by Karen Rose
‘Under the dead cat,’ she murmured. ‘Of course. Where else would it be?’
Joseph grabbed a snow shovel from a rack on the wall and pushed the carcass aside, tested the perimeter of the trap door for explosives, set the detector aside. ‘When I call for you, bring down that bundle.’ He pointed to a brown blanket. ‘Wrapped inside is water, bandages, medicine. One last time – are you sure?’
No. ‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’ He pulled the door open.
Silence. Harsh silence. Daphne’s heart sank. She’s dead. She opened her mouth to say as much, but Joseph shook his head, laying a finger across his lips.
Weapon in hand, he started down the narrow steps and she knew true fear. It was the dark hole in her dreams, the one she always fell into. Doug could be down there. Or Beckett. Or a bomb or . . . Stop it. This is what cops’ spouses went through every day. She needed to learn to be okay with the danger. Or at least try to handle it.
Daphne gritted her teeth and prayed.
She heard a click, then saw the beam of his flashlight moving across the small patch of floor she could see. Then a murmur, muted voices. Then his voice at full volume. ‘Daphne, come down. She’s alive.’
Daphne grabbed the blanket bundle and hurried down the stairs, ignoring the new fear clawing at her gut. As long as she’d been afraid for the girl or for Joseph, she hadn’t been afraid for herself. Now, she was.
Knees knocking, she reached the bed, saw the girl. Naked, chained. Emaciated.
Joseph turned his back to give the girl her dignity and was shrugging out of his wool overcoat. He wore the flak jacket beneath. ‘Wrap her in the blanket, then in my coat.’
Daphne hurried to the girl’s side. ‘Heather?’
Heather’s face was all bone, her eyes shrunken, lips cracked. ‘Water?’
Quickly Daphne covered her, tucking the blanket around her as best she could considering she was still chained. ‘My name is Daphne. That’s Agent Carter. He’s with the FBI. We’re here to take you home.’
Tears filled the girl’s eyes, seeping down the sides of her face. Daphne poured a few drops of water into her mouth. ‘Easy. You’ll get sick if you drink too fast.’
She heard another click and the room was illuminated. Heather looked even more emaciated in the bright light and Daphne felt the unholy urge to kill Beckett. She wrapped Joseph’s coat around Heather, felt the girl’s hard shudder.
‘How did you know I was here?’ Heather asked, her voice hoarse.
‘My son was kidnapped a few days ago. He was kept in the garage above you. He escaped and found your purse in Beckett’s truck.’
‘That’s the noises I heard? I thought I’d finally lost my mind. Who is Beckett?’
‘The man who held you here,’ Daphne said softly. ‘But you’re safe with us now.’
Joseph had checked every corner. From his pants pocket he drew a felt pouch and from that a slim metal pick. In seconds he’d picked the locks that chained the girl and he and Daphne massaged Heather’s shoulders, helping her to bring her arms down and under the blanket. He repeated the motion with the chains at Heather’s feet.
‘That’s his name? Beckett? I didn’t know.’ Heather closed her eyes. ‘All he ever said was “Did you miss me?”’
Daphne stroked the girl’s hair, trying to give her hands something to do so they wouldn’t tremble. ‘I know, honey.’ She made herself look around the small room. There was a bed and a nightstand. A sink and toilet.
A fine layer of dust covered the nightstand. Cutting into it were two circles, one much larger than the other. A glass for water and . . .
‘Medicine bottle,’ Heather whispered. ‘He always kept a medicine bottle there.’ She started to cough and Daphne lifted her enough to slide behind her to sit against the headboard, cradling Heather against her body.
‘Why?’
‘Sleeping pills. For when we don’t want to stick around anymore. He told me so, the day he brought me here.’
More rage exploded within her and Daphne had to clench her teeth to stay in control. And then she looked up. And froze. Her heart . . . stopped.
‘Joseph,’ she rasped, the voice not her own.
He was halfway up the stairs, talking to Kerr who stood above them.
‘Joseph,’ she cried, more loudly and shrilly. He came thundering down the stairs and, following her gaze, looked up.
‘Oh my God,’ he breathed. It was pictures. Polaroid pictures. All in neat rows. The bottom row held ten, the middle row ten. And the top row held . . . six.
‘Twenty-six.’ Sounds were coming from her throat, whimpering, mewling sounds. She could hear them, but she couldn’t make them stop. Make them stop.
‘The one at the very top . . .’ she heard Heather say in a broken voice, ‘is me.’
Get a hold of yourself. Stop this.
Daphne closed her eyes, clenched them tight. Pursed her lips and breathed through her nose. Twenty-six, twenty-six, twenty-six.
‘Sonofabitch,’ Joseph hissed, shining his light on each photo. When his beam passed over the bottom row she saw Kelly on the far left. Kelly had been the first.
And next to it . . . Oh God. Can’t breathe. Next to it was a child. With blonde pigtails, huddled into a corner of the garage, her knees pulled tight into her chest.
Beckett had taken it the day he told her she had to cook some more.
Joseph switched off the flashlight, his whole body shaking with fury.
Heather was crying pitifully. ‘I’m the last one. The last one,’ she kept saying.
Daphne’s arms tightened around the girl and she began to rock herself, but held Heather so tightly that they rocked as one.
‘He took my picture and I couldn’t stop him,’ Heather sobbed. ‘He put it up there. I begged him not to. I begged. But he did it. He did . . . oh God. He did things.’
‘I know.’ Daphne soothed out of habit, staring at the photos, no longer able to see any details, but unable to look away. Feeling utterly dead inside. ‘I know what he did.’
‘No you don’t. You can’t know. You can’t know.’
‘Sshh. I can know. I do know. The first girl was my cousin. Kelly. He kept her down here. I heard it all. The second girl . . . That’s me, Heather. That little girl is me.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thursday, December 5, 2.15 P.M.
This is priceless. Mitch had arrived at Beckett’s place in the nick of time. Hurry. Hurry. You can’t miss this now.
He pulled his Jeep off to the side of the road at the end of the long drive and started to walk through the trees. If anyone saw him, he would say he saw someone that looked like the BOLO description of Beckett and had pulled over to investigate.
He made his way to the place he’d scoped out weeks before – the place where the trees were cleared in a way that provided an unobstructed view of the garage door. He adjusted his binoculars so that when she came stumbling out, he’d have the perfect view. And now . . . on his smart phone he brought up his webcam app and selected the router connected to Beckett’s stolen satellite dish.
And . . . voilà. There was Daphne, sitting next to Heather, applying lip balm, giving her water. Sliding to sit behind her, propping her as she coughed and . . .
Yes. Daphne was looking up at the Polaroids. All twenty-six of them. This . . . this was the moment he’d been waiting for. When she realized there had been twenty-four more after her and her cousin Kelly. Twenty-four more lives ruined. Ended. Because she’d been a coward. Selfish.
Make that twenty-five more lives ended. Because Travis Elkhart and his millions hadn’t been enough for her. Because she’d wanted what belonged to someone else. The selfish child had grown into a selfish woman who’d taken his mother’s husband.
The selfish woman had pushed his mother into despair, so it was only fitting that despair was what was on Daphne’s face right now.
Mitch wished this moment would go on for all time, but all too soon it ended.
&nb
sp; Several squad cars and an ambulance raced past his Jeep and down the drive, parking near the garage. Dammit. The sudden influx of cops made him nervous. I should go. Now. But he’d waited so long for this moment. Just a few minutes more. EMTs jumped out of the ambulance, unloaded a gurney and disappeared into the garage.
Three, two, one . . . And there they were on the camera. Daphne moved away to make room for them and the EMTs carefully lifted Heather to the stretcher. And then it was just Daphne sobbing into her hands. Hope you choke on those tears, sugar.
The EMTs were leaving with Heather Lipton. Soon Daphne would come out and he’d see her in all of her sobbing devastation.
The EMTs emerged from the garage and lifted Heather into the ambulance. Heather Lipton. Mitch was surprised she’d survived. The girl had grit. Beckett had tried his best to break her. Watching it on the webcam, Mitch had nearly faltered once. Had come close to reporting her whereabouts to the cops. But it would have ruined everything. He was glad he’d stayed the course. Heather would be fine.
He looked around, half expecting to see Beckett lurking around somewhere. The guy was still out there. A fugitive. That was disturbing. He’d hoped the cops would have taken Beckett out already.
Mitch lifted the binoculars to his eyes in time to see Daphne stumble out of the garage, weeping. In Carter’s arms. Crying like her heart would break. Good.
Oh, and look at that. The door of one of the waiting cars opened and out came trusty old Ford Elkhart. Ford crossed the distance to his mother tentatively, then quickly. Carter transferred her to the boy’s arms and Ford rocked his mother while she cried.
Mitch hoped the camera he’d hidden outside Beckett’s garage was set at a decent angle. That cam was the old-fashioned kind. Tripped by a motion detector, it had been recording since Carter and Daphne had first arrived. It didn’t stream to the web, it just recorded. But it would give him a clear picture that he could keep forever, one that he could view again and again.
Like the juiciest parts of the novels his mother used to dog-ear. She’d read them over and over again.
Ford was walking his mother back to Carter’s SUV. The first act was over.
That’s my cue. Mitch started walking toward the cabin.
Baltimore, Maryland, Thursday, December 5, 2.30 P.M.
I am an idiot. Clay pinched the bridge of his nose as the elevator carried him up to the ICU where Stevie still lay. He knew it was hopeless but he couldn’t stay away.
She didn’t ask me to, he thought. Which made him pathetic. She’d had a tube down her throat. She couldn’t have said a word if she’d wanted to.
But today the tube was out. She could speak her mind. He’d know for sure. And if she didn’t want to see him, he at least had a final request. One that would give her some purpose as she started into the recovery and rehab phase.
Her family and a crowd of cops in the waiting room. It was SRO in the ICU, and pretty much had been since she’d woken up. Because it was Stevie and everyone loved her.
Her parents were working the room, shaking hands with the cops, kissing each person they greeted on both sides of the face. Her parents’ faces lit up when they saw him and her mother threw her arms around him.
Clay had to smile despite his heavy heart. ‘How is she today?’ he asked and both Nicolescus shrugged.
‘Not our Stefania,’ her mother said. ‘Not yet.’
‘She’s too polite,’ her father complained. ‘We miss the fire.’
‘She’ll bounce back,’ Clay predicted as brightly as he could muster. He felt a tug on his trouser leg and looked down.
Little Cordelia sat on the floor, coloring with Stevie’s sister Izzy. Cordelia shot him a shy smile and immediately Clay dropped down to crouch beside her.
‘I got my picture,’ he said quietly. She’d given him angel wings. It made his throat hurt every time he thought of it. ‘Thank you. I really love it.’
‘Good,’ she said, beaming. ‘I’ll make you another.’
‘I’d like that. I was going to say hi to your mom, but it looks like there’s a line.’
‘You get moved to the head of the list,’ Izzy said. ‘Mama’s orders.’
Less than five minutes later, Clay was scrubbed and approaching Stevie’s room with sweaty palms. She lay in the bed, her head slightly elevated now. Her dark hair was mussed, the way he liked it. And there really was more color in her face today.
When he walked in, she dropped her gaze to her hands.
‘Hi,’ she said, her voice raw and raspy.
Clay didn’t have any words now that he was there. He just stood, looking his fill.
‘Can I . . . help you?’ she asked. So politely.
‘You know you can.’ The words flew out of his mouth, surprising them both.
She looked stricken, then looked away and the seconds ticked by in the loudest silence he’d ever heard.
‘Do you want me to go?’ he finally asked.
‘Yes. No.’ She looked up at him then, so conflicted. ‘I don’t know.’
It was better than he’d hoped for. Because he was pathetic. And an idiot.
‘Look, I don’t want to crowd you.’ He came a little closer, arms crossed over his chest because he so desperately needed to touch her. ‘Actually, that’s a dirty lie. I would love to crowd you. In every possible way. But . . . that’s not why I came. My friend, my old partner Isaac Zacharias, was killed Monday night.’
‘By Doug,’ Stevie rasped and reached for the glass of water on her tray. He stepped forward, putting the straw between her lips. She sipped, then fell backward. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry about your friend.’
‘Yeah. My friend’s wife is pregnant with their fourth. She’s due soon. She’s . . . a zombie. Just stares into space. We can barely get her to eat.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, of course. But why tell me?’ she asked, the question a warning to back off. But uttered so politely.
Her father had been right. Her fire was gone and it broke Clay’s heart to see. But he was here for Phyllis Zacharias as much as Stevie Mazzetti. And for myself.
‘Because you’ve been there,’ he said flatly and saw her flinch.
She’d lost her husband and son when she’d been pregnant with Cordelia, but she’d made it through, coming out on the other side stronger by all accounts he’d heard.
‘I thought you could talk to her. Maybe get through to her. She’s got family to help with the kids, but that baby’s gonna need her. And she’s gonna need him. If I leave her name and number with your family, can you give her a call when you feel up to it?’
Her eyes lifted to his. Dark, lovely eyes. Now filled with a pain that made him wish he’d kept his mouth closed. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Any way I can help.’
‘Good.’ He took a moment, just to study her face. Until she dropped her chin, her gaze fixed back on her hands and he stepped away. ‘Be well . . . Stefania.’
He’d wanted to use her given name for a very long time. It was what he called her in his mind when he dreamed of holding her in the quiet of the night, sated and content.
But she didn’t look up, so he turned away. He was almost out the door when she called his name.
‘Clay.’ Her chin still down, she looked up at him through her lashes, but not flirtatiously. She was hiding. ‘They told me that you saved my life. Thank you.’
‘I’d do it again in a heartbeat,’ he said quietly, ‘because I can’t imagine a world without you in it.’
She released a ragged breath. ‘I think . . . I think maybe you should try.’
‘Try what?’ he asked, unable to mask his dread.
Then she looked up and his heart crumbled. ‘You want something I may never be able to give you,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want to hurt you. But I won’t lead you on. You should find someone else to be in your world, Clay. I don’t know if it can ever be me.’
He stared as her words sank in. He’d come for a definitive answer. Now he had it.
; He nodded, dimly aware that it hurt to breathe. ‘All right. Be happy . . . Stevie.’
When he got out to the waiting room, he just kept going, not caring who saw him or what they thought. He didn’t slow down until he was outside, the cold air smacking his face. He stopped then, closing his eyes, gritting his teeth through the wave of pain, grateful for the numbness left in its wake.
He started walking. One foot in front of the other. It was time to work. Because that’s all he had left. Work. Always and only work.
He’d left Alec and Paige waiting in his car and they looked optimistic as he approached, then sad when they saw his face.
‘Let’s play hooky,’ Alec said when Clay was in his car and buckled in. ‘Go play video games in the arcade. Or paintball or something.’
‘Or go out for ice cream sundaes,’ Paige added. ‘Something.’
‘Nah. Got paperwork to do. Although I appreciate the offer.’ Clay’s cell buzzed as he pulled into traffic. It was the security desk at Daphne’s condo. Time to work. ‘This is Maynard.’
‘This is Tim Lasker, head of security at Inner Harbor. Someone entered Miss Montgomery’s unit earlier today and you asked to be informed. Unfortunately the clerk who’s on duty this shift just came back from vacation and didn’t know to call this in. I just realized the error.’
‘Who signed in to the condo?’ Clay asked.
‘A Miss MacGregor. Kimberly MacGregor. The time is 11.30 this morning.’
‘Is there a vehicle parked in Miss Montgomery’s parking place?’
‘Yes. It’s a black van. What would you like me to do?’
‘Just make sure Miss MacGregor doesn’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in ten.’ He hung up and hung a U-turn at the next light. ‘We’re going to the Inner Harbor.’
‘Miss MacGregor?’ Paige said excitedly. ‘Kimberly?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘Are we calling BPD?’ Alec asked.
Time to work. ‘Not yet. I don’t want to spook her. If she’s there, we’ll call JD. But I’d like to have a few words with her first.’
Marston, West Virginia, Thursday, December 5, 2.30 P.M.