He looked incredulous. “You were planning to sleep on this torture device?”
“I have one bed and David’s in it. Which you knew because you were awake.”
“This is a two-bedroom apartment. What’s in the other bedroom?”
“Boxes full of more data. I’m sorry, Noah, but you can’t stay here tonight.”
“Where were you going to sleep when you thought I was sleeping?”
“In my chair. Look, you were supposed to change my deadbolt, then leave. No offense intended and I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I’m in no danger. David put in a new security system this afternoon and he’s here with me. And I have my gun. Besides, you promised you’d check on Kathy, the lady in the wheelchair, and Rachel.”
“A cruiser went by Kathy’s house and could see her through her front window. She was on her computer, totally alive and safe.”
“How do you know? Nobody called you.”
“Abbott texted me. But I did promise, so I will check on her and Rachel on my way home, even if the cruisers say everything is normal.” He lifted a brow. “I also don’t make promises I don’t keep.”
“Point taken. But you never said you would leave.”
“I’ll move to the chair so you can stretch out.” He moved himself and the files to her chair and sat with a satisfied sigh. “Much more comfortable. Give me your gun.”
“Why?”
“So I can check it out. When did you last fire it?”
“Three weeks ago when I went to target practice with Sal. If you’re satisfied with my gun, will you leave?”
He just held out his hand. Rolling her eyes, she dug in her computer bag, finding the gun where it always was. Except it wasn’t as she’d left it. As soon as her hand closed over it, she knew something was wrong. She drew it out, her heart pounding yet again.
Noah took it from her hand, then met her eyes. “You’d have a hell of a time hitting a target with this thing, considering it’s not loaded. I’m guessing this surprises you.”
Dread tightened her gut. “It had a full clip when I left the house tonight. I was so rattled by Buckland and Jeremy Lyons following me to the Deli that I double-checked.”
“Someone had access to your bag. Where do you keep it when you’re working?”
“In Sal’s desk drawer in the back office. To answer your next questions, the only people working tonight were me and Sal, but there is a door to the alley, for the trash.”
“Give me your bag.” He put on a pair of gloves and pulled out a manila envelope with her name written in block letters with a thick marker. “Feels like photos.”
Her blood went colder. “That’s the envelope Buckland tried to make me take.”
“Then let’s find out what he wants you to see so badly.” He slit the envelope open with his penknife, then uttered a hoarse curse. “Sonofabitch. Sonofafuckingbitch.”
Eve looked over his shoulder. And went still. In Noah’s hands were photos of himself and a petite redhead, locked in an embrace as they stood on a front porch. The number on the house matched the address on the piece of paper still in Eve’s pocket.
“Trina,” she murmured. Trina’s arms were around Noah’s neck, his around her back. Her face was pressed against his neck and he looked like he was holding on for dear life. Not good. Not good at all.
“Sonofabitch,” he repeated viciously. “She hugged me. That’s all.” He looked at Eve with a glare. “You can’t believe this? She’s my family, goddammit.”
He’d misinterpreted the concern on her face. “No,” she said and briefly touched her hand to his. He was shaking with fury. “I’ve seen her at the bar, seen her with you. I don’t believe she’d do it. And I don’t believe you would. So calm down.”
He did, shifting back to cop. “This means Buckland was at Brock’s Sunday night.”
“Sunday night?”
“Well, Monday morning, actually. Must have been two, three in the morning.”
“Why were you at Brock’s at two in the morning?”
He shrugged sheepishly. “Why am I here with you at two in the morning?”
“That’s not an answer, Noah.”
“Yeah, it actually is. I went to Brock’s because I needed a drink, so Brock and I boxed some, punched out my craving. Always happens when I’ve been to Sal’s.”
He said it without accusation, but she felt guilty just the same. “Because of me.”
He looked her square in the eye. “Yes.”
Eve set this most recent declaration aside for later consideration, focusing instead on the timing. “Monday, at two in the morning? You’d just found Martha, Christy was still alive, and nobody knew about Samantha yet.”
“Except my team.” He looked puzzled, then his eyes widened. “He was following me even before the serial killer story broke.”
“In a very personal way. I told you he didn’t look quite sane. He said I wouldn’t think you were a ‘good guy’ after I saw these. I think he’s after you and I just got in the way.”
Noah massaged the back of his neck. “Why would he be after me?”
“I don’t know. Do you know him?”
“Not before this. I’ll report it to Abbott. Fine timing, just as we get a serial killer running around. And yes, I’m thinking what you’re thinking.”
“That it’s no coincidence.”
“Our reporter just got a whole lot less sane. He threatened you and he’s hanging around my family. I need to call Brock, make sure Trina and the boys are okay.”
He rose, piled the files on the floor, then paced as he dialed. He cursed and dialed another number, then a third. “Nobody’s answering at home or either of their cells.”
“Then go, make sure they’re all right. Call me when you know.”
He shrugged into his coat. “Brock and Trina are both cops. I’m sure they’re fine.”
“I’m sure they are, too. I’ll lock the door and call you if I hear so much as a rustle.”
He paused at the front door, his expression intense. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Believing I wasn’t the kind of man to cheat with my cousin’s wife.”
“You’re welcome. Noah, call me about Rachel Ward?”
“As soon as I hear from the cruiser. I promise.”
“Thank you. Be careful.” She locked the door behind him, more hollow than relieved as she sat in her chair to wait for his call. She’d told him to go, but she missed him already. I could get used to having a man in my house. In my life.
She thought about his admission, that he craved a drink after going to Sal’s to see her. He’d risked a great deal to watch her all those months. He was stubborn. He’d probably call it determined. Either way, he wasn’t going to give up.
“I’ll just tell him the truth,” she said quietly. “Then he’ll leave on his own. It’ll be for the best.” And when he was gone, she’d have her work. “If I’m not expelled.” She still had Dr. Pierce’s card. Perhaps it was time to start damage control on her career.
Wednesday, February 24, 1:45 a.m.
It was anticlimactic, actually. He stood staring down at Rachel Ward with a frown. She was sitting rather docilely on the counter stool he’d dragged to the middle of her basement floor. He hadn’t needed to sedate her to strap her in the straitjacket and tie her to the stool. She’d had so much to drink it was a wonder she’d made it home.
She’d been a road menace, weaving lane to lane. Thankfully they had encountered no police and Rachel had managed to stagger into her house. Pushing her through her front door had been child’s play. It was a disgrace. No more bars. Insist on coffee.
She was staring up at him, her eyes glazed. She should be coherent, conscious, ready to be scared to death. But she was nearly asleep, goddammit.
He could just strangle her, set the scene and get out, or he could wait for her to sober up. He might have something in his kit to speed her up. So to speak. Half the fun was in seeing their fear and
he didn’t want to give up his fun without a fight.
Wednesday, February 24, 2:10 a.m.
Eve put her cell phone on one arm of her chair and settled in, her computer on her lap and her hands wrapped around a mug of hot coffee. Buckland had unloaded her gun. Why? Had he planned to attack her and wanted her helpless? Or had he just wanted her to know he was there? That he could get close to her wherever she was?
“Just to fuck with my mind,” she murmured. Who was this guy? And what self-respecting newspaper would hire him? Buckland was a stalker. He needed to be stopped before he hurt someone. Too late. She rotated her wrist. He hurt you.
He had. And if she hadn’t worked in a cop bar and if Jeff Betz hadn’t been right there, eavesdropping, he could have hurt her much worse.
Setting her mug aside she googled Kurt Buckland. And frowned. He was legit, with bylines on the Mirror going back years. Local stuff, neighborhood news. Of course the inside scoop on a serial killer could catapult him from Metro to the front page—and had. His “Red Dress Killer” article had been at the bottom of page one of Tuesday’s paper.
With a start she realized he’d written the article on Martha’s suicide she’d shown to Donner. She’d been so shocked she hadn’t noticed the reporter’s name. Tomorrow she’d report his assault to the police. And to his boss. He had to be stopped.
A flashing tab at the bottom of her screen caught her eye. It was the open Shadowland window. Someone was talking to Greer. Poor Greer. Eve had left her sitting at the bar in the cabaret, waiting for Rachel’s avatar to show up. Eve toggled back and saw the bartender was scolding Greer for loitering.
Buy another drink or leave.
I’m sorry, Eve typed. I’m waiting for someone. Maybe you know her. Delilah?
That trash? She’s not here tonight.
He said no more and Eve had Greer transfer a few Shadowbucks to the bartender’s tip jar. Money talked in any world. I need to talk to her. Who might have seen her?
The bartender avatar hesitated, then shrugged. That one over there, with the purple hair. The dancer’s nude body was painted with tiger stripes that clashed with her purple ’do. They sometimes sit together at the bar while they’re waiting to hook up for the night.
You mean, like meeting guys? To take home? Does Delilah do that often?
Do you consider ten or twelve times a night often?
Ew. She’d never understood the lure of virtual sex. Thanks, she typed and added a few more Shadowbucks to the tip jar, then sent Greer to the stage. Excuse me. Miss?
The dancer was wrapped around a pole, hips gyrating in an intriguing move Eve was sure took at least as many keystrokes as salsa dancing. I don’t do girls. Go away.
I don’t want to hook up with you, Eve typed. I’m looking for Delilah.
She ain’t here. She don’t do girls neither. That one over there does.
Eve shuddered. Ew. I don’t want to hook up. l need to talk to Delilah. Where is she?
She had a date. The gyrating hips bucked lewdly to the beat of cymbals. IRL.
Eve’s heart beat faster. IRL? Did she say who with? Somebody she met here?
The dancer frowned. I’m a businesswoman here.
Grinding her teeth, Eve transferred Shadowbucks to the dancer’s garter belt. Well?
Don’t know his real name. Here, he goes by John. Gonna be a one-night stand.
You ever hook up with John, here in the World?
Nah, not my type. Too bookish. Get enough of that on my day job. Now go away. I can’t type and dance at the same time and my set’s almost over.
Thanks, Eve typed, then backed Greer out of the casino and dialed Noah’s cell.
Wednesday, February 24, 2:15 a.m.
Noah parked his car in Brock’s driveway, reining in his panic. They still weren’t answering his calls. They’d better have a damn good explanation for this.
He knocked on their front door, scanning the road for any car that didn’t belong. He was here often enough that he knew the neighborhood vehicles. But nothing seemed out of place, except that nobody was answering his knock.
He found their key on his ring and let himself in. He drew his weapon and held it to his side, creeping through the darkened house, breathing a sigh of relief when he found the boys snug in their beds and sleeping soundly. He knocked lightly on Brock and Trina’s bedroom door, nudging it open when no one answered. Empty.
It was then he heard the shower. More correctly, he heard the shower stop. The master bath door opened, revealing a scowling Brock. He wore a robe that was soaked through and his wet hair stood up in spikes.
“This had better be good,” Brock said deliberately, through clenched teeth.
Noah looked him up and down. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
Brock drew an uneven breath. “So you rushed over here in the middle of the night?”
“Brock?” Trina came through the door and Noah looked away, but not in time to miss getting a glimpse of her in a very, very small towel.
Noah winced, staring at his shoe. “I can see my concern was misplaced.”
“Y’think?” Brock asked acidly. “You’re not the only one who ever has a goddamn bad day.” With that he stalked out of his bedroom, grabbing clothes on his way.
“For God’s sake, Noah,” Trina snapped. “What’s this all about?”
Noah kept his eyes averted. “We need to talk.”
“Right now is not a good time.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” He thought of the photos in his pocket, of Buckland out there somewhere with a telephoto lens. “But it’s important.”
She huffed impatiently. “Fine. Whatever. You can look now.”
Noah saw with relief that she’d wrapped her body in a robe. “I’m sorry,” he said. “When you didn’t answer your phones, I panicked. What happened to Brock?”
“Snowmobile accident,” she said briefly. “Teenager went through some pond ice. He was dead by the time Brock got to the scene. Kid was only fifteen.”
Noah closed his eyes briefly. “I’m sorry, Tree. Is Brock okay?”
“He would have been better if you’d let us finish,” she said dryly. “I’d say he’s a little on the frustrated side right now.”
“Therapeutic sex,” Noah said, pursing his lips, and she nodded.
“In the shower. Kids can’t hear the moans that way.”
“Trina.” His protest bordered on a whine and her lips twitched.
“Told you, you need to get some. At the moment, so do Brock and I.”
“O-kay. I’ll make this quick. A reporter got wind of this case I’m working.” He lifted a brow. “The one Eve referred to tonight in the bar during your little visit.”
Trina didn’t flinch. “I’m not apologizing for that.”
“Somehow I didn’t think you would. Anyway, this reporter has been trying to get Eve to give him inside information and she refused. Tonight he got rough.”
Trina’s attitude disappeared. “Is she okay?”
“Other than a bruise, she’s fine. He was trying to force her to look at some pictures. These.” He gave the envelope to Trina and watched her face grow hot and angry.
“Son of a bitch.”
“What?” Brock returned, swiping a towel over his wet head. The soaked robe was gone, changed for dry sweats. “What happened?”
Trina gave him the pictures. “Sunday. I gave Noah a hug after your boxing match.”
Brock’s eyes flashed. “What is this?” he snarled softly.
“Attempted extortion by a reporter who wants a story way too badly. He left those pictures in Eve’s computer bag and unloaded the gun she keeps there. I saw them, knew he’d been here, and I panicked.” He gestured weakly to the bathroom. “I’m sorry.”
Brock sat on the edge of his bed. “I guess I can understand the urgency.”
Trina put her arm around Brock’s shoulders. “Those photos might have caused a major family breach, Noah. I’m glad Brock is a smart man.”
&
nbsp; “And that he trusts you,” Noah said. Unlike Eve, who thought he had an agenda. Which I guess I do. “Keep an eye on the boys, okay?”
“You bet.” Brock gave him the pictures. “You’re going to report this guy, right?”
“First thing in the morning. I—” His cell vibrated in his pocket. “It’s Eve. She told me to call when I made sure you were all right.” He angled his body away from Brock and Trina, more to avoid the knowing smirk they shared than to hide his conversation. “They’re okay,” he said. “Just a… misunderstanding.”
“That’s good,” she said. “Because I’m thinking Rachel’s not.” He listened as she explained, his jaw going taut. “You weren’t supposed to approach anyone.”
“Well, I did. Sue me. Noah, she’s in trouble. What did the cruisers say?”
He checked his watch and frowned. “Nothing yet and I should have heard. I’ll call you back.” He dialed Dispatch and was displeased with what he heard. “Then tell the second cruiser to proceed at fastest possible speed. Lights, no siren. I’m on my way.” He turned back to Trina and Brock, who no longer smirked. “The first cruiser came up on an accident, car slipped on the ice and hit a pole. They’re with the accident victims.”
“They were first responders,” Trina said evenly. “You know we have to stay. It’s regs.”
“I know,” Noah said grimly. “I just hope we’re not too late. Watch the boys. I’ll call you tomorrow. I have to go.”
Wednesday, February 24, 2:20 a.m.
Oh God. Rachel tried to breathe, but couldn’t draw a deep enough breath. He’d wrapped her arms around her. She couldn’t move. Vaguely she remembered her arms being shoved into sleeves, crossed over her body. Viciously yanked as he’d rolled her to her stomach, his knee sharp in her back. He’d tied her… tied the sleeves.
Her chin dropped to her chest as awareness returned in jolts. White. She blinked hard. White fabric covered her to her hips. Beyond that… she saw her own bare legs, felt the cold air between her thighs and knew she was naked. Help me.
Her heart raced but her mind was still… slow. Scream. But all that came out was a muted mewling. Her mouth was taped closed. Where am I? Her eyes darted, frantically. Basement. I’m in my own basement. Sitting on a stool from her kitchen counter.