Shadow of Perception (45 page)

“So you decided to play judge, jury and executioner in your OR.”

“I take it Eden shared our phone conversation with you as well. You two must be very close. Do you love her?”

“I’m three blocks from St. Mary’s Medical Center. Where next?” he asked instead of answering Morrison’s question. How he felt about Eden wasn’t the killer’s business.

“Please answer my question.”

“Or?”

“Or?” Morrison echoed. “I’m the only person, other than your fiancée’s kidnapper, who knows Eden’s location. Do you really want to screw with me?”

He didn’t. He wanted Eden safe, and in his arms. “Yes, I love her,” he admitted.

“Good. Do you plan on marrying her?”

Damn it. Explaining his messed-up love life to a man who had tortured and mutilated his victims didn’t sit well with him. Still, Morrison was right. He needed the man’s help to find Eden. “It’s complicated,” Hudson said.

“What’s so complicated? Unless she doesn’t love you.”

“She does, it’s just…look, now isn’t the time to get into my relationship with Eden.”

“It’s just what?” Morrison insisted.

Hudson made a turn, caught a street sign for St. Mary’s Medical Center. “I’ll be in front of the hospital any second. Where do I go from here?”

“Answer my question first.”

Slamming his fist against the steering wheel, Hudson gripped the phone. “Why? What do you care?”

“I like Eden, and I want her to be happy. I wasn’t able to give that same happiness to my daughter. Is it such a bad thing to care?”

The images of Eliza Morrison’s before and after photos surfaced. A wave of empathy knocked Hudson in the chest. While he still didn’t agree with how Morrison had handled his vendetta against the doctors from Med Spa, he sympathized with his loss. The man had lost his daughter, then his wife. For some reason, Morrison had made a connection with Eden. Considering the current situation, he decided there wasn’t anything wrong with Morrison caring for Eden. Besides, if it wasn’t for Morrison, he wouldn’t have even known Eden had been taken, let alone her location.

“No,” Hudson finally said. “I’m glad you care about her enough to help. For the record, we do love each other. As you know, though, she’s moving.”

“The Network job in New York,” Morrison said. “Her ambitions have paid off quite nicely.”

“She deserves the job.”

“She deserves to be happy. I’ve seen the two of you together, and until you came along, I hadn’t seen her smile much. Keep in mind, careers, jobs, they come and go.” He released a sigh, then said, “Drive past St. Mary’s, and make a right onto Ledge Road.”

“I’m turning now.”

“Good. Go down two blocks, then turn left onto Maple Street. Park the car in front of a white house with a bright red door. It’s on the right side of the street. You can’t miss it.”

Hudson turned onto Maple Street, slowed the Trans Am, then abruptly swerved. “I’m here,” he said as he parked, and stared at the house with the red door.

He jerked and swiveled when a rap came at the driver’s side window. Hudson immediately recognized Michael Morrison from his driver’s license photo. Holding the phone away from his ear, Hudson slipped it into his jacket pocket, then showed Morrison his empty hands. While he carried a gun, he didn’t need Morrison to know and become skittish.
 

“I’m getting out,” Hudson shouted.

Morrison nodded, and took a step back.
 

As Hudson exited the Trans Am, Morrison handed him a thick manila envelope. “Please make sure Eden gets this.”
 

“Not planning on sticking around?” Hudson asked, and dropped the envelope on the passenger seat.

“The house is on the next street. If you look between the yards here,” he said, and pointed toward the house with the red door. “You can see part of the news van.”

Hudson craned his neck, then saw the van. “I see it.”

“The address is 8753 Elm Street.” Morrison took a step back toward the other side of the road. “Eden’s been in there for a little over fifteen minutes. I suggest you call the police.”

“Wait,” Hudson said, and withdrew his gun from his shoulder holster. “I’d prefer if you stayed.”

Morrison narrowed his eyes. “So you
are
a cop. I told you I don’t like it when people lie to me.”

“I didn’t. I’m a private investigator.”

“How convenient for Eden,” Morrison said, and took another step back. “What I’m wondering, though, is why you’d waste time on me, rather than rushing to save the woman you love? What do you think Eden would prefer? That you make sure you apprehend me or save her.”

He’d always made it his mission to complete an assignment. No matter the cost. From the time he could talk, his father had pushed him to be the best. To always come out the winner. Morrison, no matter how heinous his crimes, wasn’t worth losing Eden.
 

“Don’t contact Eden again,” Hudson said, then reaching for his cell phone, he sprinted between the yards. Before he closed in on the news van, he dialed 911, gave the operator the kidnapper’s address, then pocketed the phone.
 

 
As he rounded the van’s back bumper, he peered through the window. Empty. Stepping away, he hesitated, then looked through the van’s window again. A cowboy boot stuck out from beneath a blanket. David.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins, along with raw fear.
 

This was no longer a kidnapping. Whoever had Eden wasn’t afraid of murder.
 

The 911 operator had told him to hold his position and wait for the police. If he hadn’t been on the phone with Morrison, he could have called CORE for backup. Right now, he was on his own.
 

He edged toward the back stoop, crouched, then crept up the rotted, wooden steps. When he reached the door, he ducked beneath the window, then slowly raised his head. He froze.
 

Eden lay on the floor, where a small kitchen led into another room. Her right arm above her head, her wrist cuffed to the door knob.
 

Uncertain who he was up against, and running on hate and adrenaline, he jumped off the stoop, then moved toward the front of the house. A twig snapped. Gun raised, Hudson turned.

Michael Morrison shot his hands to the sky. “I saw Eden inside,” he whispered. “I’ll help you, but when I hear sirens, I’m gone.”

Hudson lowered his gun. “I can use the help. Do you have a weapon?”

Hands still in the air, Morrison said, “I’ve got a tire iron stuffed in the back of my pants.”

“Turn around.” WhenMorrison pivoted, Hudson pulled the tire iron free, then handed it to him. “I’m going to check the front of the house. You hang out by the back stoop. If anyone comes out, run around the opposite side of the house and get me.”

Morrison nodded. “Works for me.”

As he was about to head toward the front yard, Hudson stopped, then said, “When you do hear those sirens, you better—”

 
“Run like hell?” Morrison smiled. “I can tell you live by a certain code. And I respect that. I’m here for Eden, not for you. Trust me. After tonight, I’ll never see you again.”

Although he didn’t like the idea of letting a murderer go, he didn’t like Eden being held hostage even more. He understood Morrison. The man had killed for revenge. Whoever held Eden…that uncertainty worried him more than setting a killer free.

Chapter 25

Every muscle and nerve ending in Eden’s body ached. She knew the results and differences between a Taser and a stun gun from a story she’d reported a few years ago. Now that the gun had been turned on her, she realized its true effectiveness. The voltage had knocked her unconscious. She had no idea how long she’d been out, or where she’d been taken.
 

Forcing her heavy eyelids open, a wave of vertigo consumed her. She shut her eyes again, and clutched her nauseated stomach. Her right arm didn’t cooperate. She tugged, shifted her aching head, then panicked.
 

Cuffed to a door, she fought the dizziness and forced her sore muscles to strain against the doorknob. Grabbed her wrist with her other hand and tried to free herself.
 

Muscles still screaming, Eden ignored the pain and swiveled. Now fully alert, she took in her surroundings, then gagged and fought the bile rising in her throat. It smelled as if someone had dumped the contents of a dozen Porta Potties in the room. TV guides, yellowed newspapers, soda cans, wrappers and dirt littered the wood floor. Across the dimly lit room stood a hospital bed, which had been piled high with pillows and blankets. The bed immediately reminded her of Michael Morrison’s surgical table and his OR. Only Michael hadn’t taken her.
 

Rusty
.
 

She’d known him for several years. Adept as a cameraman and excellent with editing film, Rusty had been one of the few people she’d liked at WBDJ. Why would he do this to her? She remembered David, and her chin trembled. Why would he do this to any of them?

“Doesn’t she look sad?” Rusty laughed as he walked down the short, cluttered hallway and entered the room. He knelt in front of her, and nodded. “You’re right. Pathetic is the more appropriate word.”

A muffled scream came from the hospital bed. Metal scraped against metal.
 

Eden turned and caught movement. Her skin prickled with fear. Those weren’t pillows and blankets on the hospital bed. “Rusty,” she said, making an effort to keep her voice calm. “Who’s in the bed?”

“Mama. She doesn’t get many visitors anymore, so I’m sure she’d love to meet you.” He moved toward the bed, then turned on a lamp.
 

A morbidly obese woman lay prone on the bed. Duct tape covered her mouth. Her arms were stretched, and both of her hands had been cuffed to the bedrails. Eyes wild, the woman screamed against the duct tape again. Although sympathetic to the woman’s situation, Eden’s focus remained on survival, escape, on the hope that someone would look for her when she didn’t show at the church. Once free, she’d help the woman. Until then, she had to find a way to keep Rusty from killing her.

“If you scream, I’ll put the tape over your mouth again,” Rusty said to the woman. “I know what I’m doing, quit nagging me. This will be over soon.”

Confused, Eden glanced around the room again. Although it sounded as if Rusty had been talking with someone, she hadn’t heard or seen another person.
 

He ripped the tape off his mother’s face. “Be good.”

The mother nodded, then began to cry. “Why, Pudge? Why are you doing this? Who is this woman?”
 

“Mama, this is Eden Risk. Eden, meet Mama. The smelliest bitch you’ll ever know.”

“I only smell because you won’t change my colostomy bag,” Mama began, then looked at Eden. “I’ve been cuffed to this bed for almost two days. Pudge won’t feed me, give me anything to drink or let me watch TV.”

“I know, you were right,” Rusty said with a shake of his head. “I should have kept the tape over her mouth.”

“You’re scaring me,” Mama said. “Who are you talking to?”

Rusty shoved away from the hospital bed, and fisted his hands. “The only person who knows the real me.”

“Who?” Mama asked. “This Eden person? How could she know you the way I do? You don’t even look like you.”

“Stop with all the fucking questions,” Rusty yelled. “That pathetic, self-serving bitch.” He pointed to Eden. “She doesn’t know me. You don’t know me. All you’ve ever done was use me.”

Rusty paced the room, smacking his hands on his legs. He stopped. “I will. I’ll take care of Eden. But I told you. Mama dies naturally. Let me clean the van first.” He fisted his hands, then punched the air. “Fine. I’ll kill her now,” he screamed.

Face flushed, veins protruding from his neck and temples, Rusty grabbed a backpack off the floor.
 

Eden realized Rusty was obviously crazy. He’d murdered David, kidnapped her, held his mother prisoner, and ranted to himself. Terrified by what he might do next, Eden shifted her legs beneath her rear, knelt, then glanced around the filth and clutter, searching for something she could use to protect herself.
 

When she looked into the kitchen, she spotted a butter knife sitting on the kitchen table next to dirty plates and old food. While the dulled blade wouldn’t offer much protection, she’d rather have that, than nothing at all.
 

Grabbing the knife wouldn’t be easy. While the table was nearby, she would have to close the door to reach it.

Wait. If she closed the door, she could lock herself inside the kitchen. Once she locked him out of the kitchen, though, Rusty could leave through the front, then come in through the back door.
 

“Is that blood? Oh my God,” Mama shouted. “No, no, no. What did you do?”
 

Eden quickly looked, then covered her mouth and stared at the scalpel Rusty held.

“Shut up, Mama.”

“Pudge, honey, you can’t do this. They’ll find you. And when they do, they’ll find out about Daddy.”