Game of Fear (18 page)

The Warden stood. “Gentlemen, see that your colleague gets the message very clearly.”

The guards grabbed Niko’s arms. Hatred flared in his eyes, but not the fear the Warden had hoped to see. How unfortunate.

“Take him away.” The Warden stroked his chin. “And watch the girl. Closely. She needs to learn exactly who holds the key to her living . . . or dying.”

Gabe pressed on the gas, mentally urging the slow-moving traffic forward. They’d gotten caught up in rush hour, though at least they were moving south, away from downtown, instead of north on I-25. Horns honked around them.

Inside, the car was silent.

He glanced over at Deb. Her face was hard, determined, stoic. The muscle just below her jaw throbbed, and her eyes were rimmed red, not from crying but from holding back. Agitation seemed to pulse from every pore, and her legs bounced in an unconscious release of nerves.

“Almost there.”

She gave him a quick nod, and he exited the freeway to the crime scene location. Up ahead, yellow tape marred the scenic foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Several vehicles surrounded the cordoned-off area, including a crime scene investigation vehicle, its white boxy silhouette obvious.

Deb’s knuckles whitened as they pulled up. Neil met the car.

“Ms. Lansing,” he said politely. “We still don’t have an identification.”

They ducked under the barrier and Neil led them toward an area where several technicians processed the scene, one taking photographs, the other collecting evidence.

Deb didn’t hesitate. She rushed toward the shallow grave. “Please, God, don’t be Ashley.”

Neil grabbed Deb by the arm. “You can’t go any closer. You’ll contaminate the scene. They’re still marking evidence and shooting stills. Not to mention taking molds of shoe and tire prints. This is a huge area to process.”

The winter grass shifted in the wind, but it couldn’t hide the coppery stench. Deb gagged, all color leaching from her cheeks. “Then why did I come?”

Wexler held out a photo. “To start with, can you identify your sister from this?”

Deb grabbed the picture and viewed the nude body. “Where’s the face? Her hair? Why is the photo cropped just below her neck like that? Let me see down there. How am I supposed to know if it’s Ashley?”

“You don’t want to view the body if you don’t have to, Ms. Lansing. We haven’t found her head. Or her hands,” Neil muttered, barely able to look at her.

Deb put a hand to her mouth, but her cry of anguish still escaped.

Gabe took the picture from her and peered at the truncated body, twisted, mangled, and partially wrapped in a dirty, blood-stained sheet. Contusions everywhere. Barely recognizable, except . . . He looked closer. “Is that a tattoo on her ankle?”

“Yes,” Neil replied. “The number eighty-eight.”

Deb let out a choked sob and fell to her knees. “Ashley doesn’t have a tattoo. She’s terrified of needles. It’s not her.” She buried her head in her hands. “It’s not Ashley.”

Gabe knelt on the ground and pulled Deb into his arms. He met Neil’s gaze.

The detective patted Deb’s back, then turned away. “Thank you for coming. I’m glad it’s not your sister. We’ll work on identifying the girl. Her family needs to know.”

“Eighty-eight.” Deb suddenly stiffened. “Oh, no.”

Her knees shook, but she rose to her feet. “I just realized who it is,” Deb said, her voice choked. “It’s the girl Mylo and Justin played
Point of Entry
with. Her name is Britney Saunders. She disappeared, but Mylo sent Gabe a photo.”

Gabe yanked out his cell phone and started pressing buttons.

Deb moved closer to look at the images. “I remember Ashley mentioning the tattoo. She thought it was cool, but she just couldn’t work up the courage.”

A smiling face stared at Gabe from the screen. The picture of Britney with her family. Sure enough, when he zoomed in, those eights peeked out above her shoes. He held up the phone to Neil. “This is how she looked the day she disappeared. Red sweater, blue jeans, black jacket, and running shoes.”

Neil called over one of the forensics team to bring him the evidence bags. With gloved hands, the tech held each item open in turn, accounting for every clothing article that had been dumped several hundred feet away from the body.

“Looks like we’ve got our ID,” Neil said, his expression solemn. “Colorado Springs PD will notify her parents.”

Gabe shook his head. He’d met Britney’s folks. Nice people. They didn’t deserve this. No one did. He glanced over at the body bag that held what was left of Britney Saunders. Whoever had decapitated that young girl was either sadistic or they had no soul.

“Detective Wexler, we found something.” The evidence tech ran down the hill, another bag in his gloved hand.

“What is it?” Neil demanded.

“A cell phone. The glass is cracked, but it still has power.”

Gabe crowded in. Very carefully, the tech removed the phone and, using a tiny probe, pressed the keys to reveal the owner.

“It’s Mylo’s,” Gabe said, swallowing the guilt choking his throat. He looked over at Deb. “He tried to call me. Left me a message he was meeting Britney, and I had the damned phone off.”

“It’s not your fault—”

“Then whose is it?” Gabe said. How was he going to look himself in the mirror? That kid had believed in him.

Gabe played Neil and her Mylo’s message.

“Would he have set this up?” the detective asked. “Would Mylo have killed Britney?”

“No way. You heard him. He was scared. He’s the dorky kid you saw in that video clip I gave you. Can you see him attacking anyone?”

“Then where is he?” Deb scanned the surroundings. “I don’t see any sign of him or his car.”

Neil frowned. “From the scuffle that took place around the grave, I think his name should be added to the list of other kids who are missing.”

“Get inside.”

Sly shoved Ernie into Jeff Gasmerati’s office. Ernie pitched to the ground, his injured leg giving way. His nose hit the hard wood and he doubled over in pain. God, how had Sly found him so fast?

Ernie rolled onto his back and looked up into Jeff’s cold expression.

“Ernie, Ernie, Ernie. I thought you were family.”

Oh God. This was it. They’d found out. He couldn’t stop shaking. “P-please—”

“Shut up.” Sly grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground.

Ernie choked and Sly slammed him into a wooden chair at the edge of the room. He secured his wrists and feet, and Ernie felt warm liquid flowing down his pants leg.

Sly gave him a grin. “I figured you for a coward.” He turned to Jeff. “He’s ready, boss.”

Jeff strode across the room, his Gucci suit crisp. He bent toward Ernie and wrinkled his nose. “You been hiding in a garbage can, Rattori?”

Ernie nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s where I found him,” Sly said, “after he went out the window of the hotel trying to avoid this discussion.”

“Not very cooperative, Ernie.” Jeff pulled out his revolver. An old Colt .45.

The cold barrel slid up Ernie’s cheek to his temple and pressed against his head.

“I hear you’ve been talking, Ernie. A lot.”

Ernie squeezed his eyes shut.
Don’t tell him anything. Don’t tell him anything. He doesn’t know the truth or you’d be dead
.

The pressure increased against the side of his head.

The hammer clicked.

The gun didn’t go off.

Jeff chuckled and Ernie opened his eyes. “See, Ernie, I’m an honorable man. I’m willing to give you a chance to make it up to me. You know things. You’ve worked for me a long time.”

Ernie nodded. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Hand me the machete, Sly,” Jeff said with a smile. “And bring the torch.”

The man carried it over. Jeff ran his thumb across the blade. Blood pooled on his finger. He dabbed the cut with a crisp, white handkerchief, then stuffed it in his pocket. “I’ll ask you again. What did you tell Montgomery?”

Ernie swallowed.

Jeff made a tsking sound.

With a swish, he brought down the machete.

Ernie’s hand fell to the ground.

Pain sliced up Ernie’s arm. He screamed. Blood poured from the wound.

Sly loosely wrapped the stump in a towel.

Ernie’s entire body screeched with pain. He lifted his head.

“You betrayed me.” Jeff pressed down on the open wound.

Spots of light dance in front of Ernie’s eyes. He wanted to pass out. He prayed to pass out.

“Tell me.”

“Grace O’Sullivan,” Ernie panted through gritted teeth. “R-Russians.”

“See, wasn’t that easy?” Jeff turned his back. “Finish it.”

Sly lit the torch and grabbed Ernie’s arm, then shook off the towel.

Seconds later, Ernie’s world went black.

Ashley stared at the computer monitor, but she couldn’t think. She squirmed in her seat. She needed a bathroom, and she hated asking. She hated they controlled everything she did.

One quick glance and she eyed her guardian of the day.

The redheaded guy. If she could have avoided going to the bathroom she would have. Finally, she broke down and asked. He gave her a smarmy grin and told her to wait.

An hour later, he dragged her into the hall.

If he tried to come in the bathroom with her, she’d castrate him. Maybe she could break the mirror, grab a shard, and really do it?

“Move it, Lansing.” He shoved her in the back, making her stagger.

She scowled at him. “I could walk faster if you took me to the restroom when I first asked you.”

“Oh, is the little baby going to wet her pants?” he taunted.

Ashley clenched her teeth and turned back around. The mirror idea was looking better and better all the time.

Mop boy—Floyd—was cleaning out one of the bathroom stalls when they got there.

“Hey, pansy, get out of the ladies’ room. She’s got to use it.”

Floyd poked his head out of the stall, looked up at the guard. “Sure. Give me a sec.” He slammed the toilet seat down, rustled around a little, then walked out. “I’m not done cleaning the whole bathroom yet,” he said, shoving his mop bucket in front of the second stall, leaving the one he’d just cleaned as the only one available. “I’ll be outside.”

The red-haired guy followed, glanced in the stall, then stood back.

As Floyd passed Ashley, his eyes flicked in the direction of the stall, then he winked. “There should be enough toilet paper. If not, you’ll find an extra roll on the tank.”

Ashley struggled to control her mystified expression. What was that all about? How many boys her age discussed toilet paper with girls?

“Hurry up, blondie. I haven’t got all day to be parading you around. You have work to do. I ain’t gettin’ the crap beat outta me like Niko, so move it.” He shoved past her, almost knocking her into the wall.

“You are such a gentleman.”

He grabbed her chin and yanked her face to within inches of his. “Watch it, sweetheart, or I’ll show you just how wrong you are.” With that, he pushed her away and shut the bathroom door.

Shuddering, Ashley entered the stall and looked around. Okay, that was weird. There was plenty of paper left on the roll. Why had Floyd mentioned the one on the tank?

She stilled. The paper wrap on the roll set on the tank had been disturbed. She grabbed it. Floyd had tucked a note inside. She clutched the paper tight and sat down to read it.