Scream for Me (23 page)

“You didn’t mean anything,” he finished coldly. “But you took everything. Now, I get to take your everything.”

“Please,” she sobbed. “Please don’t kill me.”

He laughed. “When the pain gets so bad, you scream that for me, sugar.”

Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 11:30 p.m.

Daniel pulled into the bungalow’s driveway. The car had been silent since they’d left Atlanta. In the back Meredith and Hope slept soundly. Beside him, Alex had been awake and deep in troubled thought. Several times he’d almost asked what was wrong, but the question was ludicrous. What wasn’t wrong? Alex’s life had fallen apart once. It was doing so again.
And I’m about to make it a million times worse for her.

Because the silence had given him time to finally think, to start pulling pieces together, and a single phrase wouldn’t leave him alone. It had been pushed to the back of his mind with the appearance of Garth Davis and Hope’s breakthrough. The phrase had come from Shelia at the pizza parlor, bitterly delivered through her red lips.

Nobody cared about the regular girls
. Cared. Sheila the waitress had used the present tense when talking about “the rich girls” and Bailey.
Everybody’s upset about the rich girls. Nobody cares about Bailey.

But nobody
cared
about the regular girls. He was starting to understand. When he’d first looked at Sheila’s face, he’d seen something he’d recognized. First he thought he’d known her from school. But that’s not where he’d seen her before.

He killed the engine and the silence became complete, except for the rhythmic breathing from the backseat. Alex’s gaze moved to the unmarked police car parked on her curb, her profile silvered from the pale light of the moon. Delicate, was the way he had described her in his mind yesterday morning. She looked fragile now. But he knew she was neither. Alex Fallon might be stronger than any of them. He hoped she was strong enough to endure what he knew he could keep secret no longer.

He’d wait until Meredith and Hope slept. Then he’d tell her and accept whatever her reaction would be. Whatever penance he’d have to do. But she had a right to know.

“Your boss moved quickly,” she murmured, referring to the unmarked car.

“It’s either this or a safe house. Do you want a safe house, Alex?”

She looked to the backseat. “For them, maybe, but not for me. If I hide, I can’t look for Bailey, and I think I’m getting close.” She dropped her eyes to her palms. “Or, at least, somebody doesn’t want me looking. Which, unless I’ve watched too much television, means I’m making somebody nervous.”

She was speaking in her cool voice. She was afraid. But he couldn’t lie to her. “I think that’s a fair assumption. Alex . . .” He let out a quiet breath. “Let’s go inside. There are things you need to know.”

“Like what?”

“Let’s go inside.”

She grabbed his arm, then flinched and pulled her scraped palm away. “Tell me.”

Her eyes had widened and in them he saw her fear. He shouldn’t have said anything until they were inside and alone. But he had, so he’d tell her what he could now, just to get her in the house. “Beardsley is missing.”

Her mouth fell open. “I just saw him yesterday.” Pained understanding filled her eyes. “Somebody’s been watching me since then.”

“I think that’s a fair assumption, too.”

She pursed her lips. “You need to know something, too. While Dr. McCrady was in with Hope, I called Bailey’s best friend from the salon. Her name is Sissy. I’d been trying to call off and on all day, but I never got through. I just got her answering machine. So I used one of the phones there at your office. She picked up right away.”

“You think she was avoiding your phone number?”

“I know she was. When I told her who I was, she got defensive. I asked her if I could come talk to her about Bailey and she said she didn’t really know Bailey all that well. That I should talk to one of the other girls at the salon.”

“But the owner said she was Bailey’s best friend?”

“He said Bailey stayed over at her house every Saturday night. And the social worker said Sissy was the one to come to Bailey’s house on Friday.”

“Somebody got to her then,” Daniel said.

“Sissy has a daughter, old enough to babysit Hope when Bailey worked on Saturdays.” Alex bit her lower lip. “If somebody threatened Sissy, and Beardsley’s missing, maybe Sister Anne and Desmond are in danger, too.”

Daniel reached over and pressed his thumb to her lip, smoothing away the marks her teeth had left behind. “I’ll have a unit go by the shelter and Desmond’s house.” He pulled his hand away. He’d wanted to hold her all day. The quiet had just intensified his need. “Let’s get Hope into bed. It’s late.”

Alex had the back door open and was reaching for Hope, but Daniel gently nudged her aside. “You unlock the front door. I’ll carry her in.” He shook Meredith’s shoulder and she jerked awake, blinking. He unlocked the child seat and lifted Hope into his arms. She cuddled against his shoulder, too exhausted to be afraid.

He followed Alex into the bungalow, conscious of the agents Chase had assigned to watch. He’d known and trusted Hatton and Koenig for years. He gave them a nod as he passed. He’d come back out and talk to them in a few minutes.

Riley sat up when they came in, immediately padding over to follow them.

Alex led him to the bedroom on the left. Gently he laid Hope on the bed and slipped off her shoes. “Do you want to change her into her pajamas?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “It won’t hurt her to sleep in her clothes,” she whispered back.

Daniel pulled the blanket to cover Hope, then brushed a golden curl from her face, flushed with sleep. He swallowed. The pizza sauce had stained her skin and hair. It still looked like blood. Carefully, he brushed the curl back, hiding the stain.

He already had too many disturbing images in his mind. He didn’t need to add a bloody four-year-old to the mix.

“I sleep in here, too,” Alex whispered, standing by the other side of the bed. Daniel looked at the crisp white sheets, then back at Alex, who was giving him a pointed stare.

Daniel frowned. “You’re going to sleep
now
?” he asked.

“I guess not. Come on.” She turned at the door and her brows lifted. “Oh, look.”

Riley had climbed up onto a suitcase and was struggling to pull himself onto the chair that sat next to Hope’s side of the bed. “Riley,” Daniel whispered. “Get down.”

But Alex gave Riley the needed boost to the chair. From there the hound scrabbled to the bed, padded to Hope’s side, and flopped on his stomach with one of his big sighs.

“Riley, get out of that bed,” Daniel whispered, but Alex shook her head.

“Leave him. If she wakes up with bad dreams, at least she won’t be alone.”

Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 11:30 p.m.

He tugged at his tie and settled into the seat, but a big man could only get so comfortable keeping watch from his car. His sister Kate was home from work now, her sensible Volvo parked safely in her garage. He could see her moving around inside her house, window to window, feeding her cat, hanging up her coat.

He planned to sit in front of her house every single night until this was over. He’d followed her from town, careful to stay far enough back so that she didn’t see him. If she did see him, he’d admit to being worried about her safety. But there was no way he could tell her she was a target. If he did, she’d want to know how he knew.

She couldn’t know. No one could know. And no one
would
know if he just kept his head down and his mouth shut. Both women had been killed between 8:00 p.m. and 2:00 a.m. Both women had been taken from their cars, so he’d just stick to Kate like glue while she drove home from work and watch over her during the night. During the day she was safe enough, he thought, surrounded by people at her job.

Thoughts of the yearbook photos intruded into his mind. Ten pictures, the two already X-ed out. He’d been trying to push them away all night. It was a clear warning. Seven other women besides Kate had been on that paper. Seven other women were targets. He could have turned that photocopy over to Vartanian, could have saved those other seven. But he thought of his sister Kate. His wife. His children. And knew given the opportunity, he’d burn the paper again. They could never know.

If he’d given the paper to Vartanian, Daniel would have wondered why he’d been the recipient of the warning. Even if he’d sent it anonymously, Daniel would have seen the circle around Kate’s picture and wondered why his sister had been singled out.

You could have cut Kate’s picture away and sent the rest. You could have protected those other seven women. You should have protected them.

And chance that Vartanian’s GBI lab would find his fingerprints on the rest of the paper after he’d cut it apart? No, it was too big a chance. Besides, Vartanian would have started to dig, and God only knew what he’d unearth.

If one of those other seven women dies, their blood will be on your hands.

Then so be it. He had his own family to protect. If the families of the other women who’d gone to school with Janet and Claudia were smart, they’d be protecting their women, too.
But they don’t know what you know.

He’d done things in his life. Horrible, deviant things. But he’d never had anyone’s blood on his hands before.
Yes, you have.
Alicia Tremaine. Alicia’s face whipped into his mind, and the memory of that night thirteen years ago.

But we didn’t kill her.
But they had raped her. All of them had. All except Simon. He’d just taken the pictures. Simon had always been a sick bastard that way.

And you weren’t? You raped that girl, and how many others?

He closed his eyes. He’d raped Alicia Tremaine and fourteen others. They all had. Except for Simon. He’d just taken the pictures.

And where were the pictures?

The thought had haunted him for thirteen years. The pictures had been locked away, insurance that none of them would tell what they’d all done. Damn stupid kids that they’d been. Nothing he could ever do would erase what they’d done.
What I did.

Every hideous thing he’d done. Recorded in those pictures. When Simon had died the first time they’d all been relieved and terrified at the same time that the pictures would surface, but they never had and the years had passed. Uneasily.

They’d never spoken of the pictures again, or the club, or the things they’d done. Not until DJ became a drunk. And disappeared.

Just like Rhett had disappeared tonight. He knew Rhett was dead. Rhett had been ready to talk and he’d been disposed of. Just like DJ.

I, on the other hand, am smart enough to keep my mouth shut and my head down until this is all over.
Back then, the pictures had ensured their silence. If one went down, they’d all go down. But now, all these years later . . . They were no longer stupid kids. They were grown men with respectable jobs. And families to protect.

But now, all these years later . . . somebody was killing their women. Women who thirteen years ago had been innocent little girls.
The girls you raped were innocent girls, too. Innocent. Innocent. Innocent.

“I know.” He spat the words aloud, then whispered, “God, don’t you think I know?”

Now, all these years later, somebody else knew. They knew about the key, so they knew about the club and they must know about Simon’s pictures, too. It wasn’t one of them, not one of the four that remained. No, not four. He thought about Rhett Porter. Rhett was dead.
The three that remained.
None of them would do this.

That this whole nightmare began one week after Simon Vartanian’s real death could not be a coincidence. Could Daniel have found Simon’s pictures?

No. Not a chance.
If Daniel Vartanian had the pictures, he’d be investigating.

He
is
investigating, you idiot.

No, he’s investigating the murders of Janet and Claudia
.

So Daniel didn’t know. That meant somebody else did. Somebody who wanted money. Somebody who’d killed two women to show them he meant business. Somebody who’d threatened to kill more if they didn’t listen.

So he’d listened. He’d followed the instructions that had come with the photocopy of the yearbook photos. He’d had a hundred thousand dollars transferred to an offshore account. There would be another demand for more money, he thought. And he’d continue to pay whatever he needed to ensure his secret stayed exactly that.
Secret.

Chapter Twelve

Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 11:55 p.m.

M
eredith’s head was in the refrigerator when Alex closed the bedroom door on Hope and Riley. “I am so hungry,” Meredith complained. “I only ate two bites of that pizza.”

“I don’t think any of us got any more than that,” Daniel said, rubbing the flat of his hand against his equally flat stomach. “Thanks for reminding me,” he added wryly.

Alex looked away from Daniel Vartanian’s very lean torso, startled at the sudden desire that had warmed her inside out. After everything that had happened, she did not need to be thinking about rubbing Daniel’s flat stomach. Or anyplace else.

Meredith put a jar of mayonnaise and some shaved ham on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. She met Alex’s eyes, her lips twitching into a knowing smirk. Alex glared at her, daring her to say a word.

Meredith cleared her throat. “Daniel, can I make you a sandwich?”

Daniel nodded. “Please.” He leaned against the counter, both forearms flat on the granite and his shoulders sagged. When he sighed, Meredith snickered.

“You look like your dog when you do that,” she said, heaping ham on slices of bread.

Daniel chuckled wearily. “They say people resemble their dogs. I hope that’s the only way I resemble Riley. He’s an ugly mug.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think he’s cute,” Meredith said, and gave Alex another smirk as she pushed Daniel’s plate across the countertop. “Don’t you, Alex?”

Alex rolled her eyes, too tired to be amused. “Just eat, Mer.” She walked to the window and pulled the curtains back to look at the unmarked car on her curb. “Should we take them coffee or something?”

“They’d appreciate it, I’m sure,” Daniel said. “If you’ll make it, I’ll take it out to them. I don’t want you all going outside unless you absolutely have to.”

Meredith took her plate to the table. She pushed the Play-Doh- covered Princess Fiona aside and sat down with a sigh of her own. “Are we under house arrest, Daniel?”

“You know you’re not. But we’d be remiss if we didn’t make sure you were safe.”

Alex busied herself making the officers’ coffee. “It’s either that or a safe house.”

Meredith frowned. “I think you and Hope should go.”

Alex glanced up from scooping the coffee. “I was thinking
you
and Hope should go.”

“Of course you were,” Meredith said. “Dammit, Alex, you’ve got the thickest skull. Nobody’s tried to kill
me
. You’re the one in the crosshairs.”

“So far,” Alex said. “The reverend is missing, Mer. And I think somebody’s threatened Bailey’s friend. You’re
my
friend. Don’t think they haven’t noticed you.”

Meredith opened her mouth, then closed it, pursing her lips. “Shit.”

“Eloquently put,” Daniel said. “Think on it tonight. You can decide on the safe house tomorrow if you want. The car outside isn’t going anywhere for at least a day.” He rubbed his forehead. “Do you ladies have any aspirin?”

Alex reached across the counter and lifted his chin. She could see the ache in his eyes. “Where does it hurt?”

“My head,” he said petulantly.

She smiled. “Lean forward.” Eyes narrowed suspiciously, he did. “And close your eyes,” she murmured, and after a last glance, he complied. She pressed her fingertips to his temples until his eyes blinked open.

“That’s better,” he said, surprised.

“Good. I took some classes in acupressure hoping it would work on me, but I’ve never been able to make my own headaches go away.”

He walked around the counter and slid his hand up under her hair. “Still hurts here?”

She nodded and let her head drop forward while his thumb unerringly found the right place on her neck. A shiver ran down her spine. “Yeah, right there.” But the words came out husky and suddenly there wasn’t quite enough air.

The room grew quiet as his hands moved to her shoulders, kneading through the thick tweed of her jacket. All Alex could hear was the dripping of the coffeepot and the sound of her own pulse thrumming in her head.

Meredith cleared her throat. “I think I’ll go to sleep now,” she said.

Meredith’s door closed, leaving them alone. Another shiver shook Alex as he slipped her jacket from her shoulders, but the warmth of his hands chased the chill away.

“Umm.” It was a throaty little moan as she leaned on her forearms as he had done.

“Don’t go to sleep,” he murmured, and she let out a breath.

“No chance of that.”

He turned her so that she looked up at him. His eyes seemed bluer, more intense, and set off little tingles through her body. The pulse that thrummed in her head now beat a steady rhythm between her legs, making her want to press against him.

Then the thumb that had worked its magic on her neck lightly brushed her lip and she wondered what it would feel like . . . elsewhere. And she wondered how a woman went about asking for such a thing.

Then she stopped thinking when his lips covered hers. Her arms wound around his neck and she gave herself up to the riot of sensation she hadn’t felt since . . . since the last time he’d kissed her. His mouth was soft and hard all at once and his hands . . . They pressed hard into her back, then slid down and around until they bracketed her ribs. Until his thumbs rested beneath her breasts and his fingers dug into her sides.

Touch me. Please
. But the words didn’t come and when he looked into her eyes she hoped he’d understand. His thumbs swept up, over her nipples, and her eyes slid shut. “Yes,” she heard herself whisper. “Right there.”

“What do you want, Alex?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

He asked the question even as he toyed with her breasts, caressing, teasing, until her knees went weak. “I . . .”

“I want you,” he murmured against her mouth. “I’m giving you fair warning. If this isn’t what you want . . .”

She was trembling. “I . . .”

She felt him smile against her lips. “Then just nod,” he whispered, so she did, then sucked in a breath when he pushed her against the cabinet, rocking against her.

“Oh, yes. Right there,” she said, then stopped talking when he took her mouth in the hardest, hottest kiss yet. His hands slid to her hips, lifting her higher, fitting her better . . .

Then the pounding at the front door shattered it all. “Vartanian!”

Daniel lurched back, rubbing one hand over his face, his eyes instantly focused. His right hand went to the gun he had holstered at his hip. “Stay here,” he ordered, then opened the door so that she was shielded from view. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Radio call for all local units,” said a male voice, and Alex moved until she could see around the door. It was one of the officers from the car outside. “Shots fired at 256 Main Street. A pizza parlor. There’s an officer down and two other victims. One of the victims is the waitress who was closing the place.”

“Sheila,” Alex said, her heart sinking.

Daniel’s jaw clenched. “I’ll go, you come in. Koenig’s still in the car?”

“Yeah.” The officer walked in and gave Alex a nod. “Ma’am. I’m Agent Hatton.”

“You can trust Agent Hatton, Alex,” Daniel said. “I’ve got to go.”

Dutton, Wednesday, January 31, 12:15 a.m.

Holy hell.
The silence was surreal as Daniel edged through the door of Presto’s Pizza where he’d brought Alex and Hope just hours before. He gripped his Sig, every sense on alert, but immediately saw he was too late.

Draped over the counter by the open cash register was a black man. His arms lay limply over the edge, both hands open, and on the floor lay a .38. Blood had pooled on the counter and was dripping down the side and Daniel couldn’t help but think of Hope’s little face, covered in pizza sauce.

Swallowing his shudder, he saw Sheila sitting on the floor in the corner by the jukebox. Her legs were spread wide, her eyes wide and lifeless, her red lipstick garishly bright against her waxy face. She still held a gun clasped in both hands, limp now in her lap. Her uniform was shiny as blood still oozed from the holes in her abdomen and chest. The wall behind her was covered in blood. A .38 left one hell of an exit wound.

From the corner of his eye Daniel detected a movement and lifted his Sig, ready to fire. “Police. Stand, with your hands where I can see them.” A man rose from behind an overturned table and Daniel lowered his weapon in stunned recognition. “Randy?”

Deputy Randy Mansfield nodded, mutely. His white uniform shirt was covered in blood and he took a staggering step forward. Daniel rushed to catch him and lowered him into a chair, then sucked in a breath.

“Fuck,” he whispered. Behind the table, a young officer wearing a Dutton sheriff’s department uniform lay flat on his back, one arm outstretched, his finger still curled around the trigger of his service revolver. His white uniform shirt had a six-inch stain across the abdomen and blood ran in a little stream from his back.

“They’re all dead,” Randy murmured, in shock. “All dead.”

“Are you hit?” Daniel demanded.

Randy shook his head. “We both fired. Me and Deputy Cowell. Cowell got hit. He’s dead.”

“Randy, listen to me. Are you hit?”

Again Randy shook his head. “No. The blood’s his.”

“How many gunmen?”

The color was slowly returning to Randy’s face. “One.”

Daniel pressed his fingers to the young officer’s throat. No pulse. Holding his gun at his side he slipped inside the kitchen through the swinging doors.

“Police!” he announced loudly, but there was no reply. No sound at all. He checked inside the walk-in freezer and found it empty as well. He opened the door to the alley behind the restaurant, where a dark Ford Taurus was parked, its motor still running. If the shooter had had any company, that person had long since fled.

He holstered his weapon and returned to where Sheila sat slumped in the corner, looking like a discarded Raggedy Ann doll. He saw something white peeking out of her pocket. Pulling on a pair of the latex gloves he always kept in his pocket, he crouched beside her, knowing what he’d find.

The something white was the edge of a business card. His own.

Daniel swallowed back the bile as he studied her face. Had he seen her this way first, he would have recognized her immediately, he thought bitterly. With her dead eyes and lax facial muscles, the resemblance to one of the women in Simon’s pictures was much clearer.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The voice shook him and Daniel slowly rose to find Frank Loomis standing in the middle of the restaurant, twin flags of color standing out on his pale face.

“She was my witness,” Daniel said

“Well, this is my town. My jurisdiction. My crime scene. You’re not invited, Daniel.”

“You’re a fool, Frank.” Daniel looked at Sheila and knew what he had to do. “I’ve been one, too. But I’m not anymore.” He walked from the pizza parlor, past the small crowd of shocked townspeople that had gathered. When he was alone, he called Luke.

“Papadopoulos.” He could hear the TV in the background.

“Luke, it’s Daniel. I need your help.”

In the background the TV was abruptly silenced. “Name it.”

“I’m in Dutton. I need those pictures.”

Luke was silent a moment. “What happened?”

“I think I’ve identified another one.”

“Alive?”

“Until twenty minutes ago, yes. Now, no.”

“God.” Luke blew out a breath. “What’s the combo to your safe?”

“Your mama’s birthday.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks. Bring them to 1448 Main. It’s a little one-story bungalow next to a park.”

Daniel hung up, and before he could change his mind, he called Chase. “I need you in Dutton. Please come.”

Dutton, Wednesday, January 31, 12:55 a.m.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything, Agent Hatton?”

“I’m fine, ma’am.”

“Well, I’m not,” Alex muttered, pacing the length of the small living room and back.

“Alex, sit down,” Meredith said calmly. “You’re not helping anything.”

“I’m not hurting anything either.” She started to walk toward the window, then caught Agent Hatton’s warning glance. “Sorry.”

“Your cousin is right, Miss Fallon. You should try to relax.”

“She’s running on no sleep and no food,” Meredith told the agent.

Hatton shook his head. “And you’re a nurse. You oughta know better than that.”

Alex glared at them both and sat down hard on the sofa. Then popped up a second later when there was a knock at the door.

“It’s Vartanian,” Daniel called, and Hatton opened the door.

“Well?”

“Three dead,” Daniel said. “One of them my witness. Hatton, I need to talk to Miss Fallon,” he said, and Agent Hatton touched his temple in a mock salute.

“Ladies,” he said. “I’ll be outside,” he said to Daniel.

“Should I go?” Meredith asked and Daniel shook his head. Then he closed the door and stared at it for a long, long time, and with every moment Alex felt her panic climb.