“A big kiss?” Tanner took a minute to sit back and let the words sink in. Had they actually come out of Declan Grey’s typically subdued mouth?
And had a tremble of delight really just ricocheted through her at the notion of a kiss from Declan?
What in the world was going on? It must be the case they were working. The thrill she felt whenever she was able to help people, the secret thrill she felt when danger was nipping at her heels.
She’d never sought it, but danger seemed to follow her, and she loved combating it. Combating evil through God’s enabling. Maybe today with Declan and Lexi, through God’s enabling, they’d get to bring another evil man to justice.
Avery rushed across the room to Skylar’s red sweater fitted over a headless mannequin. It was the sweater she had bought Skylar for her birthday the year before last—one of her friend’s favorites.
Avery stood there, disbelief and confusion swirling inside, trying to grasp why Skylar would have chosen to be photographed here. By him. It had to either have been against her will or, as Avery had feared for a while, Skylar had been murdered and then photographed.
What kind of sicko were they dealing with?
24
He watched them tear apart his storage room from the hidden shelter of the tunnels, but it didn’t matter. Nothing else did. He’d found her—an angel clothed primarily in black, which was ironic because she actually deserved to wear white. She was perfect. Better than perfect.
The soft curve of her cheeks, the full ripeness of her lips, the creamy velvet skin along her supple throat—just aching for his hands to wrap around. To feel her pulse beneath his fingertips, but it was no good anymore.
Dead was so much better. Then he could mold them to his needs. Have them pliable, posable. Like putty in my hands.
He hadn’t planned it that way. Hadn’t intended that outcome for Skylar, but there was no turning back now. Not when he’d tasted euphoria. Not when he’d found his next subject: the lovely Avery Tate.
The room was a smorgasbord of evidence, almost overwhelmingly so. Skylar’s sweater was just the start. Her jewelry. Her outfit from the portrait hung neatly in a wardrobe, shoes resting on the floorboard of it. Everything was preserved with a level of care that bordered on obsession. Avery found Sebastian’s camera and, with gloved hands, began scrolling through the images. Her heart stopped the third image in. Skylar was lying limp against the chaise lounge sitting not two feet from Avery’s leg. She glanced over at it, and tears beaded in her eyes.
Parker moved to her side, put his arm around her shoulders. “What is it, love?”
He took in the picture as she did. Skylar’s head tilted back—bruising and ligature marks around her bare neck. She’d been strangled. Her eyes were open and lifeless, her fingertips bruised and cut. No doubt trying to fight her assailant.
Avery swallowed. Had it happened in this very room? Had Sebastian lured Skylar there and then pounced?
She clicked to the next image, but it was a video. Swallowing hard, terrified of what she might see, she clicked Play.
It was Sebastian in the upstairs studio, prepping Skylar’s body for a photo session. Parker tightened his grip on her shoulder. Sebastian talked to Skylar as if she were alive, but she clearly wasn’t. She was a rag doll in the beginning, and then her limbs stiffened before he’d finished—rigor mortis beginning to set in. When he had her “just right”—his words—he walked to the camera, his face bearing elation, and shut it off. Avery feared she’d get sick.
Disturbing. Vile. Perverted. It horrified her to have watched what her best friend had gone through, even though she’d clearly been dead at the time. She clicked to the next image and straight on through the photo shoot.
Parker engulfed her in his embrace when she put the camera down. “I’m so sorry.”
She tried to fight back the tears, but she couldn’t hold them in. They splashed down her cheeks, dripping off her chin and onto her hands, balled up in front of her.
Parker didn’t say anything, just let her expend the sorrow crushing in on her. She was so thankful for this man, for his steady presence. For his care. Finally, knowing she needed to stop for them to get on with processing the room, she stepped back and swiped her face, trying to brush the tears away.
The anguish on Parker’s face was startling. He was that upset for her? For what she was going through?
“I better call Griffin,” he said. “We’re definitely dealing with a homicide.”
She nodded, thankful Skylar’s case would be fully pursued by one of the best.
“Shoot,” Parker said, holding his cell up and moving around. “No bars.”
She lifted her chin toward the open door. “Try the hallway.”
“Come with me. I’d rather not leave your side.”
“I’ll be right here. I think it’s okay to go ten feet into the hallway. I’m going to start shooting.” She retrieved her camera from the counter she’d set it on when she’d rushed for Skylar’s red sweater. The best way she could help Skylar and make sense of it all—or at least not be crushed by the pain—was to get straight to work. To prove this psycho was Sky’s killer.
Parker hesitated, pausing at the door with a reluctant expression on his ridiculously handsome face.
“I’m fine. You’ll be within eyesight. Go call Griff.”
Parker nodded and, on a long exhale, stepped into the hall.
She set to work, systematically photographing the evidence, quickly finding her rhythm.
Parker must have reached Griffin, because she could hear his voice not far away.
She turned to photograph the next piece of evidence, and the door swung shut.
Avery spun around, her heart thudding. “Park?”
“Avery,” he hollered from the other side of the door. “Let me in.”
She moved for the door, but it wouldn’t open. Some sort of lock had been engaged. “I can’t open it.”
“Step back. I’m going to try and kick it in.”
She did as instructed and heard Parker’s efforts, but no results came. “Whatever’s keeping it locked is strong.”
She ran her fingers along the door edge. “I see multiple deadbolts across the door, but no corresponding knobs.”
“Someone must have remotely triggered it.”
Someone. Adrenaline seared her limbs.
“I saw a bottle jack back in the machine shop. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” Please hurry.
Out of the silence she heard footsteps . . . behind her.
She spun around, panic dampening her skin, the cool air hitting her, causing gooseflesh to ripple up her arms.
The footsteps, slow and rhythmic, moved ever closer. Where were they coming from? Was it Edward, perhaps? They stopped, and just as relief started to swell inside Avery, a panel in the wall slid open and Sebastian stepped out.
“Hello, Avery.”
25
It wasn’t long before Declan and Lexi got a firm hit on where their mystery man came ashore. An employee at Lehigh Cement had stepped outside to take a smoke on his break and saw a man climb out of a fast raft and race through the company’s parking lot.
Declan headed over to speak with the eyewitness personally, calling for a sketch artist to join him, and Lexi stayed with Rowley while his men sifted through the numerous sets of prints and partials they’d found in the suspect’s berth.
The warmth of the day lingered despite the moon shining high in the sky as Declan stepped from his vehicle at Lehigh Cement. He was directed to Tom Fisher, a man in his late forties, about Declan’s height but a good twenty pounds heavier. A thick brown-and-gray mottled beard covered his neck and jawline.
“Mr. Fisher.” Declan extended a hand, so thankful they’d caught him before his twelve-hour shift ended.
“Tom, please.” He shook Declan’s hand, and they both took a seat at a table in the otherwise empty break room.
Declan pulled out his pad and pen. “I appre
ciate your help. We have a sketch artist on the way, but in the meantime, can you describe the man you saw?”
Tom described a man very similar in appearance to the man Hana had described to Tanner as the evil man.
“Did you speak with him?” Declan asked, wondering if their unknown man spoke English.
“I tried. I asked what happened. If he’d lost his way.”
“And?”
“He simply asked where the nearest payphone was. I offered him my cell, but he didn’t want to use it. He just kept asking for a payphone, so I directed him to the nightclub over by the Royal Farms.”
“Which one?”
“The one on Ponca Street.”
“Just a block up from Boston?” Not far from the railroad tracks or the traveler’s truck stop, where he could no doubt hitch a ride, but he’d wanted a phone, so he may have already had a ride set up.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” Tom nodded. “The nightclub there has a payphone out back. One of the younger guys talked us all into going over there one time and having a beer. Too loud and shiny for me, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“But I saw the payphone. Couldn’t believe they still had one in operation.”
“There’s still a few left in the city.” Declan needed to keep the man focused. They had a possible murderer on the loose. “So you told him about the payphone . . . ?”
“Right. Sorry. Got off track.”
“It’s no problem.”
“So he asked directions on how to get to it, and then took off. Just like that. No thank you. No nothing. Oddest thing.”
“How long ago was this?”
Tom glanced up at the black-framed analog clock ticking on the wall. “Around two. That’s usually when I take my first smoke break.”
“Thank you so much.” Declan stood and shook the man’s hand. “The sketch artist will be by soon. We really appreciate your time and assistance.”
Tom stood. “Just out of curiosity, what’d the guy do?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, but you really have been an enormous help in a significant investigation.”
Tom smiled.
Declan rushed back to his Suburban, calling Lexi with the news as he moved. He was going to head for the payphone Tom Fisher had directed the man to. See if he could find another eyewitness, though as late as it was, they were racing against the clock. “We got a location and another description,” he said, starting the ignition and pulling out of the lot, turning right.
“And we just got a hit on one of the fingerprints you’re going to want to see ASAP.”
“Okay.” Declan pulled a U-turn and headed back for the Hiram as he called in a team to check out the payphone and nearby Royal Farms. If the man had called for a ride, he’d have to wait for it to arrive. Perhaps he’d gone in for a drink or snack while he waited.
Lexi met him on the pier and handed him a printout of their suspect.
Anajay Darmadi. Born September 9, 1985, in Jakarta, Indonesia. Wanted for terrorist bombings in Jakarta, London, and Israel. Suspected affiliation with a highly dangerous Indonesian extremist sect.
“He’s a terrorist.” Declan had to say it out loud, just to let the reality fully sink in. They had a known terrorist loose on American soil.
Had Federal Agent Burke discovered his identity and been killed for it? Had he been undercover, and Burke’s boss had lied to them?
Taking a deep breath, Declan called his boss, who initiated a nationwide manhunt, focused on the I-95 corridor, putting Declan in charge.
Declan and Lexi strode to the MPA office where they were holding Randal Jackson, the Hiram captain. He slammed the FBI’s profile sheet for Anajay Darmadi in front of Jackson.
“You transported a known terrorist into your own country,” Declan said, straddling the empty chair beside him, his face less than a foot from Jackson’s as he clutched the printout of Darmadi’s crimes. “What I want to know is if you knew you were transporting a terrorist onto American soil.”
Jackson looked away. “I have nothing to say.”
Declan stood. “Maybe a change of location will help with that.” He was taking Jackson into custody. He handed the cuffs to Lexi. “Would you like to do the honors?”
Lexi stepped to Jackson, hauling him to his feet and turning him around to cuff him. “My pleasure.”
Parker located the bottle jack and a discarded piece of rebar and rushed back to the room. If his plan worked, he’d pop it open. If not, he’d find another way. He was getting through that door whatever it took.
“Avery, I’m back.”
No answer. Was that a scuffle?
“Avery!” he hollered, panic squeezing his airways nearly shut.
Still no answer. But he was definitely hearing something from the storage room.
Please, Father, I don’t know what’s happening in there, but please not again. Don’t rip another woman I love from my life because I couldn’t protect her.
Love. He loved Avery.
Positioning the rebar and the jack in the frame, he began to extend the jack. After a moment, the deadbolts disengaged and he was able to kick the door in.
He rushed in, finding Avery on the couch, her jaw swelling, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.
He raced to her and knelt in front of her. “What happened?”
“Sebastian.”
“What? How?”
“The wall.” She stood, and he reached for her hand.
“Hold on. Sit here a bit longer.”
“There’s no time. There’s a door in the wall. He came out and tried to drag me through it, but I fought him off long enough for you to return. He heard you getting the door open and fled back into the secret door. We need to follow him.”
After a moment’s searching along the section of the wall Avery pointed out, Parker found the door and rammed it open to discover a long tunnel running the length of the building. “Come with me.” He grabbed Avery’s hand and they ran.
His breathing was still shaky even as the fear of losing Avery dissipated. They followed the tunnel to its end and burst out a hidden door in time to see motorcycle taillights speeding away into the distance.
“Get in the car,” he said, rapidly climbing inside.
Avery jumped in.
He was not losing this guy. “Call Griffin on his cell. Tell him we’re in pursuit.”
Avery did as instructed, but by the time he and Avery reached the first major intersection, there was no sign of Sebastian.
They’d lost him.
26
Much to Parker’s chagrin, Avery insisted on still working the rooms despite the fact they’d both been up for close to forty hours and despite the fact the victim was her friend. Because of the personal tie, the horror of what her friend’s body had been put through, he’d tried to talk her into letting another crew handle this one, but stubborn wasn’t a strong enough word to describe Avery’s unwavering determination.
Parker’s cell dinged, and he glanced at his phone. “Griff and Jason are here. Let’s go meet them. They’ll need our help to find this room.”
It took some trekking, but Parker and Avery finally made it out to the parking lot—well, what had at one time been a parking lot. Now grass and weeds cracked up through the crumbling asphalt.
“Thanks for coming,” he greeted Griff.
“No problem.”
Jason Cavanaugh, Griff’s partner, stepped out of the car. “Parker.” He nodded, then shifted his gaze to Avery. “Miss.”
“How many times have I asked you to call me Avery or Tate?”
“Sorry, miss. It’s either going to be miss or ma’am. Your preference.”
“Great.”
Finley’s car rounded the corner.
“Finley?” Avery said.
Griffin shook his head. “She was with me when Parker called and insisted on coming to make sure you had support.”
“That’s kind of her, but unn
ecessary, especially at this late hour.”
Griffin raked a hand through his hair with a smile. “You try arguing that one.” It was crazy to think in less than two weeks the two would be husband and wife.
Finley stepped from her car and hurried to Avery’s side.
“How are you?” Concern creased her brow. “What happened to your face?”
“She fought Sebastian off,” Parker said, pride imbuing his words. She was a fighter, and he loved that about her—loved so many things about her. The instant he thought he might lose her, it had all come into focus. He loved Avery Tate. Not just cared about. Not just admired. He loved her.
“I think I have an icepack in the car,” Finley said. “I’ll be right back.”
Two patrol cars pulled down the drive.
Griffin inclined his head in their direction. “Cavalry.” He moved to relay to the officers what had occurred and what they would be focusing on in the building.
Finley gave Avery the icepack, and she winced as she set it against her jaw.
Parker inhaled sharply. He wanted to kill Sebastian for hurting her.
The wind had picked back up, skimming over the dark water behind them, the somewhat-cool breeze actually refreshing after the stale air of the long-abandoned building.
They were closing in on Sebastian. They’d located where Skylar had been photographed, confirmed she’d been dead at the time, and the cause of death had most likely been strangulation. So far Parker had collected hair, clothing fiber samples, and a small spot of residue on the sheet draped over the sofa. He wasn’t certain if it was biological or chemical—if it had been on the sheet to begin with or if it had come from Skylar’s body or clothing. He was betting the latter, but he’d have to wait until he could fully analyze it at the lab.
He just prayed when their time here was done that Avery would allow him to comfort her, to shelter her in his embrace and let her cry on his shoulder again. He was there for her, always. He hoped she knew that.