I'm Watching You (24 page)

"I saw the body at the park."

Steve looked at her, his eyes alit as if he'd found someone who
understood. "Was he missing a hand?"

That caught her up short. "Yes," she lied.

"Jesus, whoever this nutcase is, he's sending the hands of
his victims to Lindsay. She said he sent her a hand on Monday as well."

Kendall hid her smile. "Does she know who's doing
this?"

"She doesn't have a clue. But it's starting to mess
with her."

She leaned forward, and in a low tone said, "I can't imagine
what she's going through."

San Francisco, Wednesday, July 9,
10:00
A.M
. PST

Detectives Dominic Rio and Monica Perry arrived
at the burned-out New Age bookstore, which was still hissing with charred timbers.
Lights on three fire trucks flashed as firemen sprayed a stream of water on the
coals. A collection of people stood behind the barriers looking stunned and
frightened.

Rio put the car in park and set the emergency brake. Perry grabbed her
notebook. Perry was in her early thirties, divorced, and originally from
Minnesota. She was brutally efficient, detail oriented, and
cool
to most. Rio was a
bachelor,
a Texan by birth, dark
skinned, and had hair so black it looked blue in sharp sunlight. At first glance,
he seemed outgoing and laid-back but he was just as detached as Perry.

The two had worked together for two years. They'd fallen into an
easy relationship, each able to anticipate the other's thoughts. Other
cops in the division jokingly called them an old married couple, though romance
had never sparked between the two.

A lazy mist had settled over the city, sending temps into the sixties.
Rio got out of the car and pulled off his sunglasses. He paused at the front of
the car and waited for Perry. She wasn't fond of the chivalry but had
long ago accepted that it came with his Southern roots.

They walked side by side up to Fire Battalion Chief Stanley. Stanley had
thick silver hair and mustache and a booming voice that could be heard over any
siren.

Rio stuck out his hand. "Stanley."

Stanley shook both their hands. "Thanks for coming."

"You have a body?" Perry asked.

Soot deepened the lines on Stanley's face, making his grim face
sterner than usual.
"Yeah.
She wasn't
killed by the fire. She was murdered."

Rio hooked his thumb in his belt loop. "You know this how?"

"The fire was pretty hot and would've completely obliterated
the body if a metal shelf hadn't fallen on it. It acted as a shield
against the flames." He released a breath. "Her body was in the
back, out of sight of the street."

Perry scratched down a few notes. "Is it safe for us to take a
look?"

"Yeah, but I've got helmets for you both, just to play it
safe." Stanley handed each a helmet and glanced at Perry's
steel-tipped boots and Rio's loafers. "Rio, your shoes are pretty
but not practical. Take a page from your partner's book and wear a more
substantial shoe."

Rio raised an eyebrow as he stared at her practical, but ugly boots.
"Naw."

Perry smiled crookedly at her partner. "Rio's got a thing
about his image.
Likes to look good."

Rio shrugged. "And you're a Girl Scout."

They made their way into the charred building. The smell of smoke
blended with the scent of Perry's perfume. Carefully, the trio picked
their way through the rubble of incinerated books and collapsed shelves and
beams toward the back of the shop.

Perry's stomach tumbled when she saw the body. The dead woman lay
on her back, her hands stretched out in a T-shape. The heat of the flames had
all but incinerated or melted the bottom half of her body. But her torso and
head had remained untouched by the flames. "Jesus."

The victim's face had been systematically cut with diamond-shaped
patterns. By the looks of it, the killer had used a scalpel.

Stanley's jaw tightened. "Like I said, that metal shelf
shielded her face from the worst of the blaze; otherwise, there wouldn't
be anything left of her."

Perry leaned forward and studied the position of the shoulders.
"This some kind of ritual killing?"

Rio squatted down, his long tanned hands draped over his knees.
"The guy who did this enjoyed himself."

Perry checked the name of the store owner in her notes. "If this
is the store owner, then her name is Claire Carmichael. She's clean, just
a speeding ticket in ninety-nine."

Rio rubbed his chin. "Let's have a look at the crowd. Maybe
someone saw something. Stanley, the forensics van should be here any
minute."

Stanley spoke matter-of-factly. "What the fire didn't
destroy, we did when we put it out."

Rio scowled. "Something our killer was banking on."

Richmond, Virginia, 11:00
A.M
. EST

Nicole couldn't take it any longer. She had stayed inside, out of
sight of the police, because Lindsay had asked her to. Lindsay was trying to
protect her. But Nicole had had enough of running scared.
And
hiding.

Richard
be
damned.

She'd not cower anymore.
Especially now that
Lindsay needed her.

Nerves jumping, she opened the back patio door, cut through the backyard
garden, and pushed open the privacy fence door. She moved around the side of
the town house to the edge of the yellow tape. Reporters started to swarm
toward Lindsay.

Two men already stood beside Lindsay. The first had his hand raised to
block a cameraman's lens. He was dark.
Brooding.
Zack, she guessed. Lindsay had only spoken about him a little.

The second man was just as tall as Zack but he had hard eyes, a nose
that looked as if it had been broken once. This man caught sight of Nicole
almost immediately. His gaze bore into her with an intensity that made her want
to run.

Nicole held her ground as he excused himself and moved toward her. He
moved like an athlete, sleek and graceful, yet powerful. He stopped just feet
from her. "Where did you come from?"

The suspicion in his raspy voice had her straightening. "I'm
Nicole. I'm Lindsay's roommate."

Warwick frowned. "She never said anything about a roommate."

"She's trying to protect me."

"From whom?"

"My husband."

Warwick signaled for Zack and Lindsay to come over. When Lindsay saw
Nicole, she immediately glanced behind her to make sure the camera crews
weren't filming. "Zack, can we have this conversation
inside?"

Zack nodded toward the door. "Sure."

The four stepped into Lindsay's town house.

Lindsay closed the door. "Nicole, you should have stayed
inside."

Nicole shook her head, aware of Warwick's gaze. "No more
hiding, Lindsay."

"I could have handled this."

"Thanks, but I don't want you to protect me anymore."

Zack pulled a piece of gum from his coat pocket and popped it into his
mouth. "Mind introducing us, Lindsay?"

Lindsay glared at him and then at Nicole. "I wanted to tell
you."

Zack folded his arms over his chest. "I'm all ears
now."

"This is Nicole Piper," Lindsay said.

Nicole felt awkward but held her ground. "I've been living
with Lindsay. She's been helping me hide from my husband. He could be
quite violent."

"Who is your husband?" Zack said.

She hated thinking about him, let alone saying his name. "Richard
Braxton. He's a businessman based in San Francisco."

"Did you ever file charges against him?" Warwick asked.

A sad smile lifted the corner of her mouth. "No. I was too afraid
of him. Two and a half months ago, while he was on a business trip, I fled with
the clothes on my back and two hundred dollars cash. If not for Lindsay, I
don't know what I would've done."

"How do you know Lindsay?" Doubt clouded Zack's eyes.

Lindsay cleared her throat. "We went to college together at
USC."

"Were you here on the night Harold Turner died?" Zack asked.

"Yes," Nicole said.

"Can you verify Lindsay was here?" Warwick said.

Nicole glanced at Lindsay. "I wish that I could. But we both slept
very hard that night, as if we were drugged."

"Why do you say drugged?" Warwick said.

"Every night since I left my husband, I've had nightmares. I
didn't dream at all that night."

"Would you be willing to submit to a drug test?" Zack asked.

"Certainly."

"Do you think there'd be any traces left in our
systems?" Lindsay said. "It's been forty-eight hours."

Nicole shrugged. "We can try."

Warwick looked around the apartment. "Have you noticed anyone
strange around here lately?"

"No. But I started working at a photography studio last week, so
I've stayed busy."

"A job?
A job would expose you to your husband,"
Warwick said. "Your Social Security number can be traced."

Lindsay cleared her throat. "She's changed her name. Her
real name is Christina Braxton. And I encouraged the name change and a new hair
color and cut. I also got her a new Social Security number."

"How?"
Zack challenged.

Lindsay wasn't apologetic. "I have contacts."

Zack muttered an oath. "There are legal channels she
could've gone through. Social Security can change numbers in
domestic-abuse cases."

"I was afraid Richard would find out," Nicole said.

Zack kept his gaze on Lindsay. "Have you gotten new IDs for others
before?"

"Sometimes the only solution is to vanish and then create a new
identity."

Zack stared at her long and hard. "That's what you did after
your mother died."

Lindsay swallowed. "Yes. Look, if you need to file charges against
me for buying the ID of a dead person, go ahead. But Nicole had nothing to do
with it."

Nicole shook her head. "I knew what I was doing, Lindsay. I take
full responsibility." Nicole felt sick. "What do we do now?"

"First things first," Warwick said. "Let's get
those blood tests."

"And after that, where does Nicole go?" Lindsay said.
"She can't stay here. It's only a matter of time before the
press will spot her and word will get back to her husband."

"I know a place," Zack said.

"Where?"
Lindsay said.

"My folks' house."

Lindsay could see that Sam was upset as he drew her blood. Outside the
curtained examination room Zack stood like a modern-day centurion.
"I've never seen you frown so much."

Sam took the vial of blood and laid it on the metal tray by the exam
table. "Lindsay, the cops want me to do a full toxicology screen. What
happened?"

The concern in his eyes touched her heart. "They think that
whoever killed Harold on early Monday morning might also have drugged Nicole
and me. My sleeping in put me about three hours behind; otherwise I'd
have been at the shelter at the same time the murderer was."

His jaw tightened. "I don't like this. I'm worried
about you."

"Hey, I'm okay. I'm always okay."

He shook his head. "Don't kid yourself. I saw the news
reports. All this has to have churned up stuff from your past."

"I'll muscle through it, just like always." That was a
lie. She honestly didn't know how she was going to see her way clear of
this mess. "Look, I've got to go. I need to get Nicole
settled."

"Right."

"Make sure you also run a pregnancy test on her." In two
weeks Lindsay could very well be doing the same for herself.

"Sure."

Lindsay kissed him on the lips. Unexpectedly, he wrapped his arm around
her waist and pulled her close. The move was possessive, as if he was staking a
claim. She let him hold her until she ended the kiss.

"See you soon." She pushed back the curtain.

Zack shot Sam a hard glance and then escorted her to the elevators,
where Warwick and Nicole waited. Next to the cop, her friend looked so pale and
fragile. And if not for Nicole, she'd never had agreed to go to the
Kiers' house.

As Zack began the drive to Hanover, Lindsay stared out the backseat
window, knowing she was about to face her in-laws after nearly a year of
silence. She felt as if she were venturing into a lion's den.

Zack slowed the car and pulled into a gravel driveway. The Kiers'
farm was located off a rural road in Hanover County about thirty minutes north
of the city. Dust kicked up around the car and gravel popped under the tires as
Zack continued down the driveway. At the end stood an old white farmhouse that
her in-laws had purchased about ten years ago and were still renovating. Audrey
had often joked that she'd be in her nineties before her husband would be
finished working on all his projects.

Zack parked the car in front of the wide front porch and got out. He
opened the door for Lindsay. Under better circumstances, she'd have
kidded him about such chivalry. Today she wasn't interested in any sort
of humor.