had been a setup.
A trap
.
He stepped back and her eyes followed. He wore boots
and… fireman pants over his trousers. The pants were too big, gaping at his
waist. He might have looked like a clown except for the gun in his waistband.
Behind him she saw a fire extinguisher. And next to that, a backpack. And on
top of the backpack…
my shoes
. Neatly together.
“Fear is an interesting thing,” he said, and her gaze
ripped back to his face. He was smiling, his eyes cold and cruel.
I’m going
to die.
“Many fears, like the fear of snakes, are somewhat instinctive.
They represent a heightened awareness of danger. It’s when those fears take
control of our actions that they become phobia. You, Rachel, have an extreme
phobia. Given your personal history, an understandable one.”
She could feel his breath on her face. “I think your
incarcerated ex-husband will get quite a chuckle out of hearing that you were
incinerated. Poetic justice, wouldn’t you say?”
He produced an extra-long match from his pocket, waved
it like a wand.
No
. New terror shivered down her spine and she clenched
her eyes shut.
“I am remiss,” he said. His fingers forced her eye
open and she felt wetness over her eye a split second before he pressed her
eyelid back.
Glued
. She struggled when he tried to glue her other eye
and he slapped her face with a snarl. “Don’t move.”
He stepped back, flicked the lighter, touched it to
the long match. “And without further ado.” A line of fire spread in a ring.
Around
me
. Anywhere she looked. Coming closer.
It hurt
. Burned.
Stop.
Make it stop. Make the pain stop
. The howl in her throat was muffled by the
tape, her ears filled with the crackling, hissing of the flames.
And then the man was there, winding twine around her
throat and all she could see was his eyes, alive and laughing. He was laughing.
She could hear him laughing, far away. Then he was
groaning. So far away…
He let out a long, ragged breath, torn between elation
and fury. He hadn’t held it in, hadn’t been able to control it. He’d let go.
And it had been… incredible. He shuddered, his muscles twitching in the
aftermath.
Incredible.
His eyes were inches from hers. Empty now, they’d been
wide, terrified, staring up at him because he demanded it. The whores always
stared up. Never down. Never again. He relaxed his grip and the twine around
Rachel’s throat went limp in his hands. His mind was clearing, logic returning.
Incredible, but insane.
He stepped from the carefully constructed fire
zone and grabbed the extinguisher, putting out the flames, which in another few
moments would have leapt free of the ring of flame suppressant he’d placed
around the accelerant. The fire was out. In more ways than one.
He glanced down at his trousers, annoyed. His clothing
probably had contained his ejaculate, but he had to be sure. He could leave no
DNA behind. He had bleach in the back of his car. That and the fire would
suffice to hide the evidence of his loss of control. Nothing of his would
remain.
Wednesday, February 24, 2:30 a.m.
Harvey woke abruptly when the phone rang. He fumbled
for it blindly. “What?”
“Wake up, Pop,” Dell said. “Our boys are on the move.”
“Where are you?”
“Following Phelps, like you told me to. Just use the
GPS unit like I showed you to find Webster.”
Something was wrong. There was a satisfied note in his
son’s tone that he just didn’t trust. He swung his legs over the bed and
grabbed his pants. After tonight, they’d switch.
I’ll follow Phelps
.
Before Dell did something foolish that they’d both regret.
Wednesday, February 24, 2:45 a.m.
“This is it? You’re sure?” Noah stood on the sidewalk
next to two uniformed officers.
The uniforms nodded. “Yes, Detective. The address
Dispatch gave us for Rachel Ward is this mailbox store.”
Noah looked around, wearily. Jack was nowhere to be
seen. He’d called him three times each on his cell and his home line, getting
Jack’s voicemail each time. He thought of Jack’s state of mind when they’d
parted at the coffee shop hours ago. He could see Jack going home and getting
totally drunk.
Which is his business on his own time
. But this wasn’t Jack’s time. And Rachel’s time could
be running out. “Thanks.” He dialed Eve. “Say the address again.”
“Why? Is Rachel all right?”
“I don’t know. This is a mailbox store. Check again.”
She read the address again. “It’s a match. She didn’t give her home address
when she registered for your study.”
“What are we going to do?”
“What I should have done already—run her through the
system. I’ll call you.” He got in his car and radioed in his request for
addresses for Rachel Ward.
Unable to sit still, he called Jack again. Still no
answer. Dispatch came back with four possible addresses for Rachel Ward, one of
which was only a mile from Jack’s house.
Dammit. Jack, where the fuck are
you?
Noah needed backup. His finger was a hairsbreadth away
from calling Abbott, but something held him back.
Face it. You don’t want to
turn in your own partner. Not yet.
His mind ran through the possibilities,
settling on Olivia. She was already up to speed, no onboarding required. They
could split the addresses and find Rachel faster.
Olivia answered on the first ring of her cell.
“Sutherland.”
“It’s Noah Webster. Where are you?”
“Cruising downtown, looking for a witness for a trial
next week. Why?”
“I need your help.”
“Where’s Jack?”
“I… don’t know.”
“Oh.” The single syllable said it all. “Okay, tell me
where. I’ll meet you.”
“No, we need to split up. I’ve got four addresses to
check for a potential victim.” He gave her one of the addresses, then told her
to be on the watch for an open bedroom window. If they found one, they’d be too
late. If they found one, he’d need a partner.
“What about the others?” she asked.
“I’ll take one and have cruisers go to the other two.
Thanks, Liv.”
Wednesday, February 24, 3:05 a.m.
He stepped back, surveying his handiwork. Five of six.
Rachel Ward hanging by the neck had never looked better. Her feet were a little
blistered, but the police would know a fire had occurred as soon as they
entered her house. He wondered how quickly she’d be discovered. She’d be late
to work tomorrow, obviously.