by Kylie Brant
Cassie’s fingers worried the edge of the sheet covering her. It was the second time Cady had tried speaking with the woman. First at the scene, while the medics had been checking her over. That time had been met with a similar lack of success.
“Did you overhear the two men talking?” She tried another tack. “Did they argue?”
Her fingers stilled. But she remained silent.
“Was your abductor in charge? Did he tell the other man what to do?”
There was the tiniest of movements. A slight nod of her head. Encouraged, Cady went on. “How long has the other man been absent?”
The other woman turned her head on the pillow to face the wall. But after a long moment, she said, “Last night. After dark.”
Where had Forrester gone? The question throbbed through her like an open wound. Angela had told them about the time he paid for an entire night with her. But if he’d hired a prostitute last night, he’d have returned home by the time of the rescue.
“Did he tell the other man where he was going?”
“I was kept . . . in his bedroom. I didn’t hear much.”
Cady glanced again at the woman’s throat. She’d survived a nightmare. But her trauma would linger long after the bruises healed. “Had he ever left you this long before?”
“No. But this week, he came and went.”
Her mind raced. What was special about this week? What other interests did Forrester have? Tina Bandy’s family? Apprehension twisted in her gut. She made a mental note to check on them.
“The man who abducted you is Bruce Forrester. The one injured at the scene is Eric Loomer. Do you know what they were doing in that house? Did they ever have visitors?”
The woman was silent for so long that Cady thought she was finished answering. But finally she whispered, “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Sometimes they’d go out together at night. Yesterday . . . he left for most of the day. Came back for a couple of hours.” She shuddered violently. “Then he packed a bag. I didn’t see him again.”
Left for most of the day, Cady mused. Came home and took off again. It didn’t narrow down Forrester’s destination much. There were places in Tennessee he could get to and back in that time frame. Any number of places in North Carolina.
Including Asheville.
The hospital door opened with a quiet swoosh, and Cady rose when she saw the nurse enter. “Visitors are limited to five minutes.” She motioned Cady out of the room as she rounded the bed and spoke to Cassie in a low, soothing voice.
Cady rejoined Miguel and Ryder at the end of the hallway. Both were holding steaming cups of coffee. She shook her head when Ryder offered her his. She’d had enough caffeine to float.
“Did you have better luck this time?” Miguel asked.
She relayed the conversation, ending with, “I’m going to put in a call to the Buncombe County Sheriff’s office. It wouldn’t hurt for someone to check on the Bandy household.”
“I’ll do it,” Ryder volunteered. She sent him a grateful look as he turned and took a few steps away, pulling out his cell.
“You missed Rebedeau.” Miguel took a swig from his Styrofoam cup. “She went up to the surgical floor to check on Loomer’s progress.”
The surgeon had suggested more operations would be needed, given the trauma Loomer’s body had sustained. She was anxious to interview him. He, better than anyone, would have a read on Forrester’s whereabouts.
“Is it possible we missed Forrester? That he spotted us and took off?”
She followed Miguel’s question seamlessly. “I don’t think so. Cassie said he’s been coming and going all week. Yesterday he was gone all day, came back, and then packed a bag and left.”
“To go where?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Hopefully, Loomer can tell us.” The lack of answers was frustrating. She focused on what she knew about Bruce Forrester. He was motivated by his fetish, greed, and revenge. The first two qualities would keep him close to the house. Revenge . . . If he’d learned Dylan Castle was there, that might take him to Asheville. “We’ll know more when we get forensics on the computers found in the home.” The search warrant she’d acquired had given them wide access to the house’s contents. They’d discovered the drugs in the garage, along with false IDs for both men, but the missing answers might be hidden on the computer.
When Ryder rejoined them, Cady said, “Let’s see if we can speak with Loomer.” They turned as one and headed to the elevator.
“How serious is Zook’s condition?” Ryder asked.
“She’ll recover from her physical wounds, according to the nurse.” Cady stabbed at the button that would take them to the surgical floor. “Emotionally, though . . .” The woman had been missing for nearly two months. Cady could only imagine the brutality she’d endured. Psychological scars lingered long after physical injuries healed.
A snippet of memory surfaced, as if summoned by the thought. You don’t like bad guys, do you, Cady?
From long practice, she shoved it aside. Discovering its origin hadn’t made it easier to handle, she reflected grimly. Not in the least.
They stepped into the elevator and rode up two floors. As the elevator doors opened and they stepped into the hallway, the cell in her pocket buzzed. She stepped away from the others to answer it. “Maddix.”
“Cady, it’s Cumberland County deputy investigator Blake Patten. I read the update on the digital file. Congratulations on catching one of those assholes.”
Smiling at the man’s description, she walked toward the waiting room. “No lead on Forrester yet. But we’ll get him.”
“Don’t doubt it,” he replied in his distinctive drawl. “Want to give you the news on our end. We dredged Cutter’s Swamp. Damned if we didn’t find a decomposing garbage bag with a few bones inside. Found several more loose bones in the water. Now it’s up to forensics to say whether they all belonged to the same person and to harvest the DNA. But seems like your informant gave you a solid tip.”
“He’ll be happy to hear that,” she said dryly. True to her word, she’d make a call to Tillis’s warden to tell him as much. “Didn’t happen to find the chain saw used to kill the guy, did you?”
“’Fraid not. Did find some little metal beads in the bottom of the bag, though. You know the kind used to spell out names on a bracelet or necklace? Letters were worn away, but we dipped them in fingerprint powder and we could make them out. Got an A, I, N, T. Anything else will wait on lab testing.”
Which could take weeks, she knew. The case was separate from the warrants on Loomer and Forrester, so they’d wait their turn in the crime lab. Thanking the man for the update, she hung up. Then stopped in the doorway of the waiting room, a thought piercing her. There may have been other letters still resting on the bottom of the pond. But by themselves A, I, N, T could be rearranged to spell Tina.
Surely it was a coincidence that Tina Bandy had lived in Hope Mills, just miles away from Cutter’s Swamp when Brady Boss went missing.
Chapter 64
“Might try the guy over there with the man bun.” The bartender’s voice dripped derision. “To hear him tell it, he knows Tina better than most.”
Bruce Forrester followed the direction of the man’s gaze as the bartender moved away. His lips twisted. Never could figure how a self-respecting man could wear his hair like a damn woman. But he grabbed his beer and ambled over to the scruffy-looking stranger, pulling out a chair to the table where he sat alone. “The bartender said you might know a gal by the name of Tina Bandy,” he said when the guy looked up from his glass, startled. He went through the same song and dance he’d been using in these places about the car for sale and wanting to buy it for his nephew.
“Yeah, I know her. I mean, I know her.” The man belched around the words. “Don’t give me the time of day no more, though. Not that I give a shit. She was a lousy lay.”
Bruce tipped his bottle, as if in toast. “No loss, then, right? You have her number?”
; The guy shook his head. “Deleted it after she started blocking my calls. I mean, who the hell she think she is?”
“You don’t need that shit.”
“Damn right.” The stranger tossed back the rest of his drink and waved over a waitress. Bruce laid a ten on the table. Nudged it toward him.
“Next one’s on me.”
“Thanks.” As the woman approached the table, the man dug in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pen. “I can do better than a phone number, though.” He grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table. “Don’t remember her address, but I was there a few times. I can draw a map to her house.”
Bruce grinned broadly. “That works for me.”
Chapter 65
Tina grabbed her cell from beneath her pillow and answered it before its ring woke the man sleeping beside her.
“Tina?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged out of Emmett’s sleepy embrace and sat up in bed.
“It’s Sheila.”
“Says so on the screen.” Dumb bitch. Sheila No-idea-of-her-last-name worked at the Food Mart with her. They exchanged hours sometimes, so the two of them were semifriendly.
“I work at Yay-hoos at night. Working right now.”
“So?”
Emmett whispered something dirty in Tina’s ear, and she gave him a quick kiss. The guy had stamina and an imagination. The combination was rare.
“I just saw Cory Bartelson draw a map to your place for some stranger who was asking around about you.”
A cold blade of fear stabbed through her. “What’s the guy look like?”
“Forties, maybe, reddish-brown hair with two days of scruff on his face. Mean eyes.”
Her bowels went to ice. Forrester? Fuck fuck fuck fuck!
“Thanks. I owe you.” She couldn’t keep the shake from her voice. Emmett heard it, too, and went still.
“Damn straight you do. You’re gonna trade hours with me three times, no excuses when I ask, got it?”
Tina hung up without responding.
“What’s wrong?”
“Trouble at home. Gotta make some calls.” She slipped from bed, grabbing her T-shirt from the floor and struggling into it as she walked into the next room. With fear sprinting up her spine, she swiftly made plans. First call would be to T. Get him and Dylan out of the house and somewhere safe and then contact the cops.
Because she knew exactly what Bruce Forrester wanted, aside from all of them dead. And she knew what he’d do to get it.
Chapter 66
“I had fun.” Grace looked across the front seat to smile at Dylan. “I mean, the party was sort of lame.”
They were parked in front of the drive at the house her mom had let him out at before. “I don’t know. When that kid started dancing with the trash can your friend just puked in, that was pretty funny.”
She laughed. “It was hysterical. I don’t know what Tiffany was drinking tonight, but she’d obviously had plenty.”
A lot of kids had had plenty. Dylan had stuck with the one beer someone had shoved in his hand when they’d walked in. Had taken a large swig and nearly gagged. How could T drink that stuff? It tasted like swamp water.
“Someone said they put Everclear in the punch. It’s probably best Tiffany puked it up.”
“And it was smart to get out of there before one of the neighbors called the cops.”
“No kidding. I’d be grounded until the end of the year if my parents ever found out.” The darkness of the car’s interior cocooned them. Made it easier to pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.
“We wouldn’t want that.” He slid across the seat toward her. Put his arm around her shoulders. “Where would Clyde be without Bonnie?”
Was it his imagination or did she inch closer to him? Grace’s voice sounded breathless when she answered, “Partners in crime both need to be free.”
He lowered his face to hers. Whispered against her lips, “I like having you for a partner. For everything.” Their kiss had his temperature spiking. Her mouth moved under his in a way that made him a little bit crazy. Everything he’d gone through tonight, every damn thing, was worth it just for the taste of her.
Dylan didn’t know how long they made out. A lifetime that still didn’t seem long enough. Finally, Grace broke away.
“I better go.”
He looked at the dash clock. It was after ten. And there was no telling how long Teeter would sleep. “Yeah. Me too.”
“I’ll take back roads as much as I can, but I’m more likely to get caught when I’m driving alone.”
“Text me as soon as you get home, okay?”
She nodded. “You too. I hope your uncle is still knocked out.”
Dylan hoped so too. He snatched another kiss and then slid toward the passenger door. “You’re a good driver. Just drive the way you have been all night and everything will be fine.”
“You think so?” She smiled at him. Blew him a kiss. “Talk to you soon.”
“Yeah.” He got out of the car, shutting the door, and stood there until she pulled away. He started up the drive in case she was watching him in the rearview mirror, but there were lights on in the house ahead, so he didn’t want to get too close to it. He stopped and waited about ten minutes, shivering in his hoodie. Then he took off diagonally across the lawn so he could cut through the field toward his place.
He started to jog, although he was in no particular hurry to get home. Tonight had felt so damn normal. Even when he’d been paranoid and half-worried he was going to get caught.
For a minute, he could feel Grace in his arms again, taste her lips against his. And Dylan knew the night had been worth the risk.
It’d been the best damn night of his life.
Getting in the window proved to be a whole lot trickier than getting out of it. When he was finally inside, it occurred to him that there was no way he could pull the screen up behind him and relock it. He’d have to leave it where it was against the house. Reset it from the outside sometime T wasn’t looking. Giving a mental shrug, he pulled down the window, locked it and drew the shade. Then he turned. And fell back against the window again when a long, lean shadow filled the open doorway.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
Busted. There was no reason to lie. “I went to a party.”
“Party!” Teeter’s voice went so high, it almost squeaked. But it wasn’t funny. Nothing about getting caught by a psycho was in the least bit amusing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He lunged toward him, and Dylan balled his fists. He wasn’t going to take the man’s shit anymore. If he wanted to whale on him, Dylan was fighting back.
“You picked a great time to go AWOL, boy. The shit has hit the fan. Grab your things. We gotta get out of here for a while.”
“What?” he said. T grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the doorway. “What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere.”
“You should have thought about that a few hours ago. Cops have been here, and what did I find when I went to get you out of bed? Damn pillows stuffed under the covers to look like a body. What do you think they’re thinking now that they didn’t find you or your mom at home?”
Dylan felt a twinge of fear. “Cops. SBI?”
“Sheriff. Get in your room.” The man shoved him toward the doorway. “Grab some stuff. Pack a bag. We have to leave for a day or two.”
“Leave? You’re crazy. I need to talk to my mom.” Maybe the muscle relaxants Dylan had snuck the man had finally sent him around the bend. T was making zero sense.
“Listen to me.” T stood in the doorway of Dylan’s bedroom. Dylan could see now that the man’s things, which had been piled on top of Colton’s old dresser, were in a garbage bag on his bed. “I talked to your mom. Forrester knows where you live, got that? We need to make ourselves scarce.”
His knees went weak. Forrester. The monster who had haunted his nights for near as long as he could remember. The man who’d killed three people already. Th
at they knew of. “What about Mom? We need to contact the SBI. The marshal.”
“She’s safe. And she’s calling the cops. We need to get somewhere safe too. Now, move your ass.”
This time, Dylan didn’t argue. Fear was a powerful motivator.
Chapter 67
“One of you can talk to Mr. Loomer.” The nurse’s voice was firm. “Five minutes, tops. The doctor was clear on that. He should be back in his room now: 506.”
Cady nodded, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was a quarter to eleven. Exhaustion was apparent on the visages of Rossi, Rebedeau, Miguel, and Ryder. She knew if she looked in the mirror, she’d see a similar mask of weariness. Cady headed toward the room, already formulating the most pressing questions for Loomer.
She nodded toward the officer stationed outside his room and went through the doorway. Loomer’s bare torso was heavily bandaged, as were his hands and arms. From what the doctor had said, his legs had taken the worst of the blast. Cady stood next to the man’s bed. “Eric Loomer.” She waited for him to open his eyes. Turn his head toward her. “I’m Deputy US Marshal Cady Maddix.”
“You. On the roof.” His voice was hoarse. But the accusation in it was unmistakable.
She nodded. “Where is Bruce Forrester?”
“Fuck if I know.”
A fist of frustration clenched in her belly. “If we don’t find him, you take the fall for everything. The drugs. The woman.”
“It was all him. He set up the drug operation. I just packaged and mailed them. I don’t even know anything about the business outside of that. And I never kidnapped no one. He’s the one who’d bring women home sometimes.”
Women. Tension settled in her shoulders. “How many were there?”
He closed his eyes. “Half a dozen maybe. He’d go all over. Different states and towns. Mostly whores. He said they’d never be missed.”
Half a dozen. The number staggered Cady. Spreading out his hunting grounds had done exactly what Forrester had hoped. Made patterns difficult to establish. And picking mostly transient victims, like Marcy Linton, had also worked to his advantage.