I'm Watching You (23 page)

And at her feet lay a severed hand.

Warwick's cell phone rang as Zack pulled the Impala into
Lindsay's neighborhood. "Warwick."

The cop's face tightened as he listened.
"Right.
We're minutes away."

Zack sensed the shift in Warwick's tone instantly. Warwick hung
up. "What happened?"

"You were right. Lindsay O'Neil just got another delivery. A
hand wrapped in her morning newspaper."

A protective urge exploded in Zack. "Is she all right?"

"Yeah, she's fine, but the patrolman says she looks like
she's about to freak."

Zack maneuvered the Impala down the side streets. As he rounded the final
corner to Lindsay's cul-de-sac, he saw the blue and white patrol cars and
their flashing blue lights. He parked the car and he and Warwick got out.

Yellow tape looped around bushes and a light post and blocked the
sidewalk leading to Lindsay's town house. A crowd had gathered.

Lindsay sat in the backseat of a patrol car. The door was open and her
head rested in her hands. Even from fifty feet away, she looked rattled.

He strode to Lindsay and crouched by the open door. He wanted to touch
her but was careful not to. He was mindful that Warwick's gaze was
trained on him. "Are you all right?"

Lindsay lifted her head. Her eyes were red as if she'd been
crying. "No, I'm
not
all right. I'm
completely freaked out."

"What happened?"

"I was on my way to a meeting with my boss. I spotted the paper
and picked it up. Immediately, it felt wrong. Then I saw the blood. I dropped
it, and then I saw the hand and screamed. The maintenance man heard me and
called the police."

"Did you notice anyone different standing around?" The
question came from Warwick, who now stood behind Zack.

"No. But I was running late and I was distracted. And then after I
saw the hand, I didn't see anything else."

"When's the last time you saw Burt Saunders?" Warwick
asked.

Her lips flattened. "You were there yesterday. He attacked me in
the parking lot at Mental Health Services."

"You haven't seen him since?" Warwick said.

She glared up at him. "No." She paled. "Is that his
hand?"

Zack rose and faced Warwick. "Did anyone call the EMTs? Lindsay should
be checked out."

Warwick frowned. "She looks fine to me."

Lindsay got out of the car. "I
am
fine.
Do you know whom that hand belongs to?"

"Do you have an alibi for last night?" Warwick said.

"I was out with a friend." She sighed. "Dr. Sam
Begley."

Zack frowned but said nothing.

"He's at Mercy Hospital?" Warwick said.

"Yes." She kept her gaze on Warwick. "He's the
one who called me about Gail Saunders. We went out for dinner."

"He's also the doctor who treated Jordan Turner and Gail
Saunders," Zack said.

"He didn't have anything to do with this," Lindsay
said.

Zack's brow lifted, surprised by her defense of the man.

She shook her head. "I know how cops think. Everyone is a
suspect."

Warwick studied her. "The doctor has a connection to both
victims."

"Dr. Begley is one of the good guys."

"How long have you known him?" Zack said.

"Seven months."

"Are you dating?" Zack challenged.

"That's my business."

Zack muttered an oath as the forensics van arrived. Warwick excused himself
and went over to the technician as he unpacked his equipment. Zack caught
Lindsay glancing toward her town house. "Is something wrong?"

"No."

"Is someone in the town house?
Maybe your Dr.
Begley?"

She met his gaze. "Sam is not in my town house."

Two hours ago, Zack had been inside her. In those moments they'd
been so close, the world had felt right, balanced. Now, she was doing her best
to keep space between them. They were back to being near strangers. "Is
there anything else I should know?"

She shook her head. "You have all my shelter records. I
don't have any more secrets to hide."

"You're protecting someone. I know it. Is it Dr.
Begley?" Zack challenged.

Her face flushed. "I told you, Sam has nothing to do with
this."

He lowered his voice so that only she could hear him.
"You're holding back on me."

"I've done nothing wrong."

"Warwick is running this investigation now. He's got a
reputation for being tenacious as hell. He won't give up until he has
answers. Tell me what you're hiding."

The slight shift in her gaze spoke volumes. "I'm not hiding
anything."

He'd felt nothing but frustration from the moment he'd laid
eyes on her two days ago. "Don't make this harder than it has to
be."

She almost smiled. "It was never easy for us, Zack. So why start now?"

Zack cursed and strode away.

Vega and Ricker pulled into the parking lot in front of the church. Vega
shut off the engine. His phone rang and it was Warwick who updated him on the
latest murder.

"Thanks," Vega said. He gave Ricker the rundown.

She shoved out a breath. "This gets nastier by the minute."

"Yeah."

Ricker checked her notes. "Pam Rogers has a brother and a half
brother. She and the accountant shared both parents. She and the minister share
only a mother. The accountant checked out, so now let's have a chat with
the minister."

They got out of the car and crossed the graveled lot toward the modern
church. "The church was built last year," Ricker said. "It
already boasts three hundred families on its Web site."

Vega shrugged. "Business is booming."

They entered the side door and followed the signs to the office. At this
early hour, the place was quiet. It felt deserted and kind of creepy as far as
Vega was concerned. And the new-carpet smell didn't sit well with him
either.

There was no one sitting at the reception area, so Ricker pushed past it
to the door to an inner office. She knocked on the door.

"Yes?" The voice was male, cultured, and sounded a little
annoyed.

Ricker pushed open the door. "Pastor Richards?"

The young minister looked up from his computer. He sat behind a large
modern desk. Behind him were rows of shelves filled with books. A large wooden
cross hung on the wall across from him. "Yes?"

"We're detectives with Henrico police. We have a few questions."

The minister was dressed in a golf shirt and light-colored pants. He
rose. "What is this about?"

"Lindsay O'Neil," Vega said.

Recognition flashed in the minister's eyes. "Come in and
have a seat."

They each took one of the seats in front of the desk.

Vega didn't feel like beating around the bush. "You know Ms.
O'Neil?"

"I do. Our church has kind of adopted her shelter in the last
couple of months."

Vega didn't like the guy. He was too polished. "Does she
know that your sister was a resident at Sanctuary?"

The minister's brows knitted. "No. I never told her that Pam
was my sister."

"Why not?"

He steepled his fingers.
"I've wanted to. In
fact, I almost did the other night. She was here speaking to a group of
parishioners about domestic violence and she used Pam's story as a case
study. It nearly broke my heart."

"Why didn't you tell her?"

"I like her. I know Pam's death hurt her. I didn't
want to cause Lindsay any more pain. The woman is practically a saint."

"How did you two hook up?" Ricker said.

"A couple of months ago, I was looking for an outreach project for
the church and I saw the article about her in
Inside
Richmond
. It felt like a sign from God, so I called Lindsay."

Ricker's eyes narrowed. "
Lindsay.
You've called her Lindsay twice."

"That a problem?" Richards asked.

"It's the way you say her name. You really like Ms.
O'Neil, don't you?"

He swallowed. "There's a lot to admire about her."

Vega picked up Ricker's vibe. "Feels like a little more than
admiration."

Richards stiffened as if he'd been caught doing something illicit.
"Does this have to do with the murder at the shelter? Because if it does,
I can tell you I had nothing to do with it."

Rickard leaned forward. "Where were you early Monday morning and
early this morning?"

"Here, working at the church on sermons and budgets."

"Any witnesses?"
Vega asked.

The minister shrugged. "No."

Wednesday, July 9, 10:10
A.M
.

Lindsay worried about Nicole as she numbly sat in
the back of the police car watching the forensics team do its job of collecting
evidence. Warwick interviewed the complex's worried-looking maintenance
man, Steve, while Zack talked to neighbors. No doubt they'd check
Steve's past and also look into Sam's background. Everyone she knew
was being pulled into this mess.

One killing had been sensational enough. Two equated a pattern--and
major headlines, a fact that was driven home to her when Kendall Shaw arrived
with her cameraman.

The last thing Nicole needed was for Lindsay to be the center of a major
news story.

Across the street, a black Mercedes pulled up and Dana Miller got out.
She was dressed in white Armani and carried a thick, efficiently designed
purse. She frowned as she surveyed the scene from behind large white-framed
sunglasses.

Lindsay rose and moved toward her boss. "Dana."

Dana offered a curt smile. Her expensive perfume swirled around her.
"I got your voice mail. When you said there was trouble I decided to see
what was happening for
myself
. What's going
on?"

The story was so outlandish, she felt foolish telling it. "Another
man was murdered. And another hand was sent to me."

Dana's rouge-painted lips flattened. She reached in her purse and
pulled out a long, slim cigarette case. "Is the murder victim connected
to the shelter?"

"Not to the shelter, but to me. I think the victim's name
is--was--Burt Saunders." She recapped the highlights of the
last few days.

Dana removed a cigarette from the case and lit it with a monogrammed
lighter. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "This is not good,
Lindsay."

Lindsay's worried expression reflected in Dana's sunglasses.
"I know."

Dana glanced toward the camera crews. "Do you have any idea
who's behind this?"

The question almost made her laugh. "If I knew I'd be
sharing it with the cops."

Dana studied the scene. Her frown deepened when Kendall Shaw started her
report. Neither could hear what the reporter was saying, but they got the gist
of it. "Lindsay, I've always believed you were Sanctuary's
best asset. You're a big part of our success. You have a passion for your
work that few possess."

Her boss rarely tossed out compliments. "But..."

"But right now, you are our biggest liability. The press is on
your doorstep because some crazy person is fixated on you. By tomorrow, you
won't be able to move without someone spotting you."

"Dana, I've worked under pressure before. I can handle the
media."

"That's yet to be proven."

An uneasy helplessness tightened Lindsay's belly. "Then let
me prove myself. I don't want to abandon Sanctuary."

Dana puffed on her cigarette. "I'd like to. I really would.
But none of us can afford the bad press."

Us.
Dana
didn't want the bad press.

"I've called in every favor to keep this story as quiet as
possible, but nothing is going to keep the media away from this."

"Dana, let's just give this another day or two. The police
might find the killer and then all the questions will be answered."

Dana dropped her half-smoked cigarette to the concrete sidewalk and
ground it with the tip of her high heel. "I wish it were that easy, but
it's not. I've no choice but to suspend you."

Lindsay couldn't swallow her outrage. "You're firing
me?"

Dana looked away. "Not firing, but suspending you until this mess
is cleared up. I don't want you associated with the shelter."

Lindsay curled her fingers into fists at her sides. "I
didn't do anything wrong."

Dana lifted her chin. "No one said you did. You're a
victim."

"I am not a
victim
." How many
times had the social workers said that Lindsay was a
victim?
A
victim
of a bad family.
A victim of domestic violence.
A victim of
fate.
"I can overcome this."

The force behind Lindsay's tone had Dana softening.
"I've no doubt that in time you will. You're smart and
bright. However, in the short term you are a liability to the shelter and me.
Don't take it personally, Lindsay. This is business."

Aware that Kendall was watching, Lindsay kept her voice low.
"Dana, how can I not take it
personally
?
You're canning me."

"I'm not firing you. This is a paid leave."

"Sanctuary is more than a business to me. It's more than a
paycheck."

Dana pulled her Blackberry out of her slim purse. Consciously or not,
Dana was shifting her mind to the day's next problem. "I've
got to go."

Lindsay once again clenched her fists at her sides. "That's
it? I'm out?"

Dana checked her watch. "Call my secretary. We'll set up a
meeting. Hopefully, this will all be behind us in a week or so." She
hurried toward her car and vanished behind tinted windows.

Lindsay had the sick feeling that
this
was
going to be with them for a long, long time.

She stood alone, her fists still clenched, her stomach churning.

Zack walked up to her as Dana drove off. "What was that all
about?"

Unshed tears tightened her throat. She wanted to bury her face in his
chest. "I've just been canned."

His hands slid to his waist below the black handle of his shoulder
holster. "She fired you?"

"I'm on 'paid leave.' But I know that look.
I'm done with Sanctuary." A wave of helplessness washed over her,
reminding her of the months following her mother's death. No matter what
she'd done then, she hadn't been able to regain control of her
life.

Zack frowned. "Your boss is an idiot."

She was grateful he didn't toss any pity her way. That would have
been her undoing. "She's very savvy. And very image conscious.
I'm now a liability."

"Like I said, an idiot."

Silver bracelets jangled as she ran her hands through her hair. "I
want this guy caught, Zack."

His eyes narrowed. "We all do."

"I'll do whatever I can to help."

He lifted a brow. "That's a change."

"This guy, the Guardian, is tearing at my life. I won't be
able to help anyone if he keeps at it. I want him stopped. I want my life
back."

"The detective going through your shelter records would appreciate
your help. She was having trouble deciphering your handwriting in some of the
files."

She was eager to get started. "I can go by headquarters
now."

"First, I want you to see something."

The delay frustrated Lindsay and it showed in her voice.
"What?"

Zack disregarded the snap in her tone. "The Guardian left another
note."

"Where?"

"It was wrapped in the newspaper."

"What does it say?"

"I'll let Warwick tell you." Tension laced the words
but she was too worried to question them.

Zack guided Lindsay over to the edge of the yellow tape roping off the
front of her town house. She'd been shut out of Sanctuary and wondered
now if she would be barred from her home.

Warwick approached her. "Ms. O'Neil."

Lindsay braced.
"Detective.
What does the
note say?"

Warwick glanced at his notebook.
"'One
less demon to battle, Lindsay.
P.S. Be careful
of cars when you jog.
The Guardian.'"

Despite the heat, a chill shot down her back. "He's watching
me."

"When's the last time you went running?" Warwick said.

"This morning.
I ran near Bandy Field. I was
nearly hit by a van when I crossed Three Chopt." Anger rose up in her.
"The bastard is watching me."

Zack's jaw tightened. "Did you see anyone this
morning?"

She couldn't look at him as the memories of this morning returned.
"No. But I wasn't running alone. I was with my friend Tasha
Winters. She works with the canine unit. I can call her. She might have seen
something."

Warwick shook his head. "I'll take care of it. What time
were you running?"

"Between six and seven."

"Winters
was
with you the whole
way?" Warwick said.

Color flooded her cheeks. "No. She had to get to work. I ran
longer."

Zack straightened at the simple lie that masked their complicated
meeting. "You might as well hear this from me, Warwick. Lindsay was at my
house this morning."

Warwick lifted a brow.
"Your house?"

Lindsay wanted to melt into the ground. "That has nothing to do
with
this
."

Zack held up his hand to silence her. "When Lindsay and I were
together, she admired a house near her jogging route. I recently bought the
house. She asked for a tour."

Warwick frowned. "How long was she at your house?"

Zack didn't flinch.
"About a half
hour."

A half hour?
Is that all it had been?

"What did you two talk about?" Warwick said.

"Personal things," Lindsay interjected.

"Nothing related to the murders," Zack said.

Warwick didn't look pleased.
"All
right."

"Lindsay privately offered to go through her case files with
Ricker and see if any suspects come to mind."

Warwick nodded.
"All right."

"Hey, Lindsay, what was that in the newspaper? It looked like a severed
hand." The voice belonged to Kendall Shaw. She stood at the edge of the
yellow tape with her cameraman. "Your friend sending you tokens of his
affection?" Lindsay ignored the question and turned from the camera. Zack
and Warwick refused to comment.

Kendall was patient as she watched the maintenance man move away from
the cops. The guy looked pale and upset. He'd seen something. She turned
to Mike. "Stay put. I want to talk to the maintenance man."

"Whatever."

Kendall cut through the growing crowd of curiosity seekers and made her
way up to the guy. She thought about tossing him one of her smiles but decided
she needed to be more subtle with this guy. She'd play it concerned.
"Hey, are you all right?"

"Not by a long shot." With a shaky hand, the guy reached
into his breast pocket and pulled out a pack of Camels. He pulled one out and
lit the tip. Smoke billowed around his lean face as he puffed.

"What's got you so spooked?"

His eyes narrowed as he stared at her through the haze.
"You're a reporter."

She smiled.
"Yeah."

"You're with Channel Ten?"

"I am." She moved closer to him and gently laid her hand on
his shoulder. "Can I get you anything?"

"A six-pack of beer?"

She lifted a brow. "It can be arranged."

He shook his head as he took anther drag. "God knows I deserve a
drink. But the property management firm will fire my ass if I drink on the
job."

She held out her hand. "I'm Kendall Shaw."

He took her hand and held it gently. "I know. And I'm Steve
Hess."

"Nice to meet you, Steve."

He moistened his lips. "I watch you on TV a lot. You're
good."

"Thanks."

"Every time I see you, I wonder why you're not in a bigger
city."

She grinned.
"From your lips to God's
ears."

He chuckled, and with a hand that still shook a little, he took another
drag off his cigarette.

"You see my piece last night?"

"Naw.
I ended up working overtime in a flooded unit.
Fucking pipes burst."

If he was a Lindsay devotee it was better he hadn't seen the
piece. It had stirred quite a buzz. And she'd gotten just as many
negative e-mails as positive. "I hear you're the one who called the
police for Lindsay."

"I was in my truck across the street when I heard her scream. She
was so freaked out."

Kendall decided to play a hunch. "It was bad for you too,
wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"I still think you could use a drink. After what you saw, I
can't imagine any boss would deny you a stiff one. They don't pay
you enough to see what you saw."

A sigh shuddered through him. "Jesus, it was a mess."

He was a volcano ready to erupt. He just needed a nudge and someone to
listen.