Twisted

  “Ask them quickly. Just realize that I know as little as you do about what his agenda is, or how he chose us.”

  “Does he hurt you?”

  “At the beginning, he struck me. He called it discipline. I caught on quickly, and stopped resisting. From that moment on, the discipline ended. If it’s rape you’re worried about, don’t. He’s never touched me in a way that’s even remotely sexual. To the contrary, he’s as respectful as a well-bred young man on his first date. In his mind, we’re goddesses, not prisoners.”

  “You called him Delphi—why?”

  “Because that’s how he introduced himself. I remember some of my Greek mythology. But my only recollection of Delphi is as a shrine, not a person. It was an ancient site of the high Greek oracle.” Eve shrugged, gesturing toward Cynthia’s mattress. “I see you have your Athena chapter. I have mine on Hera. I’ve read it a hundred times. Nothing in it explains why he’s Delphi. So your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Does he ever let you out of your room other than to bathe?”

  “Occasionally, I’m allowed out of my room. Today was my first walk outside. Till now, it’s been to join him for a cup of tea in an empty room down the hall that he’s set up like a parlor. He brings me in there on the days when he needs a conversation partner—or listener—when he wants to discuss philosophy or the degradation of society as it exists today. Most of all, when he needs someone to turn to for maternal advice and support. He needs that, desperately.”

  “Why?”

  “He never reveals anything personal about himself, and he becomes enraged if I try to steer the conversation in that direction. So I don’t. But if I were to speculate, I’d say that he’s not just insane, he’s still part child himself. He has three sides to him—the child, the gentleman, and the lunatic.”

  “It’s the lunatic that terrifies me.”

  “I know.” Eve’s expression was grim. “When that side of him comes out, I cringe. He vacillates between raving bouts of insanity and vacant-eyed introspection. When the raving starts, I pray for the moment he leaves the house—which he usually does, after yelling, cursing, and smashing things. There’s always the fear that he’ll burst through my door and vent his rage at me. But, believe it or not, it’s the vacant-eyed introspection that creeps me out the most. That’s when he’s impossible to read. He’s vibrating with repressed violence. He delivers my meals, escorts me to the bathroom, and never speaks. He just looks right through me. It frightens me even more than his uncontrolled rage.”

  “So what do you do?”

  “Stay silent. Walk on eggshells so I don’t provoke him. And wait for the ‘gentleman’ to return. When he does, he’s eerily normal—polite, hospitable, friendly. Like a gentleman caller in the eighteen hundreds, visiting to converse and exchange pleasantries.”

  “Oh God.” Cynthia covered her face with her hands. “How do you survive without losing your mind?”

  “Two ways. By using those occasions when he wants to have a scholarly discussion to divert myself. He’s insane, but he’s also highly intelligent. So I use that intelligence to keep my own madness at bay. The rest of the time, I stay sane by planning my escape. Now I have an ally—you. Please, Cynthia, cooperate with him. Stop fighting. We needed him calm, trusting, and—hopefully—off guard. Thank him profusely for bringing me to you. Be grateful, humble. Then, when you ask to see me again, he’ll permit it. We’ll use those visits to combine our resources, and come up with an escape plan.” Eve rubbed her forehead. “My instincts tell me we don’t have much time.”

  Richard Stockton College

  Pomona, New Jersey

  9:20 A.M.

  Sloane had arrived a little after nine. She parked her Outback in the first parking lot off College Drive, which was the location Deanna had said the taxi dropped her and Penny off. Sloane followed the road with her eyes. As one of Stockton’s main streets, College Drive curled around the entire campus.

  Getting out of her car, Sloane stretched. Richard Stockton College sprawled before her, sixteen hundred rural acres, most of them wooded. Even if law enforcement covered every inch of the grounds, it was unlikely they’d find any physical evidence—not after a year. They’d have to find witnesses, people who saw something, even if they didn’t realize they had. Lake Fred was large and centrally located. And on a spring day, that meant students hanging out, jogging, even just walking to class. Someone had to have seen something.

  A light wind blew by, and Sloane tucked a strand of chestnut-brown hair off her face. It was a sunny morning, with temperatures hovering around fifty. Spring was finally showing signs of arriving. Good for her hand. Good for her investigation. Less pain, more outdoor activity.

  She was itching to get going. But, true to her word, she’d waited, leaning against her car and reading through her notes, forcibly resisting the urge to head directly over to Lake Fred and start questioning people.

  Her patience was short-lived. She glanced at her watch: 9:23. She was antsy as hell. And it wasn’t just investigating Penny’s disappearance that was propelling her. It was a surge of nervous energy.

  She’d received three more hang-ups on her cell phone this morning. One during her run with the hounds, one when she was loading her briefcase into the car, and one about ten minutes before she arrived at Stockton. Same MO each time—a restricted call, thirty seconds of slow, raspy breathing, then a hang-up. The whole thing was really starting to piss her off. One more day of this, and she was going to pull a few strings and initiate a trace.

  The sound of crunching tires reached her ears, and she turned to see Derek’s midnight-blue Buick LaCrosse pull into the lot. He parked alongside her Outback and jumped out of his car, tossing his overcoat into the backseat and grabbing his briefcase.

  That was Derek. High energy. Like an explosive about to detonate. Never needed a coat, not even in Cleveland in the dead of winter. He just generated his own heat. Anywhere and everywhere.

  Sloane quickly dismissed that thought. Bad enough that seeing him still made her whole body react. She wasn’t about to compound it by remembering.

  “Good morning.” He strode over to greet her, every bit the crisp professional. “You contained yourself. I’m impressed.”

  She blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “You waited for me to get here. Wise decision.”

  “And you wore the Gucci. Equally wise decision.”

  A corner of Derek’s mouth lifted. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have a lot to choose from. These days, I’m a T-shirt-and-jeans guy. One of the perks of working the streets of Chinatown.”

  “Who are you kidding?” Sloane asked wryly. “You love the classic suit-and-tie look.”

  “My budget doesn’t. The cost of living in Manhattan has gone through the roof.”

  “True. And since T-shirts don’t need dry cleaning, you must save a bundle. On the other hand, you must lose a chunk of time ironing and folding.” Sloane’s eyes twinkled as she saw Derek’s jaw tighten, telling her she was right. “Once an Army Ranger, always an Army Ranger. Neatly pressed shirts, folded socks, lined-up shoes—”

  “You made your point.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell. I wouldn’t want your squad to have the ammo to shoot holes in that macho self-esteem.”

  “Not to worry. My self-esteem’s solid.”

  “Of course it is. There’s nothing soft about you.”

  The minute she said those words, Sloane wanted to kick herself. She’d meant them as they pertained to Derek’s unyielding nature. But that’s not the way they came out.

  She felt the heat of embarrassment warm her cheeks. “I didn’t mean…”

  “I know what you meant.” Derek wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easily. “But what you didn’t mean is true, too.”

  “God, your arrogance is staggering.” Sloane raked her fingers through her hair. “Only you—”

  “Yup. Only me.” He paused, let the words hang between them like an electric current. br />
  In the sexually charged moment that followed, Derek’s gaze slid over her, taking her in from head to toe. He started with her dark hair, now glinting with golden highlights, then shifted to her delicate features and equally delicate frame. He paused at her open trench coat, lingering on her formfitting black pantsuit—especially where the blazer defined the curves of her breasts.

  Abruptly, he raised his head, his gaze refocusing on her face. “Regardless of what you’ve been through, you look great. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that at our last meeting. I like whatever you did with your hair.”

  Sloane gave him a tight smile. “New cut…and highlights. I got tired of looking like a Girl Scout.”

  “Funny. I never thought of you as a Girl Scout.”

  Okay, this conversation was getting out of hand. And Sloane’s insides were clenched so tightly, she could barely keep up the pretense.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve scheduled for today?” she asked. “I assume we’re meeting with the college president and the campus police?”

  “Yup. Both. Also, I printed a campus map so we could navigate more expediently.”

  “Ditto.”

  They both pulled out their maps.

  “Penelope took the most direct route to Lake Fred, past the Alton Auditorium, which is right here.” Derek pointed. “The lake is flanked on its two long sides by academic buildings and housing. That’s the good news.”

  “And the bad news is that the two short sides are heavily wooded, and one of those sides has two smaller lakes beside it. More area, more isolation.” Sloane sighed. “Let’s think positive. It was a busy time of day, a nice time of year, and Penny would definitely have stood out. With the way she dressed and carried herself, there’s no way she’d be confused with a grad student.”

  “Agreed.” Derek looked around. “I wonder what’s keeping McGraw.”

  On cue, McGraw’s black Pontiac G6 sedan turned the bend and pulled into the lot.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said as he climbed out of the car and grabbed his file. “I got stuck behind a garbage truck.”

  “No problem. It’s just nine thirty-five.” Derek gestured from Sloane to Tom McGraw and back. “Sloane Burbank, Tom McGraw.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Sloane shook Tom’s hand—using the loose, pressure-off-the-palm-and-index-finger grip that Connie had taught her.

  “Same here. I’ve heard your praises sung often enough. You’ve got a couple of good friends at the Newark field office.”

  Sloane smiled fondly. “Gary Lake and Lucy Mullen. We went through Quantico together.”

  Tom’s glance flickered to the hand he’d just clasped. “Sorry about what happened. How’re you doing?”

  “Better every day. Busier, too.” As always, Sloane steered the conversation away from her injury. She hated pity—almost as much as she hated talking about her exit from the Bureau. “I assume Derek filled you in on my role in this case and my relationship to the victim?”

  “Yup.”

  Sloane relaxed. Clearly, Special Agent McGraw was an easygoing guy. She could use one of those right now, so there’d be less weirdness in divvying up responsibilities.

  Just the same, she took the bull by the horns right up front.

  “I appreciate your prioritizing this case on such short notice,” she told Tom. “I promise to dovetail my role with yours and Derek’s. I’ll work with you, following your lead. I was hired to join the team, not run it.”

  Tom gave her a crooked grin. “I hear you. One favor—could you teach that to my wife?”

  “Sorry.” Sloane grinned back. “Those rules apply only in business. Personal relationships fall under a separate jurisdiction.”

  An exaggerated sigh. “I was afraid you’d say that.” All humor vanished, and Tom’s expression turned sober. “I appreciate your diplomacy, but don’t worry about stepping on my toes. If the new leads you turned up can help us figure out what happened to your friend, and who took her, I’m all for pursuing them in whatever way gets the best and fastest results.”

  “On that note, here’s today’s agenda,” Derek inserted. “As we know, the college has an official police department, not just campus security. That makes it easier, because we’re dealing with pros—okay, maybe semipros given that this is Pomona, New Jersey. I called the chief of police yesterday and arranged a ten o’clock meeting for this morning. He agreed to assemble everything he could by that time, including any parking tickets, incident reports, or daily permits issued last April fourteenth. Stockton’s also got a pretty sophisticated closed-circuit television system. There are a bunch of cameras placed around Lake Fred, leveraging their manpower in some of the denser, wooded areas.”

  “Did the police save the CCTV footage from a year ago?” Sloane asked.

  “That’s one of the things we’ll be finding out. I think we should all attend this meeting so we know precisely what we’re dealing with. After that, we can split up and do our respective things.”

  “Yeah, ours is going to be a lot of schmoozing with the powers that be,” Tom noted. “The president of the college isn’t going to like our marching in and causing negative publicity for the school.”

  “True. On the other hand, he wouldn’t want to be uncooperative when it comes to solving a potentially violent crime.” Derek’s tone said he was ready for the administration’s reticence, and would do what was necessary to eradicate it. “We’ll make sure that he and the campus police get lots of positive press for their efforts. It’ll be fine.”

  He turned to Sloane. “During this morning’s meeting, we’ll find out which apartments, dorms, and lecture halls have a view of the section of Lake Fred where Penelope disappeared. Then we’ll arrange to get printouts of the rosters you mentioned the other day—the tenants who lived in those apartments, the kids who lived in those dorms, and the students and staff who had classes in those lecture halls. You can get started interviewing whoever’s still here a year later. We’ll start searching for the ones who’ve gone elsewhere.”

  “Great.” Sloane was pleasantly surprised by how much thought Derek had given this. “I’m also going to take a stroll around the lake right after our meeting. That’s the time Penny disappeared. I’ll talk to the students, the Frisbee players, the joggers—whoever usually hangs out around Lake Fred late morning, early afternoon. Maybe some of the regulars were also regulars last year. If so, I might be able to dig up a clue.”

  “Good idea.” Derek nodded. “So let’s head over to the main building and hear what the campus police have to contribute to this investigation.”

  As they trudged off, Sloane automatically flipped her cell phone back on to check her messages.

  Three missed calls. All restricted. She doubted they were from clients. Clients left messages.

  Frowning, Sloane made a mental note for later today—to pull those strings she’d been considering.

  She was about to turn off the phone, when it rang. She glanced at the display, knowing full well what it would say: restricted caller. Big surprise.

  “Do you need to get that?” Derek asked, watching her expression as the phone continued to ring.

  “Nope. Not necessary.” Sloane turned off the cell, flipped it closed, and stuck it in her purse. “I know what it’s about. I’ll deal with it later.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  DATE: 1 April

  TIME: 1230 hours

  I was elated with the breakthrough Hera had made with Athena. I served her lunch, inviting her to sit on her throne while she ate. Then I presented her with her surprises—a big bowl of fresh fruit, and a copy of today’s newspaper. The latter was a first. It was a sign of my trust, the greatest reward I could give her.

  She’d earned it.

  Richard Stockton College

  4:20 P.M.

  The wind had picked up, and there was a cold rain falling in a steady stream as Sloane trudged back to her car. So much for the spring weather. The sun and
fair skies had deteriorated as the day progressed.

  The day itself had been long and intense. First the meeting with the campus police. Then hours stationed at Lake Fred questioning anyone and everyone—until the rain had sent them all scurrying inside. Last, interviewing faculty members and students. A few tentative leads. Nothing rock solid—yet.

  All that was just the tip of the iceberg.

  Derek and Tom had slashed their way through academic red tape. With just the right choice of words, they’d convinced the college president that it would be in his best interest to cooperate—and to exert influence on the campus police to do everything the FBI asked ASAP. Records and CCTV footage would be retrieved and produced swiftly. Flyers with pictures of Penny would be posted all over campus, and an e-mail blast would go out asking all those who were residents of housing overlooking Lake Fred last April to contact the campus police or the FBI. Ditto for those who’d attended classes in key lecture halls overlooking Lake Fred.

  Sloane wasn’t discouraged. She’d known this was going to be a tedious process. But she wasn’t going away. Come hell or high water, she was going to find out what had happened to Penny.

  She couldn’t wait to get into her car and put on the heat. Not so much for the chill in her body, but for the throbbing in her hand. This kind of weather was the absolute worst for her injury.

  That wasn’t in the cards. Lady Luck had another surprise in store for her. The minute Sloane reached the parking lot, she saw that her car was leaning heavily to the right. A flat. She could spot it from yards away. The right front tire looked like a pancake.

  Great. Just what she needed to complete her day.

  She squatted beside the car to take a look. It took three seconds to zero in on the nail that had punctured her tire.

  Okay, she thought, tossing her briefcase and purse into the car, then rising and going to the trunk to get the tools she needed. So much for her Tahari suit. Now it would be waterlogged, filthy, and torn.

  Ruining her clothes turned out to be the least of her problems. She’d forgotten that it had been several years since she’d changed a flat. Which meant that the last time had predated her injury.