Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft (26 page)

This wouldn’t delay my
pursuer long, but it would buy me a few seconds. Without looking back, I ran
through the yard to the front, half expecting my pursuer to get in front of me,
emerging from the basement or front door. But when I reached the front of the
house, I saw no sign of him. I tried to listen for sounds of pursuit behind me,
but I could hear only my own pulse.

The car parked
crookedly at the curb outside the Conrad house was not a silver Cadillac. It
was a shiny black Jaguar. I committed the plate to memory as I passed and dug
my keys out of my pocket. I wrenched the Scout door open and threw myself
inside, shoving the key into the ignition and stomping on the clutch.

I tore away from the
curb with a screech of the tires and glanced in the mirrors. I saw no sign of
my pursuer or the driver of the Jaguar. But I kept my eyes glued to the mirrors
as I drove all the same.

__________

I needed to run the Jaguar plate,
and the bonds office was closer than my house. But Ellmann’s house was on the
way, so I decided to stop by to ask Natalie about the photo. When I pulled up,
there were lights on in the main level and upstairs. I used my key and called
Natalie’s name as I walked to the office.

The computer was on,
but I saw no sign of Natalie. She wasn’t anywhere on the main level or
upstairs, although the lights were on in the room she was using. Maybe she’d
decided to go to the movie after all, which would be more fun than grading
papers. I shut the lights off, wondering if maybe they didn’t pay for
electricity in California, then locked up and left.

I’d expected to find
the bonds office empty, but Amerson’s truck was parked near the back door. It
was Saturday, for crying out loud. Didn’t the man ever rest?

I punched my code into
the keypad and went inside. The lights were dimmed, but I could see the lights
were on in Amerson’s office. I spotted the man himself near the copy machine as
I passed. I couldn’t help but notice he had traded his usual uniform of cargo
pants and military shirts for trousers and a button-down. He looked …
nice
.

“What are you doing
here?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I got
stood up, so I thought I’d come in and get some things done. What are you doing
here? Shouldn’t you be looking for Dillon?”

Stood up? So that’s
why he was dressed up; he had a date. But Amerson wasn’t the dating type.
Actually, the only girl he’d shown any interest in since I’d known him was—

Oh, shit.

Natalie had told her
parents she wanted to skip the movie to grade papers. Vince had made a comment
about her having already done that. And, looking back, she seemed to have been
blushing, eager to change the subject. Now it seemed obvious why. I was pretty
sure Ellmann would have had a thing or two to say about Natalie dating Dean
Amerson. Vince didn’t really seem to like anyone, so he would probably have had
more than a thing or two to say. No way Natalie would have come right out and
said that’s what she’d planned to do.

But why would she have
stood Amerson up? She’d been giddy about him all afternoon, bugging me with
questions: “Does Dean like this? Does Dean like that? Do you think Dean likes
me?” It didn’t make sense.

I thought back to the
house. I’d found all the lights on, but the doors had been locked. There had
been no overt signs of struggle. Of course, I hadn’t seen any papers to be
graded, either.

Something was wrong.
Not only did things not add up, but I had a very bad feeling in my gut. And
that feeling was never wrong.

“Grey! What’s the
matter with you?”

“Uh, nothing,” I said,
looking up at Amerson, who was now standing in front of me. “Listen, I’m really
close to Dillon. Really close.”

He looked at his
watch. “Just under nine hours. I hope you’re close enough to cuff her.”

“Me too.”

I turned and hurried
over to a computer, logging on and punching in the license plate number. After
a brief search, a name popped up on the screen. I was only mildly surprised,
and a few pieces fell into place. After quickly logging off, I hurried for the
door.

I debated saying
anything to Amerson and ultimately chose against it. I didn’t want him
involved. Too many people were involved already, if I was right about what was
going on. I was pretty sure Natalie was in trouble. I didn’t want anyone else’s
well-being on my conscience, even if Amerson could take care of himself. He
liked Natalie, and feelings like that could cloud your judgment, cause you to
make mistakes.

Probably I should have
called Ellmann. Without a phone, I wouldn’t have another chance after leaving
the office. I didn’t even pretend to think I could hide any of this from him,
but I did think I might be able to resolve it before having to tell him about
it. He may have had serious issues with his father and a distant relationship
with his sister, but he still cared about his family, and I knew without being
aware of the details he would not like what was happening to Natalie right now.

I broke multiple
traffic laws after leaving the bonds office. Arriving in record time, I slowed
as I drove south on Lemay toward Trilby. Shortly before the light, I turned
left into Lyle Young’s driveway.

As before, there were
no lights on above the garage. A familiar Jaguar was parked haphazardly between
two of the doors. The same lights appeared to be on in the main house and
guesthouse, but now a silver Cadillac was backed up to the main door of the
guesthouse, the trunk still open. It didn’t take a big leap of the imagination
to guess what had been in the trunk.

“Fuck,” I said. “I
hate when I’m right.”

I parked the Scout
cockeyed across the mouth of the driveway, preventing anyone else from coming or
going, then shed the jacket and got out. This ended here. None of these people
were going to get away from me.

I kept to the shadows
and skirted around the main house and garage. I followed the driveway around
the small lake to the guesthouse. The front door was closed, and I didn’t
bother with it. I cut through the lawn toward the back, peeking in windows as I
passed. This side of the house was dark, and what I could make out through the
blinds were bedrooms.

The windows on the far
side of the back were a different story; light poured out of these. I crept
onto the expansive patio, cutting around the furniture, and leaned against the
house to the side of the sliding glass door. A blood-curdling scream rang out,
only faintly muffled by the glass, and every hair on my body stood up on end. 
My heart leapt in my chest then hammered against my sternum. My stomach turned
at the realization of what I’d likely find on the other side of the glass.

I took a breath then
leaned over and looked. Pretty much as expected, I saw Natalie duct taped to a
chair sitting in the middle of the kitchen. There was blood on the floor and on
Natalie’s dress. Her face was red and wet from crying. and even from a distance
I could see she was trembling.

On the island in front
of her, a towel was laid out with several items neatly arranged on it. Most of
them were kitchen utensils, but not all. Among them I could see a couple knives,
a potato peeler, needle-nose pliers, pruning shears, a box cutter, and one of
those long lighters used for candles. There was a large pot on the stove, and
whatever it contained was likely boiling based on the amount of steam rising
from it.

A woman stood in front
of Natalie, a long knife in her hands. She was tall, five-ten, and naturally
thin, her figure slight, with long, thick, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.
A few pieces had come loose and hung around her face. She was wearing shorts
and a tank top under a clear plastic apron. The apron and much of the exposed
skin on her legs and arms were splattered and smeared with blood. She looked
like she’d just walked off the set of a horror movie. Only this wasn’t
Hollywood, and this wasn’t make-believe. That blood was real. And Natalie’s
fear was real.

Worse still, I could
identify the woman wielding those torture tools. I’d spent the last three days
running all over town, flashing her photo and asking questions. She was
Danielle Dillon. When Amerson had assigned her to me in hopes that I’d run into
her, this wasn’t how I envisioned our meeting.

Natalie screamed again,
and I felt my belly roll. I didn’t have time to be surprised or disappointed.
Natalie needed help, and she needed it now. I’d seen two other kitchens
recently that left me with absolutely no doubt about Natalie’s fate.

At that thought, I
felt a tickling at the edge of my brain. I reached for it, but it eluded me.
Without time to waste, I pushed it aside and moved off the patio.

I cut across the
darkest part of the yard to the other side of the patio, continuing around the
house. As I peeked in windows, I saw no sign of any other occupants, which
worried me. Young’s Jaguar was out front; he was here somewhere.

I’d seen a security
keypad near the front door and knew the system wasn’t armed. But it might still
help me. I had every intention of going inside to get Natalie, but it felt
uncomfortably like walking into a trap. I thought I’d feel better about it if I
had a contingency plan.

I went to the small
box on the side of the house and pulled out my pocketknife. A lot of security
systems these days have built in fail-safes, one being an automatic alert sent
to police if the system goes offline. I cut the main power line and hoped like hell
it was true of this system.

There were only two
doors to the house: the front and the patio door. There were a couple
accessible windows, but a door would be faster. And from the kitchen, Dillon
wouldn’t see me enter through the front. I hurried back around the house, drew
my gun, and eased it open slowly.

There was another
scream followed by terrified whimpering. I heard another voice speaking but was
too far away to make out any words. It was a constant struggle to keep my wits
about me; my heartbeat and breathing were too fast.

I moved through the
house to the left, cutting through an unlit plush sitting room and through an
arched doorway into an enormous and dark formal dining room. Light poured in
from another arched doorway on the other end of the room, opening to what I
guessed was the kitchen, given the location and the tiled floor.

As I neared the second
doorway, I crouched, peering carefully around the corner. I had eyes on Dillon,
still in the kitchen with Natalie. But I hadn’t yet come across Young.

There were stairs near
the front door, but from the outside, I knew there were no lights on up there.
And from what I could tell, the only light on this level was coming from the
kitchen and one of the rooms off the hallway to the left. My instincts told me
Young was in this house. It seemed likely he was down the hall, wherever that
second light source was. Dillon had something I wanted. If I could locate
Young, maybe I’d have something she’d trade for.

I waited, watching
Dillon for an opportunity. Finally, she went to the stove, turning her back to
me. I stood and bolted out of the dining room and down the hall. I was careful
to make no sound, and Natalie was too hysterical to notice me.

Gun in front of me, I
moved quickly down the hall, making a beeline for the lit room. When I arrived,
I discovered it was a bedroom, likely the master suite, and it was empty.
Moving through it, I went to the bathroom, which was also lit. I eased the door
open, wondering if I’d surprise Lyle Young on the can, and went in. In the end,
it was me who got the surprise.

Young was nowhere to
be found, but Priscilla Casimir was sprawled in the bathtub, covered in blood
and paler than I’d ever seen her. Cursing a blue streak under my breath, I
crouched beside the tub, feeling for her pulse. I held my breath as I waited to
feel the beat of life in her artery.

Growing up, I’d wanted
nothing more than for Priscilla to die. But I’ve had a lot of time since then
to learn what that really means, and now I don’t wish death on anyone, not even
people worse than Priscilla. And, as much as I hate to admit it, there
are
people out there worse than Priscilla Casimir. Not to mention, I was almost
certain whatever had happened to her had been the direct result of knowing me,
which left me feeling responsible for her. I was serious when I said I didn’t
want any more bodies on my conscience, not even Priscilla’s.

I was reluctant to
think she was dead, but I’d pretty much reached that conclusion until finally I
felt the faintest thump on the side of my finger. I adjusted the placement of
my fingers and finally found her pulse, which was beating strong and regular.
If she hadn’t been covered in blood, slumped on the bottom of a stranger’s
bathtub like a discarded, grotesque doll, I would have thought she was just
sleeping.

I wanted to revive
Priscilla and get her out of the house while Dillon was occupied, but another
scream rolled through the house, and I was reminded just how Dillon was
occupied. Leaving Priscilla where she was, I left the bathroom. I still hadn’t
found Young, but I didn’t have any more bright ideas about where he might have
been lurking. It was time to confront Dillon. And I hoped she wouldn’t make me
kill her.