Nothing to Fear

  “I’m sure she’d go with a smile on her face.”

  They sat, their hands joining across the table. Ethan ran his thumbs over her knuckles, wishing he’d done more than kiss her forehead the night before, but at the same time was glad he had not. He was learning her, a little at a time. Giving her time to learn him.

  She lifted a russet brow. “So are you going to buy me breakfast or not?”

  “I don’t know. Does it win me more nice guy points?”

  “And if it does?”

  “Then you’re on your own. I can’t afford any more points in the nice guy column.”

  She grinned at that and Ethan shifted on the bench seat. He’d been aroused the moment she walked through the door, but seeing that lush mouth smile got him harder than a spike. “Duly noted, Mr. Buchanan.” She waved Betty over and ordered eggs and bacon for them both, then grew serious once they were alone again. “This bad news from home . . . is it your family?”

  “Close enough. It’s Richard’s family actually. They’re all I have left now.”

  “You said you grew up with your grandmother. She’s no longer alive?”

  “No. She died a year after I got out of the Academy.”

  “So why were you living with your grandmother? Where were your parents?”

  “My mother died when I was seven. My dad was on a submarine somewhere in the North Atlantic. It was more than a month before he could get home so Gran took me in.”

  Her eyes widened again, this time with horror as she thought about a small boy dealing with the grief of losing his mother all alone. “That’s terrible.”

  Again the shrug, more defensive this time. “My dad did the best he could. He was on a nuclear sub and it was the Cold War. They couldn’t just pop up and let him off at the nearest bus stop.” He’d become annoyed, which wasn’t her intent.

  “I didn’t mean to make you upset,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t referring to the military or your father. Just you as a little boy. You must have been so scared and alone.”

  He drew a deep breath that visibly strained the buttons of his shirt. “I didn’t mean to get upset.” His eyes focused on her face in speculation. “I never have before.”

  “Never?”

  Ethan considered the question carefully. “Well, not about my father.”

  Betty appeared and slid their breakfasts to the table. “You need anything else, just shout,” she said and walked away, looking over her shoulder all the while.

  Dana waited until she was gone. “So your father never made you angry.” She said it like she didn’t quite believe it. “And other things? What things do make you angry?”

  It was a heavy question, one that deserved a thoughtful answer. He looked up from his eggs. “You’re sure you don’t want to know my sign, phone number, or my favorite color?”

  Her lips curved. “Not really, but if that’s what you’d like to tell me, that’s what I’ll take.”

  His gaze dropped to those full lips and once again wondered how they would feel against his. Then he lifted his eyes to find hers warm and aware and suddenly her question didn’t seem so hard after all. “Leo, 202-555-8943, and blue. People who drive slow in the fast lane, people who don’t stand for the flag, and people who hurt little kids.”

  She drew in a breath. Let it out with a nod. “Fair enough. Will the bad news from home take you back there?”

  “At some point. Whenever they call.”

  “Can’t I help you, Ethan?”

  He shook his head again, touched. “No, not with this. But thank you for asking. Do you always do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Help people you barely know? First the old lady yesterday, now me.”

  Her smile was oddly self-deprecating. “You’re not the only Good Samaritan lurking about. Besides, I thought I was getting to know you better.” She patted his palm lightly before pulling her hand away. “How long has it been since you slept, Ethan? And I’m not talking about a nap on the El.”

  He grimaced. “For a whole night? I think it was Thursday.”

  “Then go get some sleep.” She regarded him steadily. “I know this hot dog vendor down in Wrigleyville, next to where we ate last night. Best dogs in town.”

  He smiled at that. “Are you asking me out on a date? Without Caroline’s help?”

  She smiled back and his heart did a little end zone dance in his chest. “I guess I am. How about seven tonight? If you’re not there, I’ll understand.”

  “If I get tied up, how can I reach you?”

  Her expression grew pained, wary. “If I tell you to call Betty, would you be angry?”

  “No,” he said, and saw her relief. And wondered who had become so angry with her in the past that she’d asked about his temper twice in five minutes. He pulled a business card from his pocket. “That number I gave you is my cell number. Call me if you need to.”

  “All right.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to be getting back to work now.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Outside the coffee shop he caught her hand and they walked to her car in easy silence, but once there she turned to him, her eyes cautious. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me any questions or checked up on me. Why?” She looked like the notion troubled her.

  “Last night I didn’t have time.”

  “And today? Will you check up on me today?”

  He knew how easy it would be. But he shook his head. “No. Because for now I know what I need to know.”

  “For now,” she repeated. “All right. Seven then. Unless you get tied up.”

  “Dana, wait.” He put his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her to face him. “Actually, there is something I need to know.”

  Her eyes flickered, wary once more. “What?”

  “Just this.” And without further warning he dropped his head and took her lips in a kiss that was intended to be one of gentle exploration, but with a husky little whimper she changed everything, opening up to him, taking the kiss from a chaste peck to openmouthed and wholly sexual. He took a step forward, crowding her body against her car and she lifted her arms around his neck and her body on her toes, instantly perfecting their fit. He thrust and she pressed and before he knew it his palms cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushed against her nipples, and she’d gone stiff in his arms.

  This wasn’t how he’d planned it. It was just going to be a kiss, but the feel of her body molding itself to his had taken him to the limit of his control. In less than a minute all he could think of was sinking deep into her body, feeling her warm and tight, surrounding him. But dammit, they were standing on a busy street in the daylight. And he didn’t care.

  Grabbing on to his control, Ethan stepped back. Dropped his hands to his sides. Waited for his heart to start beating somewhat normally again, for the painful ache in his groin to subside. Watched her test her lip with the tip of her tongue as her breasts rose and fell inside the simple sleeveless polo shirt that had felt so soft against his hands. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  Her eyes were wide and turbulent, but she met his gaze without apology. “I’m not.”

  He lifted his fingertips to her damp lips, traced their shape. He’d wanted to know what it would be like to kiss her. Now he knew. He also knew he could never be satisfied with a simple kiss. Hell, there had been nothing simple about it. He drew a deep breath. “Dana?”

  “Yes?”

  “I really, really wanted to do that last night. I really, really want to do that again.”

  “So do I.”

  The breath he held came out on a hiss. “But I don’t have enough time right now.”

  “Me, either.” She slipped into her car, then turned her face up to look at him and the hot need in her eyes had him clenching his fists. “I’ll see you at seven.”

  He stood there, rooted to the asphalt, watching as she pulled her car out of the lot and onto the street. She’d just disappeared from view when his cell phone r
ang.

  “Are you done with breakfast?” Clay asked acidly.

  Ethan blew out a breath. “Yeah.”

  “Then perhaps you’d care to get back to work.”

  Something in Clay’s tone lifted the hairs on his neck. “You got a call?”

  “Another e-mail. I need you to get someplace where you can trace it for me.”

  Ethan set off for his car at a fast jog, his heart beating harder than it had just minutes before when he’d held Dana Dupinsky in his arms. “Give me fifteen minutes to get to my hotel room. What does it say?”

  “Alec is still alive.”

  “I didn’t think they’d say he was dead. Was there an attachment?”

  “Alec lying on a twin bed. The bedspread pattern was baseballs and footballs.”

  Ethan frowned hard. “No hotel I’ve ever stayed in has bedspreads like that. It’s like she’s got him stashed in somebody’s house.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. Right under Alec’s hand is a piece of newspaper—yesterday’s date. The top part with the city name is cut off.”

  As of yesterday Alec was still alive. Ethan’s blood rushed to his head. “Could it have been cut and pasted into the picture?”

  “You’ll have to be the judge of that. I forwarded you the e-mail. She also complimented the Vaughns on not going to the cops and laid out the terms of the ransom. If they want to see him again, they need to pony up five million. Details to follow.”

  Ethan stopped abruptly at his car. “Stan doesn’t have that much money.”

  Clay hesitated. “Yeah, buddy, he does.”

  “Do I want to know how he got it?”

  “I’m still working on it, but I think the answer is no.”

  “Damn.”

  Chicago, Monday, August 2, 7:30 A.M.

  The e-mail had gone well. She didn’t even need Rickman’s laptop. It had been damn easy to open a Yahoo! mail account on the public computer at the copy store where the clerk was too boggled by the sight of her breasts jiggling in a tiny tank top to adequately check her ID. Good thing because not only was Alicia Samson five inches shorter than Sue, according to a search of an online Morgantown newspaper, as of yesterday she’d been declared a missing person. Her ID was useless from here on out.

  Now she stood outside Leroy Vickers’s place of business, waiting for him to come out. It would be Vickers’s second round of deliveries for the morning. Sue knew this because she’d made it a point to track the movements of every person on her “to-do” list. She’d found them all on her own, except for Vaughn. To find Vaughn, she’d needed James’s help. He’d tracked down the old woman in Florida and Sue had been able to take it from there. She’d needed him no longer and now wished she’d been as thorough killing him as she’d been with the old woman. Because now James will stop at nothing to stop me.

  Nervously she glanced around, then cursed her paranoia. James had been in Chicago, trying to pay her old cohorts for her whereabouts. But Donnie Marsden hadn’t heard anything from him since the day he’d been at Earl and Lucy’s. And Sue didn’t intend to let Donnie or the others know where she was anyway. Just in case they got greedy.

  Well, she amended. She’d let Leroy Vickers know where she was. Soon. Making sure the coast was clear, she slipped into the back of the laundry delivery van Vickers drove. His job was a small source of comfort. When he’d gotten out of prison he hadn’t been able to get a decent legit job and nobody in the drug business would touch him with a ten-foot pole. Because he’d squealed. Turned against one of his own. Had he turned on Donnie, he might have been dead in jail. Sue didn’t have that much power in those days.

  She did now.

  He finally came out and flopped behind the wheel, muttering something foul about his boss. He’d let himself go over the years. Flabby arms and legs. She, on the other hand, had been pumping iron in preparation for this moment and the others that would follow. Sue waited until he’d pulled into a back access road before slipping her arms around the seat and pressing the tip of her knife to his throat. Her right hand held a knife, her left, a length of duct tape. The duct tape she slapped against his mouth, silencing him.

  “Keep driving,” she said, enjoying the way his body tensed. “Both hands on the wheel.” He swallowed and the sharp end of her blade bit into his skin. “I’m back, Vickers,” she purred. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” His only response was to press back into his seat, away from the knife. Sue just pressed harder and with her left hand pulled her gun from the waistband of her jeans and shoved it against his temple.

  “Pull into that alley over there.” He did, his body now shaking like he had palsy. “What do you think you deserve, Vickers? What do you think five years of my life is worth?” She asked it calmly even though her heart was racing in anticipation. “What do you think you owe me, Leroy? Don’t worry. I’m here to collect. With interest. Put the van in park.”

  And in a move she’d practiced for just this moment, she shot both his wrists, first one, then the other. He yelped in pain, but this alley was behind an elementary school, deserted this time of year. No one would hear him. He hugged his arms close to his chest, his hands now useless. Blood poured from his wrists. If she’d had more time she would have sat here until he became weak from blood loss. But she didn’t have time. She had to get back to the shelter before Dupinsky realized she was gone. Before the kid woke up.

  “Now listen carefully, you little chicken-shit,” she muttered over his moans. “I’m going to take the knife away. I want you to roll off this seat to your knees.” There was just enough space between the two front seats for him to obey her order. “Then I want you to crawl back here, on your knees.” She shoved the gun against his temple. “Now do it.”

  He rolled and landed like a trout between the two seats. She backed up into the rear recesses of the van. “Now crawl, Vickers. Like the damn dog you are.”

  He looked up, his eyes wild with pain and hopeless fear. And he crawled. “Lie down.” She pointed at a pile of laundry with her gun. “It’s good you got yourself fired from the deli and the corner grocery,” Sue said, amused. “This laundry van is so much more convenient. I’ll be able to clean up right here.” His eyes widened and he shrank back against the bags, his arms cradled against his chest. “Yes, I’ve been watching you for the last six months, just waiting for this moment. You were the only one of us to break, Vickers. The only one of us to take the easy way out. I’m surprised the others haven’t snuffed you out before now. But then, nobody else served as many years as I did.”

  Quickly she pumped a shot into his thighs, then his knees. He couldn’t run and his hands were useless. He lay on his back, writhing, his muffled moans of agony pure music to her ears. She put the gun aside and held the knife for him to see. “You sat in that courtroom and told them everything. Everything,” she hissed. “You’re a ball-less worm. Figuratively speaking of course.” She ran her finger down the blade. “Now you’ll be one in the literal sense as well.” She gave him a minute to understand, then when the horror filled his eyes she moved, plunging the blade into his groin. He screamed, the sound muffled. She wished she dared rip the tape off. To hear him scream. Instead she withdrew the blade and plunged again. And again. The sensation rolled through her, the power. It was headier than orgasm and twice as strong.

  He was silent now, his eyes rolled back in his head. But he wasn’t dead. Not yet. After leaving James half done, she wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. She wiped her knife on the fluffy white towels he’d been set to deliver and emptied the rest of the magazine of the nine mil into his head. Now he was dead.

  She had just enough time to clean up and get back to the shelter. Maybe she’d even buy a pack of cigarettes. One down, four to go. With Vaughn as the grand finale.

  Wight’s Landing, Monday, August 2, 9:00 A.M. Eastern (8:00 A.M. Central)

  Sheriff Louisa Moore paused outside the door of the coroner’s office. Kehoe sat hunched over a microscope. She tapped lightly
on the glass and he motioned her in.

  “You were right, Lou,” Kehoe said. “Your John Doe on the beach was no suicide.”

  Lou leaned one hip on his desk, unsurprised. “It didn’t make sense that a man would go to a stranger’s shed in his boxers to commit suicide. What did you find in the autopsy?”

  “Subdermal bruising around the wrists and ankles. You couldn’t see it on the skin’s surface because the body was too bloated, but the slides don’t lie.”

  “So somebody tied him up before they blew his brains out.”

  Kehoe looked at her over his glasses. “Looks that way.”

  “Could you get a better fix on the time of death?”

  “Wednesday morning, between one and four A.M.”

  Lou bent her mouth in an impressed frown. “That’s a pretty specific time interval.”

  “I sent samples of the bugs to a forensic entomologist I know at Georgetown University. Based on the larval development cycles, that’s the time frame we’re looking at.”

  “Stan and Randi Vaughn were still in Annapolis Wednesday morning,” Lou mused. “Their hotel confirmed they checked out late Friday morning, around eleven.”

  Kehoe blinked, his eyes owlish behind his thick lenses. “You think they’re involved?”

  She shrugged. “They were twitchy yesterday morning when I took their statements.”

  “You might be twitchy too if you were on vacation and came back from a side trip to find this guy in your shed,” Kehoe said mildly. “I seem to recall two of your own deputies heaving up their breakfasts off the side of the Vaughns’ dock yesterday morning.”

  “It was a hell of a discovery, I’ll give you that,” she said, “but I still have a feeling that Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn knew a hell of a lot more than they were saying.”

  “Well, that’s your bailiwick, Sheriff. I will tell you that Stan Vaughn’s parents are salt of the earth. I’ve known them for years.”