Morgan slumped back into the car and fired up the engine. The drive back to his home felt like a torturous journey, and suddenly it seemed far longer than he remembered. Had he really let his wife walk home at night? On streets like these, at a time like this? Self-disgust brewed in his gut, making him sick. All he could think about was the killer, the empty apartment, and how deadly Rachel’s name looked in Hansen’s script on the page.
When they reached his house, Morgan shot out and repeated his previous actions like the world’s worst déjà vu. Gary was at his side this time, drawing his sidearm and taking the lead. Morgan hung back, tossed the keys toward him, and waited at the end of his porch.
That was when he noticed it; the keys were unnecessary.
The door had been bashed open.
Horror seized him, grounding him in ice-cold fear. It took all his strength to move, and his darkest nightmares drove him to override caution. Without another thought, he ran inside on jelly-like legs, screaming her name again.
“Rachel!”
“Hey, Rachel?” Gary joined in behind him, entering the living room.
While Gary was downstairs with a gun, Morgan knew there was no escape. If the killer was in his home, he wouldn’t be getting out without either handcuffs or a hole in him. Morgan prayed it wouldn’t come to that—only extreme circumstances would call for that kind of action, and extreme circumstances meant Rachel had been harmed.
The thought sickened him.
Leaping up the stairs, he clenched his fist and knocked open the doors one by one, peering inside every room to check for her. Each time he didn’t find her, a space inside him hollowed, carving out his insides and replacing them with close, foul air. When he reached the last room—their own bedroom—he steadied his ragged breath and reached out for the knob with a trembling hand. The tight grip he put on it felt like a child’s squeeze under the slippery sweat of his palm.
He turned the knob.
Inch by inch, the door creaked open to reveal a dark room. The dresser revealed itself, then the wardrobe and a corner of the bed. Shoving the door open wider, the rest of the room appeared, showing a smashed lamp, a ruffled duvet, and a bedside table that’d been tossed aside. Signs of a struggle.
All hope fled from him. Morgan stood winded, wounded, and hurt. His imagination delved into the worst scenarios, all entirely possible. All he could think about was Hansen’s previous victims, and if he hurt Rachel like that he’d… he’d…
“It’s clear downstairs,” Gary said, rushing up behind him. He took one look at Morgan’s face and then passed him to glance inside the bedroom. When he saw the mess, he holstered his gun and turned toward Morgan, lowering his voice. “I don’t understand. What—”
The hallway phone rang, shrieking through the house.
Morgan burst into a sprint, glided down the stairs, and snatched up the receiver. He fumbled it, caught it in his sweaty hands, and held it to his equally wet face. He noticed a sudden rise in temperature, like he stood among flames. “This is Morgan.”
“Just who I was hoping for.” The voice was thin and weak. Dangerous.
“Who is this?”
“You know exactly who this is,” the man said.
Morgan didn’t have to guess twice. “What do you want?”
Nick Hansen chuckled. It was an awful sound, like Velcro being peeled open little by little. “You know, for a while there I was a little impressed by how resourceful you were. One step ahead of the cops, but still one step behind me. I watched you sometimes, and I kept wondering who you were. Imagine my surprise when I passed you at the HUCINS Center.”
Morgan’s hand was shaking now. Every word this man spoke drove daggers under his skin—hot, merciless daggers. “I don’t care about your opinion. Cut the crap and tell me where Rachel is.”
That laugh again. “You’ll know soon enough. All you have to do is come to me.”
“And where is that?”
“Mosaic Church. I’ve run the distance, and it should take you less than twenty minutes. So here’s the deal: if you make it here within that time—and only if you’re alone—I’ll let your wife go. If you disobey my instruction, I’ll make a mess of her face. Am I clear?”
Morgan squeezed the receiver, his teeth grinding as he spoke. “Crystal.”
“Good. Then we understand each other.”
“Not exactly. I have a question.” Morgan’s breath became hot and strong, huffing like a dragon ready to explode a blast of fiery wrath. He heard footsteps and craned his neck to see Gary stepping down the stairs. This time he wouldn’t be able to help. “Why do this? What’s in it for you? I was just doing my job.”
Nick paused. It was like he was uncertain—as if he had barrels of pent-up rage and needed to direct it toward anyone, regardless of whom. “You led the cops right to my doorstep, Mr. Young. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be having my fun. If it weren’t for you, my mother wouldn’t have been caught in the crossfire.”
If it weren’t for him, Emma Cole would be dead or mutilated. Morgan opted not to speak the words. When his wife’s safety was in the hands of some lunatic, he thought it best not to provoke. “You’re the one who shot your mother. Nobody else.”
Once more, Nick paused. This time, his words felt like venom. “Twenty minutes.”
The line went dead.
Chapter Forty
Nick Hansen—or the DC Carver, depending on which news station you watched—turned the van onto the gravel path that led behind the disused church. He rocked and jolted in his seat, heavy thuds sounding from the back until he killed the engine and hopped out.
The air was sweet tonight, teasing the cold of early winter. He inhaled a deep breath with his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation. The van had been hot inside, although most of that could have been attributed to the exciting phone call he’d just made. Whatever it was, it’d got his heart racing and his blood pumping.
Stomping through the moist gravel, he reached the back doors of the van and prepared for an assault as he swung them open. It came as a surprise to see that Rachel Young was sitting with her hands clasped between her knees. The only signs of fear were her white knuckles and wide, bulging eyes. Eyes that watched him like a cat watches a passing dog.
“Get out,” he said in a no-nonsense manner.
Rachel dug her heels into the van’s floor. “No.”
Sighing, Nick pulled the gun from his pocket and enjoyed the pale expression of shock on her face. She hadn’t known there was a gun. How could she? He’d found it in the glove compartment of the stolen van minutes ago and grinned in delight at the convenience of it.
“Out. Now.” He aimed the pistol at her, clutching it tight with his finger on the trigger.
Rachel didn’t hesitate this time. She climbed out with her arm covering her face as if that would protect her from a speeding bullet. She followed his pointed directions to the rear of the church. Nick followed close, keeping the gun trained on her in case she had any heroic plans. She didn’t seem the type, but you could never be too careful.
Once inside the great hall, where darkness shrouded abandoned pews and vandalized statues, Nick slammed the door shut and glanced at his watch. It was an old relic that barely worked, but it would do the job. All he needed to know was how long it would be before Morgan Young arrived to accept the consequences of his actions.
That, or until he killed Rachel and skipped town.
Nick twisted his neck to keep a keen eye on Rachel as he reached for the light switch tucked behind an old, blood-red drape. The overheads slowly flickered on, just in time to show the plume of dust caused by dropping the curtain. Nick stepped away from it and gave Rachel a soft shove. “Turn over that pew and sit your ass down.”
She took one quick glance at the pew and looked back at him. “I don’t have the strength for that.”
“You’ll be surprised what you can do when death is the alternative.”
It was interesting to see how fast she moved
then. Nick watched with morbid curiosity—and, of course, humor—as she planted her heels into the rubble-coated stone floor and pushed with all her strength. Her face turned red, her pale arms shaking as she lifted from the middle. With one deep, strenuous grunt, she heaved the pew up and flipped it, a mighty crash roaring through the wide church.
Only a moment later, she sat.
“Comfortable?” he asked, mocking her.
“Go to Hell.”
“Shh.” He put a finger to his lips. “God’s listening, you know.”
Rachel rolled her eyes, breathing heavily from her recent exertion. Her face slowly returned to its normal, white, freckle-speckled color. All things considered, she hid her fear quite well; sitting on her hands to hide the shake was a smooth tactic. “What are you going to do to me?”
“That depends.” Nick shrugged, a stiffness reaching up his neck. The stress was starting to get to him—it kept him up at night, and insomnia didn’t do much for his mood. He felt it more during the day. “If that husband of yours puts in the effort, you’ll be free to go. But after that…”
“Please don’t hurt him.”
Nick smiled. “I’m not making any promises.”
Chapter Forty-One
Morgan was out the door and in the car without wasting time. A violent headache pounded against his skull, and Gary’s heavy knocking on the driver’s-side window was only making matters worse. He didn’t have time for this.
“Open up,” Gary yelled, his voice muffled beyond the glass.
He never would’ve thought it possible, but Morgan managed to feed the key from his trembling hand into the ignition while hitting the button to roll the window down, starting the engine as he spoke. He didn’t spare Gary so much as a glance. “Twenty minutes isn’t much.”
“What are you going to do?”
Morgan turned to stare at him in disbelief. Over the years he’d heard some stupid things come from his best friend’s mouth, but this one trumped them all. “What do you think I’m going to do? I’m heading right over there.”
Gary’s eyes widened. “Alone?”
“Damn right.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, I—”
Morgan could barely get the words out before Gary snapped open the back door and jumped in. “All right, go.”
Gary slammed the door and Morgan shifted gear, punching the accelerator with a heavy foot. His head snapped back with the sheer force. He navigated the familiar streets with expert precision, fighting the effects of his migraine. All he could think about was Rachel.
“When we get there,” Gary said, “I’ll take point and check it out.”
“Not a chance,” Morgan said, shooting him a warning glance in the vanity mirror. “Hansen wants me there alone, and as long as he has Rachel, I’m going to do exactly what he says. I don’t want you interfering. You hear me?”
Gary frowned. “You’re going to die just because some asshole said so?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Actually, you do. Let me call for backup.”
Morgan’s heart beat harder. “If you call for backup, I’ll never forgive you. That’s your one and only warning.”
“But they’re professionals. They know what they’re doing.”
“If that’s true, then why did you have to drag me into this in the first place? Look, I said no, and that’s final.” Morgan twisted the wheel, rounding a corner too sharp and making the tires screech. Panicking, he dropped the gears and straightened the car, doing all he could not to scream with impatience. He could really do without the defiance.
Gary slumped back, his phone light illuminating his downturned lips. “Listen, pal. I’m not going to do this without your permission, but you need to consider your options here. There’s no point dying over this. There are other ways.”
“Oh yeah?” Morgan glanced at the time on the dashboard. Nine minutes to go. “Like what?”
“Are you willing to hear this?”
“I’ll humor you, but don’t push me.”
Shifting forward, Gary leaned between the two front seats. “You can go in while I hang back,” he said, making too many hand gestures like it was sign language. “I can put the call in for backup and keep them at bay. That should give you enough time to head inside and keep him from hurting Rachel. If you can get her out and stall Hansen, that might give us enough time to make our move.”
Morgan grunted like a raging bull. “Your plan to keep me alive is to send me in there alone and pray it takes him more than a few minutes to shoot me? You know, for a detective you’re not all that bright, and your comforting skills are—to say the least—total shit.”
“But you have faith in me, right?”
They were two blocks away. Morgan mulled on the decision while anxiety ate away at his nerves. He tapped the wheel, leaning in to peer into the dark street as he searched for the church. He was close now. He could feel it. “Fine, do whatever you have to do. But if Rachel gets hurt…”
“It won’t come to that.”
“How do you know?”
“Gut feeling.”
Morgan ground his teeth. “A gut feeling isn’t going to keep her safe, Gary. This isn’t some book or stupid action movie. This is real life. People get hurt here. It sucks.”
“But people also take risks here. Especially for people they love.”
“And if those risks don’t work out in their favor?”
Gary fell back, disappearing into the rear seat again. “Hmm.”
They were silent the rest of the way.
Chapter Forty-Two
As it turned out, Rachel Young had been more trouble than she was worth. True, she was valuable as bait to lure her husband to the church, but Nick hadn’t counted on her fighting past the fear barrier and giving him an earful of insults.
For that, she’d suffered.
The insults were anything but subtle; she’d called him “a messed-up psycho,” and “a maniac with more problems than a ’72 Buick.” They were creative insults, spat at him like the venom of a dangerous snake. But what she didn’t stop to consider—much like a snake that had wandered into the wrong environment—was that her actions had consequences.
That was when he’d found the rope.
He’d made her fetch it herself, keeping the weapon aimed at her from a good distance. Obeying his command with a thousand-yard stare, she’d stumbled across the hall on uneasy feet, picked up the rope from beside the vandalized altar, and returned to the pew.
“Tie it around your hands,” he’d said to her then. When she’d hesitated, he realized she wasn’t able to tie the whole knot by herself. He probably couldn’t trust her if she could. So with that, he added, “Set it up and I’ll tighten it.”
Rachel had done as she was told, and he followed up on his word.
Pulling the rope taut around her wrists—hard enough that her skin ballooned in red, scar-like blotches on either side of the knot—he tore off a corner of her shirt and stuffed it into her mouth. After that, she hadn’t been a problem, and all he’d had to do was sit and wait.
Nick slumped onto the pew beside her, waiting in silence as he watched the door. It reminded him of the way old men watched their front porches in the movies. Only with them it was to protect their livelihood. For Nick, it was all about doing what was right. If that meant killing a woman here or there, then so be it.
The minutes dragged by like they were in a time warp. The woman at his side stirred with discomfort, not quite fighting but not keeping calm either. The blood rushed to her face, and Nick laughed at the way she looked; she reminded him of an angry cartoon strawberry.
“Not long now,” he said, as if it was any comfort to her, but it was assurance only to himself. For a moment, it felt as though Morgan Young would never arrive, and just as Nick was starting to drift off into thoughts of shooting the wife instead, the familiar drone of a car engine drew nearer to the church.
This was it.
<
br /> His big moment.
Nick shot to his feet and ran to the stained-glass window, peering out like a curious puppy. He immediately caught sight of the black car parked on the dirt track that ran parallel to the church, but it was too dark to see how many people were inside.
For Rachel’s sake, it better have been just Morgan.
Dropping to his heels and running back to Rachel, he groped at her sweater with a fierce grip, hauling her to her feet. Regardless of what was about to happen, he was ready. As far as he knew, he had the only gun, there was no sign of the police, and if everyone played fair he would walk out of there tonight with a hell of a story to tell… but nobody to tell it to.
Nick’s mother briefly appeared in his thoughts.
He shoved it to one side.
There was no time for her now.
Not when everything was about to change.
Chapter Forty-Three
Now that they’d stopped, Morgan found himself too petrified to move. Entering the church wouldn’t just mean his death; it would mean the discovery of whether Rachel had been hurt or not. It was weird—he’d expected to be the type to run into the building screaming her name like they did in the movies, but now that he was here, all he could think about was the sheer dread radiating from his forehead in the form of hot, oily sweat.
It was all he could do to not break down.
“Do you think he’s inside?” Gary asked, after sitting in silence.
Morgan checked his watch. Three minutes to go. After all the speeding and weaving through traffic, that was all the time he’d managed to shave off his limit. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to collect himself. “Where else would he be?”
Gary said nothing but looked to the bushes. It was a dark area where the light couldn’t reach, and as Morgan mimicked his line of sight, he thought that if he were to ambush somebody that was probably where he’d do it. It was the perfect place of concealment, giving someone the chance of leaping out for one easy strike.
Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 60