Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) (24 page)

“Maybe.”

Using her most official-sounding attorney voice, Lauren gave her name and law office affiliation to the woman who answered the phone in the Bureau of Crime Against Persons, stressing her urgent need to talk with Cole despite the fact that he was out of town.

“I’ll try to reach him, but he may be on a plane. Is there anyone else who might be able to assist you while you’re waiting to hear from him?” the woman offered.

Lauren considered that. She had no idea how long it would take Cole to return her call, and she needed to talk with
someone
. Fast. Maybe the detective who’d originally handled Kelly’s father’s case would be helpful.

“I still want to talk with Detective Taylor. But if Detective Carlson is available, I could speak with him in the interim.”

“He isn’t in the office either, but I should be able to reach him. You’ll hear from someone shortly.”

As Lauren thanked her and ended the call, Shaun started the car and backed out of the parking spot.

“She’s in trouble. I can feel it.” Lauren bit her lip and checked her watch. “I’ll give it ten minutes. If I don’t hear from Carlson or Cole by then, I’m calling 911.”

At the vibration of his cell, Alan stopped riffling through the hall closet in Kelly’s house and yanked the phone off his belt. The office. He had to take it.

Pressing the talk button, he put it to his ear. “Carlson.”

“Detective Carlson, this is Jennifer in Communications. We received a call a few minutes ago from a woman with an urgent need to speak with Detective Taylor. Since he isn’t available, she asked that you call her. Her name is Lauren Casey. I can give you her number whenever you’re ready.”

Alan’s stomach knotted. Why would Lauren call—unless Kelly had managed to imbed a distress signal in her message? But he’d listened to the whole thing. Nothing had sounded amiss.

“Detective Carlson?”

“Hold on a second.” Dropping the hiking boots he’d pulled out of the closet, he strode toward the kitchen and reached for the pen and notepad Kelly kept on the counter. “Ready.”

The woman recited the number. “I left a message on Detective Taylor’s cell with this contact information too.”

He stifled the expletive that sprang to his lips. Breathed in through his nose. “Okay. I’ll get in touch with her right away.”

Alan gave the end button a vicious stab. Kelly Warren had been nothing but trouble from the beginning. The sooner he got rid of her, the better.

But first he needed to do some damage control. He’d call Lauren. Find out what had triggered her concern. Reassure her. Then he’d call Taylor, leave him a message that he had things under control. Fortunately, the man was out of town. But lover boy would be sticking his nose into this the instant he got off the plane. Lucky he’d run into Mitch Morgan at the copy machine yesterday and quizzed him about today’s trip or he wouldn’t know their flight was landing about six.

Twisting his wrist, he checked his watch. Three-forty. That gave him almost two and a half hours to take care of the new problem.

He could make this work.

But he didn’t like the quiver in his finger as he punched in Lauren’s cell number. He couldn’t afford to let his nerves get the upper hand. He needed to remain focused. Attuned to details. That had always been the secret of his success.

Lauren answered on the first ring.

“Ms. Casey, this is Detective Carlson. How can I help you?” Despite the churning in his stomach, his greeting came out steady. Calm. Composed.

“Thank you for calling me back so fast. I received a voice mail from Kelly Warren that concerns me. She talked about canceling a lunch date for today, but I’m in Columbus, Ohio, for Thanksgiving—and she knew that. I think she was trying to let me know she’s in trouble.”

Okay. This might not be as bad as he’d thought. The tension in his shoulders eased. He could talk around a little communication problem.

“Maybe she just got her lunch dates mixed up, Ms. Casey.” He used his most conciliatory tone. The one designed to calm distressed victims and witnesses. “I’m sure she’s been under a lot of stress, given everything that’s been happening with her father’s case.”

“No. Kelly’s more organized than that. And I talked to her last night about our trip. Besides, she also mentioned meeting at a Mexican restaurant. That’s totally out of character. She hates Mexican food.”

His fingers tightened on the phone as a ripple of anger snaked through him. Her conversation had seemed so innocent. Yet she’d duped him.

He wouldn’t underestimate her again.

At the moment, though, he needed to deal with her friend. “Do
you
like Mexican food, Ms. Casey?”

“Me?” Her tone was puzzled. “Yes. Why?”

“Isn’t it possible she was trying to be accommodating, since she was canceling a lunch date?”

“But I told you—we didn’t have a lunch date! And she knew that.” Impatience—and annoyance—sharpened her words.

“I’ll tell you what, Ms. Casey. I’m not far from Ms. Warren’s house.” He stared at a magnet on Kelly’s refrigerator, trying to look at the bright side. If someone did happen to spot activity at her house, he now had a legitimate reason for being here. “I’ll swing by. See if anything looks suspicious.”

“She may have spent last night at her father’s house. She lost power at hers.”

“I’ll check that out too. Communications told me you also called Detective Taylor, so I’ll touch base with him as well. We’ll let you know if we find anything suspicious. And if you hear from Ms. Warren, please call me.” He recited his cell number. “Until we have more information, try not to worry. This may turn out to be an innocent misunderstanding.”

Silence greeted his comment.

“Ms. Casey?”

“Yes. I’m here.” Her voice had chilled.

He tried again to placate her, using the most gracious tone he could muster. He didn’t want her contacting the office again to complain he’d been unresponsive. “You did the right thing calling with your concern. And please contact me directly if you have any other thoughts about what might have been behind her message. Day or night. That’s why we’re here.”

“All right. Thank you.” Her words held a hint of warmth now.

Good. He didn’t have time to mollycoddle her.

“We’ll be in touch.” He pressed the end button.

As he slid the phone back on his belt, the magnet on Kelly’s refrigerator caught his eye again. Some mumbo jumbo from the Bible, judging by the cross at the top. He leaned closer to read it.

Those whose steps are guided by the Lord, whose way God approves, may stumble, but they will never fall, for the Lord holds their hand.

Alan sneered at the final phrase and turned away.

Not this time, Kelly.

Not this time.

“I knew that delay in Buffalo was going to be a problem. This connection is going to be tight.” Mitch checked his watch and fell into step beside Cole as they exited the jetway at O’Hare.

“Yeah, but I’d rather have mechanical problems on the ground than in the air.”

“And I’d rather get home for Thanksgiving. Come on.” Mitch picked up his pace as he wove through the crowd of passengers.

Cole did too. He didn’t want to miss the holiday, either. Or the surprise visit he planned to make to Kelly’s house before tomorrow ended, bearing a piece of pumpkin pie.

If he got home in time to pick up the dessert he’d promised to bring.

Six minutes later, the tension in Cole’s shoulders eased as they approached their gate with five minutes to spare. But it ratcheted up again when they got closer.

“This doesn’t look promising.” Mitch frowned at the crowded waiting area. “Everyone should be on board by now.”

“I’ll find out what’s happening.” Cole made a beeline for the desk. One of the uniformed airline employees glanced up as he approached. “We just got in on the delayed Buffalo flight. What’s the problem here?”

The woman gave him a frazzled look. “The plane arrived late. They’ve finished servicing it, so we’ll begin boarding momentarily. The pilot expects to pick up some time during the flight to St. Louis.”

“Thanks.”

He wove back through the crowd and passed on the news.

“Better than I expected.” Mitch set his bag beside him and pulled his phone off his belt. “I think I’ll check messages and make a couple of calls.”

“I bet Alison’s on your call list again.”

“Eat your heart out, buddy.” Mitch turned away.

Chuckling, Cole pulled his own phone out of its holster. Two messages since they’d left Buffalo. Not bad. He tapped in his code, still smiling as the mechanical voice announced the day and time. Three-thirty-four.

“Detective Taylor, this is Jennifer in Communications. We had a call from a Lauren Casey who said she needed to speak with you about an urgent matter. When I told her you were unavailable, she asked me to pass the message on to Detective Carlson. But she wanted you to respond too. Here’s the number.”

As the woman recited it, Cole fumbled in his pocket for a pen and notebook, his good humor evaporating. If Lauren was trying to reach both him and Alan, the message had to be about Kelly. That was the only common denominator.

And “urgent” sounded ominous.

Once he found his pen, he hit replay and jotted down the number as the woman recited it for the second time. Then he moved to the next message, left ten minutes later. Hoping to hear Kelly’s voice.

No such luck. It was Carlson.

“Cole, it’s Alan. I just spoke with Lauren Casey, Kelly Warren’s friend. She said Kelly left her an odd message earlier today, and she hasn’t been able to reach her. I told her I’d swing by Kelly’s house and check things out. It’s probably nothing, but with all that’s been happening I figure it’s better to be safe. I’m also going to run by her father’s house. Lauren says she may have spent the night there because the power was out at her house. I understand she also left a message for you with Communications, so I wanted you to know I was on it. I’ll call you if I find anything worth reporting.”

Mitch elbowed him. “They’re boarding.”

He punched in the speed-dial code he’d programmed into his phone for Kelly’s cell. “I need to make a call.”

“What’s up?”

He gave Mitch a rapid-fire update as the phone rang. “Alan said he’d check things out, but that was almost an hour ago. I’m assuming he doesn’t have any news or he would have left another message.”

Kelly’s phone kicked over to the answering service, and he depressed the end button without bothering to leave a message. “Kelly’s still not answering. I’m going to try Lauren.”

“You want me to check in with Alan?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Lauren answered her phone on the first ring.

“It’s Cole, Lauren. I just got your message. Tell me what’s going on.”

As she recounted the odd call Kelly had made five hours ago, his stomach tightened. The message was filled with red flags, from the nonexistent lunch date and turkey reference to the Mexican food suggestion.

“And I forgot to tell this to Detective Carlson, but the whole hiking thing doesn’t make sense.” A slight quiver ran through Lauren’s words. “Kelly
never
hikes when it’s cold. She wouldn’t venture out in the kind of weather that was being predicted for St. Louis.”

“Cole.” Mitch nudged him. “Final boarding call.”

Bending, he picked up his small bag and followed his colleague toward the jetway. “Hang on one second, Lauren.” He pressed the mute button. “Did you reach Carlson?”

“No. It rolled to voice mail.”

Cole handed the agent his boarding pass, pocketed it after she finished, and started down the jetway as he resumed his conversation with Lauren. “I’m getting on the plane to St. Louis as we speak. Alan’s an experienced guy, and it sounds like he’s doing the same thing I’d be doing if I were there. I’ll call him and you the minute we touch down.”

“When are you landing?”

“We’re boarding a little late . . . my guess is around six-fifteen.”

“Sir . . .” The flight attendant stopped him as he stepped from the jetway onto the plane. “I need you to turn off your cell phone and take your seat as quickly as possible. We’re ready to depart.”

He acknowledged her comment with a nod. “Lauren, I have to hang up. We’re taking off. Sit tight. I’ll be back in touch as soon as I can.”

As they inched down the aisle, Cole filled Mitch in on his phone call, pausing when he came to his row.

Mitch stopped, twin furrows etching his brow. “Maybe Alan will have some news by the time we land. If not, we’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah.”

The flight attendant gestured to his seat, and he slid in and buckled up.

Knowing this was going to be the longest hour of his life.

He was back.

The beeping of her father’s security system pierced the silence, triggering a burst of adrenaline that sent a tingle to Kelly’s nerve endings.

Heart pounding, she peered at the shadowy stairwell. The weak light that had wedged through the shutters in the basement had waned, then disappeared, so she assumed night had fallen. Meaning Carlson had been gone four or five hours. Plenty of time for Lauren to have received her message and acted on it—assuming she’d checked her voice mail.

Kelly prayed she had.

She could hear Carlson moving around upstairs. After a few minutes, the basement door opened and he came down the steps. In the darkness, she couldn’t make out his features, but the stiffness in his posture radiated an almost palpable tension.

In silence, he dropped to one knee and freed her from the shelving unit, leaving her wrists bound. Then he cut through the plastic restraint on her ankles and hauled her to her feet.

After being immobile for hours, her legs refused to cooperate as he tugged her toward the stairs. She stumbled, but he kept moving, half dragging her across the basement. At the bottom of the stairs, he shoved her ahead of him.

“Go up.”

She tried, but her shaky legs refused to support her. After two steps, she stumbled, and without her hands to cushion her fall, she went down hard. Her shoulder connected with the edge of a riser, and she slid back down to land in a heap at Carlson’s feet.

Muttering a curse, he snagged her left arm and started up. She bounced along behind him, doing her best to get her footing and avoid bumping against the edge of each riser, but her knees, shins, and left hip took a beating.

When they reached the top, he continued toward the hall, dumping her at the entrance to the bathroom. He dropped to his knee behind her, and she felt a tug on her wrists. Suddenly the pressure was gone. Her arms were free.

“Put on the clothes in the bathroom. Don’t take off the gag. You have five minutes.” He pulled her to her feet, shoved her inside, and flipped on the shower light, which was muted behind the smoky glass. Keeping one foot inside the frame, he closed the door.

Kelly gripped the edge of the vanity and stared into the mirror. Her jaw had gone a deeper shade of purple, her hip and shins were throbbing—and Carlson no longer seemed to care about inflicting injuries.

The end of his little game must be getting close.

Fighting back a fresh wave of panic, she scanned the clothes he’d left for her. Jeans. Wool socks. Flannel shirt. Gloves. Hat. Ski jacket. Hiking boots.

Why did he want her dressed in outdoor gear?

She tried to focus. To analyze. When she’d called Lauren earlier, Carlson had told her to say she’d gone hiking. At the time, she’d thought that was a spur-of-the-moment excuse, a piece of information from his surveillance that had unexpectedly come in handy. But maybe not. Maybe all along he’d planned to take her somewhere in the woods, kill her, and leave her, making the whole thing look like a hiking accident.

Just as he’d made the anaphylactic shock look like an accident.

Except Lauren wouldn’t buy it. Her friend knew she
never
hiked in cold weather. Cole wouldn’t accept it, either, no matter how well Carlson pulled off the crime. He’d keep digging for proof it wasn’t an accident. Searching for the perpetrator.

But Carlson was masterful at covering his tracks. No one suspected he’d killed her father, nor did anyone connect him to her near-fatal allergic reaction. And she was certain he’d be meticulous this time. Cole and Lauren might know her death was a homicide, but without proof, Carlson could walk away free.

That possibility made her sick to her stomach.

“You have three minutes.”

At Carlson’s cold comment, she went into action. If she balked, she had no doubt he’d dress her himself—and none too gently.

She used the facilities, then donned the attire he’d laid out as fast as she could. But tying the laces on the hiking boots was a problem. Her fingers were still too numb from the pressure on her wrists, and they were shaking.

All at once he pushed the door open, and she jerked. He had his gun in his hand now, and he surveyed her as she sat on the toilet seat, fumbling with the laces. “Hurry up.”

In the light, she could see his eyes. And at the roiling rage in their depths, her heart stumbled.

“I found out about your little plan, by the way.”

She froze, and the breath whooshed out of her lungs.

“Your friend called me for help.”

Oh, God, please! No!
She’d never even considered the possibility Lauren would call Carlson if she couldn’t reach Cole.

“Yeah. Me. How about that?” A mirthless smile twisted one corner of his mouth. “She was concerned about your message. She told me there was no lunch date, and that you hate Mexican food. That was very clever, Kelly. But it’s not going to make any difference. This game is over. Go in the kitchen.” He backed away and motioned her out the door.

She rose, holding on to the vanity for support, and slowly walked down the hall, her thoughts in a frenzy. Without Cole or the police on her trail, she was doomed. She had to try to do
something
else to save herself.

As if reading her mind, he spoke from behind her as they entered the kitchen. “Just so we don’t have a repeat of that earlier episode on the stairs, we’re going to do what we did before. Lie on the floor and stretch your arms out to the sides.”

This was where she had to take her stand. Once he tied her up again, she’d be helpless. And he wouldn’t shoot her, not with all the care he’d taken to avoid leaving suspicious marks on her body. The gun was to intimidate, nothing more. That was to her advantage.

She took a surreptitious glance around the kitchen. The coffeepot was within arm’s reach. If she grabbed it, swung around, and threw it at him, it might distract him long enough to give her a chance to lunge at his legs. Knock him off balance. He might drop the gun, and—

All at once, he hooked his foot around her ankle and jerked it back.

Thrown off balance, she pitched forward and crashed to the floor.

He was on top of her in an instant, pressing the heel of his hand against the back of her neck, smashing her cheek to the floor with such force her eyes began to water.

“We’re done playing games, Kelly.”

Though moisture blurred her vision, she saw him reposition the gun in his hand, lift his arm, and swing it down. The butt of the pistol connected with her temple.

Stars exploded behind her eyes.

Bright, white light filled her field of vision.

And then it went out.