He opened the drawer where he kept the cell phones he took from his victims. It was quite a little walk through the past, amusing to see how far cell phone technology had progressed in the last decade. At the bottom of the drawer were the beepers, positively archaic now. But on the very top of the pile was the cell he was looking for.
He slipped it in his pocket. To make the call from here would be stupid, indeed. It was easier back in the beeper days, he thought. No pesky GPS to give the cops a technological advantage. He’d place this call from a place that would have the cops chasing their tails. A threat and a red herring. A veritable twofer.
Wednesday, February 24, 6:00 a.m.
Eve jerked awake and blearily lifted her head. She’d fallen asleep at her kitchen table, facedown on the stack of usage logs and graphs. Then she muttered a curse. She’d also knocked over the damn mug of cocoa, spilling what was left all over one of the stacks she hadn’t reviewed yet.
There wasn’t much cocoa to clean up, most of it having soaked through the paper. Luckily it was all stored on her hard drive. She’d print this batch again. Quickly she thumbed through the graphs until she came to a page unblemished by brown cocoa stains.
And lowered herself onto a chair. It was a graph showing steady play, upward of sixteen hours a day, and then… nothing. The graph was three weeks old.
Dread cold in her gut, Eve opened her laptop to the list. Subject 036 was Amy Millhouse, an ultra-user. A Google brought the results Eve expected, still her stomach turned over as she clicked the article open and read. Amy Millhouse of West Calhoun was found dead on Sunday, February 7. She had…
“Hung herself,” Eve read aloud. She closed her eyes. “Of course she did.”
Wearily she found her cell phone and hit dial. Noah’s cell was the last call she’d made. The last five calls she’d made. “It’s Eve. I need to talk to you.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“No, you don’t— Wait.” But he’d hung up. She closed her phone, somehow unsurprised at the knock at her door, not five seconds later. He stood on her welcome mat, hat in one hand, cell in the other. Looking like… everything I ever wanted.
“I’ve been standing here for fifteen minutes, trying to decide if I should knock or not,” he said, then one corner of his mouth lifted. “Sure you don’t believe in fate?”
She opened the door wider. “No. Come in.”
He did, putting his hat on her bookshelf. “No, you do, or no you don’t?”
She stared up at him, her head aching. “What was the question?”
He cupped her face in his palm and she wanted to weep. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t want to utter the words. Not yet. Instead she turned her face into his palm and drew a breath, then drew back, new horror registering. “Rachel was afraid of fire.”
He nodded, his eyes full of pain. “Yes.”
“By how much were we too late?”
“An hour. Maybe two.”
She took a step back. “So while we were eating sandwiches and looking at logs and worrying about Kurt Buckland and trying to find her right address…”
He nodded again. Swallowed hard. “Yes.”
Too late she realized he’d already put himself through this. He’d discovered Rachel, experienced the horror firsthand. She was just adding to his pain. “I’m sorry.”
She wasn’t sure who moved first, but she was in his arms and he was holding her much too tightly. Except she held on just as tightly, fists pressed into his back. He was hard, he was hurting. And he was here. “Why did you come back?” she whispered.
He drew a deep breath that pressed her breasts into his chest. “I went home first,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear. “But there wasn’t anything for me there.”
Oh, Noah. Eve held on for another moment, then pulled away. The words stuck in her throat. She forced them out. “There isn’t anything for you here either. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said fiercely.
She shook her head, wearily. “Believe what you want. Doesn’t make it any less true.”
He closed his eyes. “Why did you call me then?”
Her chest hurt. “I think I found another one. Her name is Amy Millhouse.”
He opened his eyes and they were blank, like all those times at Sal’s. “Show me.”
He followed her into the kitchen and looked at the graph, at the obituary, and his shoulders sagged. “MPD would have responded to this suicide. I must have read this report. I didn’t find any scenes remotely resembling Martha and Samantha’s.” He went too still and she could see he’d thought of something he didn’t like.
“But?” she asked.
“But Jack read half of them. I couldn’t find him tonight. Rachel was a mile from his house and he didn’t answer. Said he didn’t get my calls. Said he’d fallen asleep.”
“Sunday night, at Sal’s, he checked his phone three times before you came.”
“I know. Brock told me.”
“Will you report him?”
His shoulders sagged further. “I already did. I had to.”
“I’m sorry.”
He jerked his head around to glare at her. “Stop saying that.” I hurt him.
I never wanted to hurt him. “Sit down, Noah. I need to explain something to you.”
The kitchen chair creaked under his weight. She sat, folded her hands.
“Well?” he said sharply.
“I’m trying to figure out what to say,” she snapped back. “I could say, ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ but you won’t buy that. I tried ‘I’m broken,’ but you didn’t accept that either. You read about what happened to me, with Winters.”
“Yes.” He bit the word. “And if a con hadn’t killed him in prison, I’d be tempted to.”
“You’d have to stand in line, I think. He was a very bad man. But very handsome. He had… charisma. Most people in his hometown liked him. He was a cop.”
“I know. I read that. You said he was looking for his wife and son.”
“Caroline and Tom. They’d escaped, started a new life. Tom and I became friends and he was never supposed to tell anyone what happened to him, but he had to talk to someone. He told me everything, every slap, every burn… Tom hated him.”
“I can understand that.”
“They ran away, came to Chicago. Dana, my guardian, helped women like Caroline start over.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Dana faked IDs, procured Socials.”
His brows lifted. “She really put herself out there. And Hunter?”
“Knew it all. Never participated in any of the borderline illegal stuff, but he did his part, odd jobs. Kept the shelter physically functional.”
“Fixed the roof?”
She smiled sadly. “Yeah. But that was long after Caroline first came. By the time I met her, Caro had her GED, a job at a university, was working on her degree. I worked for her, in the history department’s office. She always made me feel like I belonged.”
“Then?”
“Our old boss died and David’s brother, Max, came in to replace him.”
Noah was frowning. “Max Hunter. I know that name.”
“Played for the Lakers, eons ago. Tall, handsome, tortured soul.” Like you, she thought, but kept that to herself. “Max was in an accident that ended his sports career. He went back to school, became a professor, and years later, our department chair. And I did what any normal red-blooded eighteen-year-old girl would have done.”
“Fell for him?”
“Like a rock. But Max only had eyes for Caroline. When I realized that, I said some things I really shouldn’t have to both of them, things that with anyone else would have burned my bridges to the ground. But Caroline loved me.” Eve had to clear her throat.
“What we didn’t know was that Caro’s ex had found her. He wanted Tom back and he wanted Caroline to pay. I’d gone to Caro’s to apologize for the things I said, and Winters was there, searching for Tom. Tom wa
s gone for the weekend. Camping trip, as I recall. Winters sized me up, saw I was young, stupid, and very vulnerable. He pretended to be a maintenance guy named Mike. He pretended to have sympathy for my faux pas with Max. He pretended to think I was attractive.”
“You were,” Noah said fiercely. “You are.”
“I was. He asked me out, got me drunk. No, he bought the beer. I willingly drank every drop he poured in my glass. I was so not legal and so didn’t care. I willingly took him home and… willingly entertained him.”
A muscle twitched in Noah’s cheek, but he said nothing.
“Next morning he tried to go. I tried to keep him with me, tried to get him to want me again.” She closed her eyes, this part as clear as if it were happening right now. “I put on his coat, danced a little, and a picture fell out of his pocket. A baby picture of Tom. I knew Caro had left Tom’s baby pictures behind when she’d run years before.”
“And then you knew,” he said quietly, and she opened her eyes to see he’d paled.
“And then I knew. The rest you know. Stab, stab, slice, slice, strangle with twine, and left me for dead. I did die. Twice. I’m damn lucky to be here.”
He tried to speak, pursed his lips. “Eve…”
“It’s all right, Noah. It’s past. But I need you to understand. No one can live through something like that and not be changed. Hell, I was screwed up enough before I ended up in Dana’s shelter. My mother was an addict, would sell her soul for a hit.”
“And her daughter, too?” Noah asked, hoarse.
“No. Because I ran. Got caught, stuck in foster. Ran again, different foster. Ran again and made it to Chicago. I would have had a hard enough time forming attachments, having a normal relationship with any man, but now… It’s just not possible.”
He met her eyes. “Why? I still don’t understand.”
Her cheeks heated. “Fine. After Winters, I had a hysterectomy. Everything’s gone.”
He exhaled. “That’s it?”
She glared at him. He looked immensely relieved. “No, that’s not it. But it’s enough.”
“So? You can’t have kids. I don’t care, Eve.”
“You say that.”
“I mean that.”
She smiled at him, trying to lessen the sting. “You think you mean that. And if that were ‘it’ then I’d give you the opportunity to find out for yourself. But that’s only part of it. Noah, I…” She shrugged, her smile gone. “I wake up at night, screaming like it’s happening all over again. And I’m… violent. Really violent.”
“You’re worried you’d hurt me?” he asked incredulously.
“I know I would. Sometimes I walk in my sleep. I’ve woken up in the kitchen, a butcher knife in my hand. I used to lock myself in my bedroom at the shelter so that I didn’t hurt anyone by accident. Most of the time I just didn’t sleep. I became a creature of the night.” She forced a smile. “Slept odd times during the day. Still do.”
He nodded slowly. “So… that’s it?”
She rolled her eyes. “Goddammit, what will it take to make you go away?”
“More than that. Is that it?”
“No.” She stood up, poured herself a cup of coffee that had long grown cold, then set it aside. “I just don’t want to be with anyone. Can’t you accept that?”
“Eve, look at me.” His voice was low and so warm. She turned stiffly, as if a giant hand forced her. Met his gaze because somehow he commanded it. His eyes glittered. “Tell me you don’t want me and I promise I’ll go away.”
She wanted to. Needed to. But could not. So she closed her eyes and said nothing.
“I thought as much,” he said quietly. “You need time, that’s fine. I have time. You need space, I’ll give you space. And if you ever tell me to go away and mean it, I will. But for now, I’m here. I came back because I needed to. Eve, I needed you.”
And then he was there, his arms tight around her again. He rested his cheek against her hair and she had to try, once more. For his own good. “I’m not a good bet, Noah.”
“Neither am I. Let’s just see where it goes, okay?”
She remained unconvinced. “I’ll hurt you,” she said tonelessly.
“I’ll hide the knives,” he said, wry amusement in his voice, but she couldn’t smile.
There was more, so much more, and she didn’t have words to tell him. He’ll figure it out himself and then he’ll leave on his own. And you can tell him “I told you so.”
She knew it would be a hollow victory. She pulled away. “Have you eaten?”
He frowned slightly. “Not since the last time you fed me.”
“Sit.” She had opened the fridge when her cell phone chirped. “Text,” she said and read the screen. Then froze, her mouth open.
Noah took the phone from her hand. “ ‘Didn’t your parents teach you not to get into cars with strange men?’ What the hell does that mean?”
Eve’s knees went weak and she didn’t fight when Noah pushed her into a chair. “That’s the last thing Rob Winters said before he killed me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Wednesday, February 24, 6:30 a.m.
He closed the cell and powered it down, his text complete. That ought to shake her up, he thought with a smile. Then he got back in his car and started for home. He still had about forty-five minutes before his wife’s alarm woke her up. If he wasn’t at home reading his morning paper, she’d ask questions he had no intention of answering.
He was quite fortunate to have a wife who slept so soundly. Of course the occasional sedative he put in her cup of evening herbal tea went a long way toward assuring her sleep was deep when he needed it to be. He was also fortunate she was so completely absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice what he did even when she was awake. She rarely read a paper, preferring science journals to television.
She moved in her own little world, after twenty years never suspecting a thing.
Nobody did. Because I am very, very careful and very, very good.
Wednesday, February 24, 7:05 a.m.
“Well?” David Hunter demanded. When Eve received the text, Noah had pounded on the door to wake him up. She’d been so pale, Noah had thought she’d pass out. Luckily Eve had come around on her own. Now Hunter was cooking breakfast with the intensity of a man possessed. Or a man terrified. “What are you doing to catch him?”
Noah rubbed his hands over his face. “We’re running a trace on the text. So far, it’s showing up as an unregistered number.”
“Throwaway cell?” Hunter asked.
Noah lifted his brows. “Maybe. Anybody can buy one.”
Hunter rolled his eyes. “I guess I deserve that one.”
“No, you don’t,” Noah said. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”
Hunter put a fluffy golden omelet in front of him. “When did you last sleep, Noah?”
“God. I don’t remember. Saturday night maybe?”
“You’re gonna crash if you don’t rest. When do you have to report in?”
“Nine.” He dug into the omelet and nearly sighed. “This is really good.”
“Thanks. When you’re done, go sleep in Eve’s bed. I’ll make sure she’s all right.”
She’d retreated to the shower, still pale, her eyes as haunted as if she’d seen a ghost. Noah guessed she had. “She needs to sleep, too.”
“She won’t,” Hunter said. “Not until she feels safe. She’ll catnap in that chair of hers.”
“You might want to hide the knives,” he said, and Hunter shot him a surprised look.
“She keeps them in a lockbox. I’ll lock them up when I’m finished cooking.”
“Okay, I’ll take the bed.” Noah blinked hard. “Who knew about the getting in a car with strangers thing? Who knew Winters said that to her?”
“We did, the family, because she told us. We never let that leak to the press.”
“Somebody knew,” Noah said darkly. He eyed Eve’s laptop. “Can I use it?”
Hunt
er hesitated. “Use mine. She’s a little… you know, about her computer.”
When Hunter returned with his laptop, Noah was practically scraping the plate clean.
“You want another?” Hunter asked, and Noah nodded.
“If you don’t mind.” He opened the laptop. “You’re a good cook.”
“I get a lot of practice. I do most of the cooking for my firehouse.”
“They’re lucky. I eat out of a microwave except on Sundays when I go to my cousin and his wife’s for dinner. If you’re still here on Sunday, you’re welcome.”
Hunter’s lips twitched. “Thanks, but you’ll be happy to know I’ll be gone by Friday.”
Noah didn’t smile. “Eve will miss you.”
“I’m hoping she’ll be too busy to miss any of us back home,” Hunter said dryly.
“Point taken.” Noah frowned at the search results on the screen. “Rob Winters gets me too many hits, most about serial killers. How many people did this guy kill?”
“At least six that we knew of. Evie would have been seven.”
Noah swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “He was killed in prison, right?”
“Yes. I believe it was Tom’s hope that once the other cons knew Winters was a dirty cop there wouldn’t be enough of him left to scrape into a baggie. There wasn’t.”
Hunter’s voice had gone hard, making Noah remember that Winters had not only traumatized Eve, he’d traumatized an entire family. “Which prison? Was it in Chicago?”
“No, North Carolina. I can’t remember which prison, but my brother, Max, will know.”
“Let’s not make him remember if we don’t have to.”
Hunter poured his omelet concoction into a skillet, a muscle twitching in his taut cheek. “When my brother found Winters, the bastard had beaten Caroline almost unrecognizable and had his hands around her throat. Max deals with the memories, with the dreams, but there’s nothing about Winters he’s forgotten.”
Noah thought of Susan and the baby, gone twelve years now. Hardly a day went by that he didn’t think or dream of them in nightmares of his own. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”