Carved in Darkness (34 page)

Michael came out of the bathroom, his eyes traveling around the room until they found her. She was sitting in the corner, in the chair his handler had been sitting in. His
handler
… she pushed that thought away, too. It was too bizarre, too real to contemplate. She looked at Michael and smiled, tried to reassure him that she’d be okay, but he had that look again—that dead calm expression that told her he was barely hanging on.

“We’re all good in there. Windows and doors are locked down. If there’s a breach, an alarm will sound, loud enough to wake the dead.” He stood over her, something in his hands. It was her cell. He held it out to her. “If there’s a breach while you’re not here, it’ll trigger the remote alarm and send you a text,” he said. “And here’s this.” It was the flashdrive Strickland made for her of the Sawyer case. “I downloaded copies of all the victim files onto it. Maybe you’ll find something I missed.” He made is sound like an apology.

She took it from him and smiled, tried to put him at ease. “I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.”

He laughed, one short bark that sounded like a curse. “I know.”

There was a sharp rap on the door.
Time’s up
, she thought.

He backed away from her, picked up his duffle, and slung it over his shoulder, headed for the door. He stalled then, turned to her with his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll call you when I’m done—as soon as I can,” he said before turning away.

She wasn’t even aware that she was moving until she was halfway across the room.

“I don’t want you to go.”

He let go of the knob and dropped his bag, turning and reaching for her before she could think to pull back. He held her close, kissed the top of her head, her cheeks. “I’ll come back. I’ll find a way.” He looked into her eyes, cupped her chin so she couldn’t look away. “I’ll come back for you,” he said before lowering his lips to hers.

Her eyes slipped closed and she reached up to clasp her hand around his wrist, anchoring him in place. When he broke away, she opened her eyes to look into the quiet gray of his, and felt what she always felt, wished what she always wished: that she was softer, easier to reach.

She swallowed the pithy comeback that bubbled in her throat, took a deep, shuddering breath … and let go.

“I’ll be waiting.”

SIXTY
-
FIVE

H
E LET HIMSELF IN
quietly. Closed the back door and waited, listened for a sign that she’d heard him. Nothing but silence. He looked around the tidy kitchen, found the cake dome in the corner. Pleased to see it, he lifted the lid and cut himself a slice. He ate it standing up, poured himself a glass of lemonade to go with it.

He thought about Melissa. He’d known she’d follow him home—do as she was told. In their time together, she’d come to understand that he was master. He called the shots, held the power of life and death. She’d learned her lesson … the way he taught, it was not something she’d easily forget.

He rinsed his plate and put it away, carried his glass with him through the silent house, from room to tidy room.

The woman who lived here was his plan B. A placeholder of sorts—always had been. To be honest, there was nothing special or remarkable about her beyond the purpose she served. It was easy, in the soft glow of her bedroom lamp, to look at her and let go. To convince himself that she was his Melissa. That was why he kept her.

He made his way to the bedroom. Found her asleep on her stomach, her face obscured by the long fall of rich auburn hair he loved so much. He felt himself grow hard at the sight of her supple form beneath the thin white sheet. Pulling it down, he revealed her long, lean back, her firm, round ass. They were nice, but not what aroused him.

It was the scars he’d left on her over the years that made him hard. Countless thin, white scars looped and swirled across the skin of her back, intersecting and receding in a pattern that proved her absolute devotion. Lifting his hand, running it over the first cuts he’d ever made on her, she transformed before his eyes. She was young and vibrant. Bright and innocent.

She was his Melissa.

He set the glass on the nightstand and undressed in the dark. Pulled his knife from his pocket, flicked it open. The quiet
snick
it made was enough to wake her.

“You’re home.” She smiled, but it faltered a little when her gaze settled on the blade. “I missed you.”

“Of course you did.” He began to stroke himself with his free hand, liked the way she watched him. Liked the fear he saw on her face. It was the only thing making it possible for him to hold on to the illusion that she was who he really wanted. Her blue eyes drifted down, first to the hand that worked between his legs, then to the knife in the other. Her breathing became heavy, coming in short, excited pants. She sounded like a dog, eager for a game of catch. “Are you going to hurt me?”

He smiled at her in the dark. “Yes.”

SIXTY
-
SIX

S
ABRINA WAS WOKEN UP
by the sound of her ringing cell. She looked at the display. Local number—not one she recognized.

“Hello,” she said. She’d been up all night, pouring over victim files. An early morning call was the last thing she expected.

“Inspector Vaughn, this is Chief Carson. Did I wake you?”

She looked at the clock. It was after eight in the morning. Shit. She sat up, pushed her hair out of her face. “No. I’m awake.”

“Good. Our coroner just called. Lucy Walker’s autopsy is today if you’re interested in coming along.” He said it like he was hoping she’d say no.

“Today? It’s Sunday.”

“That don’t matter much around here. Meet me at the station in an hour,” he said before hanging up.

She made it with fifteen minutes to spare, pulling into the station lot just as Wade pushed his way through the door.

“Mornin’, Inspector.” He tipped his hat.

“Good morning.” She looked around. “Early call?”

“Yeah. Someone reported a possible trespassing about thirty miles out. Supposed to be my day off, but I got called in on account of where you and the chief are headed.” He stopped, shifted from one foot to the other, looking anxious.

She decided to make it easy for him. “You have something to say?”

He nodded. “What you asked me last night got me to thinking about who else could’ve hurt Melissa.” He dug a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and shook it out at her. She took it, smoothed it open and read it. Read it again.

Her eyes shot to his face. “What is this?”

“A speeding ticket I wrote Pete Conners not more than six months ago. He was Kelly Walker’s boyfriend for a time, took an unhealthy interest in Melissa. You wanted to know who else could’ve killed her. There’s your answer.”

It was a lie. Something Wade concocted to keep his friend out of trouble. Maybe even something Jed had put him up to.

“Okay. I’ll call my partner, have him look into it,” she said, expecting him to backpedal, to ask for the ticket back. He did neither. Instead he nodded and looked relieved.

“You do that, and you’ll see it’s true. Pete Conners tried to rape her. My father told me that himself, not more than a few days before she took off.”

She watched him leave, climb into a JPD Blazer, and drive away before she pulled her cell from her pocket and dialed the number.

It rang twice before he answered. “Strickland.”

“Hey.”

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Did you talk to Val?”

He was quiet for a second. “Yeah.”

“Still want to help me?”

“More than ever.”

She looked down at the ticket in her hand. “Great. I need you to find me a car.”

The JPD lobby was small, separated from the officers’ area by a high counter top. Zeke was on the other side of it, waiting for her.

“I’m here to see Chief Carson,” she said.

“Chief, that lady cop from California’s here to see you,” he said loudly over his shoulder. Turning back, he nodded toward the row of chairs behind her. “If you’d like to find a seat, he’ll be right out.” Zeke had been her father’s number one for years and always seemed to find time for a friendly smile or kind word. She seen him come in and out of Kelly’s bedroom once or twice, but he’d always been respectful to her—something most of her mother’s customers never felt was necessary.

Before she could sit, Carson made his appearance. “Wade leave on that trespassing call?” he said as he set his hat on his head, tugging the brim down low.

Zeke nodded from his desk. “Yup, cruiser’s got a flat so he took your Blazer,” he said without looking up. “Hank said he’d be by to fix it after lunch. If there’s a call, I’ll take my truck.”

Carson grinned for a moment and gave her a shrug. “Guess that means I’m hitching a ride with you, darlin’,” he said as he fastened his gun belt in place and head for the door.

SIXTY
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SEVEN

T
RAPPED IN A CAR
with the man she suspected of raping and torturing her was not a place Sabrina wanted to be. She looked at him—let her eyes travel to his gun. The safety strap that held it snug inside its holster was snapped shut. No easy draw from him. She figured she could handle the rest.

He’d been quiet nearly the entire time, poring over the printout of the Sawyer file she’d brought along.

She thought about Pete Conners, about the ticket Wade claimed to have given him, and she wished Strickland would hurry the hell up.

Carson closed the file folder and turned to look at her. “This happened Wednesday last?” he said, and she nodded.

“You see the similarities between your case and mine? Same type of knife was used. Both victims had words stabbed into their abdomens. Both had their eyes taken. It’s the same guy.”

Now it was his turn to nod. “I see a lot of same—but I see a lot of different, too.” He held up the file folder. “Red ribbon? Gift tag around the vic’s wrist? That’s pretty specific, and none of that was found at the O’Shea or Walker crime scenes.” He dropped the file into his lap. “But let’s say you’re right. Let’s say that this girl and Frankie were killed by the same guy. What does that have to do with Melissa?”

“Kaitlyn Sawyer was abducted in El Paso on October first. She was found on the third with a gift tag tied around her wrist that said,
Happy birthday—sorry I missed it
.” Frustration weighed heavy in her voice. He was either fucking with her or too stubborn to see what was right in front of him. She shot him a look. “She was number fifteen. I have a stack of files, each one on a young, blue-eyed waitress who disappeared on October first.” She glared at him for a second before turning back toward the windshield. “We both know what October first is, so let’s cut the bullshit.”

“Melissa’s birthday.” He looked out his window, waited a few beats before doing a slow nod. “
Sorry I missed it
… why would he write something like that on a gift tag and tie it to a dead girl’s wrist?” he asked, but before she could answer, he turned toward her and answered his own question. “The only way it makes any sense is if the guy who killed Melissa thinks she’s still alive.”

He looked at his watch again. He’d been gone nearly eleven hours. Michael turned in his seat and stared out the window of the private Lear. No commercial flights for Ben Shaw. There were some advantages to traveling with the boss’s son.

It’d been another bullshit mission. Down to Mexico. Pull the trigger. Back on the plane. He had no idea where they were going now, but they were headed north. Texas and Sabrina were due east.

He looked at his watch again—eleven hours now. He’d been gone eleven hours.

“Mind if I sit?”

“Yes,” he said, but Ben took a seat anyway.

“Sorry, I should’ve mentioned that was a rhetorical question.” He settled back into one of the plush leather seats that dotted the interior of the plane. “That was an impressive shot you took today,” Ben said, not wasting time.

He was talking about the job, and he was right. It had been an impressive shot: 2,293 yards. Only a handful of people in the world who could’ve made it. He was one of them. “What can I say? I’m an impressive guy,” he said, still staring out the window.

“I suppose the whole ‘You’ve stopped a very bad man from doing very bad things’ speech wouldn’t matter much to you, huh?” Ben said.

He just shrugged.

“Lark explained the situation. Is she in immediate danger?”

Yeah, Lark had been doing a lot of that lately—explaining where he shouldn’t. He looked away from the window. “
She
is none of your fucking business,” he said.

Ben leaned forward with a smile, his eyes, as clear and calm as lake water. “Curiouser and curiouser.” He sat back in his chair. “You’d kill me in an instant if you thought I posed a threat to her.”