Ruin

by Jette Harris

  The Jeep—the red Cherokee that haunted her nightmares—sagged where it had been abandoned, fouling the air with the stench of burnt rubber and plastic. When Heather finished her narrative, she peered inside. The front seats were reduced to the metal frames. The dashboard and center console were now heaps of formless plastic.

  “I guess there’s no hope of fingerprints, huh?”

  Remington peered in beside her and heaved a sigh. “Not here, but we still have your car.”

  She grinned at this glimmer of hope.

  “Once you get a print, what then?”

  “Well, we—Steyer and I—don’t usually get prints. We have a specialized team for that. But the first thing they do is preserve it. Then they lift it or get super-high-res photos in order to enter it into AFIS, the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. It’s linked to a case number and gets compared to other prints in the database.”

  “How long does that take?”

  “Oh… days… sometimes weeks.” Remington didn’t notice Heather’s frown. “This case is a bit more complicated, because it looks like he wears some kind of coating over his fingertips. We have partial handprints, but no…”

  Coating? Heather’s lip curled. His fingertips had felt like any other—She shuddered at the memory.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  “Nope.” She cleared her throat. “I’m good. Just… gaining perspective.” This process is gonna be long. Much longer than you thought. Weeks. Months. Ten more years. Forever, maybe. She swallowed hard.

  “Heather?”

  Heather spun around, but before she could see the girl who had called her, she was enveloped in a honey-blonde hug. Whoever she was, she was muscular, a few inches taller than Heather, and trembling.

  “Oh my God, Heather, he was so scary. I don’t see how you did it…” The girl’s words dissolved into sobs.

  More confused than anything else, Heather patted her back.

  “Miss Lancaster, let her breathe.” Steyer gently tugged her away.

  Sydney Lancaster. Captain of the cheerleading team. Monica’s best friend. Oh, no, is Monica OK? Heather reeled as if the thought had physically knocked her off-balance. Of course Monica isn’t OK. Monica is dead.

  A renewed wave of grief swept over her, but it clashed with a pang of guilt, quickly replaced by pity: Sydney’s fair face was splotchy. Black trails of mascara ran down her cheeks and under her chin.

  “Can I get a bottle of water and a… a tissue of some sort?” Heather asked Remington in a low voice. He gave a small nod and headed toward the ambulance.

  “Can you tell us what happened, Miss Lancaster?” Steyer flipped his notepad to a blank page. “Did you recognize the man who stole your car?”

  “Y-yes.” She sniffled and collected herself. “I was putting my bags in my car, and I hear this guy behind me say, ‘Hey. Hello,’ and I turn around. He puts his hand—” She clapped her hand on Heather’s shoulder, making a jolt of pain shoot into her neck. “—on my neck. At first I didn’t recognize him because his face is really red and sweaty. He looked like he was hurt. But then he smiles at me, and I freak out a little.” She paused to give a shuddering breath.

  “He… he tilts his head and goes, ‘Ssss…’ like he knows my name starts with an S. ‘S-S-Sydney,’ I told him, and his face lights up. ‘Yes, Sydney. Horrible city. Lovely beaches.’”

  “He said that in class,” Heather said.

  “Right? That’s what I said, and he says, ‘Yes, I did.’ Then he holds this… this thing in my face—”

  “A tire iron.”

  “Yes! And his… his hand is on my neck…” She threatened to dissolve into tears again.

  “Was he squeezing at all?” Steyer asked.

  “No, no, just… like… pushing down. Really heavy. He puts this thing, the tire iron, near my face, and he says, ‘Now, give me your phone, and I’m taking your car.’ I start crying, so hard. He takes my keys and I hand over my phone, and he says, ‘Good girl.’”

  Heather’s teeth went on edge.

  “‘You’ll get these back in a bit,’” Sydney continued with a sneer. She gave Heather a gentle shove that sends another shooting pain, this time into her arm. “He, like, pushes me away and gets in and drives off.” She looked less upset now, but just as bitter as Heather felt.

  “What kind of car is it?” Steyer asked.

  “A Camry, silver.” She nodded toward the officer who had carried her there. Remington waited with him nearby, a bottle of water and a paper towel in one hand. When he noticed them looking in their direction, he continued over to them.

  “Did you notice what he was wearing?”

  “You did really well with the details last time,” Remington said.

  “I wasn’t scared to death last time.” She sniffled. “But I think it was like… a black t-shirt with a—um—a rainbow on it. Jeans. Sneakers, maybe.”

  “Good.” Steyer noted this, nodding.

  “And he…” Sydney wrinkled her nose. “He smelled. Like… his clothes were wet, but not sweaty. It was like… some chemical.”

  “You didn’t recognize the smell?”

  “No.”

  “Kerosene.” Steyer gestured toward the Jeep. “Was he wearing anything over his head? A hood or a hat?”

  “No.”

  “Sunglasses?”

  “Yeah. Black aviators. Really nice ones.”

  “Did he have anything on him other than the tire iron?” Heather asked. Steyer shot her a glance.

  “No.”

  “Was he wearing anything other than a t-shirt and jeans?” Steyer elaborated. “A jacket or pack?”

  “No.”

  Heather scowled as if these discrepancies alone could compromise the investigation. Remington nudged her and handed over the water and paper towel. Her irritation faded as she soaked the paper towel and turned Sydney toward her.

  “God,” Sydney breathed. “I was so scared.”

  Heather nodded. She dabbed at the black trails running down her face. “You had every right to be scared. He’s a scary man.” She spoke in a low voice, like she was reassuring a child. “But he’s gone now, and it sounds like he’s gonna dump your car somewhere the cops will find it, and you’ll be fine.”

  Sydney sniffled. “Are you sure?”

  Steyer made a dissenting sound in his throat.

  “You betcha,” Heather told her.

  ****

  “You shouldn’t have told her that,” Steyer said as they watched Sydney’s mother bundle her into an SUV. After a whispered exchange and a great deal of nodding and glancing at Heather, Remington had left in their car, leaving Steyer behind.

  “She needed to hear it,” Heather replied in a distant voice. It’s what I needed to hear.

  “What if it’s not true?”

  “I think it is.” She looked him over. “Do you need anything else from me?”

  Steyer’s brow raised as if to say, So that’s how it’s going to be? but he shook his head. “For now, we’re just waiting for Lieutenant Kondorf to arrive with your grandfather. They’ll take you home.”

  “Are you gonna tell me, ‘I told you so’?”

  Steyer cleared his throat. “Technically, I didn’t.”

  “Ah.”

  “In a way, this is to our advantage: We have his Jeep. We can run the numbers, see what comes up. There may be something small that gives him away.”

  “Like… highly-indigenous pollen spores or the hair of some rare animal?” She chuckled.

  Steyer’s mouth twitched. “We did find some animal hair.”

  “Was it a horse?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “He said he grew up with horses. He loves horses. If you found horsehair, that means he still has access to them. I wonder if there’s a—uh—database or something for horse owners, because I bet he owns them.”

  “I’ll look into that.”

  A patrol car turned into the parking lot and slowl
y made its way toward them. Kondorf pulled up next to the caution tape. Tech sat in the passenger seat, wearing an expression of concern. He struggled to unbuckle his seatbelt and looked so anxious, Heather feared he was about to make a fool of himself. Face burning, she hurried toward the car.

  “We’ll talk more back at the house,” Steyer called behind her.

  She turned to wave, forgetting her collarbone. She grimaced as a bolt of pain rattled up her neck. Tech saw it as he climbed out the of the car.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “I’m fine, I just moved wrong.” She rubbed her shoulder for emphasis. Tech looked taken aback.

  “Your car looks like someone crumpled it up and tossed it in the waste basket. That’s more than a wrong move.”

  She laughed despite herself, leaning her head against his chest. He rubbed her back and leaned his chin on her head. The weight of the incident descended on her once more. She shuddered.

  “Let’s go,” she squeezed out.

  Tech opened the back door so she could climb inside. There were no dogs waiting for her this time. She curled up as small as she could and fought the tears threatening to fill her eyes.

  Remington’s heart was racing. Although Wickes had asked him to pick her up at the curb, he had been too anxious after getting dressed—in the second-best suit he had brought—and arrived at the airport half an hour before she was scheduled to land. He sat in the car for ten minutes, carefully studying each vehicle in the area, scrutinizing each person who passed. On his way inside, he was keenly aware of every man who entered with or after him, sorting them in his mind.

  Hair too long.

  Black.

  Too heavy.

  Under six feet.

  Too young.

  He found an empty bench near the IAD to ATL carousel. His skin crawled as if he were being watched. Steyer had taken Heather and Tech out to reduce the chance of the Phoenix following Remington and observing Wickes’s condition. Remington didn’t even know exactly what that condition was, but he was under the impression it was no longer hidden.

  Maybe Ritchie should have come instead…

  His phone buzzed, and he snatched it from his jacket pocket.

  Landed safely. Heading toward baggage claim. Almost here?

  Remington smirked despite himself. OMW, he replied.

  She hated it when people texted acronyms.

  He looked around and found a small crowd of people standing at the base of a set of escalators, held back by a semi-circle of stanchions and a bored-looking TSA agent. He joined the crowd, standing next to a gaggle of girls no higher than his waist. They bickered over a home-made poster that said WELCOME HOME, DADDY!

  People began to descend the escalator in larger groups. Three men carrying camouflage rucksacks appeared among them, and the girls began to scream and cheer.

  Remington winced and stepped away from the heartfelt reunion.

  You hate kids, Remi. You gotta be—

  A pair of shapely legs came into view, followed by a skirt suit, a small baby bump, and the beautiful face of Samantha Wickes. Her hair fell as she looked down at her phone. Remington forgot to breathe. He hadn’t been dumb-struck by the sight of a woman since he was a kid. Even when he met Wickes and first took her out, it was only due to an obvious mutual interest in getting their rocks off.

  But now you’re getting married, then, Oh, God, she’s pregnant. She’s really pregnant.

  It wasn’t obvious at first glance, but she turned slightly as she tapped on her phone, and her belly, although still small, was discernible. She put the phone away and shook the hair out of her face. She looked irritated. Maybe goading her was a bad idea…

  The phone in his pocket buzzed and he placed a hand over it. She bit her lip and swept her eyes over the crowd below. When she found him, her eyes lit up, then the rest of her face followed. All his anxiety fell away. He found himself grinning like a schoolboy.

  Wickes stepped off the escalator and held out her hand. “Agent Remington—”

  Remington decided he wasn’t about to keep up the pretense in Georgia. They would be married by the time either of them returned to DC anyway. He took her hand and pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her waist.

  “Oh!”

  He kissed her, and she relaxed. It felt like she was melting in his arms. When he let her breathe, she rested her head against his chest.

  “I thought you were angry at me?”

  “I forgot. I’m sure I’ll remember why as soon as we leave the land of super surveillance.” He frowned. “It’s really not safe for you to be here. You need to be extra cautious. I need you to be paranoid.”

  She pulled away and gave him a scolding look. “Remington Remington, I have read every report, seen every case file. I know that coming down here is a risk…” She shook her head. “But we’re running out of time. People are already asking questions. I promise, I won’t take more of your time than I need, just signing for the application and standing for the judge, then I’ll fly home.”

  Gratitude filled his chest. With all the pressure from the pregnancy and the case, he had forgotten that Wickes was the reasonable, level-headed one between them. That was why he…

  Remington swallowed hard. He opened his mouth—

  Avery Rhodes told Heather Stokes he loved her.

  He snapped it shut again, deflating. He nodded instead. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m sorry I told you not to.”

  She laughed. “Then I’m glad I deliberately disobeyed you.”

  “Just don’t do it again.”

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dare. Haven’t you heard there’s a killer loose?”

  “You can’t go out alone like that,” Kondorf droned on. “You shoulda had someone walk you to your car.”

  Heather’s teeth went on edge and she squeezed her eyes shut. She wished she had her iPod, as it would have been rude to press her hands over her ears and scream. As soon as Kondorf pulled up to the curb in front of their house, she grabbed the handle and threw herself against the door. Bolts of pain shot through her body. The door didn’t budge.

  Neither Kondorf nor Tech noticed her urgency. The officer climbed out of the driver’s seat and had a good stretch before opening the back door. Tech opened the door opposite to grab her DVDs and the bag containing the meager contents of her car.

  Heather wanted to rush into the house, but her body protested painfully. As she eased herself up, a car pulled into the driveway next door. Sean Shatterthwaith climbed out. He glanced at his house, then stepped over the little white fence separating their yards. A little black shopping bag hung from his wrist.

  “I just saw your car… well, what was left of your car… being towed. Are you OK?”

  “I’m OK, I just had a… run-in…”

  Sean’s jaw went slack. He pressed his hands to his head as if to keep it from bursting. From the shape in this bag, he had just returned from buying cigarettes.

  “Your stepfather is smoking again,” Rhodes’s malicious tone invaded her thoughts. “And Sterling is stealing his cigarettes.”

  Exhaling slowly, Heather glanced at Kondorf and her grandpa. They realized she didn’t want an audience and continued toward the porch. She took Sean’s arm and walked him toward the fence.

  “When…” She licked her lips and swallowed hard. She didn’t want to tell him all that Rhodes had said. Sean looked at her with concern and confusion. “Sterling is stealing your cigarettes.”

  Sean huffed and coughed. “Did she tell you that?”

  Heather bit the insides of her lips and shook her head. He stared across the street and took the bag in both hands, slowly crushing it. The smell of tobacco billowed in the air between them.

  “The nicotine… releases endorphins in your brain. They make you feel better, at least more relaxed.” He gestured toward his head. “Unfortunately, it’s killing you at the same time, but… better smoke than, you know, shooting myself.” He pulled his lips back in a painf
ul grin.

  “They put me on something,” Heather said. She hadn’t realized how hollow her voice sounded. “Maybe you should try it.”

  Sean nodded. “Maybe I should.” He dug the toe of his shoe into the lawn, then pressed the dirt back into place. “I think… I was so caught up in… in Monica being in danger, helping out with that effort, and staying sane, I lost… lost sight of the others.” His eyes flickered over her. “How are you holding up?”

  She sat in silence for a moment. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “You’re not pregnant, right?”

  Heather furrowed her brow and shook her head.

  “When they told us about Monica, I didn’t know how to feel. I mean, did we lose that opportunity? Did we ever really have it? Did she know?” He turned to her. His face fell as he read the stunned expression on her face. “You didn’t know?”

  Heather slowly shook her head.

  “She must not have known.”

  Her throat was tight. She could hear Monica crying, saying, “I don’t believe you. I can’t afford to,” clutching her belly. Clutching her womb. Now it all made sense. “No, she knew,” Heather said silently.

  “I’m sorry. I… I shouldn’t have told you that. I thought you knew.”

  Heather took a deep breath. It was difficult to breathe. She turned and stumbled, but pushed herself back up and continued to the porch. Sean called after her, but she ignored him. She threw open the front door and slammed it behind her.

  “Heather?”

  Tech and Kondorf sat in the living room. Heather opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut again. The words rose in her throat, but she held them behind clenched teeth.

  They knew. They knew and they didn’t tell you.

  She released a frustrated growl and stormed upstairs. When she reached her room, she threw the window open. Let Rhodes come. She would be here for him, her and everyone else.

  Simmering, she paced circles around her room. Once again, she felt like a caged animal. But Colossus did not build this cage. You control this. You are in control.