Authors: Mariah Stewart
23
“Well, I’d say a toast would be appropriate right about now.”
Having decided champagne would be an appropriate way to end the meal he and Dorsey had shared in the only really nice restaurant in Hatton, Andrew poured from the chilled bottle the waiter had just brought to the table. He handed a glass to Dorsey, then poured one for himself.
“To Shannon,” he said solemnly. “May she rest in peace.”
“To Shannon.”
“And to us. For batting a thousand here in Hatton.” Andrew tilted his glass in her direction.
“Another good one.” She took another sip.
“To Jeanette Beale. For not pulling the trigger.”
“Here, here.”
“To Edith Chiong and her new life.”
“Definitely.” Dorsey raised the glass to her lips once again.
“And to many more.”
“Many more what?” she asked.
“Many more cases solved in a week or less.”
She put her glass down. “You know.”
“Know what?” He pretended to examine the stem of his glass.
“You know John called me.”
“He might have mentioned it.” Andrew shrugged nonchalantly.
“Then I suppose he mentioned he has an opening he’d like me to fill?”
“I seem to remember having heard that.”
“And that he wanted me in Virginia by the first of the month?”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Thank you.”
“For…?”
“I know you put a word in for me. After I showed up at Tim Beale’s trailer and went off on John the way I did, I figured I had less than a snowball’s chance to ever work for him.”
“Actually, I think that was when he decided to bring you on. He said you showed initiative, courage, determination, understanding of what the situation called for—”
“Stop! Stop!” She laughed. “You’re going to give me a swelled head.”
“Well deserved, though.”
“Thanks. I can’t deny I’m excited at the prospect. I’ve been hearing about his unit for years. The best of the best, and all that. How you get all the best cases….”
“Oh, that we do,” he said wryly. “The best of the serial killers. The craziest of the crazies.”
“Doesn’t sound too different from some of my cases in Florida.”
“I’m sure your experience was a factor in John’s decision. And for the record, he’s had a lot of applications ever since the position became available.”
“So it’s true? He only has so many spots in his unit?”
“Yes. Only way to get in is if someone leaves.”
“Who left?” The minute the words were out of her mouth, she knew.
Andrew’s brother, Grady.
“Oh. I’m so sorry. Andrew, are you all right with me taking the job?”
He nodded. “That’s the only reason John called me. He doesn’t make it a habit of discussing new hires with anyone else, but he wanted to make sure both Mia and I knew he’ll have a place for Grady when he decides to come back. If he comes back.”
“Do you think he will?”
“I have no idea. He’s not very communicative these days. Mia wanted to take some time off and spend it with him, but he told her not to come. Said it was a bad time.”
“What would he do if you just showed up?”
“I don’t know. I’ve thought about doing just that, but I hate to put either of us in that situation. You know, him not wanting me there, me being uncomfortable forcing myself on him. I think we’re just going to have to wait for him to come around, and pray that he does.”
Andrew tore a small piece of the napkin that sat under his glass.
“Nothing can screw you up like your family, you know that?” He wasn’t really expecting an answer. “I couldn’t help but draw parallels between Paula Rose and Brendan. Both betrayed the people who loved them the most, and all but destroyed their families. Poor Shannon got a triple dose. Her grandfather, her grandmother, her sister.” He looked up at Dorsey with tired eyes. “Some family, eh?”
“And the scariest thing is that compared to some other families I’ve seen, the Randalls look like the Waltons.”
“You know it’s going to be worse,” he told her. “Some of the cases we get are so gruesome they never even make the news.”
“John said.” She nodded. “I’m going to meet with him in two weeks—to make sure I know what I’m getting into, he said. I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. I can’t imagine there’s anything he could say that would make me change my mind. Then I’ll only have a few weeks to settle up my old cases as best I can, pack up my stuff, and move.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” he said.
“Maybe you could suggest a good place to live. I’ll be looking for an apartment while I’m up there.”
“My complex always has a few openings. It’s well located, the rents aren’t astronomical, and the maintenance people are available 24/7. Just let me know which days you’ll be around, and I can take you on a tour.”
“That would be great, thanks. But do they allow dogs?”
“In some apartments, they do.” He drained his glass. “You have a dog?”
“I’m thinking I might get one, once I get settled.”
“Big dog, small dog?”
“Don’t have a preference. I figure I’ll go to a shelter and I’ll know the right dog when I see it.”
“That’s exactly how I picked out my last dog.”
“You didn’t mention you had one. What kind?”
“He’s a retriever mix, but I don’t have him anymore.”
“What happened to him?”
“He went with my ex-girlfriend.”
“What?”
“He sort of belonged to both of us. When we broke up, well, only one of us could have him.”
“So you let her take him?” Dorsey’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Didn’t you like him?”
“I loved him.” Andrew didn’t look the least bit sheepish at the admission. “But she did too, and it would have been harder for her to give him up. She was transferred shortly after we broke up, so it was good for her to have the dog. You know, something familiar she cared about in a new city, with a new job.”
He tried to make light of it. “Apparently she found me easier to give up than the dog.”
“Amazing. You let her have the dog….” She shook her head. “When my ex and I broke up, he took our dog. I just came home from work one day and bam—no dog.”
“Bastard.”
That he really seemed to mean it made Dorsey smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled back. “Maybe when you’re ready, I can go to the shelter with you. Just to look.”
“Sure. Just to look.”
The ringing of his cell phone interrupted them.
He looked at the number of the incoming call, then frowned.
“Shields. Yes…” He fell silent for a moment, listening to the caller. “All right. When—”
He made a face.
“Sure. I’ll give him a call when I’m ready.” He hung up, looking decidedly unhappy. “Slight change in plans.”
“That was John,” she guessed.
Andrew nodded. “He’s sending a plane to Charleston. It should be arriving in about an hour.”
“Destination?”
“Alaska.”
“Alaska.” She sighed. “I always wanted to go there. What’s the case?”
“You ever hear of Robert Hansen?”
“Sure. The ‘big-game hunter’ who took women into the wilderness, released them, and told them to run. Then he’d hunt them down like animals. I heard he killed at least seventeen women that way, though the number is probably higher.”
“Looks like there’s a copycat.”
“Damn.” She frowned. “I wish I could go.”
“And I wish I could stay.” He reached across the table for her hand. “I wasn’t really ready to leave.”
The waiter returned with the check, and Andrew handed over his card.
“I was hoping we’d have a little time to ourselves, get to know each other a little better.” His thumb slid under her bracelet to touch her old scars. “I was thinking we’d go over to that park on the way into town and watch the swans for a while. Maybe take another bottle of champagne with us. Just to celebrate…things. Maybe talk about something other than work and dysfunctional families.”
“I would have loved that. It sounds very romantic.”
“I was thinking it might be.” He was clearly disappointed.
“What time does your plane leave?”
“It leaves when I get there.”
“Well, who knows how long it will take you to drive from here to Charleston? If there was an accident on the highway, you’d be delayed, right? A flat tire? They’re not expecting you to be there within the hour, are they?”
“No. And I won’t be driving. John left one of the agents he brought with him to Beales here to help tie up loose ends. I’m supposed to call when I’m ready to leave and he’ll pick me up.” He drummed the fingers of his free hand on the table, a slight smile on his lips. “You know, on second thought, I probably have a little time.”
“Good.” She smiled, then turned to look for their waiter. Catching his eye, she motioned him back to their table.
“We’ll have another bottle of champagne. And we’d like that to go, please….”
Read on for a sneak peak at
Last Words
the next thrilling novel from Mariah Stewart!
Prologue
August, 2005
He leaned a little closer to the mirror, checking for signs of five o’clock shadow, tilting his head this way and that to satisfy himself there was no stubble to sully his image. He washed his hands and dried them on the beige hand towel his wife had hung on the bar that morning, then adjusted the collar of his polo shirt and straightened his shoulders.
He did look fine.
“Honey?” his wife called from the hall. “Are you watching the time?”
“Not closely enough, apparently,” he called back, taking one more glance in the mirror before turning off the bathroom light.
“Don’t forget to say good night to the kids,” she called over her shoulder.
“I won’t.” He fought to keep the touch of annoyance from his voice. As if he’d forget.
God, but she was annoying sometimes.
He poked into the kids’ rooms. If he’d been an honest man, he’d have admitted that the delay was more to let the excitement within him continue to build than to have an extra ten minutes with his children. But he was far from honest, and so divided the time equally between them before reminding both to finish their homework and say their prayers before they turned off their lights at bedtime.
“See you at breakfast,” he promised as he headed downstairs.
“I wish your out-of-town clients could show up during normal business hours.” His wife complained when he came into the kitchen. She was rinsing the dinner dishes before stacking them methodically into the dishwasher and didn’t bother to turn around when he came into the room. He fought an almost overwhelming urge to bash in the back of her skull with a heavy object. Which fortunately—or unfortunately, depending—was not within reach.
“What’s the big deal?” He patted her on the butt with what he hoped would pass as affection, “It’s barely seven. And you know very well it’s not unusual to see clients in the early evening hours. You have to, if you expect to compete.”
“Well, it just seems you’re out more and more in the evenings.” She turned to him. “But I guess I should be grateful you get home every night to have dinner.”
“You know how strongly I feel about families sitting down at the table together at the end of the day.” He opened his briefcase and pretended to be looking for something. “And I probably needn’t remind you that you work through dinner more often than I do.”
“Not my idea,” she protested.
“Not the point.” He closed his briefcase with a snap.
“I don’t get to set my own hours,” she reminded him.
“I’m aware of that. I’m not finding fault. I’m just saying that sometimes if I leave work early in the afternoon to spend time with the kids, I’ll have to make up that time later, which is what I’m doing tonight. It’s a trade-off, that’s all. I know you don’t have that luxury.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll try not to be too late.”
He kissed the side of her face and walked out the door that led to the garage. On the way, he took a deep healthy breath of fresh air. It smelled of lavender and early summer roses, and underneath it all, it smelled of freedom. Of promise. Of something wicked and yet oh so fulfilling.
He drove carefully, stopping at the stop sign at the end of his street, waving casually to a neighbor, then drove purposefully through town. He made a left at the first light and went on to his place of business, where he parked his car and went inside. Leaving the lights on inside—anyone passing by would think he was working late, as he often did—he slipped out the back door and walked to his destination. It took him a while, and he was mildly winded by the time he arrived.
Unlocking the padlock he’d installed after his last visitor had almost departed on her own, he stepped into the dark.
“Honey, I’m home,” he sing-songed as his hands reached up for the flashlight he’d left on a hook on the right side of the wall. “Did you miss me?”
His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor and he walked slowly, following the stream of light deeper into the building, letting the anticipation build in him—and the fear in her. He stopped when he came to a doorway, and stood still, sniffing the air, as a dog might do, seeking the scent that a woman gave off when she was terrified.
There, there it was.
Lovely.
He stepped into the room and paused to light the candles on the makeshift dresser that stood along one wall. Inside, her clothes were folded and stacked. She would no longer have a need for them but he didn’t have the heart to toss them out, so he’d washed them and put them away neatly.
“I missed you all day, sweetheart. I couldn’t think about anything or anyone except you.” He knelt down next to the bed. “About being here with you, just like this.”
She struggled against the restraints, her eyes wide with fear, her cries muffled by the gag that protruded from her mouth.
“Oh, look at you,” he tsk-tsked softly. “You’ve soiled yourself again. What am I going to do with you?”
He left the room for several moments, then returned with the garden hose.
“We’re just going to have to give you a little shower, aren’t we.” He smiled. “Can’t have you getting all snuggly with your man, looking like that.”
He unlocked the shackles on her ankles, then one of the restraints that tied her wrists to the bedpost. Forcing her to stand on unsteady legs, he moved her as far away from the bed as he could, stretching the arm that was still attached to the bed as far as it would stretch. When he realized that he couldn’t hose her down without getting the mattress wet, he debated momentarily before releasing her other arm. He knew her legs wouldn’t support her even if she had the strength to try to get away—which she obviously wasn’t about to do—and led her several feet to the right before turning on the nozzle.
The first blast of cold water hit her right in the middle, and she cried out, raising her arms to shield her eyes as best she could.
“Now, now, sweetheart, this will just take a minute.” He turned her around to hose off her back and the backs of her thighs. “And you know, if you hadn’t been such a naughty girl, this wouldn’t be necessary.”
He walked around her with the hose, enjoying her efforts to avoid the harsh spray from getting in her face. When he was done, he dried her off with one of several towels he kept there for this purpose.
“The mosquitoes have really been feasting on you this week, haven’t they?” He noted the red welts all over her body. “Maybe if you’re nice to me, I’ll bring something to put on those bites. They really are unattractive, you know.”
He forced her stiff legs to carry her back to the bed. Tiny tears rolled down her face as she submitted to the humiliation of having her arms locked above her head once again. The shackles were not, however, re-fastened to her legs.
He stood and took off his polo shirt in one motion and placed it on the back of the chair he’d brought when he first decided to feather his love nest. His shoes were next, then his pants which were also carefully folded and laid on top of the shirt.
“Like what you see, sugar?” He leaned down and touched the face of the woman on the bed. “I know you do, baby. And it’s all yours. All for you…”
He eased himself down on top of her, his breathing coming faster now.
“And if you’re a good girl, after I’m finished with you, maybe I’ll give you some water. Would you like that?”
The woman struggled inside her bonds. The sounds she made were choked, incoherent.
“Yes, I know you would. Now, are you going to be a good girl?”
She nodded her head with as much vigor as she could muster.
He chuckled and pulled the gag from her mouth.
“Now, sweetheart, you know that…”
She spat in his face.
At first he froze, then he laughed. “Well, well, we still have a little fight in us, do we? Baby, you ought to know there’s nothing that turns me on more than a little bit of fight.”
He shoved the gag back into her protesting mouth. Before he forced himself inside her, he reached under the bed, seeking the recorder he kept there. Once located, it was activated with the touch of a finger.
“Later, baby,” he whispered over her muted cries, “we’ll have plenty of time to talk later…”