Victim

by Gayle Wilson

  There wasn't a damn thing Mac could do about her decision. All he could do was be there when all of it went down.

  And maybe, if he was very lucky, he'd be allowed to pick up the pieces when it was over.

  Twenty-Five

  The worst thing about needing space from one another was that in their situation, there was no reasonable way to get it. With Morel's warning echoing in her head, Sarah couldn't suddenly announce she was going to take a walk around the block to clear her head. Sure, she believed Mac's theory made sense. But at this point it was, as everyone kept reminding her, simply a theory.

  Finally she had retreated into the kitchen, spending a few minutes looking through its limited resources before she decided on how she was going to kill a couple of hours and get away from Mac at the same time. She couldn't remember cooking much of anything since before Danny died, but maybe it was like riding a bike, because the cake she was in the process of making burnt sugar icing for actually looked edible.

  "Smells good."

  She looked up to find Mac leaning against one side of the doorway watching her. She had a feeling he might have been there a while, but the tricky icing had served its purpose. She'd been concentrating on it to the exclusion of everything else.

  "Thanks."

  She used the back of her wrist to push a strand of hair away from her eyes. As she did, she encountered a slight dampness at her temple. Despite the cold outside, between the residual heat from the oven and standing over the stove to stir the frosting, it had gotten uncomfortably warm in here.

  "My mom used to bake cakes for our birthdays," Mac said. "I'd almost forgotten how good they smell."

  "Your wife didn't cook?" She kept her eyes focused on the pan as she asked, suddenly conscious of the temptation Mac represented.

  "Some. When we first married. You know how that goes. You both work. Gone all day. Nobody's got time or energy when it comes to fixing dinner."

  "Yeah."

  The silence built while she pretended to concentrate on her icing. She fought the urge to look at him again.

  "Bribe?"

  That brought her head up in a hurry. Maybe she'd been wrong before, she realized. Maybe Mac hadn't been there long. He seemed to have settled into position now, ankles and arms both crossed, his left shoulder propped against the frame.

  "What?"

  "I asked if the cake's supposed to be a bribe?"

  "For you?"

  He laughed. "Actually, I was wondering if you were going to take it to Morel tomorrow."

  "To bribe him for what? He agreed to everything I asked"

  "Then...a reward, maybe."

  "It isn't for Morel." She returned her attention to the contents of the pan, which were, in fact, reaching the critical stage.

  "Good to know."

  She looked up in time to watch him turn and walk back to the living room. After a moment the television came on. As she continued to stir, she realized he was listening to a rerun of one of the popular forensics shows. Busman's holiday.

  As she cooled the icing and then worked on assembling the cake, that program morphed into another. Some kind of cop show again, more action oriented than the first.

  He was still watching that one when she carried the hunk she'd cut from the finished cake into the living room. Given the passage of time between her last effort at baking and this, she had been both pleased and surprised at how well it had turned out. Not only did the slice look decent on the plate, she'd tried a sliver in the kitchen just to make sure she wasn't going to be embarrassed when he tasted it.

  "I told you it wasn't for Morel." She held the plate and fork out over the arm of the sofa.

  Mac made no attempt to take it. "So is this a bribe?"

  "No, but maybe it is a reward."

  "For what?"

  "For everything, I guess. Letting me stay. Forgetting on board with what Morel wants to do with Tate. For doing your job."

  He nodded, finally reaching for the plate.

  "Maybe most of all for saying that all you care about is protecting me," she added softly.

  The motion he'd begun halted while he held her eyes. "I thought you didn't like me saying that."

  "I liked it. I just said it wasn't your job."

  "Whose job is it, Sarah?"

  She laughed, the sound a breath, devoid of humor. "I honestly can't remember anybody in my whole life who considered that to be their job. My mom was a little too much like Mrs. Ingersoll. Maybe that's why 1 recognized the type so quickly. My dad disappeared before I had time to form any clear memory of him. Growing up, / protected me. I wasn't always successful at that, but...I managed to get by. I survived. By the time I'd realized Dan wasn't ever going to protect anybody, that it wasn't in his nature to think along those lines, it was too late to back out of the arrangement." She cleared the note of self-pity she could hear from her voice to go on. "So...like I said, you're a first for me. I thought that was deserving of some kind of celebration." She lifted the plate slightly as if to remind him it was there.

  "Thanks," he said as he took it from her.

  He cut a bite off the cake and then speared it with the fork. He lifted it toward her in a small salute before he put it into his mouth.

  She could tell from his face that he, too, was surprised at how good it was. Stupid, maybe, but she enjoyed the feeling that small success gave her.

  "It's great," Mac said, speaking around the mouthful. "Aren't you eating any?"

  "I had mine in the kitchen. I wanted to make sure that I remembered how this was done."

  At some point while she put on the icing, she'd realized that the last time she'd baked a cake was for Danny's eleventh birthday. She'd bought a pan in the shape of a football and had decorated it with fleur-de-lis. She wasn't sure the four boys he'd invited over got the reference to the Saints, but they'd all liked the cake. Chocolate with chocolate icing. The last thing she'd ever baked for him.

  "I think I'm going to take a shower."

  Mac looked back up at that, his eyes questioning.

  "I need some space,” she added.

  As good as last night had been, this wasn't the time for physical intimacy. Unless maybe he just wanted to hold her. And knowing men as she did...

  "I understand."

  "There's more in the kitchen. I couldn't find a cake saver. I'll put foil or something around it later, but if you want another piece, all you have to do is go cut it."

  "Thanks. You sure you're okay?"

  She nodded, not trusting herself with the lie. After all, she would be okay. She was used to dealing with these feelings. For the first time in three years, she wouldn't be alone while she did.

  "I'm fine. Maybe we can watch some TV together. Later, I mean."

  "Anything you want," he said.

  For some silly reason tears threatened. "Thanks, Mac. I just need some time and space for now:' She'd already begun to head toward the bedroom when she turned to add. because it was true and because he deserved to hear it, "And to know you're here."

  It was a long two days before Morel called back. When he did, he asked to speak to Sarah instead of talking to him. Mac didn't like that, but he handed the phone over without comment.

  "Morel. For you. You want some privacy?"

  "From you? Of course not." She put the cell to her ear and took a deep breath before she said, "Sarah Patterson."

  Mac waited through the silences and her occasional agreements to whatever his boss was saying, trying to figure out from her expression what that might be. He had thought if he continued to look at her, she might meet his eyes, giving him an indication of what was going on. Sarah kept her gaze downcast instead, seeming totally focused on whatever she was being told.

  "And that will all be completed by tomorrow?"

  Another wait. During it he could hear Morel talking, but the words were unintelligible.

  "I understand. I'll tell Detective Donovan. And thank you." There was a shorter pause before she added. "We'll s
ee you in the morning, then."

  She took the phone down to press the End button before she handed it back. "Dwight and his family are being moved out of the building this afternoon. Morel was able to get them into a three-bedroom apartment in one of the new public housing units built after the hurricane. There's a decent elementary school about three blocks away. Social Services is going to help them with some additional benefits that should, with the department's help, make it all work money-wise."

  "Sounds good."

  Almost too good, but he didn't tell Sarah that. He'd follow up on Morel's arrangements with one of the social workers he knew, someone who had worked closely with cases involving the department.

  "And he wants to see us at ten o'clock tomorrow morning in his office," she continued.

  "For what?" Mac could tell by her hesitation that he wasn't going to like this and that she knew it.

  "Special Agent Johnson thinks you may be right. Even if you're not..."

  He waited, but she didn't complete the thought. "If I'm not?"

  "They want to try to flush Tate out. Make him act."

  "Because they're getting absolutely hammered in the media."

  "And because the FBI believes he'll soon move on. When he does, then everybody has to start over."

  "So what's the plan?"

  "I'm going to do an interview with one of the local stations. The FBI is working on the script."

  "An interview about Tate?"

  She nodded. "About the murders. About what really happened at the courthouse that day. Finding the body in the park. The station has promised to give it lots of play. Build it up. According to Morel, the fact that I've been mentioned in the press lately should also get the interview some attention from other media outlets."

  "They want you to say publicly that you tried to shoot Tate?"

  "I don't know. Like I said. Johnson's still working on the script."

  "We need some kind of written immunity if they ask you to do that."

  She nodded, her eyes holding his as if he were supposed to have all the answers. And he didn't.

  While he didn't believe Morel was a big enough snake to put those words into the interview script, ask her to say them, and then charge her for what she'd done, that wasn't to say someone else wouldn't demand she be charged. It was hard to know how the media's collective minds worked.

  Like Sonny had said that morning, if Sarah had succeeded in killing Tate, everybody would be better off right now. Everyone except Sarah.

  All I'm trying to do is keep you from getting hurt. He still was.

  "Better than demanding immunity." he amended, "we need to make sure that part isn't included."

  "But that seems to be the primary reason he'd come after me."

  "Or the thing he admires most about you. I'm betting it's the latter. And to keep you from any kind of self-incrimination, you sure as hell don't need to say anything about what you did on tape."

  She nodded, as if that made sense. But for the first time since they'd begun this, he sensed her uncertainty. Which would be a far more normal attitude about trying to make a serial killer target you than the determination she'd displayed before.

  "Morel says they'll want me to belittle him. To make fun of him for picking on little boys. Challenge him that it's time to pick on someone his size."

  "You, in other words."

  "I can do this. Mac. I know I can. I need to do it."

  He nodded, not because he wanted her to put herself at risk, but because he'd recognized that reality. If there was ever to be any chance that Sarah Patterson could become whole again, it hinged on her taking Samuel Tate down. The psychologists would probably have a field day with that logic, but now that Mac understood her sense of guilt about Danny's death, he knew he was right.

  On some level, maybe not a conscious one, she knew it. too. That's why she'd been waiting outside the courthouse that morning when they'd released her son's murderer.

  Mac had stopped her because he'd thought it was the right thing to do. Because he'd been trying to protect her. This time...

  This time he was going to do everything in his power to do that again. And at the same time he was also going to do everything in his power to make sure that she succeeded.

  Twenty-Six

  "We can stop by and pick up anything you think they'll need at Wal-Mart. We could even do that after we see what Mrs. Ingersoll says." Despite his disclaimer, Mac took the exit that would carry them into the heart of the seedy neighborhood where Sarah lived.

  Although she wasn't looking forward to entering her apartment again, if she was going to go through with Morel's plan, she knew she'd better get used to the idea. She also knew that having all the supplies Toby would need for the next few days would go a long way in convincing Dwight's mother.

  "This won't take but a minute," she said.

  "She isn't going to let him keep the dog. Sarah."

  "You may be right. That's why we're going out there while Dwight's still at school. If she says no, we'll let Dwight have the visit with Toby I promised the other night, and then take him to the vet."

  Boarding the big dog wasn't something she wanted to do, but Mac had been adamant about the impossibility of either of them caring for Toby, especially about taking him out for the twice-a-day necessity walks, while the operation to catch Tate was ongoing. It would be too dangerous for Sarah to attempt those without surveillance, which would add to the possibility of Tate figuring out he was being set up.

  That was something she knew Mac believed was going to happen anyway. Something he might even be counting on.

  "I know you're worried about leaving him at the vet's, but he'll be fine, I promise."

  Despite how ridiculous she knew the comparison was, all Sarah could think about was Toby looking out at them from that cage at the Humane Society. And how much he loved his daily romp in the park.

  "I know. But it won't hurt to ask Mrs. Ingersoll. All she can do is say no. You can wait for me out here," she offered, as Mac pulled up to the curb outside her apartment building.

  He'd agreed with her assessment that coming back here prior to the beginning of the sting would present no problem. And he'd promised her that no one would be able to follow them from here to the Ingersolls' new address.

  Of course, if Mac's theory was correct, Tate was no longer interested in Dwight. Not unless she managed to make him furious at her.

  "I told you the other night, you don't have to prove anything to me," Mac said. "Toby and I are coming with you."

  "You sure they haven't changed the locks?"

  "That's supposed to finally happen this afternoon."

  She could hear the disgust in Mac's voice that it hadn't been done when he'd asked the department to see to it after Dan's murder. Maybe, since everyone seemed to have known she wasn't living here, they'd felt there was no hurry

  Now, of course, there was. Tate wasn't stupid enough to believe she would move back into her apartment with the key she'd lent Dan still missing. That would be a dead giveaway to what they were about.

  Mac handled getting Toby on his leash and out of the car. The dog took the opportunity to relieve himself on the patch of dead grass out front and then happily followed them inside. He stopped at the door to what had been the Ingersolls' ground-level apartment, looking at it as if he expected it to open.

  "Not today, buddy." Mac pulled him away to head toward the stairs. Toby started putting on the brakes as soon as he realized their destination. "Somebody else who isn't eager to revisit..."

  "The scene of the crime," Sarah finished when he hesitated. "Can't say I blame him." She put her hand on the dog's head. "One more time. Tobe. Then we'll find some place better than this. I promise."

  She took a breath, catching Mac's eyes as she released it. She shook her head at his look of concern and preceded them up the stairs.

  When she reached the top, she stepped aside to allow him to insert the key she'd given him the other night. The dog c
owered behind Mac's legs as he unlocked the door.

  "Poor baby." She reached down to grip Toby's collar to drag him forward. "He really is terrified of this place."

  Together they got the big dog inside. Mac closed the door, holding him while she walked into the kitchen.

  She took a garbage bag out of the cabinet under the sink and began putting cans of dog food into it. When she'd finished with those, she added an unopened sack of dry food and then picked up Toby's bowls from the floor.

  As she came back into the living room, she realized Mac and Toby were no longer by the front door. "Mac?"

  She looked through the peephole to see if he'd taken the dog into the hall. It was possible Toby had gotten too upset being inside, but surely Mac would have said something to her first.

  "Ready?"

  She turned to find him coming down the hall from the bedroom, Toby close on his heels. "What were you doing?"

  "Just taking a look around."

  Something about Mac's face belied his explanation. He'd told her the other night that he was going to check to make sure the department had had the place cleaned up.

  She'd assumed, since he hadn't said anything when he'd come back downstairs, that they had. But maybe, like replacing the locks, they hadn't yet gotten around to that either.

  "Everything okay back there?"

  Without thinking about what she was doing, she started toward him. Mac stopped her by reaching out to take her arm.

  Shocked, she looked up into his eyes. "What's going on?"

  "He's been here."

  He's been here. The only possible explanation for that phrase—

  “Tate?” She tried to wrench her arm away, but Mac tightened his hold.

  "You don't want to go back there."

  "What the hell has he done?"

  Was this something to do with Danny? Like the message he'd left on her machine. Whatever it was—

  "Let go, Mac." Deliberately, she kept her voice soft.

  "No"

  "Whatever's back there, I was meant to see. It isn't going to change anything, but... I need to know what he did."