“No, that’s why I’m calling. I picked up a nail in my tire and I’m gonna have to bail on today.”
“Oh, no,” Mia said, but she kept the car pointed toward Alpharetta and the barn.
“You’re welcome to ride Banshee if you want.”
“Thanks,” Mia said. “I really need to ride today.”
“He can use the exercise. I haven’t been out in nearly a week.”
“So he’s hot, is that what you’re telling me?”
“Well, he might be a little full of himself, let me just say that.”
Mia laughed, and after a few more moments of conversation they disconnected. She’d miss Ned’s company but she did need the ride today, for mental therapy if nothing else. It was a beautiful spring day, cool but clear, and the dogwoods promised to be approaching full bloom in the woods surrounding the barn. If one afternoon on horseback in an Atlanta spring couldn’t fix what was wrong with her, nothing could.
Nothing was going to fix what’s wrong with Tracy Kilpatrick.
The thought sidled its way into her brain, erupting from the place she’d pushed it for all the days and hours since the funeral.
Who could have killed her? Why?
As she fought to push the thought back down, her phone dinged and she saw that her GPS tracking service was sending her an alert.
Wojinziky.
Mia put her turn signal on for the next exit. She’d traced his path to and from the same grocery store four different times last week—without ever needing to get in her car and follow him. But this time was different. This time he was moving in the opposite direction of the grocery store. She made a quick calculation as she saw him move out of his neighborhood and merge onto Georgia 400. She exited I-85 onto Jimmy Carter Boulevard.
Wherever he was going, she had a feeling she needed to be there for this one. Her fingers tingled as she gripped the steering wheel. What was it that made her know—know in her bones—that this time was different? Was this her gift talking? Was this just an extra bonus? A kind of extrasensory perception boost that she’d never noticed before?
The dot on the GPS tracking screen moved relentlessly down Georgia 400 and then exited onto Abernathy Road heading toward Sandy Springs.
Where the hell is he going? Did he finally have a plumbing job? Who the hell does he know in Sandy Springs?
Mia jumped back on I-85 going south, offered up a prayer of thanks that it was moving quickly in this direction, too, and then exited onto I-285 going west. She knew the Sandy Springs area fairly well—it was a major conduit to Atlanta’s main shopping districts. Unfortunately, once she got off the main thoroughfare she’d be severely limited as to which roads to take. And the last thing she needed was for Wojinziky to recognize her car.
Suddenly, the dot on the screen stopped past Spalding Drive. There was a string of apartment buildings and condos on that road and Mia felt her heartbeat accelerate at the thought he was meeting someone. She exited 285 onto Roswell Road. It would take her twenty minutes at least, now that she was off the perimeter loop, to make her way up one of the most congested streets in Atlanta. She watched her smartphone screen. The dot didn’t move.
Eighteen minutes later, Mia pulled into the apartment complex off Roswell Road and Spalding. Wojinziky’s car was parked in the lot closest to the apartment building. Mia took her time finding a spot near enough to his car where she’d be able to see Wojinziky when he returned—but not too close. It was on the second circuit of the parking lot that she got close enough to the car to realize—he was still inside it.
Shit! Had he seen her? She hurriedly parked six parking spaces away and sat, her heart pounding. Why was he still in the car? He’s been here nearly thirty minutes. Is he waiting for someone? A few minutes later, Mia slipped out of the car to edge closer to where he was. He sat in the driver’s seat staring intently at the opening of the apartment building.
He’s stalking someone.
Mia crept back to her car and tried to think. Is he staking out his next victim? Is this connected to Victoria or Tracy? Is this someone new? She glanced at her watch. It was only a little after four but already the light was starting to dim. Was he waiting until dark to make his move? The only way to know for sure was to wait with him. If he went inside, she’d call the chief and risk his wrath—until he inevitably threw himself at her feet with apologies when it turned out she’d caught the killer and saved some poor woman’s life.
But if he goes inside, the cops won’t get here in time.
Mia reached into her glove box where she kept her Glock, until she realized she’d made a deal with Jack not to carry it until she went to the range more. Damn! Should she call the police now? Before a crime was committed? That didn’t make sense either. No, when Wojinziky finally decides to make his move, Mia would just have to be right behind him. That was the only answer. Even without a gun she could at least scare him off and save whomever he was targeting as his next “Victoria.”
Satisfied with this plan, Mia turned on the heat in her car and settled down to wait. An hour later, Wojinziky still hadn’t moved. The light had leached completely from the sky, leaving a dark gray cast. It was difficult to see much more than shadows as cars moved about the parking lot. It wasn’t one of the poorer apartment buildings on Spalding—but not the nicest by a long shot. Whoever lived here likely had a job of some kind. Most of the cars in the lot were fairly new, if economy-sized. The fact the complex wasn’t gated but was close to Roswell Road also told Mia it wasn’t in any way upscale.
Mia knew Jack had left for his cooking gig. He’d texted her a quarter of an hour earlier but she hadn’t responded. He wouldn’t expect her to, thinking she was at the barn. Because she had nothing but time on her hands, she scheduled a text to him to be delivered in the next hour saying she was heading back to the condo. That way, if she forgot to do it—depending on what went down tonight—he wouldn’t worry that she’d read his text but hadn’t responded.
Suddenly, she saw Wojinziky open his car door. It had been so long since he’d moved that at first, Mia didn’t recognize what she was seeing. Sure enough, he was standing outside his car. Mia squinted in the gloom to see what he was looking at. A woman was coming out of the building, a gym bag in her arms. Mia’s heartbeat sped up. This was it!
Wojinziky closed his car door and moved toward the woman. Mia followed, keeping several yards behind. She knelt by a parked car and watched the woman when she spied Wojinziky.
“Jeff.” She sounded breathless and surprised. But not afraid.
“Hey, Beth.”
So they knew each other. That fits. He and Victoria knew each other, too.
“Do you have a minute?” he asked.
Mia watched the woman shoulder her gym bag and look around the parking lot, as if trying to find the right words. She was pretty. Probably late twenties, slim, dark hair. She looked a lot like Victoria Baskerville. And weirdly, a little like Mindy Payne, too.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jeff.”
“I just want to talk.”
Mia was surprised to hear his voice sound wheedling and sincere. Not at all the same crazed monster who threw her off a porch and put a foot to her throat.
Except he was.
“Jeff, go home.”
Yeah, Jeff. Go home to your wife. Even if she does have a voice that would make rabid dogs cringe.
“I miss you, Beth.”
“I know. But I can’t see you, Jeff. Please don’t come again.”
For a moment, Mia thought he would attack her. He stood, looming over her, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side as if trying to decide what to do. And then, like someone had let the air out of him, his shoulders dropped and his head sagged to his chest. He turned and trudged back to his car. Mia knelt in the shadows and watched him pull out of the parking lot and leave. She watched Beth on the sidewalk, her shoulders shaking with her tears.
Mia stood and walked quickly to her. “Are you okay?” she c
alled out.
Beth rubbed at her face and took a step backward toward her apartment.
“I’m sorry,” Mia said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that I’m a…friend of Jeff’s.”
“If he put you up to trying to make me change my mind,” Beth said, emotion still thick in her voice, but her eyes wary, “you’re wasting your time and so is he.”
“It’s just that I couldn’t help notice how upset you are.”
“What else is new?” Beth looked at Jeff’s retreating taillights and shook her head. “Screw the gym,” she said. “I need a drink. Do you want to come in?”
“That would be great.”
And so the Good Samaritan gains a toehold in the victim’s trust.
Beth’s apartment was obviously that of a single woman’s. The living room had macramé plant holders, several amateur paintings of cats and a couch in purple velvet. Mia sat on the couch while Beth poured two glasses of wine.
“How do you know Jeff?” Beth asked as she handed Mia her wine.
“Well, it’s really my husband who knows him,” Mia said, and was rewarded by a nod from Beth as if that made more sense. “Can you tell me what happened to you two?”
“It just couldn’t work,” Beth said. “I mean it did for awhile. We were even talking about getting married. Did you know that?”
Mia shook her head and tried to keep an encouraging look on her face. Maybe Beth doesn’t know about the wife?
“You both seem so unhappy,” Mia pushed.
“I know. It sucks.” Beth took a swig of her wine and the tears were back, streaming down her face. “I really believed we were meant to be.”
“But then why not?”
“I shouldn’t say,” Beth said. “I know Jeff would feel…betrayed if I did. Since I’m the one who broke up with him, I owe him that much.”
“I probably already know,” Mia said.
“You probably do,” Beth said, dabbing at her tears with a tissue. “I’d be very surprised if you didn’t.”
So is she talking about Jeff being married? Because that doesn’t seem to be a very big secret. Or is she talking about the fact that she knows Jeff murdered someone? Maybe even two someones?
Mia pulled a dry cleaner’s ticket from her jacket pocket, wrote her cell phone number on it with her name and handed it to Beth. “If you ever want to talk,” she said. “I hope you’ll call me.”
Beth took the paper and then went to a desk in the living room. She jotted down a few words on a notecard and handed it to Mia.
“I don’t have a zillion friends,” she said. “I’d like that.”
“Me, too.”
As Mia maneuvered out of the parking lot a few minutes later, her mind was invaded by an unsettled feeling. She and Beth had hugged before they parted, and Mia was able to pick up that Beth was sad. She was definitely on the level about being brokenhearted over losing the love of her life—one adulterous, murdering bastard by the name of Jeff Wojinziky.
What did it mean that Beth wouldn’t say why she’d broken up with him? What terrible secret was she keeping in order to protect him? And why couldn’t she see him for who he really was?
As Mia left the lights and traffic of Roswell Road for a side street, her mind began vibrating with feelings of dread and anticipation. It occurred to her that the sensation had been swirling just beneath the surface ever since she’d gotten into the car, but she’d been so focused on trying to dissect her conversation with Beth, she hadn’t noticed. Now the feeling came roaring to the forefront. There was a scent, an alien smell.
Of malignance.
Someone was in the car with her.
Chapter15
Something in the back seat moved against her seat at the same time she reached for her glove box. She needn’t have bothered. There was of course no gun in the glove box. A man loomed up out of the back seat, his face and shoulders filling her rear view mirror—as did the knife; the very large knife he held to her throat.
“It couldn’t have worked any better,” Derek said, his breath hot and foul. “You coming to me, just like I’d dreamed it.”
He pinched the knife into her flesh and she gasped at the pain. A line of blood trickled down her neck.
“Take 85 to the connector,” he said. “Don’t try anything. Your boyfriend’s texted you twice. What I wouldn’t give to send him a photo of your lips wrapped around my dick, but…” He held up her cell phone with his free hand. “You can’t have everything.”
He tossed the phone out the window.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Did I say you could talk?” He nicked her neck again and again she gasped. She wanted to touch the wound, push him away, keep her burgeoning fear from filling up the car until there was no more air left to breathe. She forced herself not to move.
“You think because I’m from Lawrenceville I don’t know Atlanta?” he said. His eyes darted wildly about the car, at Mia, outside at the interstate, the drab grey buildings of wholesalers and factories flying by. “You take an exit anywhere but onto the connector and I’ll know.”
Mia nodded.
“Have any idea how sick I am of you people from Atlanta? Especially the reporters—most of ‘em ain’t even from the fucking South—thinking I’m some kind of hillbilly because I come from Lawrenceville?”
Mia licked her lips. He was taking her out of town. Her throat stung with the shallow cuts, reminding her to bide her time and wait before she acted.
“You’re the reason Tracy’s dead,” he continued, his voice rising. “Not me. Wasn’t my fault. What with her whoring all over Atlanta like she’s all that. Wanting to be just like Vickie. Well, now she’s just like Vickie—dead! Just like Vickie!”
Mia felt the blast of his breath on her neck. His high-pitched voice was reverberating throughout the car and slamming into her right ear.
“Not my fault she ended up like Vickie. I just gave her what she been wanting. I didn’t get to Vickie, but by God I got to her.”
Oh my God. A needle of ice traced down Mia’s spine.
He’s confessing that he killed his sister.
*****
The text read
Jack glanced at his watch. She’s been gone for over three hours, so that’s about right.
He was just packing up from his Buckhead client’s house. It was a spring buffet for members of her neighborhood garden party—although they’d all eaten indoors. It never ceased to amaze Jack that there were people in the world—now his world—who were so rich they dropped two grand on a luncheon for twelve to celebrate the possibility of what their hired gardeners might or might not do in the coming growing season.
It would take Jack another thirty minutes to finish cleaning up and loading the car. He and Mia didn’t have specific plans for the night beyond the usual—go find another couple of guys who’d contacted Victoria Baskerville but hadn’t taken her up on any offers, have Mia touch them, dodge any punches that might be on tap, then go home and heat up the spicy sausage riggies he’d made the day before. He called Mia’s phone but it went straight to voice mail. He texted her a quick message. Her phone probably died and she’d forgotten to use her car charger. When she got back to the condo she’d see his message that he was heading to the gym and would see her around eight.
A feeling crept up the back of his neck but he shook it off. History told him that not being able to reach Mia could be a bad thing. To be safe, he could give Ned a call. There was no way he’d let the battery die on his phone, but if Jack called Ned then he’d have effectively announced to two people what an overprotective nut job he was. And Mia for sure didn’t need any more evidence of how rattled he got when he couldn’t reach her. Yeah, the gym was definitely a good idea. Work out some of these issues.
*****
They stopped at the third rest stop south of the city, toward Macon. Derek hadn’t told her that was their destination but they’d passed the I-85
exit heading to Alabama so unless he was taking her to Florida for some reason, it was Macon. Mia sat in the backseat of her car, her hands tied behind her back.
The minute he touched her, she knew it was true. The confusion and hatred jumped off him like sparks igniting a fire when he touched her skin. He had killed. The sensation raged up and down Mia’s whole body, leaving her trembling and weak. He tied a rag around her mouth that Mia once used to wipe up a gas spill.
He secured ripcords he found in the trunk to her hair and the backdoor handle. It kept her half-inclined, her head invisible to anyone parking next to them. Not that there were very many people at seven in the evening in the middle of the week heading to Macon. And rest stops were usually for people on trips. It was ninety minutes from Atlanta to Macon. If you couldn’t make it that far without stopping for a Mountain Dew or a pit stop, you were probably in your eighties. And so, not a big help to someone tied up and gagged in the back of her own car.
Derek had made her pull in so he could use the facilities. He dragged her over the back of the front seat, the knife clamped to her throat, slashing zigzags in her flesh in the process. While the chief had given her some basic instruction in self-defense, the knife to the throat was a lesson they had yet to come to.
Mia watched Derek walk to the bathrooms. They hadn’t parked in front of the darkened welcome center—but not far from it either. Unless they had dogs to walk most people parked close to the bathrooms. Mia counted six cars in the parking lot when they drove up. She tried to keep calm, to keep her thoughts from ricocheting around her head in distracted, unproductive quivers of fear.
Is this just rape or does he plan to kill me too? He killed his own sister! There is no limit to what he might do next.
As the thoughts swamped her brain, Mia felt her breathing coming faster and faster. Everything about the rest stop looked so normal—not a bit as if it was one of the last places on Earth she would ever see. An image of Jess came to mind and tears filled Mia’s eyes.
Complete Mia Kazmaroff Page 76