Her Last Call (Arrington Mystery Book 2)

by Elle Gray

  “What about Moira?” I ask. “Can you see if there are any properties under the name Moira Tucker?”

  Brody leans over his laptop and goes to work. I’m not expecting him to find anything, but I’m pretty much grasping at straws at this point. That’s what desperation does. The minutes crawl by agonizingly slowly, and with every passing second, I imagine the terrible things Tucker is doing to Marcy. It puts a lump in my throat and makes my stomach feel like it’s filled with acid.

  “Nothing,” he says grimly.

  “Dammit,” I growl.

  “I’ll try every family member I can think of,” he says.

  It probably won’t do any good, but I don’t want to tell him that. He’s trying to do something useful, and I don’t want to take that away from him. But when I look at Blake, I see the same despondency and resignation in her eyes I’m sure are reflected in my own.

  My frustration boils over, and I punch the wall, putting a crack in the plaster. I’m not used to feeling completely powerless— and completely helpless. I wrack my brain, trying to think of some way we can track them down. Marcy’s phone was left at my place when Tucker took her, so that’s out. He’s only called me from burners, so that’s out. My mind races as I pace back and forth. If I could just…

  And then it hits me.

  I want to scream in frustration for not thinking of this immediately. I replay the video chat and flash back to when he’d put the camera on Marcy. On the back seat was a Mercedes logo.

  “Brody, can you find any cars registered to David or Moira?” I ask. “I’m looking specifically for a Mercedes.”

  “On it.”

  I stand against the wall, arms crossed, foot tapping on the ground. Every second feels like an eternity. He finally looks up, a triumphant smile on his face.

  “Mercedes GLE registered to Moira Tucker,” Brody says, slapping his hand down on the table.

  “Can you hack into their onboard navigation?” Blake asks, her excitement rising.

  “Already working on it,” he says. “I can tell you they’re headed north. Toward Capehart Forest. Go. I’ll call you with more specifics as I get them.”

  I turn to Blake. “Let’s saddle up.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Capehart Forest; Discovery Park, Seattle

  “Dr. Jekyll”

  “We could have had something special,” I tell her.

  Marcy looks back at me, her eyes wide, her entire body trembling. I tighten the last zip tie around her ankle, securing her to the chair. That done, I pull the gag down and let it hang loosely around her neck, then take a step back. I open a bottle of water and take a long swallow, then offer her a drink.

  “Little hard to drink with my hands tied down,” she says.

  I step forward. “Tip your head back and open your mouth.”

  She does and I slowly pour the water into her mouth, and she drinks down the rest of the bottle. I toss it aside and glance at my watch. I pace the cabin, my mind whirling with excitement and anticipation as I look at Marcy. My prize. She is proof that I outsmarted Paxton Arrington. I won. He lost.

  “Believe it or not, I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to kill you,” I tell her. “I’m very fond of you, Marcy. Even despite your…” I point at her tattoos, my contempt obvious. “But that can be fixed. You know, I really fell hard for you.”

  “You’re crazy,” she hisses.

  “I don’t think you have the education to make that determination,” I reply. “You’re a very smart girl, but you’re not a professional, licensed psychologist. So forgive me if I take your words with a grain of salt.”

  “Screw you.”

  “We can do that,” I reply. “In fact, I’d like that very much. Or at least, I would have.”

  She opens her mouth, no doubt to hurl another barb at me, but seems to think better of it and swallows it down. She’s a very smart girl.

  “See, the fact that you allowed that cretin Arrington have you— allowed him to soil and defile you— frankly, that’s a turn-off.”

  “What are you talking about, creep?” she asks.

  “I saw you coming out of his condo,” I tell her. “I saw you, so there’s no sense in denying it.”

  She stares at me with wide eyes, her full lips open in a perfect “O.” And then she starts to laugh. She laughs hysterically, rocking in her chair like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard in her life.

  I close the distance between us and deliver a vicious backhand. Her head rocks to the side, and her laughter cuts off abruptly. A thin crimson rivulet spills from the corner of her mouth, and she looks back at me, her eyes narrowed, her face contorted into a mask of pure hate.

  “I didn’t sleep with him, you moron,” she spits. “He was hiding me. From you!”

  “Right. Like I’m going to believe the words of a liar like you,” I growl. “Like I’m going to take the word of a deceiver. A whore.”

  “You know what? Do what you have to do,” she says. “I don’t care.”

  “Oh, you don’t? So you want to die?”

  “You’re going to kill me no matter what I say,” she snaps. “So do whatever. I’m done playing your game.”

  I slip the large hunting knife out of the sheath on my belt and hold it up for her to see. The light from the lanterns glint off the edge of the blade menacingly. But to her credit, Marcy doesn’t even flinch. She just continues staring at me like she would enjoy getting a chance to use the knife on me.

  See? Everybody has a little bit of Mr. Hyde in them.

  I squat down in front of her, pointing the blade down and sticking it into the wood floor. I rotate it, and it makes a cracking, splintering sound. I’m looking at Marcy, and she doesn’t seem impressed. I hate to admit it, but my feelings for Marcy haven’t been entirely extinguished. There are still a few sparks burning inside of me.

  “You’re a lot like Moira, you know. But you were better,” I tell her. “Why did you have to go and screw it all up by sleeping with Arrington?”

  “I don’t know how many different ways I can tell you this, but I never slept with him,” she says. “Believe it or not. I don’t really care.”

  “You’ll care once I pry it out of you.”

  “You think this is the first time I’ve been threatened with a knife before, psycho?”

  She’s tough. Feisty. She’s got fire, and I like that about her. And for a moment, I almost want to believe her. I want to believe we can put this behind us and build the relationship I know we can have. That we should have. It would be a love story for the ages.

  But no matter how hard I try, I keep seeing her coming out of his building. And knowing what happened in his condo between them, I can’t stop the feelings of revulsion and anger that well up within me.

  “We could have had something special,” I tell her.

  “Yeah, you said that already.”

  “I think somewhere deep down, you know it too.”

  “All I know for sure is I’d rather die than let you lay a finger on me,” she snaps, her voice cold. “The only relationship you would have ever had with me would have been in your mind.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You’re sick. You’re a monster,” she yells at me. “And it doesn’t matter how many innocent women you kill; you’ll still just be a weak coward trying to make himself feel strong.”

  “I SAID SHUT UP!”

  All I see is red. I’m not aware that I’ve even moved. But when I hear the sharp, shrill scream ringing in my ears, my vision clears, and I come back to myself. I see the knife sticking out of Marcy’s arm. Her eyes are so wide, they’re practically popping out of her skull, and her mouth is open wider than seems humanly possible, and the scream that issues from her throat could shatter glass.

  Moving quickly, I put the gag back into her mouth, stifling her cries. I place a gentle kiss on her forehead.

  “Look what you made me do. Why did you make me do this?” I cry. “Hold on; I’m going to help y
ou.”

  She continues to scream into her gag, her voice muffled. I dash out to the car and grab my med kit, then run back into the house, my heart thundering in my chest. I can’t believe I did that. But she made me. She pushed and pushed and pushed until I snapped. This is her fault. But as usual, here I am, left to clean up somebody else’s mess.

  “This is going to hurt.”

  I grip the handle of the knife and yank it out as smoothly as I can. She continues to scream. I give her a sedative and have to wait a few moments for it to take effect, keeping pressure on the wound the whole time. Only when I see the sedative working do I dare work on her arm.

  It takes me more than an hour, but I finally manage to staunch the flow of blood and sew it up. There’s nothing I can do for any internal damage. Not out here, without a proper facility or instruments to work with. But it’s the best I can do. Which is still probably better than she deserves.

  Marcy’s head rocks back. She has that glassy-eyed stare of the heavily medicated. I wash my hands and pace around the cabin again while she’s blissed out. I’ve come to a decision, and it’s that she will receive my lesson. I will, unfortunately, have to make an example of her too.

  I tried. I really tried. But no matter what I do, I can’t get over the fact that she was with him. That she spread her legs and let him defile her. She’s dirty. Filthy. And I can’t abide that. She showed me her true colors, and now that I’ve seen them, there’s no coming back from that.

  It’s unfortunate, really. I thought she’d be able to come to Canada with me. Start over. I thought we could start fresh and build a new life together. But it was not meant to be. I’ll have to start fresh in Canada alone.

  Nobody knows where I am, so we’re safe to sleep here for the night. I want all of the sedatives out of her body. I want her to be fully conscious and aware. Otherwise, she’s not going to learn, and she, in turn, won’t be able to teach others. It’ll be sad, and I’ll miss her, but Marcy brought this all on herself.

  Why couldn’t she have been as good as I thought she was?

  Thirty-Eight

  Lake Capehart; Discovery Park, Seattle

  Paxton

  “We need to go on foot from here,” I say as we pull into a parking lot.

  Blake nods. I shut off the car, and we both climb out. The sky overhead is still gray, but it’s growing darker as the sun slips below the horizon. The air is already taking on the chill of night, and the air feels heavy. I wouldn’t be surprised if another storm came crashing through tonight.

  I hand Blake an earbud as we move to the back of my Navigator. She puts it in as I open the back, then lift the hidden compartment, revealing an arsenal. Blake stares at it wide-eyed.

  “Should I ask if you have permits for these things?” she asks.

  I flash her a grin. “Believe it or not, it’s all legal.”

  I hand her a Kevlar vest and take one for myself, and we quickly strap into them. That done, we load up. I hand her an AR-15 and a couple of extra clips. She’s got a sidearm already, so I hand her a knife to tuck into her boot. I outfit myself pretty much the same way. I’ve got a .45 on my hip, an AR across my back, a 9mm in my hand, and a blade in my boot.

  “You expecting to run into a marauding army or something?” she asks.

  “Better to be overprepared—”

  “Then get caught with your pants down,” she finishes for me.

  “Right,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  I close the liftgate on my truck and set the alarm. I key open the earbud to keep the line open and let Brody know we’re in position.

  “You guys there?” Brody’s voice sounds in my earpiece.

  “Yeah, we’re on,” I reply.

  “Okay, I pulled up satellite imaging. The cabin you’re looking for is about a mile northwest of your current position. It’s on the edge of Shilshole Bay,” he reports. “The GPS puts the Mercedes in that location.”

  “Copy that,” I say.

  Blake and I head out, following a path through the woods. Capehart Forest is a popular hiking spot, and there are plenty of marked paths that wind their way through the trees. There are residences and vacation cabins out here as well, though they’re mostly scattered along the shoreline.

  “Do you have the name of the owner of that cabin?” I ask.

  “Checking,” Brody says. “Stand by.”

  We keep moving, picking our way along the forest path. It’s pretty overgrown. We have to move carefully to avoid stepping into a hole or tripping over something. It’s slow going, but the last thing I want to do is break an ankle. I don’t know why, but I’ve got a feeling that Marcy is still alive. It could be wishful thinking, but it’s just a feeling down deep in my gut.

  “The cabin is registered to Emerald Shores, Incorporated,” Brody says. “I did some digging. It’s a shell corporation set up some years back by none other than David Tucker.”

  “He’s been setting this up for a while,” Blake comments.

  I nod. “Sounds like it.”

  “Okay, you guys should be right on top of it,” Brody says.

  I hold up my hand to stop Blake, then step to a large screen of bushes and peer around it. Sure enough, there’s the Mercedes parked in front of the cabin. I turn to Blake and nod, waving her up. She squats down beside me as I study the cabin. The windows are boarded over, but I can see lights glowing softly between the gaps in the boards.

  It looks to me like lantern light, so I’ll assume he doesn’t have electricity in the cabin. Which is good news for us, since no electricity means no surveillance equipment or alarms. He won’t know we’re coming.

  “Okay, he’s here,” I whisper.

  “How do you want to play this?” Blake asks.

  “I’m thinking you stick to the trees and circle around, approach the cabin from the rear,” I tell her. “I’ll go in through the front.”

  “You think it’s wise to split up?” she asks.

  “I’d rather he doesn’t have room to rabbit,” I explain. “I don’t want him slipping out the back.”

  She nods. “Copy that.”

  “Okay, go,” I tell her. “I’m going in through the front in two minutes.”

  Blake takes off, moving low, swift, and quietly. She barely stirs a leaf as she moves through the trees, moving as silently as the wind. It’s impressive. It’s not long before she melts into the shadows and disappears completely. Just one more shadow among the rest of them.

  I check my watch, feeling my stomach tighten as I wait. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to clear my mind of all thought and all emotion. I need to be perfectly calm and collected right now. I can’t afford to let my worry for Marcy, my grief for Veronica, or anything else get in the way. I have to be a machine.

  “Time’s up,” I whisper.

  I break cover and move low in a beeline for the cabin. I channel my inner Blake and try to move as lightly as I can. I put one foot on the far side of the first stair that leads up to the door and wince as it creaks sharply. I hold my breath, waiting, every muscle in my body tense. But nothing happens.

  Saying a silent word of thanks, I put a little more weight on the stair, eliciting another soft groan. And then the shots ring out.

  A lance of white-hot pain tears through my arm as I throw myself to the side, trying to get out of the way of the hail of bullets tearing through the front door.

  I look down to see blood pouring from the wound in my arm, and grit my teeth, willing the sharp sting of pain to the back of my mind. I don’t have time for it. I scramble to my feet and am just starting to move when more shots shatter the stillness of the air. A flock of ducks out on the bay behind the cabin, disturbed by the shooting, take off in a chorus of quacks.

  I dive behind the Mercedes and get to my knees, propping the 9mm on the hood as I sight down the barrel at the front door. But Tucker doesn’t step out. He’s too smart to frame himself in the doorway for me. All of a sudden, the light inside is extinguished,
plunging the cabin into pure darkness. That’s not good news for our side.

  “Tucker,” I call out. “It’s over. Toss the gun and step outside.”

  “I was going to compliment you for being smarter than I thought for finding me,” he calls back. “Until that comment. That’s about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Tucker, listen—”

  “No, you listen!” he shouts. “You are going to get away from my car. Then I’m dragging Marcy out of here, and we’re hitting the open road. If you don’t move, I’ll put a bullet in her.”

  The good news is that Marcy is still alive. The bad news is, he has me over a barrel. And then he’s in the doorway. He’s covered in shadows and gloom, but he’s there with Marcy in front of him, using her as a human shield. She’s bloody, and her motions are slow, but she’s still alive.

  I take careful aim, but it’s no use. I’m a crack shot, but the darkness on the porch makes it impossible for me to tell Marcy’s head from his.

  “Stand up, Arrington,” he shouts.

  I do as he says, keeping the barrel of my nine pointed at him. Movement at the edge of the cabin draws my attention, so I flick my eyes over and see Blake moving up the side, moving quieter than a breath of wind. I focus my attention back to Tucker and try to figure out how to draw his attention and keep it on me.

  “Throw your gun down,” he calls.

  I toss the nine aside and stand there with my hands up. I hear Tucker sigh from where I am.

  “All of them, moron,” he sneers.

  He steps out a little further. The ambient light— dim though it is— illuminating him a little more. I can finally differentiate Marcy from him. Her face is pale, and she looks terrified, her eyes are wide above the gag in her mouth, but her body is limp. Loose. He seems to be holding her up and supporting her weight, almost like she’s drugged.

  I drop my AR and the .45 onto the bed of pine needles and foliage beside the nine, then put my hands back up.