Shadow of Danger (37 page)

“What do you mean?” Roy asked, and clenched his jaw.

“Check on that Tennessee sheriff that vouched for him.” Winston’s chin began to tremble as his smile faded. “You’ll find that he’s…dead.”

Roy sucked in a breath and turned away.

“Consider yourself lucky,” Winston said to Alex. “You’re the only one he’s never killed after a blackmail.” He made the sign of the cross. “I told him to take you out, even offered to do it myself, but Toby thought he might need you in the future. If he didn’t, he’d figured you’d either OD on drugs or you were too drunk to remember what you’d done anyway.”

“I remember every fucking moment,” Alex said, his voice rising. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m sober.”

“Five years later?” Winston shot back, tears streaming down his face. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put Miranda through?”

“Garrett,” John began. “Dan...Toby has kidnapped a woman. We need to know—”

“I told you to watch out for her.” He reached for a fresh tissue. “He took the psychic, right?”

John nodded. “We need you to help us.”

“I’ll help you once the good doctor atones for
his
sins.” He blew his nose. “Maybe.”

“
Maybe?
” Roy yelled. “Listen up, you piece of—”

“Stop,” Alex shouted. “I’ll atone. I was drunk, just had a fight with my wife when I went to some honky-tonk outside of Jackson. I was looking for more booze, coke, and a woman. I met Garrett, and he gave me what I’d needed. Only he and Malvern set me up. Took pictures of what I’d been doing. I didn’t know until Malvern showed up at my practice telling me to purposefully diagnose his fiancé with some terminal disease.”

Alex paced the room, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pressed khakis. “He had pictures, and I still had abuse issues. I gave him what he wanted and have regretted it ever since.”

John shook his head in disbelief. Not that the good doctor had admitted to purposefully misdiagnosing Miranda Malvern, but that they were wasting precious time. “Garrett, he atoned, damn it. We need to know—”

“She stayed with him,” Winston wailed, clutching a tissue to his nose. “Because he told her he loved her no matter what was wrong with her. And the whole time he’d been poisoning her, lying to her, using her for the inheritance he knew she’d get when Granny Gates died. He killed the old bag, too, especially when he found out she’d left a house and property in this bum-fucked part of the planet to her granddaughter. I blame
you
for all of this.”

The room fell silent, until Winston blew his nose again.

Tired of the bullshit, John opened the box, then dumped dozens of snapshots—each one encased in plastic baggies—on top of Winston. “Can you blame him for
this?
”

Winston stared down at the pictures of him performing despicable acts to the women he’d likely killed alongside his brother. His mouth gaped open as he quickly sorted his hand through the plastic bags, then tears began spilling.

“He...he...Oh my God,” he cried, and reached for another tissue.

“You’ve been more than a liability.” John pulled a picture of Winston raping a woman from the pile of many and shoved it into his face. “You were his fall guy. He set
you
up, just like him.” John pointed to Alex. “Are you going to lie there and do nothing to stop him?”

Winston averted his eyes from the photograph. The crybaby killer, once again, lived up to his name, sobbing and blubbering to the point John worried Winston had been pushed too far.

“That bastard. That lying bastard,” Winston repeated, this time with anger, with rage, and crossed himself again hard enough he left a red mark on his forehead.

Excitement boiled through John. He wanted Winston angry. He wanted his hatred for Malvern. “He’ll get the death penalty for what he’s done. If you help us, I’ll do my best to make sure you’re not extradited and serve your sentence here, in Wisconsin.” Whether Winston was extradited or not would be up to the district attorney, but he’d make all sorts of promises and tell a million lies if it would help them find Celeste.

“What about the good doc over there?” Winston asked as he jerked his head toward Alex.

“What about me?”

“For what he did to Miranda, you should fry his ass, too.”

“You knew what Malvern had been doing to her all along. Why didn’t
you
stop him?” Alex asked. “You’re as much to blame.”

Worried the arguing between the doctor and the crybaby killer might cause Winston to derail and clam up, John said, “Dr. Trumane is in our custody, and will be dealt with for his crimes against Miranda Malvern.”

John sent Alex a look, hoping the man realized he’d been bluffing. Then he turned to Lloyd. “Cuff him, and take him out in the hallway.”

While Lloyd placed Alex in handcuffs, Winston stared at the doctor with a smug smile. After Lloyd led him into the hall, then shut the door, Winston turned his attention back to them.

“What do you want to know?”

“Where would Malvern run?”

“You got a map on ya?”

Roy pulled a county map from his back pocket, then spread it out and handed it to Winston. “The red dot indicates Malvern’s house,” the sheriff said.

“Okay.” Winston ran his finger over the road leading from the Malvern residence. He zigged, then zagged over other roads, then stopped and tapped. “Here.”

John and Roy stood on either side of the bed and stared at the map. “What are we looking at?” John asked. The road Winston had pointed to dead ended into nothing but forest, and lots of it.

“Toby found an abandoned hunting cabin a few years back. Since then, he’s been storing stuff there, just in case the heat came down on us.”

“Can you point out where this cabin is?” John asked, anxious to begin searching for Celeste. They’d already blown through another half hour with Winston. By the time they reached the area Winston indicated, another hour would be wasted.

“Not exactly. I’ve only been there once. But…” Winston ran his finger across the large section of forest, then pointed to the highway that ran parallel to the county road. “The plan had always been that if Toby had to hide out in his cabin, I was supposed to pick him up at mile marker one sixty two. I’m not sure how far the highway is from the cabin, but I’m thinking no more than a half mile.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Toby said he’d timed himself once, and he’d made it from the cabin to the highway in under ten minutes. That was with carrying a load on his back and dealing with running through the woods.”

While it wasn’t exactly a street address, it was better than what they’d had before now. John nodded, then looked to Roy and Ian. “Let’s go.” 

As Roy took the map, Winston said, “How long has he had her?”

“Almost six hours,” the sheriff answered with disgust.

Winston shook his head and released a low whistle. “Don’t bother with an ambulance.” He picked up his bible. “If Toby’s had her that long, you’ll need a body bag.”

Celeste woke slowly, her head swimming. She shut her eyes and fought the nausea. Wanting to curl onto her side, she turned her head to cradle her stomach, then panicked when her numb arms didn’t respond.

Eyes wide and now fully alert, she stared up, her heart and mind racing.
Dan.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, and pulled against the handcuffs fastened to a hook on the wall.

She looked to her legs with increasing horror. He’d duct taped her ankles to the cot, leaving her lying spread eagle, her body stretched and vulnerable.

Craning her neck, she scanned the small, dank room. A battery-powered lamp sat on the floor casting eerie shadows along the supplies—canned food, bottled water—lining the wall. Her gaze stopped on a small window. No sunlight filtered inside, not even the shadows of dusk. How long had she been here? One day? Two? And where was here?

Wherever here was, she’d rather run free, into the unknown, than lie on a musty cot waiting for Dan to come back and kill her. Based on her visions, her trances, she knew he would do just that.

She looked up at her cuffed hands and yanked with all of her strength. Metal bit into her wrists. If she was going to die, she’d die fighting. And if she survived, she swore, no matter what happened with John, she’d start living for herself, not everyone else. 

Her muscles burned and sweat coated her skin as she strained her body at odd angles, trying to either unhook the metal chain, or force it from the wall. Breathing hard, she stopped, gave her arms a moment’s respite, then went at it again.

“Yes,” she hissed when the hook wiggled. Tears of relief streamed down the side of her face, tickling her skin. 

A motor revved outside. She froze, wondering once again where Dan had taken her. If she screamed, would there be neighbors nearby to hear her? No. He would have gagged her if that were the case. Not willing to risk allowing Dan to know she was awake and trying to escape, she ignored the ache in her shoulders and yanked against the hook. Small splinters of wood fell behind her head as the hook moved again. Another tug and she...

The motor died. She held her breath, then jumped when the door slammed against the wall.

“Hey, sleepy head. How was your nap?” Dan asked as he loomed over her, raking his eyes across her body.

She remained silent. Biding her time, and praying he’d leave the room again. If she had a few more moments alone, she could possibly free herself.

“What, no small talk? Okay then, maybe you just want to get at it.”

He unsheathed a knife. A very long, very scary knife. Her skin crawled as the dim light gleamed off the blade. “What...what are you doing?”

He raised a red brow. “With this?” He fingered the knife’s sharp edge. “Fulfilling my ultimate fantasy,” he said, then sat on the edge of the cot.

Placing a hand on her leg, he ran the knife along the column of her throat. “You sure are pretty.” He dipped the tip at the collar of her shirt, then ripped through the material.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the smooth side of the cold blade rested against her skin. Tears streamed down the sides of her face. She held her breath as he tore the shirt in half and cool air rushed over her exposed chest. He pushed the material aside, baring her cotton bra and stomach.  

“So soft,” he said, and ran the flat edge of the knife along her belly while he rubbed her breasts with his free hand. 

She jerked with disgust and loathing.  

“You like that?” He began unbuttoning her jeans. “Well, there’s more where that came from.”

Hysteria, terror and unnerving fright tore through her. “Why are you doing this?”

He unzipped her jeans. “C’mon, you’re the psychic, you know why.”

The visions. “You read the visions I gave to Roy.”

“Yep,” he said as he forced her jeans over her hips until they drooped around her calves. “I heard about your trances, too. And well, I honestly hadn’t had you on my list of loose ends until then.” He shook his head as he stared between her thighs. “But I should have. You’re sexy, and hot, and so much better than those whores Garrett would bring me.”

“You don’t have to do this,” she implored, careful not to tug too hard against the hook above her. She needed to be certain it would wrench loose. If that meant waiting until he raped her, at least she’d have the element of surprise on her side. “I’d never seen you in any of my visions.”

“But you
did
see me. As the masked man,” he finished with a wag of his brows as he played with the elastic of her panties.

“I didn’t know it was you.”

He dropped the knife on her stomach, then ripped her underwear in half with both of his hands. Panting, he retrieved the knife, then focused on her crotch. “Maybe not, but it was only a matter of time.”

She had to act fast, had to keep him talking. Fighting her tears, her revulsion, she asked, “What about the fourth vision?”

He stopped and wrinkled his forehead. The menacing knife hung over her stomach. “What are you talking about?”

“I had
four
visions,” she said, eyeing the jagged blade, and exerting her arms.

“Oh,” he chuckled. “That’s right. I almost forgot about that. You know, I thought it was odd at the time, but now...” He laughed, his entire body trembling and shaking. He wiped away a tear and smiled. “This is too funny not to share. See, there were only three.”

She flinched, and her mind raced. She’d had
four
visions. Seen
four
women die.

“Okay. I see you’re not gettin’ it. Since it won’t matter, I’ll let you in on a little secret. My brother and I have been killing whores for years. Garrett would scrape up these disgusting lot lizards. Now, don’t get me wrong.” He ran the blade along her inner thigh. “They served their purpose, but I got tired of slutty, trailer trash.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem killing those four women they found in the woods,” she said, hoping her tone didn’t come off as taunting. She just wanted to keep him talking, distracted from her naked body.

“That was all Garrett, that piece of shit. I didn’t know about them. But the other three? The girl in the cranberry bog, she was
all
mine.”

“The other two?”

“We did them together.”

“And the fourth?”

He shook his head. “There
wasn’t
a fourth.”

“I had—”

“I know
Miz
Psychic,” he said, and rolled his eyes as if she were obtuse. “I get it. You had four visions, but here’s the deal. I killed one, Garrett and I killed two. Do the math. One plus two equals three.
Not
four.”

              “But I saw four,” she insisted.

              “Take a look at yourself and remember the little diary you wrote to Roy,” he said with a sarcastic chuckle. “You
are
the fourth vision.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered, and tasted a new kind of fear as the images of the victims from her visions flashed through her mind.

“God ain’t going to help you now.” He rose from the cot and began unbuckling his pants. “When I was snooping through Roy’s files and came across your visions, I’ll admit, I got a little worried. When I found the fourth one and knew I had nothing to do with it, well, I hoped that I wouldn’t have to hurt you. I like you Celeste, always have. You were always so sweet and friendly. Plus you made those kalachkis for the missus.” He grinned. “You have no idea how them tasty pastries helped me. Mixing rat poison with powdered sugar kept my Randa’s symptoms where I needed them.”

She ignored the guilt, that she had somehow played a part in his wife’s poisoning. While he was busy shoving his pants over his hips, she looked up at the hook and tugged as hard as possible.

Nothing happened. The defeat that ripped through her heightened her fear. All of her efforts had been for nothing.

When he settled himself between her outstretched thighs, she averted her gaze from his erection.

This was it.

He was going to rape and kill her.

She didn’t bother to cry or struggle. He’d said he liked when they fought. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, she lay still, accepting her fate, and praying for strength and a quick death.

When his flesh made contact with hers, rubbing against her inner thighs, she closed her eyes and sought a safe place in her mind and hid there. A place where happily-ever-after was real and sadistic killers didn’t exist.

He slammed his fist into her jaw. Her head dangled, as stars shot through her skull.

“Bitch,” he gritted, then hit her again. “Fight me.”

Squeezing her eyes, she fought the bile rising in her throat, and forced herself to remain still even as her heart pounded. Even as the cold metal of the knife pressed against her stomach, even as he stabbed his erection against her thigh.

“Fine,” he grunted, his breath labored. “No foreplay. We’ll just get right to the good stuff.”

With her eyes still closed, she brought John’s strong, handsome image to mind. She remembered his soothing touch, how it had always calmed her and given her strength. She honed in on that memory now as Dan licked a sloppy, wet path from below her bra, to her stomach. His mustache chafed, grated against her skin. Biting her lip to keep from screaming, she squeezed her eyes tighter.

“Look at me,” he ordered, then ran the serrated edge of the blade along her torso.

Pain sliced through her. Snapping her eyes open, she screamed.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” he said. “Fight me.”

She clenched her jaw. “Not much of a fight when I’m tied down, is it?”

Laughing, he punched her square in the stomach, then stilled.  

She did, too, as the room began to rumble and shake.

Then she heard the unmistakable hum of helicopter blades. The sound, a beautiful symphony, as it thumped and hummed.

John.
 

“Mother fucker,” Dan shouted, as he raised the knife high, his eyes wild with hate and anger.

She tensed, and cried out at the cruel twist of fate. With rescue in sight, she’d die anyway.

He brought the knife down with a hard stab, catching the skin along the side of her waist, then shoved off the cot. “Don’t fucking move,” he said as he righted his pants. He withdrew his gun, gave her one last glance, then left the cabin.

The moment the door slammed shut, she strained the handcuffs against the hook. Hoping the helicopter meant they were looking for her, she fought with renewed determination.

Pulling. Tugging.

The skin around her wrists broke against the metal cuffs. A thin stream of blood trickled down her arms as she continued to exert herself.

Something snapped, popped in her left shoulder. She bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain. Sweat soaked her skin, and she put her weight into her good arm. Small shards of wood fell against her forehead as the hook moved against the old plank.

Despite the pain, she pushed herself. The hum of the helicopter retreated. Dan could storm into the cabin at any second. Kill her and— 

The hook fell, and bounced off her nose. She didn’t give herself a moment to savor the small victory. Moving quickly, despite the cuffs, she wrenched the knife imbedded in the cot, cut through the duct tape surrounding her ankles, then hiked her jeans to her waist.

Free. But now what? She glanced around the room. Moving toward the door, she stopped and looked through the window. Other than empty cobwebs, the only thing she saw was her reflection in the dirty glass.

Giving up on the window, which was too small to crawl through, she moved to the door. She pressed her ear against it and listened.

Nothing, but the pounding of her own heart. 

She clutched the knife in one hand. Her fingers tingled as she touched the rusted metal door handle with her other hand. She drew in a deep breath.

Dan had a gun.

She had a knife.

John—hopefully—was on his way. 

And if he wasn’t? She knew how the fourth vision ended.

As the memory of it ran through her mind, she whipped open the door, then ran into the darkness.

Fuck fate. She’d change hers tonight.

*

Dan lost sight of the helicopter’s search light as it flew east, back toward the county road and where he’d hidden Celeste’s car. While there wasn’t enough room for a helicopter to land there, or even on the highway a half mile west of the cabin, he knew he’d just run out of time.

They could block him in, which would force him to run north or south through over a thousand acres of dense forest. If that were the case, he’d have to leave the motorcycle behind, then steal a car later.

He sprinted for the cabin, mulling his options, then decided he would not deviate from his plan. The bike was packed, gassed and ready to go. Even pushing the bike, he could reach the highway in ten minutes.