by Karen Rose
“I know,” Abbott said grimly. “And that’s not good for Jack.”
“When Jack wakes up, tell him I don’t believe he did this, okay?”
Abbott’s angry expression sagged. “Sure. Now go and do your job. Keep me posted. And follow my orders on the safe house for Eve.”
“Your uncle seemed nice,” Liza offered quietly. They’d left the hospital when visiting hours were over and were in Tom’s car, headed downtown. “I’m glad he’ll be okay.”
Tom’s jaw was hard. “I can’t believe somebody tried to kill him. Or Eve.”
“You’re lucky to have a family,” she said and watched his shoulders sag.
“Don’t give up hope. Lindsay may still be out there. How’s your mom?”
“She’s okay. I still haven’t told her. She’s pretty fragile right now.” Liza felt terrible lying to him, but if he knew her mom was dead, he’d force her to live somewhere else. For now, she needed the freedom to move and search. “If you need to be with your family, it’s okay. I can look for this Jonesy guy myself.” Olivia had never called with information on the one person that prostitute said might have seen Lindsay.
“I’ll go with. I’m worried about Eve. I don’t want to be worrying about you, too.”
Wednesday, February 24, 9:25 p.m.
“You were remarkably calm,” Noah commented as they drove away from Jack’s.
“Not really,” she said honestly. “But I didn’t think I was helping you by falling apart. Why was Pierce here and what did Abbott say to make you so upset?”
“Carleton said he had a meeting with Jack tonight.”
“Meeting meaning appointment. Not good for refuting Jack’s attempt at suicide.”
“Exactly. Neither of us is terribly thrilled at the moment.”
“And? Noah, I want to know what Abbott said. I know he was talking about me.”
He glanced over at her. “What makes you say that?”
“Because he looked me square in the eye while he was talking to you.”
Noah sighed. “He wants you to go to a safe house.”
Eve smiled mildly even though her insides churned at the thought. “No,” she said, then moved on before he could argue. “How about you? Are you all right?”
He said nothing for a moment. “No. I haven’t had the best relationship with Jack.”
“I could tell. Sal told me that Jack went through partners pretty quickly.”
“The last few years, that’s been true,” he said, guilt in his voice.
“Noah, even if Katie was a plant, Jack allowed her into his home. His bed. He let down his guard with a woman he barely knew.”
Noah aimed a long look at her, before turning back to the road. “I meant to tell you. Amy Millhouse was the first victim. Her brother altered the scene, which was why we missed it. He said she sold real estate, but mostly hung out in the casino. High roller.”
“The dancer friend of Rachel’s said he picked her up in the casino, so we know he’s been hunting there. It makes sense that he’d go there for Amy. He went to where the heavy users were. I have one other red-zone case that never leaves the casino. She was there last night, all night, just like normal. But she could be at risk.”
“Natalie,” he remembered. “She plays at the table with the avatar who cheats.”
“Dasich,” she said darkly. “I need to check on Natalie. She should be there now.”
“You can access the game from here? Right now?”
She drew her laptop from her bag. “I’ve got a wireless card, so I’m good anywhere.”
“After you check on Natalie, see if Amy Millhouse has a black wreath on her door.”
“Will do.” Eve navigated Greer first to the casino, where Natalie’s avatar sat in her usual place. Unfortunately for Natalie, Dasich was there, too, and had the lion’s share of chips. “Natalie’s losing, but she’s safe. I’ll go to Amy’s now.”
She sent Greer on to Amy’s house and frowned. “Yes, there’s a black wreath on Amy’s door. There wasn’t one this morning.” She turned to Noah, troubled. “He put the wreaths on Christy’s and Rachel’s doors as soon as he killed them, but waited on Martha and Samantha until you realized they were there. Amy didn’t have a wreath this morning. How did he know you knew? None of the press picked up on that yet.”
“How did he find out about any of them?” he asked irritably.
“He found out that you knew about Martha, Christy, and Samantha through Dell’s article. I heard a report on the radio this morning about Rachel’s murder when I was driving in to work. But how did he know about Amy?”
“Jack and I went to see Amy Millhouse’s mother today and Jack escorted her brother from the airport to the police station. I suppose he could have been watching us.”
“Like Dell Farmer did,” she said, “except he’s all wrong for this.” The car pulled to the curb and slowed to a stop. “Why are you stopping here?”
“This is the Bolyards’ home. They may have been the last people to see Martha Brisbane alive, other than her killer. Come on, you can’t stay out here alone.”
“I have my headphones,” she said. “I can always put them on if you need privacy.”
“I may ask you to.” He put on his hat and for a minute she let herself stare. “What?”
“I like the hat,” she said, her voice husky. “I always have.”
He looked at her for a long moment, most of his face cast into shadow by his hat brim, but she could feel the heat of his gaze. “Let’s get this done. I’d like to spend some time with you tonight.” With that he came around to her side, opened her car door, and pulled her to her feet. Barely feeling the cold, she followed him up the Bolyards’ driveway, staying back a few steps when he rang the bell.
There was no answer, so he knocked on the door, hard.
“Maybe they went out?” Eve asked tentatively and he frowned.
“Maybe. But they were expecting us. The wife wanted to meet Jack,” he added bitterly. Eve ran her hand down his back, wishing she could comfort him. He straightened his shoulders. “I’m okay. I need to do this.”
“This” was his job, she knew. Finding, stopping a killer so that he could somehow balance the scales for his partner. He walked back to the driveway and peered into the windows cut high in the garage door.
“Come on,” he said, his voice now hard, and her stomach clenched.
“What?” she said, following him around the back of the house, through the snow.
“Both of their cars are parked inside the garage. They’re home.” They got to the back of the house and he held up his hand, palm out. “Stay here.”
She nodded, forcing herself to breathe as, gun drawn, he approached the kitchen door and exhaled a weary curse. She took a few steps forward and could see through the window. “Oh God,” she murmured.
Two people lay slumped over the kitchen table. There was a lot of blood. Noah pulled on the door and it opened. Eve didn’t move another step as he went into the house, checked for a pulse. Then he backed out, touching nothing else.
“They’re dead,” he said flatly. “Come on.”
Once again she followed him, this time back to the car where he grabbed the radio and called for backup. And CSU. And the ME.
Wearily he propped his elbows on the wheel and pressed his thumbs to his temples.
Eve ran her hand down his arm. “Who knew they’d seen Martha Brisbane?”
“My team, the person who took their call, and anyone else the couple might have told. They were so set on meeting Jack because of that damn article.” His mouth twisted. “Who knows who else they bragged to?”
“But that would only matter if the person they bragged to had something to hide.”
He looked at her, intense. “So either they knew the killer and didn’t know it…”
The dread in her gut matched that in his eyes. “Or you do,” she said.
Chapter Twenty
Wednesday, February 24, 9:30 p.m.
But Webster had pulled his car ten feet too far. He lowered his gun, frustrated. He couldn’t get a straight shot and didn’t dare move closer. Ever the cop, Webster still had his own gun drawn and though it pained him to admit it, Webster was a better shot. If I miss, I’m dead. He didn’t plan to die. Not tonight anyway.
Phelps just might. It was the spark he’d been waiting for. The press would be all over the story and it would come out that Phelps felt guilt over the death of Rachel Ward. Rather than letting the press catch up, this was the perfect time to throw his final punch.
The Hat Squad would be defensive. They’d say they’d warned the Shadowland study participants of impending danger. That the women of the Twin Cities were safe.
Then by end of the day tomorrow another victim would be found, with no tie to the study, and the Hat Squad would be left with no clues, no defense. No plan.
The press would crucify them. It was perfect. They’d be publicly fumbling, humiliated. Justifying their incompetent investigation while juggling avoidance of any appearance of cover-up in the case of Jack Phelps.
They’d be thrashing about, trying to regain face, looking for suspects. He’d hoped Axel Girard would be good for more than a few days of confusion, but that was all right. The squeaky clean optometrist had never been his planned fall guy.
He’d sown the seeds for two new suspects, providing hours of enjoyment as the Hat Squad’s wheels continued to spin. He’d had the suspects in his plan from the start.
The first backup cruiser was stopping in front of the Bolyard house. Soon the place would be crawling with cops. He’d retreat for now, disappointed but undamaged.
Eve could no longer hurt him with her forays into Shadowland, but that no longer mattered. It no longer mattered how much aid she gave Webster, because the role of her study, and of Eve herself, were finished. He no longer needed to silence her.
Now he just wanted her. Partly for revenge, it was true. But it was more than that.
He’d been stunningly aroused watching Winters recall the moment he’d “killed” Eve Wilson, and how she’d fought for her life. I want that fight. That fear. I want the power of my hands around her throat. There was also the aspect of ego, he had to admit. Succeeding where a celebrated killer had failed would be so very satisfying.
He started his car, slipping quietly away into the night.
Well, that was interesting, Dell thought, watching through his camera zoom as the dark car drove away. Somebody hates Noah Webster as much as I do.
He was certain the man driving away didn’t know he’d been watched. If he had, he wouldn’t have aimed a gun at Webster’s car. Apparently, he hadn’t had a good angle or he’d gotten cold feet, because he’d left without firing a shot.
Dell noted the man’s plate and returned his attention to Webster, who sat in his vehicle, looking very sad. He should look sad. His partner had just been found in bed with his dead girlfriend. It would make beautiful headlines. More beautiful had Phelps’s “suicide” been successful, he thought bitterly. That Phelps had been discovered before he was fully dead was frustrating, to say the least.
That Dell hadn’t been the one to write the headline was frustrating as well. He could still be submitting stories as Buckland had his old man kept his damn mouth shut.
I didn’t do it. What bullshit. Harvey had threatened to tell, and he had. But when time came to pay the piper, Harvey had whined like a little girl.
V always said he would. V always said they could make him cry if the two of them had joined forces as kids. But I was always too scared. Tonight he had not been afraid at all. He’d been angry and justified.
But now Webster knows who I am. Webster had gone to Harvey’s house. They’d found the old man’s body. He’d heard the chatter on the scanner, the BOLO issued… for me. But they’d missed on his vehicle. They had him in a black Lincoln Navigator.
Just like that gun-pointing guy was driving. Dell grinned as things fell into place. Unless Webster had three guys on his ass, the guy in the Navigator was the Red Dress Killer himself. Dell put down the camera and pulled out his BlackBerry, doing a reverse search on the Navigator’s plate. Then frowned at the name that popped up.
Donald Donner. Where had he seen that name before? Oh, yeah. That was the name he’d seen on the door behind that douche Jeremy Lyons’s desk at Marshall.
“I don’t think so, Dr. Donner,” he murmured. “I saw him first. He belongs to me.”
But first, headlines. He couldn’t write them, but he’d make damn sure someone else did. He dialed a number he’d found in Buckland’s contact list. “Hi. I have a tip for you…”
Wednesday, February 24, 9:55 p.m.
Eve was cold despite the car heater Noah had left running at full blast.
She’d seen four dead bodies tonight. She included Katie in that number, the sight of the body bag fresh in her mind. I saw her Sunday, called her a bimbo du jour. Eve wondered what Katie had done to warrant Dell’s wrath. Or if the man had simply lost it.
He killed his father. And tried to kill me. And David. She groaned. She needed to call David. He’d be worried sick. She dug her cell from her computer bag, wincing at all the calls she’d missed.
“I’m sorry,” she said before David could snarl. “I’ve been busy. This guy who hurt you—”
“I know. Olivia called me. She’s stepped up security here at the hospital.”
Eve’s blood ran colder. “She thinks he’ll come after you? He was trying for me.”
“She said she’s not taking any chances. Are you okay?”
“Physically, I’m fine. Emotionally… I’ve seen four bodies tonight.”
“Webster let you?” He sounded outraged.
“He won’t let me out of his sight. What he sees, I see.”
He grunted at that. “Tom told me you had a dinner thing. How did it go?”
Eve found the one side of her mouth lifting despite everything. “Not bad.”
“A glowing endorsement coming from you. I’m glad. You deserved it.”
“Get some sleep. I’m safe.” Hanging up, she reached into her bag for her laptop and her hand brushed the hard bulge in the zippered pocket. The image of Harvey Farmer flashed into her mind, dead on the floor of his living room, a hole in his chest. Dell was out there, somewhere. The gun she carried would do her little good in her computer bag unless she intended to hit him with it.
Lifting her head, she looked both ways out the window before slipping her gun from the bag to her coat pocket and suddenly felt much safer. She opened her laptop to make sure Natalie and Kathy were safe as well. They were, Kathy’s avatar on her Ninth Circle bar stool and Natalie’s still at the poker table.
Natalie was losing big. Dasich, conversely, had a mountain of chips. So not fair. Guy’s a damn cheat. Eve watched the next hand go to Cicely, the avatar who always sat next to Natalie’s. Once she’d had Greer bump into her to get her screen name, to determine if Cicely was one of her subjects. She wasn’t.
At least not that you know of. A new chill chased down her spine.
“Shit.” I have a dozen avatars. Any one of them could, too. She could have red-zones she’d never identified. And at the moment she had no idea what to do about it.
A roar from the casino had her looking down. The Cicely avatar had won a hand she shouldn’t have. It was extraordinarily lucky, totally skillful, or totally cheating.
Natalie agreed, filing a formal complaint. A brawl was building. More fun and ga—
Eve was yanked from the action by a knock on the car window that had her stifling a yelp. She rolled down the glass, drawing a breath. “Captain Abbott, you startled me.”
He didn’t smile. “Did Web tell you that we’ve arranged a safe house for
you?”
Eve smiled, brightly. “He did. Thank you for your concern.”
Abbott opened her car door. “I’ll take you there now. Come with me.”
Eve leaned back, shaking her head. “I’ve made alternate arrangements.”
“You can’t stay here. This is a crime scene.”
Eve looked up at him, keeping her expression bland although in her mind, her eyes were narrowing suspiciously. “I’ll leave as soon as my ride gets here.”
Abbott’s jaw clenched. “What are your alternate plans?”
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. “I’m staying with Sal and his wife,” she lied.
“I cannot have Webster distracted. This mess with Jack is bad enough.”
“How is Jack?” she asked, changing the subject before he decided to call Sal.
“They’ve pumped his stomach, but he’s not out of the woods. Don’t change the subject, Eve. I don’t want Noah to miss a threat because he’s looking after you. It could mean his life. Or yours.”
Put that way, Abbott made sense. “I understand.”
“Then you’ll back away from him until this case is resolved.”
Eve studied his face, harshly illuminated by a streetlamp. “I will not be a distraction.”
He glared at her, knowing she had not agreed. “See that you don’t.”
He closed her car door and had started to walk away when Noah emerged from the Bolyards’ house with Micki Ridgewell, both looking grim. Eve muted Shadowland, so she could listen to what was being said outside the still-open car window.
“Time of death?” Abbott asked Noah.
“Between seven and eight,” he replied and Eve’s heart sank. That would have been when they’d been kissing in the backseat of his old car.
“Any indication of what they’d planned to tell you?” Abbott asked.
“No.” Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “But they did make a phone call at 7:47.”
Micki pointed to a local TV news van that was just slowing to a stop. “To them.”
A woman approached wearing a stylish coat and high heels. “I’m Regina Forest,” she said. “Can you tell me what’s going on here?”