Her Darkest Nightmare (45 page)

The moment they cleared the perimeter fence he'd been so excited, so filled with anticipation, that he hadn't even minded when he'd been dumped off only a mile or so from Hanover House with just twenty bucks to buy a bite to eat when he reached town. He'd been grateful for his freedom and knew his “partner” was eager to be rid of him. But he wouldn't have had
that
much in his pocket if he hadn't demanded it. He would've been left to forage on his own with nothing. Not that he'd been too concerned about that at first, or he would've insisted on more. He'd figured he could steal whatever else he wanted.

Town was a lot farther away than he'd been told, however. And he couldn't steal money, food, weapons or a car unless he could find someone who had those items. This godforsaken town rolled up its streets at night, and everything was so spread out, so far from the damn prison. It'd been a miracle he'd managed to find shelter, such as it was, before his feet got too numb to walk any farther. He'd thought for sure he'd freeze to death before he ever reached the trooper's house.

But people were up and starting to move around now. It wasn't light, but it didn't get light in Alaska very often. At least he could see headlights in the distance as he came out of the abandoned woodshed where he'd spent the coldest part of the night. All he had to do was spruce up his uniform so it didn't look as if he'd been sleeping in it and make his way over to the road.

Once there, he'd just stick out his thumb. Who wouldn't stop for a stranded prison guard?

*   *   *

By the time Evelyn woke up the following morning, her headache was gone and so was Amarok. She felt bad for how hard he'd been working. It was more than any one man should be called upon to do. But she was proud of his dedication. He was stepping up, trying to deliver for his community. He loved this place, loved the people and his job, and it showed.

He'd followed her to his house last night and gone to bed with her. He'd been too exhausted to do anything else. But now he was driving Kush to Anchorage since he had to go back to the State Medical Examiner's, anyway. Those body parts she'd found in the shower and Hugo's body were in his truck.

She pulled the blankets over her head as she recalled the moment when she'd first spotted that bag in the shower. The memory of it made her weak. Poor Lorraine. She missed her so much. But she was also embarrassed that she'd jumped to such terrible conclusions when it came to her fellow team members, especially Russ, who'd never done anything to hurt her.

She was getting paranoid, she decided, letting fear take control of her life despite all her efforts to fight it. When Fitzpatrick had gotten out of the shower last night, he'd seemed just as harmless as Russ, especially now that he was so contrite over what he'd done in those sessions with Hugo.

With a yawn and a stretch, she sat up. Then she pulled Amarok's pillow to her face and breathed deeply. “I'm falling in love with you,” she mumbled into it, “and that's terrifying enough.”

The way he'd kissed the scar on her neck last night when they'd gone to bed made her smile—and thinking of him reminded her of his dog. Where was Makita? She would've expected him to be in the room.

“Makita?”

Amarok had left the bedroom door open, but the dog didn't come trotting in.

“Makita!” She planned to take him out for an extra potty break and to spend a little time with him. It was Saturday. She didn't have to go to work until later. Technically she didn't have to go to Hanover House at all, but she felt like she should reassure everyone, especially Warden Ferris, that she was still at the helm. With all the arrests and Fitzpatrick's resignation, her employees and work associates had to be on edge.

We'll pull everything back together,
she told herself. But her boss wouldn't even be in the office for four more days. She had no idea what Janice was going to say—or who she might decide to blame. Until recently, Fitzpatrick had done a superb job of pretending to be everything a distinguished psychiatrist should be.

“Makita?” she called again.

Still no response.

She got up to search for him, but he wasn't there. Amarok must've taken him, she decided. Amarok hated that his dog had been spending so many hours shut up alone, hated having to rely on his closest neighbor to come over, let Makita out and feed him.

Knowing Makita would like nothing better than to spend the entire day with his master, she relaxed and put on some coffee. Makita rode with Amarok quite often when Amarok was patrolling the area and doing his regular thing, so it wasn't unusual.

After she had breakfast and showered, Evelyn decided to drop by her cabin before heading to work. She hadn't brought nearly enough clothes with her, was missing a few articles required to finish off certain outfits. And, more important, she'd forgotten her hair mousse. She figured it would be smarter to head that way while she had a four-wheel drive with a plow at her disposal. She couldn't expect Amarok to take his valuable time to drive her over once he got home. It would be late by then—too late to mess with such an errand.

The wind had died down and the snow had stopped falling, but it was as cold and dark as ever when Evelyn left Amarok's house. “If I didn't know better, I'd think it was midnight,” she grumbled. But she couldn't help grinning when she saw that Amarok had taken a few minutes to scrape off her windshield.

“I'm in trouble.” Love had never been part of the equation when she'd promised her family she'd return to Boston. But it was still early to be worried about those kinds of decisions.

Tucking her hands under her arms, despite her thick gloves and the heater blowing full blast, she let the engine warm up. Then she lowered the shovel and plowed the street, thinking that would give Amarok less to do later. She was still plowing when she reached her own street. She could tell it hadn't been done since the last big storm.

Her headlights illuminated a man standing off to one side with a hand shovel. Sight of him startled her, made her tense. But she chuckled as she drew closer. That mysterious individual was Kit, attempting to do what he did best—clear the snow from the driveway of his house.

God, there was that fear again. It was exactly what whoever was terrorizing Hilltop, someone like Jasper or the psychopaths she worked with, would want her to feel. Jasper would probably love knowing it was difficult for her to return to her own house. She couldn't let him or whoever had murdered Lorraine and Danielle dictate what she could and couldn't do, couldn't let that person control her in such a way. She had to go on living her life. She just had to be careful, to be prepared—and she had her gun with her, just in case.

She doubted Kit could see her in the dark, so she didn't bother waving. But she was slightly reassured to find him out. At least she wasn't entirely alone.

“It'll take two minutes,” she told herself. “I'll run in, grab everything and run out.” But even after psyching herself up, she stared at her cabin for several long seconds before grabbing her GLOCK, getting out and approaching the front door. Her garage clicker was in her car and her house key was on the ring that contained her car key at the prison, but she had a spare hidden by the front door.

Because she hadn't left any lights burning, she used the small flashlight from her purse to be able to dig the key container out of her front planter.

She found it without any problem, but when she let herself in she was so intent on her purpose it didn't register when she first threw the light switch that there was a strange pair of snow boots in the entry. A split second later, she looked down. But by then she'd already lost the chance to run.

 

30

Murder is not about lust and it's not about violence. It's about possession.

—TED BUNDY, SERIAL KILLER, RAPIST, KIDNAPPER AND NECROPHILIAC

Evelyn tried to get out the door, but the arm that went around her waist, hauling her back, felt like iron. She remembered her gun. She'd thought it'd be easier to use. But the surprise of having someone fly at her so fast, before she could even get a glimpse of his face, hadn't given her the opportunity to fire. And now whoever had ahold of her was trying to wrench her GLOCK away.

She screamed. That was all she could do. She screamed as loudly as possible and began calling for Kit to get help. She had no idea if he could hear her or if he would understand and be able to convert her cries to action. But she was determined to do all she could to save herself. This was Jasper, she thought. It
had
to be Jasper. Just like last summer. If he managed to subdue her, she'd be in for only God knew what.

Don't let him win, Evelyn! Now's your chance to fight back!

She gave the struggle everything she had, used all the pent-up anger she'd felt toward him, not only for the last five months, for the last two decades. The surge of energy that came to her rescue was born of desperation—and the desire to vanquish her greatest enemy. And not just for her sake. For her mother's sake, her entire family's sake, her best friends' sakes. She would finally overcome him. Or she'd die trying.

Clawing and kicking, she fought like she'd never fought before. She could tell her ferocity surprised him. When he cursed, she tried to remember his voice, tried to match it to what she'd heard last August—and couldn't. Still, she was so convinced it was Jasper that she was stunned when she twisted around enough to be able to see her attacker's face.

Then her strength gave out and she went limp. “Glenn!”

“Shut the damn door!” he yelled, but he accomplished it himself by dragging her to one side, out of the way. After that, he let go of her but lashed out with a vicious kick, causing her thigh to explode in pain.

Fortunately, he didn't continue to assault her. He began to pace, curse some more and wave the gun he'd taken from her. “
What are you doing here?
” he ground out.

She blinked at him. “What do you mean? This is my house!”

“You're supposed to be living with Sergeant Amarok! You told me you moved in with him. I saw you go there myself.”

“How?” she cried. “Have you been
following
me?”

“I needed to know certain things.”

“Like what?”

“Never mind. Why'd you come back? I was just about free of this town, free of it all.”

Her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow. “I needed some … clothes. That makes sense. What doesn't make sense is finding
you
here. What could possibly have possessed you—” She didn't even get the question out before the answer came to her. “Oh! You're part of the prostitution scheme!”

“Danielle came to
us
,” he said. “And it would've been fine—if Kush and Petrowski hadn't been stupid enough to parade her around town and brag about what we had going.”

“That puts you in good stead,” she said, hurrying to capitalize on his words. “It means no one knows you're involved. You could get away with it.”

“
You
know.”

She heard that fatalistic note in his voice and did what she could to combat it. She had to offer him hope. “No! I won't say a thing to anyone.”

He rolled his eyes. “You won't have to. They'll offer both Kush and Petrowski a deal trying to get Snowden and Dugall, who weren't really involved except to fuck her now and then, and one of them will roll over on me. It's only a matter of time.”

So he knew he was going to lose his job. But … why this? Why was he hiding out at her house? “How'd you get in?”

He shoved his free hand through his hair, causing it to stick up and make him look even more like a madman. “I broke a window,” he said, but the nervous way he spoke and the way he'd glanced around before arriving at that answer indicated otherwise. He was lying. Given the temperature outside, the house was far too warm for there to be a broken window.

She remembered how cold Fitzpatrick's had been last night.…

Glenn must've picked the lock on the back door—like the person who'd delivered that severed arm to her bed.

She blinked at him, stiffening. It was Glenn's uncle who'd installed her alarm system. Before she'd hired Glenn at the prison, he'd worked for that uncle. Who would know how to disarm a system better than the person who'd installed it?

Holy shit.…
He'd put in an alarm system for Lorraine, too. And at her recommendation, he'd done one for Russ, could easily know about the unlocked woodshed.

Glenn narrowed his eyes. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” she replied, but her mind was busy conjuring up the note Whitcomb had left her with that brownie the other night. She'd been so preoccupied when she'd read it—first when she'd been in such a hurry to copy the file she'd found in Fitzpatrick's office and then when she'd been on the phone with Garza's ex-wife—that the handwriting hadn't registered. She'd thrown it away before ever really studying it. Whitcomb was her
friend:
she'd never dreamed there'd be any reason to take a closer look at anything he gave her. But now she recalled the way he'd written her name. The
E
was distinctive. It was overlarge and slanted to the left—
like the one on that forged transfer order
.

“Don't lie to me!” He could tell that
something
had become apparent to her. Maybe it was Kush who'd met with Garza and offered him the drugs and pornography to shank Hugo. But it was Glenn who'd taken care of the transfer order, which meant he was behind the stabbing every bit as much as Kush and Petrowski.

“I'm not,” she said. “I'm just … wondering what you're doing here.”