by Mary Stone
She appeared to be taken off guard by the extra persons in her assigned “one-on-one” space but recovered like a champion. “I like to watch too.” She shrugged and grinned devilishly at Autumn and Winter before straddling Noah like a horse without the slightest warning. “I’m Angel Divine, sweetheart. What’s your name?”
The question was asked amidst the forceful grinds of her nether regions against Noah’s body. Angel’s one-hundred-percent real boobs flopped generously in Agent Dalton’s face, which had turned a shade of red that rivaled Ginger Snap’s wig.
“Vanilla,” Noah gasped, taking on the safe word Aiden Parrish used on a case not too long ago.
Winter turned away, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Autumn almost joined her but instead took pity on the stunned and horrified man trapped in the detention chair.
“Angel, we’re actually here to ask you about Sarah.” Autumn’s use of a common name found on actual birth certificates snagged Angel’s attention.
The stripper stood, abandoning her attack on Noah altogether. “Sarah? Is she okay?” As if actual conversation made her feel naked, she folded her arms across her breasts.
“Well, that’s what I hoped you could tell me.” Autumn’s pulse raced as she absorbed Angel’s concern—no touch needed.
“Oh. Well…she was really freaked out cause one of her Johns told her there were cops searchin’ for her in the trailer park a few nights back or somethin’. I tried to calm her down. I mean, if a cop wants to find you, they’re gonna find you, ya know?”
Autumn glanced at Winter and assumed they were both thinking the same thing.
You’d be surprised how untrue that actually is.
“Anyway, the police never showed up again, but she was still freaked. I had a feelin’ she might run. She didn’t show up for work today so…I guess I was right.” Angel’s face was somber as she cocked her head and studied Autumn. “Ya know, you look a lot like Sarah. How crazy is that?”
Autumn fought back tears of frustrated disbelief. She had not only managed to be unsuccessful in finding her sister but appeared to be the sole reason Sarah purposely went off radar. Again.
I thwarted my own damn plan. I ruined this.
Angel, not yet aware of the rather obvious fact that this threesome of customers could possibly be the “cops” searching for her friend, stared down at Noah. “You still want me to finish this for ya? You paid in full, hon.”
Noah flew out of the chair like a rocket missile. “I’m good. Thanks. Have a nice, uh, day…night…whatever.” He kept his eyes low and exited the tiny room with remarkable swiftness.
Winter wrapped an arm around Autumn and guided her through the narrow doorway and out toward their SUV.
“Thanks, Angel. You get an A for effort,” Winter called over her shoulder.
Autumn knew Winter’s attempt at humor was forced. Connected as they were, the disappointment flowed between them in gut-wrenching pulse-waves.
“This doesn’t mean you won’t find her. You know that, right?”
Winter meant for the words to be comforting, but Autumn no longer believed finding Sarah was in her near future. According to the truths flowing from Winter’s arm around her shoulder, neither did she.
3
You have to go in there. Pull yourself together like a big girl and go do your damn job.
The next morning, Dr. Autumn Trent stared at Virginia State Hospital from the confines of her car. She knew, professionally, that what had transpired last night in Florida changed nothing as far as her work expectations were concerned.
But the events of the evening before had altered her internally in a manner she viewed as utterly irrevocable.
She closed her eyes and laid back against the headrest. Her bright red hair hung in auburn curtains over the driver’s seat as she pondered the reality of her failure.
She’d found Sarah and lost her simultaneously…just like that.
Before she had time to beat herself up much more, Autumn’s phone rang through the silence of her Camry. She jumped—alarmed out of the memories of The Booby Trap visit—and hastily grabbed the device.
Blocked.
She scowled, tossed the phone back in her bag, and thumped both hands down on the steering wheel. Forcing back the tears she’d been fighting since leaving the Florida strip club, Autumn turned off the car engine.
The time had come to stop obsessing about Sarah. Refocus. But how?
The sting of the loss was still sharp.
Drowning in disappointment, Autumn had been forced to return to the hotel, pack her bag, and catch the early morning flight to Virginia. Only to end up immediately back to work at this hospital with Justin Black and his exhaustive mind games.
She wasn’t sure she had the energy.
Fifteen minutes of sitting in her Camry and staring at that building from the shadows of the parking garage, and she hadn’t even been able to bring herself to open the car door. The act of pulling her shit together, smiling, dealing with other people’s problems—not a single cell in her body cared.
But she tried to remember Winter. They were more than co-workers. They’d become very close friends. Justin was Winter’s little brother, and while Autumn couldn’t seem to help Sarah right now, she could still attempt to help the Black siblings.
So, you’re back to square one. Maybe that’s for the best.
Autumn exited her vehicle, squared her shoulders, and forced herself to regain her composure and professionalism.
She walked with more confidence than she felt toward the formidable brick building where she showed her credentials to the security guard and waited while her belongings were searched. After his nod of approval, she gathered her things and headed straight for the nurses’ station.
“Hi, Brenda,” Autumn greeted, noting the nurse’s nametag. “Dr. Trent, here to meet with Justin Black.”
Brenda smiled politely and used the back of her hand to brush some stray hair away from her sweaty forehead. “Would you like his chart?”
“Yes, please.” Autumn accepted the folder and flipped through to read the recent notations.
This wasn’t good. Since her last visit, Justin had experienced a meltdown of sorts while visiting with his attorney and required sedation. The incident had taken place while Autumn was in Florida.
“How is Justin doing today?” Autumn’s pleasant tone was unable to soften the absurd fact that she was inquiring about a violent serial killer’s current mood.
The nurse frowned, pushing back another strand of gray-blonde hair. “His regular nurse, Evelyn Walker, was a no-show for her shift this morning. Very unlike her. Justin was incredibly upset.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial level. “And then there was an incident in the rec room after breakfast.”
Autumn’s eyebrows raised. “Oh?”
“Many of the patients were present. Apparently, Justin whispered a few choice words to one of the other guys, and just a few minutes later, that same patient attacked a guard. He bit half the guard’s ear off.” Brenda clucked her tongue. “The entire room went chaotic. Several patients, including Justin, had to be sedated.”
Autumn smacked a hand to her forehead.
The hits just keep on coming.
“When he woke up, he seemed confused. He told me I was mistaken and that he hadn’t said a word to anyone.” Brenda’s expression conveyed her doubt.
“Has anyone reviewed the camera footage?” Autumn knew there should be a recording of every event that took place in the hospital’s recreational room.
Brenda’s frown deepened. “Well, you may or may not know that our esteemed medical director decided to take most of the cameras out of the facility.” She held up a finger. “The red room is one of the few areas where one remained, but the camera stopped recording for twenty-three minutes…the exact amount of time that the group was in the room.”
Autumn stiffened, sensing Brenda’s worry, which compounded upon her own.
&nb
sp; There was no way in hell that the timing was a coincidence. Too precise. But how could any patient—criminal—pull off that kind of rigging in a maximum-security hospital?
She handed the chart back to Brenda, scanning over the station area. A large box with Justin’s name on top sat next to an empty desk chair.
“What’s with the box?” Autumn nodded toward the bin.
Brenda rolled her eyes. “Justin’s fan mail. He’s quite the sensation.”
Autumn stared at the admittedly large container. She’d studied many notorious criminals and knew that they often developed a fan base. Sometimes, they even received marriage proposals while in prison.
Justin was an attractive individual, sharing Winter’s black hair and striking blue eyes. The adoration really shouldn’t have surprised her, but Autumn still floundered at the idea.
Fans of incarcerated individuals who’d committed crimes of such disturbing natures were often mentally unstable themselves. This instability led them to obsession, and obsessed humans were unpredictable under the best of circumstances.
Autumn recentered and approached the security guard stationed at the entrance to the patient rooms hallway. “I need to meet with Justin Black, and I’d prefer for him to be brought to the conference room.”
The guard nodded. “Do you want him shackled?”
Autumn hesitated, but not for long. “Yes.”
“Fifteen minutes, ma’am. I’ll bring him to the third-floor conference room.” With a little salute, he walked speedily down the hall.
“Thank you.” Autumn barely got the words out before a disturbance in the dayroom caught her attention.
An elderly man with unkempt gray curls hurled books from the dayroom bookshelf at a small, freckle-faced, and much younger patient. The nonresponsive human target sat frozen in a blank stare as each hardback struck his increasingly blood-covered face.
“Talk! Talk! Talk!” the older patient screamed with each book he threw. His victim, nevertheless, remained silent.
Autumn wasn’t sure the injured man was even aware of what was happening to him. There wasn’t five full feet between them, and he was essentially being beaten at point blank range with leatherbound missiles. But his eyes showed no comprehension nor pain.
Yet another patient—young and well-muscled—joined the chaos, flinging himself onto the book thrower and screaming in a high-pitched wail while he punched the old man’s face once…twice…three times.
No longer able to hurl anything, the defeated elder pled his case in between the punches. “He won’t talk! Make him fucking talk! He’s going to kill us all! He’s going to kill us all!”
The screaming and the punching continued, as did the blood pouring out of numerous lacerations on the freckled patient’s face.
Autumn walked toward the room, unsure as to what she would do to stop the brawl, but certain that it must be stopped. She was pushed aside as three orderlies, two nurses, and a doctor rushed past her. The orderlies pried the hysterical book thrower and the muscular puncher apart while the frantic nurses administered sedation shots.
“He’s going to kill us all! All! All!”
The doctor attempted to stop the blood flow from the still-silent freckled patient’s face, and numerous others spectated from their positions in the large room.
Autumn discerned that some of the “audience” of patients seemed horrified, while others appeared just as confused as the bloody-faced man. Many of the patients were smiling—some even clapping and giggling.
As the situation calmed down, Autumn turned to head for the elevator, and nearly screamed when she locked eyes with a young, hazel-eyed boy with shaggy brown hair. He observed her through the glass of the dayroom window with haunting concentration.
He was wearing a suicide gown—a garment resembling a poncho, made of highly durable material that prevented patients from ripping the fabric and using the cloth to harm themselves.
He smiled at her, his gaze vapid. She smiled back as her heartbeat pounded wild inside her chest.
I wonder what his story is…
But there was no time for that quandary today. Fifteen minutes were almost over, and she had a date with a different troubled soul. She took off down the hall, reminded of her purpose for being in the facility.
The quiet of the elevator was soothing. Autumn hit the third-floor button and sighed with relief as the doors shut. The car jerked a few times, causing her slight alarm, but then rose smooth.
Seconds later, another jerk nearly tossed her against the wall, and then the elevator stopped moving altogether.
Terrific.
She was stuck between floors.
Autumn raised her eyes to the elevator ceiling and detected a brownish liquid seeping between the tiles. She gagged as the scent filled the car.
That smells like actual shit…
She homed in on the substance.
“That is shit.”
Autumn covered her mouth with one arm and reached up toward the tile, her terror rising as her mind screamed for her to mind her own business. Ignoring the warning voice, she gave a push…then another…
The tile fell, along with the arms and torso of a dark-haired woman.
A dead woman.
Autumn slammed her palm against the call button so hard she was surprised the plastic didn’t crack.
“Yes?” came a pleasant female voice.
“This is Dr. Autumn Trent. I’m stuck in the elevator between floors two and three. And…” Autumn closed her eyes, “a woman’s dead body just fell through the ceiling.”
“A what?” Not so pleasant now.
Autumn forced herself to remain calm. “You need to call the police immediately. My phone has no signal in here. And please send someone to get me out of this elevator.”
As soon as fucking possible.
Autumn knew she had no authority to declare an official time of death, but the importance of establishing that the woman was deceased appeared necessary. Visually, she had no questions about the status of this body, but she knew many doctors who’d been sued for not doing something as simple as checking for a pulse.
Taking great care not to touch the body, Autumn gingerly pulled the woman’s sweater collar aside. She placed her fingers to the carotids—definitely, definitely dead—and then glimpsed the dark bruises ringing the woman’s neck like fine jewelry from hell.
This was not an accident.
Knowing that she was sharing the elevator car with a cadaver had been disturbing enough. Homicide raised her horror to a new level.
Only a few minutes passed before the scraping metal clangs of the elevator door being pried open reached her ears. But Autumn swore to herself she’d been in this ghastly, reversed jack-in-the-box for centuries.
Once the door was braced open by the maintenance crew, two muscle-bound orderlies each grasped an arm and pulled her up through the small space the elevator had managed to clear of floor three before halting.
Autumn’s stomach scraped against the tiled edging as her body entered the third floor, and a brief flash of terror shot through her mind as she pictured the elevator dropping and neatly slicing off her legs.
Numerous employees had gathered around the spectacle. Two nurses helped her up and guided her away from the door just as another started sobbing. “Evelyn!”
I’m afraid I must inform you that Evelyn won’t be replying. And if she does, you might wanna call your friendly neighborhood exorcist.
Autumn shuddered.
The guard who was to meet her in the conference room with a shackled Justin Black approached and confirmed Autumn’s assumption that Justin had been taken back to his room.
No mind games today, Mr. Black.
Police officers arrived and set about establishing the crime scene before anyone could contaminate it. One of them, informed that “the hot redhead doctor” had been the lucky individual stuck in the elevator with the dead woman, walked to her.
His face was grim. “We’re g
oing to need you to stick around for a bit, Doctor.”
Autumn nodded her consent but headed for the conference room a few doors down. She had an extraordinarily fun phone call to make.
4
Returning to the quiet atmosphere of the FBI’s Richmond, Virginia Field Office after the massive pandemonium of the Florida case hit Special Agent Noah Dalton as a bit bizarre.
Dealing with a psychopath submerged in his own god-complex wasn’t exactly abnormal in this line of work. But processing all the kidnapped infants, murdered mothers, and distraught partners affected by the madness had been uniquely taxing.
The murderer had covered his tracks incredibly well, hiding the babies on his own private island with his weird-ass cult of followers. He’d had a lot of assistance from the local wildlife too. The alligators of Florida’s swampland happily made the dead women’s bodies disappear. Noah didn’t envy the brave divers who were still going into the swamp, looking for women the gators had stashed on the bottom for a much later snack.
Of course, the bad guy had messed up. They always messed up, even if only by trusting another individual who wasn’t quite as careful and intelligent as themself.
Noah could have done without being bomb-blasted into the marina, but overall, he approved of the team’s effort and execution. One hundred and eight children were saved from the Eden cult and were in the process of being returned to what was left of their families.
However, the case had left Noah and his co-workers with a ton of paperwork. As an employee of the FBI, Noah fully understood the importance of accurate documentation.
As a guy, Noah wanted to go grab a beer, some nachos, and forget about Florida for a few hours. Or maybe just forget about Florida forever.
He’d already groused and grumbled more than anyone else currently in the office. Winter kept her head down and ignored him altogether. The burden was split amongst the entire team, and Noah was aware that he needed to man up and shut up.
The reams of repetitive record keeping might be exhausting, but Noah begrudgingly admitted—to himself and no one else—that they were necessary.