When the Storm Breaks (33 page)

Washington, D.C.

Wednesday night

S
ean held the cell phone in his hands, trying not to worry as time passed and he still didn’t hear anything about Claire. When the phone finally rang, he checked the caller ID—Aidan.

“Is she all right?” Sean demanded.

“God, Sean. I’m sorry. She was taken about five minutes ago. Diaz was shot, and Brown is missing. Olivia managed to get away, then followed the suspect as he dragged Claire to his car. The description sounds like Richard Wilkes.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Sean breathed. He literally felt his heart stop beating.

“I was just a few minutes too late. But Olivia got a partial plate, and we’ve got an APB out already. He’s only a few minutes ahead of us. Olivia said he seemed to have some kind of destination in mind.”

“We’ve got to find her before they get there,” Sean said flatly, his mind racing through possibilities. “Send units to
all of his known home addresses, as well as Afton’s house, Claire’s house, and Olivia’s apartment.”

“What do you think he’s going to do?” Aidan asked.

“He had a plan, but things didn’t go well when he tried to take Claire. He’s probably flustered. He’ll want to go back to something familiar, something comfortable.”

“Right. I’ll send someone to Wilkes Brothers Software, too. Can you think of anywhere else he’d go?” Aidan asked.

“I’m working on it.”

“I’ll try to get some information out of Diaz, and I’ll have someone call the precinct. Maybe the tech guys there have dug something else up.”

“Keep this line open so I know what’s going on,” Sean said.

“Okay. Right now I’m going to hand Olivia over to the paramedics.”

Aidan stuck the cell phone in his front pocket, lifted Olivia, and started toward one of the ambulances that was pulling up on the street.

“No, I want to go with you,” she said.

“You can’t go anywhere on that ankle. We’ll send an officer with you and give you regular updates, okay?”

“But maybe I can help,” she protested.

“You’ve been an incredible help already. Without you, we’d have nothing to go on and no hope of finding Claire. Now let us do our job. We’ll get her back.”

“Promise?” Olivia asked. She grabbed at his hand as he set her on the stretcher.

“I promise you we’ll bring her home safe,” Aidan said.

Olivia wanted to ask how he could be sure, but the grim set of Aidan’s features told her that was a question he
didn’t want to answer. She released his hand, letting the paramedics begin to work on her.

Aidan headed for his car and wondered how in hell he’d keep his word.

Washington, D.C.

Wednesday night

C
laire sat in the passenger seat of the killer’s car with a gun pressing hard into her ribs. If she hadn’t been so frightened, she would have laughed—she’d been working with police to identify the killer out of Camelot’s catalogue, and she hadn’t even recognized the man when he’d stood in front of her.

He looked so horribly
normal.
If she’d seen him walking by her on the street, she wouldn’t have given him a second thought.

And he was going to kill her.

How is that for irony, Dr. Morton? Take your hysterical amnesia and shove it right up your ass.

Biting her lip, she told herself she wouldn’t scream, wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t fly apart.

The killer saw her betraying gesture and smiled. “Nervous, Marie Claire? Don’t be. It will be over before you know it. Just a case of tidying up loose ends, really, and that shouldn’t take long at all.”

She bit the inside of her lips to keep them from visibly
trembling. She’d be damned if she’d give this bastard any satisfaction.

“I just need to make sure we’re not being followed, first,” he continued in a normal tone of voice, as though he was talking about the weather. He checked the mirrors as he drove in seemingly random patterns, but never once did he reduce the pressure of the gun against Claire’s ribs.

I’m going to have bruises there for sure
, she thought, then had to force back a nervous laugh. It was stupid to worry about bruises when she was going to die.

She eased further into the corner of the seat, praying that Olivia was all right, that she’d somehow escaped. Other than involving Livvie in this mess, Claire had no regrets about the last month—except that she hadn’t had the guts to tell Sean she loved him.

She wondered now if she’d ever have another chance.

Claire stopped herself in mid-thought. She wasn’t going to die right now. The killer said he had a plan, and he needed her alive so he could implement it.

Think—what do you know about this man?

Claire stared out the window, keeping her features passive as her mind raced through the discussions the team had had on the personality of the killer.

He’s a control freak. He gets off when he’s planning things and will draw them out to continue getting off. He’s cocky—he took you from under the noses of the police.

She strained to remember anything else she’d heard Aidan or Sean talk about when discussing the killer.

Like most control freaks, he’s got his routine. He gets very upset when it’s disturbed. Look at what happened to me the last time I got between him and his precious plan.

She could use that, all of it, against the killer. He was a control-oriented, overconfident, and routine-obsessed person.
If she acted unpredictably, took bigger risks than he did, and was able to upset his plans for the evening, she might keep him off guard long enough to get away.

And she would definitely tell Sean she loved him the next time she saw him.

Washington, D.C.

Wednesday night

“W
here is Diaz? Is he able to answer any questions?” Sean asked Aidan when his partner picked up the cell phone again.

“They’re bringing him out right now. After I talk to him, do you want me to pick you up or do you want to meet at the precinct?”

“Pick me up.”

The sound became muffled as Aidan talked briefly with Diaz. Cell phone clenched in his hand, Sean waited impatiently, trying not to think of Claire and a killer who called her “sweet prey.”

“He couldn’t help much,” Aidan said a few moments later. “He was out cold when the guy got away. He did say Claire was actively fighting the killer, and she almost managed to get away at least once. The only reason she got caught was she took the time to warn Diaz about the gun.”

Sean pinched the bridge of his nose, using pain to help himself focus.

“Olivia said the same thing,” Aidan continued, knowing
what his partner was going through. “Claire was thinking and plotting from the moment they were captured. Olivia also said the guy was losing it at the end. He was screaming at her when she hid in the attic.”

“Good,” Sean said. “If Claire keeps her wits about her, it gives us an edge. Wilkes is shrewd, but he’s been off balance since the night he met Claire and she ruined the Mendes girl for him. That’s why he had to keep coming after her. She upset his sick little world.”

“Keep going,” Aidan said, getting into his car and starting it. “I like that line of thought.”

“What line of thought?” Sean asked, pacing Afton’s office.

“He’s off balance, has been since he met Claire and she turned his life upside down. He’s got to get back in control, and Claire is the key. Where would he take her to do that?”

“He loves his rituals, his routine. And with what we now know about his juvenile offense, I’m betting there has to be some symbolism in his choice of victims. Routine and symbols,” Sean said again, thinking out loud.

“When you say routine, what does that mean? He always does things in a certain sequence, or is the routine in the planning, or is it covering his tracks?”

“Keeley said the routine in some cases is quite elaborate, involving days of ritualistic activities. With other killers, the routine could be something as simple as completing the act according to plan.”

“Which Wilkes was unable to do in the Mendes case because of Claire,” Aidan pointed out.

“So the ritual could be the act itself, and the symbolism…” Sean muttered. Suddenly he stilled. “You don’t suppose he’d go back to the scene of one of the other crimes?”

Aidan considered it. “There’s no evidence that he fixated on the location in the past.”

“Wilkes was always successful in the past—until Claire stumbled over him at the wrong time. He never got closure with Mendes because he was interrupted. I think he might be taking Claire back to finish the job this time. He knows the location. He’s comfortable there, it’s his turf.”

Aidan shot through a light just as it went red, grateful that weeknight traffic was light in D.C. “I’ll pick you up in a few minutes.”

“Go straight to the school,” Sean said. “That’s where I’ll be.”

“No! Don’t go there without backup. He’s armed with a gun and a knife, and he has a hostage.”

“You want to back me up, get your ass over there.”

“At least leave the phone line open,” Aidan said quickly, “so I won’t head in blind.”

“It’s open.”

Sean shoved his phone on a belt clip and turned toAfton, who had been listening with wide eyes. “Go downstairs and sit with the security guard until a policeman comes for you.” As he spoke, Sean checked his weapon with a few swift motions.

Afton surprised Sean by standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. “For luck. It’s an Irish thing.” She kissed his other cheek. “That’s for Claire.”

“Thanks. We’ll both need it.”

Sean left the office and headed for the stairs, but the elevator was waiting with doors open. Within two minutes, he was running down the path Claire had taken the night of the Mendes murder.

“Where are you, Aidan?” he said on the cell phone.

“Less than three miles away.”

Sean acknowledged and kept running. With every step, he pushed back thoughts of what Claire must be going through and the anger he felt at himself for allowing it to happen in the first place.

I never should have let her out of my sight.

Once he had her back, he’d be damned sure she didn’t leave his side again. He couldn’t imagine his life without her, and he’d never even told her. He’d thought there would be plenty of opportunities once the case was closed. Now he was running out of time.

Hold on, Claire. Hold him off, fight, kick, bite, gouge—whatever you have to do. Just stay alive. Please, love. Stay alive.

Washington, D.C.

Wednesday night

W
ilkes looked in the rearview mirror, then in both side mirrors. Nobody was following him. He dug the gun into his prey’s ribs until she flinched. “I knew it would work this time,” he said, smiling. “Ah, Marie Claire, this will make up for everything.”

We’ll just have to see about that, you smug son of a bitch.

She turned toward him and spoke in the most casual voice she could manage. “So, do you have a name?”

He stared at her for an instant. She should be cringing and crying, but there she sat like he was her date instead of her killer. “Why should I tell you?”

“Okay, I’ll just keep using all the lovely, nasty words that run through my mind when I look at you.”

He laughed, his confidence unaffected by her insult. He knew her name and she didn’t know his, and that made him smarter than she was.

“What do you think my name is?” His voice was taunting as he jammed the gun against her ribs again.

Claire pretended to take the question seriously. “I’d have to say you look like a Jim to me. I almost married a guy named Jim once, so I should know.”

“Ah, so I remind you of an old flame, someone you loved.”

“Not really. The guy turned out to be a retrograde asshole. And to be frank, he was lousy in bed, though I didn’t realize it at the time.” Claire looked the killer up and down as if assessing his potential. “Yeah, you’re definitely a Jim.”

“And you’re a foulmouthed little whore, Marie Claire. I can see I’ve chosen well,” the man said, tightening his hand on the steering wheel.

She sat back in her seat and shut her mouth, figuring the points for round one had gone to her. When she looked out the window, she recognized where they were. Her heart began to beat a little faster.

She said nothing as they drove around Dupont Circle, then turned and headed in the direction of the middle school where Renata Mendes had been murdered. Claire was surprised when he slowed down and parked the car several blocks away from the school.

“Now what, Jim?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then give me a better name,” she said.

“I’d prefer that you don’t address me at all.” Angrily he shut off the car and unlocked the doors.

Round two goes to me
, Claire thought with grim satisfaction.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have long to savor her victory. Her captor reached across her, opened her door, and used the pressure of the gun against her ribs to force her out. She stood with the metal barrel digging into her as he got out of the car on her side, giving her no chance to get away.

She swallowed hard when he once again drew the knife from his pocket. It was stained with blood. Her stomach churned with the knowledge that the blood was hers. She held very still as he put his arm around her shoulders and rested the tip of the knife against her neck.

Then, to her utter astonishment, the killer leaned down and locked the pistol in the glove compartment of his car.

He met her blank look with a smirk. “Come along, sweet prey. The game wouldn’t last very long if I had all the advantages.”

The game.

She swallowed hard, feeling the knife shift with the motion. She reminded herself that for all her psychological digs at him, she was dealing with a dangerous man who had no conscience. Time for her to put phase two of her plan in action—get the hell away from him.

“Let’s take a walk down memory lane,” he said with an odd, cruel smile.

He kept his arm around her neck in an embrace that would probably look affectionate if it weren’t for the knife in his hand. But no one was close enough to see that little detail. In fact, no one was around at all.

Claire walked slowly. She never stopped watching him out of the corner of her eye, waiting for any break in his concentration. She lagged slightly and gained some distance from the knife blade. He didn’t seem to notice, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

Or his ugly little fantasies,
she thought. She didn’t like the glittery look in his eyes.

She stopped short when she saw they’d reached the place where Renata Mendes had been murdered. The killer bumped into Claire, and she cringed when she felt
his hard-on against her hip. She didn’t need a psychology degree to figure out that he got off on murder.

“It’s time for me to make things right. You understand, don’t you? Run, Marie Claire. Run!”

She stood, frozen by the certainty that once she started running, he would chase after her just as he had done before. But this time he could catch her. This time he would kill her.

That was why he’d brought her here, to kill her the way he hadn’t done weeks ago.
Ah, Marie Claire, this time will make up for everything.

“Is it the knife?” he asked when she remained motionless. “Here, I’ll give you a head start, just like you had before.” He lowered the knife from her neck and gave her a hard shove.

Claire realized he’d pushed her in the direction she’d run that night, toward the narrow path that ultimately led to Dupont Circle.
Not this time, asshole. We do things my way tonight.

She shifted her weight and sprinted away from the direction he’d chosen for her.

“What are you doing? That isn’t the right way, Marie Claire!” the man shouted after her. “Come back here, you’re doing it all wrong!”

Claire didn’t waste her breath taunting him. She just ran as hard as she could toward the main building of the middle school. Footsteps behind her warned that he was following.

“You can’t cheat, you little whore! You’re doing it wrong!”

The rising edge of hysteria in his voice made her run faster toward the school. She cried out when her path was
suddenly blocked by a tall chain-link fence that encircled the school. She hadn’t seen it in the darkness. She looked behind her and saw the killer approaching fast.

She jammed the toe of her shoes through the links and grabbed on with both hands. Panting, she climbed the fence like a ladder and heaved herself over the top. She staggered to her feet and began running again, glancing back only long enough to see the killer awkwardly making his way to the top of the fence. He hadn’t let go of his knife, which forced him to climb one-handed.

That’s an advantage,
she told herself.
You can climb faster, so go up.

Claire ran around the side of the old brick school, using her lead to briefly study the exterior of the building. An old metal fire escape went down the side of the three-story building and stopped just above the ground. She jumped but couldn’t quite reach the ladder to pull it down.

Looking around, she found a large metal trashcan the students used during recess. She ignored the smell and flipped the can over, then hopped onto it and reached for the ladder. This time she was able to pull it toward her and start climbing.

She heard a shout behind her, and kicked the trashcan away, figuring that would buy her a few seconds. There was a scraping sound below her, but she was on the first level of the building and moving up before the killer even managed to grab the ladder. The man stopped shouting and instead poured all his energy into pursuing her.

She turned a corner on the iron platform and began climbing the fire escape to the third floor. She was high enough to have a good view, but she didn’t see anyone who could help her.

“Fire!” Claire screamed, knowing better than to call for help in a city. “There’s a fire at the school.
Fire!
”

“Shut up, you bitch,” the man panted below her as he began to climb to the second story.

Claire made her way to the top floor, but didn’t go on the roof. She might get trapped there. Instead, she decided to take her chances inside the school building itself. Maybe there would be a phone or an alarm she could trigger. But first she had to get through the window, which seemed to be securely locked.

She took one step back and drove her foot through the glass, ignoring the burning when glass cut through her skin. Hurriedly she reached through the jagged opening and released the simple metal slide that secured the window, cutting herself again in the process. She opened the window, swung her leg over the side, and found herself inside at the end of the hallway. She slammed the window shut and locked it again. Let him cut himself getting in. Maybe the bastard would hit a vein and bleed to death.

Below her, the killer grunted as he climbed the third flight of stairs. He was winded and had finally been forced to put his knife away in order to haul himself hand over hand up the fire escape. He couldn’t believe Marie Claire was getting away from him again. His frustrated rage gave him the strength to surge up the last of the steps and break through the remnants of the window.

Claire heard the killer behind her as she frantically went down the hall.

Locked. All the doors are locked!

She ran from classroom to classroom, stopping only long enough to rattle the doorknobs before moving on.
The only route that wasn’t locked from the inside was the interior stairwell, so she went through the metal door marked Exit and raced down to the second floor. The ventilation window between floors was open. She stuck her head out and screamed, “Fire! Fire at the school!”

She took a breath to scream again, but heard the metal door above her slam open, and bolted down the next flight of stairs instead.