Exposing a Killer

by Laurie Alice Eakes

The agency that was, at that moment, burning. Burning in the middle of a block of other businesses all connected. Others could suffer. Others could lose.

  Head down, she burst into the sunshine and shadow of the alley. A trash truck idled at the nearest end of the alley, unable to exit due to the emergency response vehicles lining up along the street, and the throngs of people crowding the sidewalk. Megan ran in the other direction. A glance back told her Gary hadn’t followed.

  Because he’d gone directly to Amber. She knew it without him telling her. No other explanation for his absence. He wouldn’t have gone to his office for papers. He hated paper files and kept everything digital he possibly could. Digital and duplicated.

  But Tess and Amber were his responsibility as far as he was concerned. All the women he hired were.

  Except he had let Megan go out on her own while feeling the need to rescue Amber.

  Megan nearly smiled. Amber wouldn’t like that. Appreciate it, yes, but not like it.

  Gasping for air from the run more than smoke, at the end of the block, Megan drew her shirt from her face, glad she had worn a tank top beneath. She paused long enough to gulp fresh air, then sped up the block and around the corner...

  To nearly mow down Amber and Tess.

  “You’re safe.” Megan hugged her roommate.

  Tess nudged her way between them.

  “How did you get out?” Megan asked.

  Amber gave her a “well, duh” look. “When the window shattered and smoke filled the room, I grabbed Tess’s harness and told her, Outside. She took me right to the door. I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face, but maybe the smoke was thinner at Tess’s level. But I think she’d still know where the door is.” She patted the golden on her head.

  Tess’s tail waved like a plumy flag behind her.

  “We’d better go tell Gary you’re all right. He was going back into the building for you.”

  “He should have known—” Amber smiled. “He’s such a good man.” She gestured with her hand, and she and Tess faced the way they had come.

  “Why don’t you wait here.” Megan glanced toward the office. A solid line of people, mostly first responders, blocked the sidewalk. Smoke reigned over their heads like a canopy of gray gauze. “It’s crowded up there, and I’m afraid Tess will get trampled.”

  Amber nodded. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Back soon.” Megan trotted up the sidewalk toward the office, toward the source of the smoke. Smoke and probably fire from a homemade bomb someone had shot through the window. To intimidate her? To destroy the office? Surely the perpetrators knew the video Megan had taken would be secured by now.

  But if she were dead, she couldn’t verify anything from the video, and it was dark, unclear.

  She hefted the backup hard drive beneath her arm. She should have taken time to drop it into the safe. That was fireproof. Even so, the physical drive was only insurance against something going wrong with the remote backup or if internet service went down for a while and they needed old data. Whoever had chased her the night before, stolen her car, tried to push Jack off the train, might not even be behind the fire. They’d left others disgruntled with their work. In most investigations, someone came out the loser.

  But in the thirty years Gary had been in the business, no one had ever perpetrated a physical attack, so she doubted this one was related to anything else.

  Megan paused beside a utility pole to survey the organized chaos ahead of her. She couldn’t find Gary. From shouts from the first responders, she knew they were allowing no one near the building. Gary hadn’t emerged. Megan should try to get someone’s attention to assure them their receptionist/researcher and her dog were safe, but their boss was not.

  She shoved the hard drive down the front of her shirt to free her hands, then gripped the pole and stepped onto its base for added height in her search for Gary. “Gary,” she shouted.

  No one could possibly hear her above the tumult of commands, running engines and onlookers.

  “Gary.” She waved her arm.

  Someone caught hold of her wrist and began to tug.

  “No.” Megan gripped the pole with one arm wrapped around its rough surface and kicked out with her right foot. If only she wore boots. Running shoes weren’t much good as defense weapons, especially when her foot failed to make contact. The pressure on her arm increased. She tried to look at her attacker. He wore a sweatshirt, hood up, hiding much of his face. Bushy eyebrows bristled forward from beneath the black hood, thick and dark like those on the man from the video.

  “Help.” She cried the word. Uselessly. Her voice sounded too quiet, too strained with her effort to maintain hold of the pole and pull herself free.

  Her arm felt stretched, the socket yanked to the breaking point. She tried to scream, but no saliva wet her mouth enough for sound.

  “Why?” she rasped.

  The man seemed not to hear her.

  Amber was only a block away, but she couldn’t see that far to know what was happening. Everyone else focused on the fire. Megan kicked out again, connected with someone solid. He grunted, then gave her another yank. Megan lost her grip with her right hand. Her left arm flopped limply at her side. She forced it to move, to lift, to protect the backup drive inside her shirt.

  “Let me go.” Instead, he tossed her over his shoulder.

  Then he began to run toward Amber and Tess.

  * * *

  For a brief moment, Jack had spotted Megan struggling to hold onto a utility pole while someone grasped her arm and attempted to haul her away. But then the crowd shifted, and his view was obscured.

  Jack began to push through the crowd. Her name hovered on his lips, but not even the loudest shout could be heard over the throng and the wail of sirens. Hemmed in on all sides, he was tempted to begin lifting smaller people out of his way. No point. He doubted that would get him there faster. First responders were arriving. They were equipped to help.

  But Jack was closer. He needed to be there. Every sense in his body told him he needed to get to Megan.

  He sought a way around the crowd.

  Jack glanced behind himself for another route. Of course. He should have thought of it sooner. It would take time, but not as much as trying to fight forward, risking getting waylaid by the police—or worse.

  He spun on his heel and began to charge back to the L. Access card in hand, he scanned it as he leaped over the turnstile. An attendant shouted at him. He ignored her. He’d paid even though he wasn’t riding on the train. He took the steps two, then three at a time.

  And raced past his sister.

  “Jack,” she called to him, “where—”

  “Just wait. I think you’re safe here.”

  He hoped she was. She was so far. The station was filling up. No one would hurt Grace in such a crowd.

  He paused to see if Grace was indeed all right, if anyone was taking notice of her. She seemed fine. Secure. From the advantage of his elevation and height, he swept his gaze over the masses of people below...

  And saw Megan struggling as a man carried her away over his shoulder.

  He took the opposite steps in a few leaps, nearly fell over a baby carriage blocking the bottom, as if the mother intended to haul it up two flights of stairs rather than take the elevator, and jumped over it without doing anyone harm.

  “Sorry,” he shouted to the shocked mother.

  Then he was out of the station and all the way around the block from Megan. But the block was nearly empty. Empty enough for him to maintain his headlong dash.

  He couldn’t keep up that speed for long, not without any sleep the night before, not without much food for at least eighteen hours. No matter, he had been a champion runner in high school, the one thing that had saved him from being a hoodlum, and he’d kept up the running since.

  He reac
hed the end of the block and swerved around the corner. A block away, a woman and her golden retriever stood against a building. The dog sat gazing up at her, ears pricked up at full mast, as the woman rested one hand on the dog’s head and moved the other along her handbag as though she were playing a piano on the leather. To Jack, racing toward her, she appeared anxious, worried.

  Call 911, he wanted to shout to her.

  He saved his breath for this block. Megan was nearby unless the man had dragged her into one of the buildings. Possible. Unlikely. Anything could have happened in the five minutes she’d been out of his sight. Five minutes that felt like five hours.

  He reached the corner and jogged across the street without looking for traffic. An air horn blasting sent him jumping onto the opposite curb. Twenty feet away, the dog rose, positioning its body between Jack and the waiting woman. Jack waved, hoping the woman would understand he was no threat, and looked up the block.

  The man ran toward Jack, mere yards away, with Megan tossed over his shoulder as though she were being saved from a burning building.

  The man kept coming, head down as though he intended to plow right through Jack. Jack planted his feet and waited. One yard closer. Two.

  He heard Megan’s voice now, hoarse and maybe angry. “You can’t do this. You need to let me go.”

  No panic, just admonitions.

  In spite of everything, Jack grinned. Then he waited until the man was a yard closer and kicked high and hard. He wore only running shoes, but a solid kick was a solid kick, especially with the man’s momentum throwing him into the blow. It caught him in the solar plexus. He stumbled back. Megan threw her weight to the side.

  The man staggered, then dropped her. She sprawled on the pavement like a discarded sack of grain.

  The man regained his balance and swerved around Jack, breathing hard enough to be heard above the background cacophony.

  Jack cast Megan a glance, longing to help her up, ensure she wasn’t seriously injured. A thrill at seeing her again overrode the longing. Then he took off after the would-be kidnapper.

  The man stumbled and glanced Jack’s way. For an instant, he caught sight of thick brows and a heavy jaw inside the hood, then the man took off again. Jack kept after him, nearly got his hands on him.

  But an SUV pulled to the curb at the next corner. The man hopped in the open passenger door, and the vehicle sped off, tires squealing around the corner, cars honking, brakes slamming cars to a halt.

  Jack bent double, hands on his knees, breathing hard. He needed to write down what numbers on the SUV he remembered. With those and the make and model and color, the cops could possibly track it down and catch the man, along with the woman at the wheel. Jack couldn’t describe anything about her other than the long, blond hair, like Cahill’s.

  “But we saw her die,” Jack muttered to himself.

  Or maybe they had not.

  Jack turned toward Sheffield and the ladies he had left behind there, trying to maintain a brisk pace when he wanted to trudge like a kid on the way to school. That last run had sapped his energy. His head spun with fatigue and hunger.

  And he had to retrieve his sister, left behind on the platform like a dropped newspaper.

  He dug his phone from his pocket and called her.

  “Where are you?” she greeted him.

  “A block away. I’ll come get you—”

  “I’ll get myself.” Her tone was clipped, a little irritated. “I’m on the street level now.”

  “I told you to stay.”

  “And I’m a bad dog.”

  “Don’t disrespect your elders.”

  She snorted, then said something a passing train overhead drowned in its rumbling roar.

  Jack reached Megan and the lady with the dog and nodded at them, pointing at the phone. “Will you please stay at the station so I can escort you...somewhere?” he said to his sister.

  He had no idea where to go now.

  “I have to go to the office,” Megan said to him or maybe her friend. “I need to check on Gary.”

  “Who is that?” Grace asked.

  “Megan.”

  “Megan, is it?” A tension had crept into Grace’s voice. “Maybe I should go home.”

  “You can’t.”

  Jack understood why she wanted to. Society wasn’t always kind to those who weren’t apparently “normal” in body and/or mind.

  He glanced at Megan again, talking to her friend, and wondered how she would treat Grace. Part of his mind had registered the harness on the golden retriever, telling him the woman was visually impaired, and Megan talked to her as he had seen her talk to others—as though her friend’s disability meant nothing to her.

  He found himself hoping she would treat Grace that way. Then he mentally kicked himself for caring how she treated Grace. Well, of course he cared. Despite the strength of her faith, Grace’s fragile self-confidence didn’t need someone snubbing her when she stumbled over words or forced one to move slowly. Yet a tiny prick of light, of warmth, inside Jack warned him he wanted Megan to give Grace the right reaction for his sake, as well.

  He admired her. That was all. He didn’t want to be disappointed, though he admonished himself to remember that everyone carried clay feet somewhere in their character.

  “Wait in the station, please,” Jack said. “I’m not sure it’s safe.”

  “If you insist.” Grace’s voice was small amid the background noise of hundreds of people, blaring loudspeaker announcements, and train doors ringing the warning they were about to close.

  Jack disconnected and looked at Megan. “We still have a perp to catch,” he said.

  “Before he kills us,” Megan conceded.

  SEVEN

  Megan felt sick. Guilty. If she hadn’t insisted on finishing up the Cahill case any way she could, hadn’t gone out in the middle of the night and climbed a tree to spy on her case subject, Jack never would have been attacked on the train. Her car wouldn’t have been stolen. The agency wouldn’t have been bombed. No matter that she had been attacked, nearly kidnapped in the midst of everything else.

  She covered her face with her hands, tried to breathe deeply, slowly. She concentrated on not being sick there in front of Jack, which would be too humiliating to endure, or give in to the dizziness taking over her head. She felt as though a puff of wind would knock her onto the pavement in a heap of slacks, shirt and running shoes.

  “Megan?” Amber’s voice sounded far away.

  A large, warm hand slipped beneath her elbow. “Let’s find a place you can sit down,” Jack said.

  “There’s a nice coffee shop down the street,” Amber said.

  Amber. Jack. She hadn’t introduced them.

  She lowered her hands. “I’m all right. Thanks. Amber, this is Jack.”

  “The accountant.” Amber smiled and held out her hand.

  Jack took it. “That makes me sound boring.”

  “I don’t think you and Megan have had a boring time of it in the past few hours,” Amber said.

  “Twelve hours.” Megan looked at her phone. “Only twelve.”

  She noticed a man in uniform walking toward them. The fire captain, she suspected.

  Megan held up a hand. “I need to talk to this guy.”

  “And I need to get my sister.”

  Megan paused in midstride forward. “Your sister?”

  “I thought she was safer with me than alone, considering your stolen car ended up outside my house and someone tampered with my gas meter.”

  Though she knew her foot landed on the sidewalk, Megan felt as though she had just stepped into Jell-O. “My car?”

  “Why don’t we go back to our apartment,” Amber suggested. “We can have lunch, and all be quiet and safe away from chaos.”

  “I think a cabin in the woods sounds like the
right call at the moment.” Megan rubbed her temples.

  Surely her ponytail was too tight, affecting her brain and what she was hearing. Her car couldn’t possibly be in front of Jack’s house.

  “How did they know where you live?” Megan asked.

  Jack shrugged. “Probably my business card left in the car. How did they know which car was yours parked on the street?”

  “They saw it when they chased us out of the neighborhood.”

  He touched her arm, a mere graze of fingertips, encouraging, reassuring, not at all intrusive. “That fire captain looks impatient. Let’s head that way. I’ll go meet Grace at the station and wait for you there.”

  “Sounds good.” Megan glanced behind her to ensure Amber and Tess followed.

  They did, Tess’s nails clicking on the concrete, her head up, her tail again waving behind her. She looked proud of herself. Amber looked concerned, tense around her eyes and lips.

  More guilt slithered through Megan. She was making everyone unhappy. And if this all hit the news, her parents and siblings would find out. Talk about unhappy!

  She met the fireman and a cop halfway up the block. Jack waved and kept going. Megan crossed her arms over her waist.

  The fireman nodded at her when she approached. “Someone pointed you out as an occupant of the building.”

  “What do you need to know?” Megan asked. “What happened? Have you seen my boss, Gary?”

  “Your boss went to the hospital for smoke inhalation, but he should be fine,” the fireman said.

  “You’re sure?” Megan was shaking. “I mean, he’s not young. And the stress... The office? Is his office destroyed?”

  “It was a homemade incendiary device. Fortunately, the carpet in the office has a fire retardant in it and you have more smoke than fire damage. We didn’t find many flames or serious damage, but the structural integrity will have to be inspected before you can use the office again.”

  Megan shook her head, which was spinning at the number of tasks she now needed to take care of with Gary temporarily out of commission.

  This is what you want, she reminded herself. Being boss means more than giving directions to others and collecting a commission on every case.