Officer on Duty (Lock and Key Book 4) (24 page)

The waiting room looked much as she’d suspected: unremarkable, save for the rack on the wall that held pamphlets with titles like
Pregnancy: Are You Ready?

Indignation struck her like lightning, jolting her into righteous anger. When was a woman not ready for pregnancy? Every facet of female design was shaped for one miraculous purpose: giving life.

Any other use – any disruption of that process – was a perversion.

No one had asked her if she’d been ready at sixteen, and she certainly hadn’t asked herself. She’d suffered the morning sickness, the aches and pains, with gratitude. And when the time had come, she’d earned her status as a woman through childbirth.

And here was a place where people preyed upon the weaknesses and selfishness of women, convincing them it was acceptable to take the lives they’d been fortunate enough to conceive. It was enough to send heat prickling down her spine and turn her hands clammy.

“Can I help you?” A woman at the registration counter looked up through an open glass divider.

“I’m an RN, and I’m looking to pick up some part-time hours somewhere, around my full-time work schedule. Do you know if there are any positions open here?”

The woman shook her head. “No, sorry. We might be able to fit you in on a volunteer basis though, if that interests you.”

The suggestion was as sour as curdled milk, but Beverly tried her best to smile. “I’m afraid I’m looking for a paying position, but thank you.” Pausing, she tried to appear thoughtful. “Could I use your restroom before I go?”

“It’s down the hall – second door on the left.”

She bit her tongue to keep silent as she turned and opened the door that led into the heart of the clinic. It had been so easy, it was as if fate was paving a path for her.

The hall was empty. She took advantage of that fact, slipping into an empty exam room. There, she finally opened her bag.

Jeremy was shaving for his shift when his phone buzzed with a text.

He expected it to be from Lucia, or maybe Liam or his mother.

It wasn’t any of them, though. It was Blevins.

Within seconds of picking up his phone, he dropped his razor.

You listening to the radio? Explosion at the women’s clinic on Main. Bet it’s that crazy bitch.

Dread barreled through him, cold and liquid, freezing his veins.

Bomb?
His fingertips tingled as he punched out the worst four letter word he could imagine. Part of him hoped Blevins wasn’t being literal, that ‘explosion’ meant something else.

But he didn’t really believe it. That policeman’s sixth sense was churning in his gut, tearing him up.

More than one, they think.

He finished his shave in record time, and then came the call from his supervisor, asking him to get to work as soon as he could.

“Paige? Paige!” He burst out into the hall.

“What, dad?” She appeared outside her bedroom door, eyes wide.

“Get your shoes on. I’m taking you over to Grandma’s now.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I need to get to work.”

He didn’t have the heart or the balls to tell her that someone had just blown up a building minutes away.

There wasn’t time to talk, anyway. He raced to put his uniform on, then was out the door with Paige. Before leaving her at his mother’s house, he pulled his mother aside.

“Don’t turn on the news,” he said. “I don’t want Paige to see it.”

Her forehead creased. “What’s happened?”

“I have to go. Just keep the news off for now. Please.”

She nodded. “Be safe.”

Safety was the last thing on his mind as he tore out of his neighborhood, sirens loud and lights ablaze. He’d bet anything that Blevins was right – that the crazy bitch from the park was behind the bombing. And if that was the case, they were close to finally getting some answers, including – hopefully – info on Olivia’s whereabouts.

He was equal parts eager and nervous, knowing that whatever fate Olivia had been dealt, Lucia would live it herself, in mind and spirit. Whatever was discovered that day would either break her, or free her from the emotional prison she’d been living in.

* * * * *

The entire world seemed to have reached the women’s clinic before Jeremy. First responders teemed over the site he was warned might still contain undetonated bombs – dozens of members of the local police, fire and rescue squad.

EMTs carried someone out on a stretcher, even as fire fighters tended the smoking section of roof toward the back of the building. There were no visible flames, but the front window was blown out, its shattered pieces glittering in the afternoon sunlight and crunching under boots.

“How many fatalities?” he asked a Riley PD sergeant.

“Two,” she said. “Four more injured.”

His gut knotted even tighter, and he could’ve sworn he’d just swallowed a mouthful of that broken glass.

He shifted his gaze to an ambulance, and God help him, he saw a body bag. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the worst – it was far too easy to imagine Olivia being found, zipped up into one of those bags and taking a piece of Lucia’s heart to the grave.

No matter what he said or did, he knew damned well that if Olivia was dead, Lucia would never be the same. Not only would Olivia’s family lose their daughter, but Lucia would lose something too. She’d lose a piece of herself, and Jeremy might even lose her in the aftermath.

The thought was heart-wrenching for so many reasons. From a purely selfish standpoint, he was keenly aware that he’d lost the woman he’d planned to spend the rest of his life with once before. But even that hadn’t hurt like just the possibility of losing Lucia did. Now that he’d had a taste of what it’d be like to have a true partner, there would always be a void in his life without her.

Beyond any shadow of a doubt, he knew he’d never be content with loneliness again. When a Cypress PD detective stepped in front of him, he nearly grabbed the man’s arm.

“Do we know who did this?”

The detective’s eyes were dark, and his mouth was set in a grim line. “Yeah.” He jerked his head toward the building. “They’re loading pieces of her into a body bag right now.”

* * * * *

A clinic receptionist had described the woman who’d walked in with a large bag and tried to run out of the building before the second explosion. The first officers on the scene had seen her emerge as they’d turned onto the street, and she’d turned back upon seeing them arrive.

Fleeing back into the building in a moment of apparent panic, she’d run headlong into the second explosion, which had been set up in the lobby.

Those officers were the last to ever see her in one piece. Investigators found a wallet in her car, which contained an ID.

Apparently, Beverly Johannsson hadn’t counted on being caught.

She lived on a rural road out in the county, well outside of town. That fact blew Jeremy’s theory about her lacking a vehicle and being confined to town out of the water. But it made sense now – it looked like she’d been targeting patrons of the women’s health center.

There was no time to look into it now, but he’d bet a paycheck that Brianna and Kaylee had visited the clinic.

For the time being, his heart was in his throat as he raced to Beverly Johannsson’s rural address, sirens flashing. His lieutenant drove in front of him, and two more squad cars followed. They were all hoping the same thing: that they’d find some trace of Olivia there.

Jeremy gripped the wheel like his life depended on it, knuckles white, and pines flew by as they left Cypress behind. Beverly’s house was one of just a few on Sandy Knoll Rd, and it would’ve been generous to call it modest.

Its blue paint was peeling and the roof was visibly aged, the shingles faded. It wasn’t until he parked close to the house, at the edge of the gravel driveway, that he could see the boards over the window on one side of the house.

“Shit!” He threw his door open, adrenaline surging through his veins. In that moment, he felt more hope than he’d dared to allow himself since Olivia’s disappearance.

You didn’t board up a window to keep a dead person put.

They approached the door, and he unsheathed his baton. All it took to get inside was a quick strike to break a glass window panel, and then he reached through to undo the lock.

Shattered glass crunched under their boots as they entered the house, weapons drawn. As far as they knew, Beverly might have an accomplice. There hadn’t been any signs of one at the scenes of the previous crimes they suspected she’d committed, but there was obviously no such thing as being too careful when it came to her.

The kitchen was cramped, filled mostly by a table supporting an old PC. The computer would probably yield plenty of evidence later, but it was the least of their concerns at the moment. After sweeping the kitchen and living room, they moved down the hall.

It was clear which room held the most promise. The door on the left was secured with two heavy-duty locks, obviously installed long after the house’s original construction.

The door at the end of the hall was wide open, revealing a bathroom, and the door on the right presumably led to a bedroom. An officer went to clear each room, while Jeremy and his lieutenant focused on the locked door.

“Police!” his lieutenant called.

There was a split second of silence, and then a thumping sound came from beyond the door.

“Help!”

Jeremy exhaled, his throat constricting.

“Holy fucking shit.” The officer who’d gone to check out the bathroom was back.

“Help me! Help!”

The fourth officer who’d gone into the other bedroom was back, too. “Everything’s clear.”

They all stood there, nothing but a couple hardware store locks between them and whoever was on the other side of that door.

The voice was clearly female. But was it Olivia’s?

Whoever she was, she pounded on the door. “Let me out! Please!”

“Olivia Kilpatrick?” the lieutenant’s voice echoed through the hall.

“Yes!”

Jeremy’s chest seized up, squeezing everything inside as his hands burnt with the urge to tear that door down. Olivia was alive – holy fucking shit was right.

“We need a halligan,” Jeremy said.

The door was cheap, but they couldn’t just kick it down – not with a pregnant girl on the other side, in God knew what condition.

“Get one,” the lieutenant said to Salinger, one of the officers at his back.

Salinger took off.

“Listen Olivia,” Jeremy said, “we’re going to get you out of there. Stay back from the door.”

“Okay.” She was crying – he could hear it.

He was so fucking relieved she was alive that he almost could’ve cried, too.

The lieutenant radioed in for an ambulance.

Salinger returned with a halligan and a hammer.

“Stand back,” Jeremy said, taking the tools. He’d used them to open doors before.

He shoved the halligan’s point into the lock’s hasp, then hit the tool on the head with the heavy hammer.

It gave way, pieces of cheap metal flying.

The second one yielded too, and then he was twisting the doorknob – it was that easy.

The first thing that hit him was the room’s smell, a combination of vomit, urine and stale air. The second was the sight of a blonde teenager who looked just like the photos he’d seen of Olivia, only thinner and paler.

She sat on the edge of a twin bed and flinched when they entered, her shoulders beginning to shake. “Oh my god!”

There was a plastic ten gallon bucket in the far corner of the room – presumably, the smell of vomit and urine was coming from it. There was also an empty bowl on the floor, and a half-full glass of water.

Jeremy approached, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the knots in her long hair. There were no obvious wounds, and no blood on the front of her t-shirt or shorts.

“Olivia.” He knelt in front of her, trying to get a better look. “Are you hurt at all?”

For a few seconds, she wouldn’t answer – just sobbed harder.

He repeated the question.

In answer, she shifted on the mattress, turning her back halfway to him.

His stomach turned.

The back of her head was more red than blonde, dried blood matted in her hair.

Jesus. He bit his tongue before he could swear out loud. She had a nasty cut on the back of her head, that much was clear – it should’ve had stitches.