So he’d listened. He’d followed the instructions that had come with the photocopy of the yearbook photos. He’d had a hundred thousand dollars transferred to an offshore account. There would be another demand for more money, he thought. And he’d continue to pay whatever he needed to ensure his secret stayed exactly that. Secret.
Chapter Twelve
Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 11:55 p.m.
Meredith’s head was in the refrigerator when Alex closed the bedroom door on Hope and Riley. “I am so hungry,” Meredith complained. “I only ate two bites of that pizza.”
“I don’t think any of us got any more than that,” Daniel said, rubbing the flat of his hand against his equally flat stomach. “Thanks for reminding me,” he added wryly.
Alex looked away from Daniel Vartanian’s very lean torso, startled at the sudden desire that had warmed her inside out. After everything that had happened, she did not need to be thinking about rubbing Daniel’s flat stomach. Or anyplace else.
Meredith put a jar of mayonnaise and some shaved ham on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. She met Alex’s eyes, her lips twitching into a knowing smirk. Alex glared at her, daring her to say a word.
Meredith cleared her throat. “Daniel, can I make you a sandwich?”
Daniel nodded. “Please.” He leaned against the counter, both forearms flat on the granite and his shoulders sagged. When he sighed, Meredith snickered.
“You look like your dog when you do that,” she said, heaping ham on slices of bread.
Daniel chuckled wearily. “They say people resemble their dogs. I hope that’s the only way I resemble Riley. He’s an ugly mug.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think he’s cute,” Meredith said, and gave Alex another smirk as she pushed Daniel’s plate across the countertop. “Don’t you, Alex?”
Alex rolled her eyes, too tired to be amused. “Just eat, Mer.” She walked to the window and pulled the curtains back to look at the unmarked car on her curb. “Should we take them coffee or something?”
“They’d appreciate it, I’m sure,” Daniel said. “If you’ll make it, I’ll take it out to them. I don’t want you all going outside unless you absolutely have to.”
Meredith took her plate to the table. She pushed the Play-Doh- covered Princess Fiona aside and sat down with a sigh of her own. “Are we under house arrest, Daniel?”
“You know you’re not. But we’d be remiss if we didn’t make sure you were safe.”
Alex busied herself making the officers’ coffee. “It’s either that or a safe house.”
Meredith frowned. “I think you and Hope should go.”
Alex glanced up from scooping the coffee. “I was thinking you and Hope should go.”
“Of course you were,” Meredith said. “Dammit, Alex, you’ve got the thickest skull. Nobody’s tried to kill me. You’re the one in the crosshairs.”
“So far,” Alex said. “The reverend is missing, Mer. And I think somebody’s threatened Bailey’s friend. You’re my friend. Don’t think they haven’t noticed you.”
Meredith opened her mouth, then closed it, pursing her lips. “Shit.”
“Eloquently put,” Daniel said. “Think on it tonight. You can decide on the safe house tomorrow if you want. The car outside isn’t going anywhere for at least a day.” He rubbed his forehead. “Do you ladies have any aspirin?”
Alex reached across the counter and lifted his chin. She could see the ache in his eyes. “Where does it hurt?”
“My head,” he said petulantly.
She smiled. “Lean forward.” Eyes narrowed suspiciously, he did. “And close your eyes,” she murmured, and after a last glance, he complied. She pressed her fingertips to his temples until his eyes blinked open.
“That’s better,” he said, surprised.
“Good. I took some classes in acupressure hoping it would work on me, but I’ve never been able to make my own headaches go away.”
He walked around the counter and slid his hand up under her hair. “Still hurts here?”
She nodded and let her head drop forward while his thumb unerringly found the right place on her neck. A shiver ran down her spine. “Yeah, right there.” But the words came out husky and suddenly there wasn’t quite enough air.
The room grew quiet as his hands moved to her shoulders, kneading through the thick tweed of her jacket. All Alex could hear was the dripping of the coffeepot and the sound of her own pulse thrumming in her head.
Meredith cleared her throat. “I think I’ll go to sleep now,” she said.
Meredith’s door closed, leaving them alone. Another shiver shook Alex as he slipped her jacket from her shoulders, but the warmth of his hands chased the chill away.
“Umm.” It was a throaty little moan as she leaned on her forearms as he had done.
“Don’t go to sleep,” he murmured, and she let out a breath.
“No chance of that.”
He turned her so that she looked up at him. His eyes seemed bluer, more intense, and set off little tingles through her body. The pulse that thrummed in her head now beat a steady rhythm between her legs, making her want to press against him.
Then the thumb that had worked its magic on her neck lightly brushed her lip and she wondered what it would feel like . . . elsewhere. And she wondered how a woman went about asking for such a thing.
Then she stopped thinking when his lips covered hers. Her arms wound around his neck and she gave herself up to the riot of sensation she hadn’t felt since . . . since the last time he’d kissed her. His mouth was soft and hard all at once and his hands . . . They pressed hard into her back, then slid down and around until they bracketed her ribs. Until his thumbs rested beneath her breasts and his fingers dug into her sides.
Touch me. Please. But the words didn’t come and when he looked into her eyes she hoped he’d understand. His thumbs swept up, over her nipples, and her eyes slid shut. “Yes,” she heard herself whisper. “Right there.”
“What do you want, Alex?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
He asked the question even as he toyed with her breasts, caressing, teasing, until her knees went weak. “I . . .”
“I want you,” he murmured against her mouth. “I’m giving you fair warning. If this isn’t what you want . . .”
She was trembling. “I . . .”
She felt him smile against her lips. “Then just nod,” he whispered, so she did, then sucked in a breath when he pushed her against the cabinet, rocking against her.
“Oh, yes. Right there,” she said, then stopped talking when he took her mouth in the hardest, hottest kiss yet. His hands slid to her hips, lifting her higher, fitting her better . . .
Then the pounding at the front door shattered it all. “Vartanian!”
Daniel lurched back, rubbing one hand over his face, his eyes instantly focused. His right hand went to the gun he had holstered at his hip. “Stay here,” he ordered, then opened the door so that she was shielded from view. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Radio call for all local units,” said a male voice, and Alex moved until she could see around the door. It was one of the officers from the car outside. “Shots fired at 256 Main Street. A pizza parlor. There’s an officer down and two other victims. One of the victims is the waitress who was closing the place.”
“Sheila,” Alex said, her heart sinking.
Daniel’s jaw clenched. “I’ll go, you come in. Koenig’s still in the car?”
“Yeah.” The officer walked in and gave Alex a nod. “Ma’am. I’m Agent Hatton.”
“You can trust Agent Hatton, Alex,” Daniel said. “I’ve got to go.”
Dutton, Wednesday, January 31, 12:15 a.m.
Holy hell. The silence was surreal as Daniel edged through the door of Presto’s Pizza where he’d brought Alex and Hope just hours before. He gripped his Sig, every sense on alert, but immediately saw he was too late.
Draped over the counter by the open cash register was
a black man. His arms lay limply over the edge, both hands open, and on the floor lay a .38. Blood had pooled on the counter and was dripping down the side and Daniel couldn’t help but think of Hope’s little face, covered in pizza sauce.
Swallowing his shudder, he saw Sheila sitting on the floor in the corner by the jukebox. Her legs were spread wide, her eyes wide and lifeless, her red lipstick garishly bright against her waxy face. She still held a gun clasped in both hands, limp now in her lap. Her uniform was shiny as blood still oozed from the holes in her abdomen and chest. The wall behind her was covered in blood. A .38 left one hell of an exit wound.
From the corner of his eye Daniel detected a movement and lifted his Sig, ready to fire. “Police. Stand, with your hands where I can see them.” A man rose from behind an overturned table and Daniel lowered his weapon in stunned recognition. “Randy?”
Deputy Randy Mansfield nodded, mutely. His white uniform shirt was covered in blood and he took a staggering step forward. Daniel rushed to catch him and lowered him into a chair, then sucked in a breath.
“Fuck,” he whispered. Behind the table, a young officer wearing a Dutton sheriff’s department uniform lay flat on his back, one arm outstretched, his finger still curled around the trigger of his service revolver. His white uniform shirt had a six-inch stain across the abdomen and blood ran in a little stream from his back.
“They’re all dead,” Randy murmured, in shock. “All dead.”
“Are you hit?” Daniel demanded.
Randy shook his head. “We both fired. Me and Deputy Cowell. Cowell got hit. He’s dead.”
“Randy, listen to me. Are you hit?”
Again Randy shook his head. “No. The blood’s his.”
“How many gunmen?”
The color was slowly returning to Randy’s face. “One.”
Daniel pressed his fingers to the young officer’s throat. No pulse. Holding his gun at his side he slipped inside the kitchen through the swinging doors.
“Police!” he announced loudly, but there was no reply. No sound at all. He checked inside the walk-in freezer and found it empty as well. He opened the door to the alley behind the restaurant, where a dark Ford Taurus was parked, its motor still running. If the shooter had had any company, that person had long since fled.
He holstered his weapon and returned to where Sheila sat slumped in the corner, looking like a discarded Raggedy Ann doll. He saw something white peeking out of her pocket. Pulling on a pair of the latex gloves he always kept in his pocket, he crouched beside her, knowing what he’d find.
The something white was the edge of a business card. His own.
Daniel swallowed back the bile as he studied her face. Had he seen her this way first, he would have recognized her immediately, he thought bitterly. With her dead eyes and lax facial muscles, the resemblance to one of the women in Simon’s pictures was much clearer.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The voice shook him and Daniel slowly rose to find Frank Loomis standing in the middle of the restaurant, twin flags of color standing out on his pale face.
“She was my witness,” Daniel said
“Well, this is my town. My jurisdiction. My crime scene. You’re not invited, Daniel.”
“You’re a fool, Frank.” Daniel looked at Sheila and knew what he had to do. “I’ve been one, too. But I’m not anymore.” He walked from the pizza parlor, past the small crowd of shocked townspeople that had gathered. When he was alone, he called Luke.
“Papadopoulos.” He could hear the TV in the background.
“Luke, it’s Daniel. I need your help.”
In the background the TV was abruptly silenced. “Name it.”
“I’m in Dutton. I need those pictures.”
Luke was silent a moment. “What happened?”
“I think I’ve identified another one.”
“Alive?”
“Until twenty minutes ago, yes. Now, no.”
“God.” Luke blew out a breath. “What’s the combo to your safe?”
“Your mama’s birthday.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks. Bring them to 1448 Main. It’s a little one-story bungalow next to a park.”
Daniel hung up, and before he could change his mind, he called Chase. “I need you in Dutton. Please come.”
Dutton, Wednesday, January 31, 12:55 a.m.
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything, Agent Hatton?”
“I’m fine, ma’am.”
“Well, I’m not,” Alex muttered, pacing the length of the small living room and back.
“Alex, sit down,” Meredith said calmly. “You’re not helping anything.”
“I’m not hurting anything either.” She started to walk toward the window, then caught Agent Hatton’s warning glance. “Sorry.”
“Your cousin is right, Miss Fallon. You should try to relax.”
“She’s running on no sleep and no food,” Meredith told the agent.
Hatton shook his head. “And you’re a nurse. You oughta know better than that.”
Alex glared at them both and sat down hard on the sofa. Then popped up a second later when there was a knock at the door.
“It’s Vartanian,” Daniel called, and Hatton opened the door.
“Well?”
“Three dead,” Daniel said. “One of them my witness. Hatton, I need to talk to Miss Fallon,” he said, and Agent Hatton touched his temple in a mock salute.
“Ladies,” he said. “I’ll be outside,” he said to Daniel.
“Should I go?” Meredith asked and Daniel shook his head. Then he closed the door and stared at it for a long, long time, and with every moment Alex felt her panic climb.
Finally she could stand his silence no longer. “What did you need to tell me?”
He turned. “It’s not good.”
“For who?” she asked.
“Any of us,” he said cryptically, then walked to the counter where he’d kissed her, and leaned against it, head bowed. “When I first saw you I was shocked,” he said.
Alex nodded. “You’d just seen Alicia’s picture in the old article.”
“I’d seen her face before that. You read the articles about my brother Simon.”
“Some of them.” Alex lowered herself to the sofa. “ ‘I’ll see you in hell, Simon,’ ” she murmured. “You knew what it meant when I first told you.”
“No. Not until tonight. Did you read the article that talked about how my parents went to Philadelphia looking for a blackmailer?”
Alex shook her head but Meredith said, “I read that one.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t color all the time. I was going crazy. The article said a woman was blackmailing Daniel’s parents. When they went to Philadelphia to confront her, they learned Simon had been alive all that time and he killed them.”
“You didn’t get the latest, greatest,” Daniel said sardonically. “My father had known Simon was alive all along. He’d thrown him out of the house when Simon turned eighteen. He had . . . insurance to make sure he stayed gone. Then he told everyone Simon was dead so my mother wouldn’t keep looking. He faked Simon’s death, burial . . . everything. I believed he was dead. We all did.”
“You must have been shocked to find he was alive,” Meredith said quietly.
“That’s putting it mildly. Simon was always bad. When he was eighteen my father found something that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. It was because of this he banished Simon and it was this that he used as insurance that he would stay dead.”
“What was it, Daniel?” Alex demanded. “Just tell me.”
A muscle in his jaw spasmed. “Pictures of women, girls. Teenagers. Being raped.”
She heard the quick intake of Meredith’s breath, but for Alex there was no air.
“Alicia was one of them?” Meredith asked.
“Yes.”
Meredith moistened her lips. “How did that blackmailer get these pictures?” br />
“She didn’t. My mother had them, and when she realized Simon had been alive all that time, she left them for me in the event she didn’t . . . survive. The blackmailer knew Simon when they were kids. She saw him in Philly and knew he should be dead.”
“So,” Meredith said, “she blackmailed your father on the faked death and burial.”
“Essentially, yes. Two weeks ago, I found the pictures my mother had left for me. That was the day I learned my folks were dead. A few days later, Simon was dead, too.”
“So what did you do then?” Meredith asked. “With the pictures, I mean.”
“I gave them to the detectives in Philadelphia,” Daniel said. “The day I got them. At the time I still thought they were the reason for the blackmail.”
“So they’re up there?” Alex asked. “Pictures of Alicia are up there . . . with strangers?” She heard the thread of hysteria in her voice and fought it back.
“Copies, yes. But I kept the originals. I vowed I’d find the women. I didn’t know who they were or what part Simon played in it all. I didn’t know where to start. And then my first day back we found the woman in Arcadia.”
Meredith drew a breath, understanding. “The blanket and the ditch. It was the same.”
“One of the Arcadia men remembered Alicia’s murder. When I saw her picture in an old newspaper article, I knew she was one of the girls in Simon’s pictures. I was going to track down Alicia’s family the next day.” He looked at Alex. “And then you walked in.”
Alex stared at him, stunned. “Simon raped Alicia? But they caught the man who killed her. Gary Fulmore. He was a drifter. On drugs.”
Daniel hung his head wearily. “There were fifteen girls in those pictures. Only one of them had died, that I knew of anyway. Alicia. Until tonight.”
“Oh, God,” Meredith murmured. “Sheila.”
Daniel lifted his head, his eyes bleak. “I think so.”
Alex stood, vicious rage bubbling up from deep inside her. “You knew. You bastard. You knew and you didn’t tell me.”
“Alex,” Meredith cautioned.
Daniel’s face became stern. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Alex shook her head. “You didn’t want to hurt me?” she repeated, stunned. “You knew that your brother raped my sister and you didn’t want to hurt me?”