by Kay Hooper
Swan Lake, she thought. Swan song. Was Mike clever enough for that? She didn’t think so. The box was probably just something from his childhood, the significance of which she would never know….
Matt, where are you?
“I think we’ve talked enough,” Mike said, turning to smile at her. He was holding the butcher knife.
Abby swallowed. “The music box, Mike. It’s slowing down again.”
He looked over his shoulder, then turned back to pick up the box. “Mustn’t let that happen,” he murmured. “Mustn’t let the music stop.”
Cassie frowned. “Can’t let the music stop. He can’t let the music stop. He wants her to hear the music, to listen to it, because… because then she… he… won’t let me in. That’s it. He’s playing the music to shut me out. But I can feel him now. I can feel his heart beating….”
Ben said, “Cassie? Can you see what he sees? Can you see where he is?”
She tilted her head a bit, as though listening, then said, “He’s still in the church. The old boiler room in the sub-basement. It’s soundproof, and he knows nobody will ever think to search for them there, especially since he’s shut me out….”
“The church is five minutes away.” Matt was out of his chair and bolting for the door even as Cassie’s voice trailed off, with Bishop right behind him. It was the agent who snapped softly, “Start bringing her out, now.”
Ben nodded but kept his eyes on Cassie’s pale face. “Cassie? I want you to come back to me, love.”
“I don’t want to…. Abby is so alone….”
“Cassie, you can’t help her now. Come back.”
“But… he’s getting ready. He didn’t have time to get the cot ready when he brought it here early this morning. So now he is. Tying the ropes to the frame for her wrists and ankles. He wants to play with her for a long, long time.”
Ben knew time was running out, for Abby and for Cassie, but he had to ask, “Has he hurt her yet? Has he hurt Abby?”
“He knocked her out so no one would know he grabbed her. But she’s awake now. She’s trying to talk to him, to reason with him. He doesn’t mind, because he thinks he has all the time in the world. But he’s… getting more excited. He likes watching her try to save herself. He wonders if—if she’ll scream the way the last bitch did. He liked that….” Her voice trailed away, and she caught her breath.
“What is it, Cassie? What do you see?”
“Not see. Feel. His boots are too tight. They’re still too tight.” Cassie looked puzzled. “Why doesn’t he take them off?” She fell silent, brows drawn together.
“Cassie? That’s enough, Cassie. You have to get out of his mind now. You have to come back to me.”
For a moment it seemed Cassie would continue to resist his command, but then she let herself relax taut muscles. A moment later she opened her eyes slowly, and even more slowly turned her head to look at him. “Matt better hurry,” she whispered.
Ben pulled her into his arms, feeling her shiver against him. “He’ll get there in time,” he said, wishing he could be as sure of that as he sounded.
The cruiser took the corner on two wheels. Bishop hung on until all four wheels were on the street again, and then returned to checking out his weapon.
“How many doors?” he asked.
“Just one.”
The sheriff’s voice was level with the sort of calm more dangerous than nitroglycerin in a paper cup, and Bishop shot him a quick, accessing look. “Windows?”
“No. It’s a sub-basement. The only way in is through one heavy wooden door at the base of a flight of wooden steps we access from the primary basement.”
“Can the door be locked?”
“Not from the inside. With the old furnace in that room, it’s a safety issue. Unless the bastard has added his own hardware, of course.”
“I hate to assume he hasn’t,” Bishop said.
“Then we won’t. We assume he’s got the door locked or barred from the inside. Which means we have one shot—and only one—to surprise him. If we don’t get through the first time, he knows we’re out there and he has time to hold a knife to Abby’s throat.”
If he hasn’t already. But Bishop didn’t say that, of course.
• • •
He used the butcher knife to cut lengths of rope from a heavy coil, then left the knife on the table beside the music box. It had taken him several minutes, but he had the cot ready now, with the lengths of rope tied to the iron frame to bind her wrists and ankles. He had wound the music box several more times while working, not once losing patience with the interruptions.
That single-mindedness terrified Abby more than anything else.
Matt, where are you?
She had tried her best to loosen the belt wrapped around her wrists, but once again had done nothing except hurt herself. The pipe behind her was solidly in the wall and in the cement floor, and God knew how deep in the earth beneath it. There was no way she could free herself.
Mike went to wind the music box again. He picked up the butcher knife for a moment and stared at it, then put it down beside the box and came toward her.
“Don’t—”
Ignoring her strangled plea, he hunkered beside her and reached around to her wrists. For an instant the belt tightened almost unbearably, then loosened abruptly. Abby knew at once that she was still helpless; as the blood rushed into her numbed fingers, they tingled and throbbed and were virtually useless. And when Mike grabbed her arms and hauled her up with dreadful strength, her knees buckled and she sagged against him.
“Mike, please don’t hurt me.” Her voice shook with terror, and the sound of her own paralyzing fear brought back vivid memories of her cowering beneath Gary’s punishing fists, pleading with him to stop, not to hurt her anymore.
Nobody had come to save her then.
Nobody would come to save her now.
As Mike began to drag her toward the cot, Abby found the strength to dig in her heels, to struggle against him. “No! God damn you, it’s not going to be that easy!”
She caught him off guard and got one wild swing at his jaw that actually connected and rocked his head back. For a second his grip loosened, and Abby wrenched herself away.
She got two stumbling steps away before she felt his hands close around her throat from behind, felt herself jerked back against the solid wall of muscle that was his chest.
“Bitch,” he snarled, fingers tightening. “Fucking bitch! I’ll teach you. I’ll teach you—”
Her fingers plucked desperately at his in a vain attempt to loosen them. Blackness swam across her vision, and she sagged once more against him as the newly found strength drained out of her legs in a rush.
“I saw him kill you, Abby. I couldn’t see his face, and I don’t know who he is, but he was enraged, cursing, and his hands were on your throat.”
Oh, God. Alexandra had been right after all. Fate couldn’t be changed….
It was very quiet when they reached the heavy oak door, and the light from the basement above barely illuminated the wooden steps behind them. Matt was acutely conscious of every soft creak beneath the feet of the deputy a few steps behind him and Bishop. His fears fixed on what lay beyond, Matt curled his fingers over the knob and turned it slowly. But when he leaned against the unlocked door, it refused to budge. Still moving slowly despite every instinct screaming inside him, he eased back.
Bishop bent down and used a tiny penlight to study the door. “Looks like a new bolt might have been installed on the inside,” he whispered.
Matt looked at the shotgun the agent carried, and tried to swallow the dryness of terror. “Then we’ll have to blast our way in.”
“If we’re quick enough, the surprise should give us a few seconds before he can act.”
A few seconds.
Dear God.
Matt looked at the pistol in his hand. He thumbed off the safety and held it ready. “You blast the door, I go in first.”
They shifted
position, and Bishop aimed his shotgun. “Ready?”
“Go.”
The sudden roar of the shotgun was deafening. Bishop followed it with a powerful kick to the door, and it crashed open.
Matt was moving even as he registered the scene inside, even as he saw that most of his worst fears had come true.
Near the center of the room, Abby slumped back against Mike Shaw, her throat surrounded by his powerful hands. Her own hands fell limply at her sides and her knees buckled as the life was squeezed out of her.
An animal-like bellow escaping from somewhere deep inside him, Matt charged across the few feet separating him and Abby. His wild gaze was on her, but he saw Mike start to turn, his young face twisted into a horrible mask of rage.
Matt didn’t hesitate. He swung his gun and slammed the butt against the bridge of Mike’s nose. His fingers instantly released Abby to claw at his own face. Then, before he could do more than draw a lungful of breath to howl in pain, Matt kicked the back of his knee, and he went sprawling.
Matt left him for Bishop and the deputies. He dropped to the floor beside Abby’s limp body and gathered her into his arms, feeling himself begin to shake.
“Abby? Honey, please—”
At first Abby thought it was all over. But then she heard an ungodly noise, was dimly aware of Mike jerking behind her, of his fingers tightening almost convulsively. There was no more air, and the blackness filled everything, and she was falling.
“Abby… Abby! Honey, open your eyes. Look at me, Abby! Look at me—”
Matt’s voice.
She tried to swallow and found that her throat hurt terribly. Tried to open her eyes and had to fight against the weight holding them shut. He was cradling her in his arms, his expression so fierce that it would have frightened her if any other man had worn it. But it was easy for Abby to smile at Matt.
“Hello,” she whispered through her very sore throat.
He groaned and gathered her even closer, and over his shoulder Abby saw Mike sprawled out on the floor, cursing steadily while his hands were being cuffed behind his back by one of Matt’s deputies. His nose was bleeding.
Bishop stood near the table, looking down at the music box that no longer played, at the butcher knife Mike had been too many steps away from. The agent was holding a shotgun, which explained the explosion of sound Abby vaguely recalled hearing. They must have used that to blast through the door—and distract Mike long enough to let them get inside the room.
Talk about an eleventh-hour rescue.
Abby managed to get her arms up around Matt’s neck and whispered, “What do you know. This time somebody came.”
MARCH 1, 1999
“The really unexpected thing,” Ben said after hanging up the phone the next afternoon, “is that Hannah Payne probably saved her own life as well as Abby’s. Matt says they found Polaroids at Mike Shaw’s house—all the victims before and after he grabbed them. And he had one each of Abby and Hannah. So she was intended to be next. She told Matt she got a creepy phone call the other day, the same as Abby did. Abby thought hers came from Gary, but he swore not.”
“Before or after Matt hit him?”
Ben chuckled. “After, I think. Gary Montgomery is a very subdued man, I’d say. Matt made it perfectly plain to him that if Abby gets so much as a hangnail in the next thirty or forty years, Gary is dead meat. And given the fact that Matt was just this side of sane after nearly losing her to a serial killer, I have no doubts that Gary believed every word.”
“Neither do I.”
Ben sat down beside her on the sofa and shook his head. “I still can’t get over it. Mike Shaw, a serial killer. Christ, he worked on my campaign.”
“Is he saying anything?”
“Not much, no. And since the county public defender has already announced she’ll resign before taking him on as a client, and his father refuses to hire any other attorney—not that one has come forward to offer—questioning him is a bit of a problem.”
“How will it be solved?”
“We’re going outside the county to somebody who won’t have to live here after the trial. Judge Hayes already has calls in to a couple of good lawyers, and one of them’s bound to take the case—for the notoriety, if nothing else. Then again, when the news breaks in the major newspapers, there’ll probably be at least a few hotshots outside the state who’ll sell their souls for the case.”
“But you’ll prosecute?”
“Damned right. His lawyer will argue for a change of venue, but no matter where the case is tried, I will prosecute.”
“Good. Did I hear you say something about Bishop?”
“Matt says he’s sticking around for a while. Lending his expertise in gathering and cataloging all the evidence they’re turning up at Mike’s house.” Ben paused, then went on carefully. “Which, of course, wouldn’t have anything to do with you. Him staying, I mean.”
Cassie looked at him, smiling faintly. “Not a thing.”
He eyed her. “Uh-huh.”
“Don’t you have to be in court today? I mean, I know the county prosecutor has a certain amount of leeway, but most of them work Mondays, I thought.”
“I’m taking some well-deserved time off before getting to work on the biggest case this county has ever seen. The legal system won’t grind to a halt without me for a few days.”
Cassie was thoughtful. “I see. Which, of course, wouldn’t have anything to do with me.”
“It’s Max. I can’t bear to abandon him.”
She glanced toward the dog, who was snoring softly on his rug near the fireplace. “Yes, he’s obviously the clinging sort.”
Ben grinned at her. “Okay, okay. We both know you’re not. And I know you’re not in danger any longer, not even from crank calls, given that the mayor is ready to hand you the key to the town after Matt made it clear you saved Abby’s life and helped him catch the killer.”
“I hope you’ll tell His Honor I don’t want the key to the town.” Cassie was uncomfortable both with that idea and with the growing certainty that Ben had something on his mind. “I’m glad I was able to help there at the end, but nothing’s really changed, Ben.”
“Hasn’t it?” He was grave now, watchful.
“No. I’m not part of the town. I moved out here for peace and quiet, just like my aunt did.” Cassie shrugged. “She managed to live here for twenty years without getting involved, and I imagine I will too.”
“You’re already involved, Cassie. You did something Alexandra never did—put yourself at risk for the people here.”
“I didn’t have much choice. You know that.”
“You had a choice. You could have run away, avoided the whole problem and left it up to us to catch Mike. But you stayed, and you helped.”
She drew a breath. “You also know it was an—an extraordinary event, probably once in a lifetime for this town. It won’t happen again.”
“So you mean to bury yourself out here? Go into town only when you have to? Take Alexandra’s place as the town eccentric?”
“There are worse fates,” she murmured.
“What about us, Cassie?”
She turned her head to look at the fire they had going because it was a cold day with occasional snow flurries, and thought again of her aunt’s prediction about Abby’s ultimate fate. Alex had been wrong, or knowing about it had somehow enabled Abby to change what might otherwise have happened.
She might have been wrong about Ben too. And Cassie might have been wrong when she had seen her own fate. There was, at least, a chance of that.
Wasn’t there?
“Cassie?”
She was afraid to look at him. “I don’t know. I guess I just assumed it would—would go on for a while. Until you got tired of me.”
“Tired of you?” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Cassie, are you under the impression this is just an affair?”
She stared at him. “What else could it be?”
&nb
sp; “Something a lot more permanent.” He touched her face with gentle fingers, brushed back a strand of silky black hair. “I hope.”
Of all the possibilities she might have considered, that one had never even occurred to her—and Cassie was more than a little surprised it had occurred to him. Slowly she said, “I think it’s a little early to be talking about anything permanent, don’t you? I mean, neither one of us was looking for any kind of commitment.”
“Maybe not, but—”
“Ben, you know there’s no maybe about it. I’ve been… shying away from people most of my life, and it’s obvious you aren’t ready for any kind of long-term commitment.”
“How is it obvious?” Then he realized. “Oh. My walls.”
It didn’t take a psychic to see that the reminder disturbed him, and Cassie conjured a rueful smile. “We’re still getting to know each other, still learning to trust. Let’s give us time, Ben, okay? Time without… outside pressures like serial killers pushing us toward something we’re not ready for yet. There’s no hurry, is there?”
“I suppose not.” He pulled her into his arms, smiling but with something of a frown lingering in his eyes. “As long as you don’t intend to kick me out of your bed anytime soon.”
“That,” Cassie said, sliding her arms up around his neck, “was never part of my plan.”
It was after dark when Ben woke in the lamplit bedroom to find himself alone. He got dressed and went downstairs, discovering Cassie in the living room. The smell of something good cooking wafted from the kitchen, and she was busy packing away the stacks of papers and journals that had lain on the coffee table for the past few days.
He paused for a moment in the doorway to watch her, conscious of a constriction in his chest and a cold knot of unease in the pit of his stomach. Had he made a mistake? His common sense had told him to wait, to be careful not to make demands, but other instincts had insisted that Cassie know how he felt.