by Debra Webb
“You chose Edward over me. Dedicated your book to him. Dared to tell me you regretted not having gone home to take over the family business like he’d wanted. All these years, all my work.” He shook his head, fury radiating in every word. “You threw us away. You have always cared more for him. That’s clear.”
“He’s…he’s…my father.” The words came out slurred but he understood. She saw the understanding in his eyes. “You and I…we’re…just friends.”
“Oh, Rowan, we are so much more than friends.” He exhaled a big breath. “But you destroyed that. Now, when I’m done, you will finish what you started all those years ago. After all, no one knows you better than me. I’ve always been able to anticipate your every move just as I knew you would come to me when you found Ames.”
He sat down on the edge of the sofa, swept the hair from her eyes. “I know you, Rowan. I know you better than you know yourself. You couldn’t please your mother so she left you. You couldn’t please your father, you let him down. Those other women are weighing heavy on your conscience. I assure you, when I’m done, you will want to end the agony of living with all that guilt.”
His words so closely mirrored her feelings…so many times she had felt exactly that way. Sadly, all that he said was true.
But she did not want to die. She wanted to be there for her father. She’d only just recently begun to see that what she really wanted was to give him what he’d always wished for.
“No.” The word warbled but came out strong. “This time…you’re wrong about me, Julian.”
Her eyes closed again, taking the image of his face with her into the darkness.
“You’ll see. Goodbye, Rowan.”
Chapter Eleven
Wake up, Rowan!
She was still asleep. Or maybe she was dead. Her mother stood in front of her. She still looked thirty-six. And why wouldn’t she? That was her age when she died.
You left me.
Rowan didn’t say the words, she thought them. How could she speak? She was unconscious or dead.
Her mother smiled. Her blond hair, her blue eyes looked so alive, so real. How could a dream be so vivid? Maybe Rowan was dead.
I couldn’t stay…
Her mother faded away, leaving Rowan standing on the second story landing of her childhood home, right next to the banister her mother had used to hang herself. Maybe Rowan was dead and this was hell.
Except she didn’t believe in hell any more than she believed in angels.
I’ll never understand. Rowan looked around. She was alone. Where was her father?
“She’s waking up!”
“Rowan! Dr. DuPont, can you open your eyes?”
Rowan tried to open her eyes. She could hear the voice—Lieutenant April Jones. Why was she in Rowan’s dream?
“Open your eyes, Dr. DuPont!”
Rowan didn’t recognize the male voice, but her body instinctively reacted to the command. Her eyes fluttered open.
Faces came into focus. One was a man, young, brown hair cut short, dark watchful eyes, she didn’t recognize him but the uniform was familiar. Paramedic. So maybe she was alive.
Jones smiled down at her. “You gave me a hell of a scare, Doc.”
Rowan struggled to sit up. Her body still wasn’t responding properly. Her muscles felt too lax, as if they no longer belonged to her.
“Your vitals are stable, Dr. DuPont,” the paramedic explained. “It’ll take some time for the drug he gave you to wear off so let’s take it easy for a bit.”
He. Julian.
“Where is he? Dr. Addington! Where is he?” And why was she still alive?
“We’re not sure,” Jones confessed. “We’re just damned glad he didn’t—”
Shouting jerked the lieutenant’s attention from Rowan. “Hold on.”
She didn’t have to finish her statement for Rowan to know what she’d meant. Julian hadn’t given her a lethal dose of the drug. The real question was why? Why hadn’t he killed her as he had the others?
Jones disappeared and the sound of running footsteps filled the room.
“What’s happening?” Rowan demanded of the young man still watching her closely as if he feared she would slip back into that unconscious state from which he’d chemically hauled her.
The paramedic shrugged.
Was Julian still here? Had he been hiding?
“Help me up,” Rowan ordered.
“Sorry, ma’am, it’s better if you take it easy for a few more minutes.”
Rowan hoped the glare she arrowed at him was fierce enough. “Help me up and take me to wherever Lieutenant Jones went or I will let your superior know how you refused to follow my directive.”
He weighed the words for a moment, the concept that she was a doctor likely proving the deciding factor. “Have it your way, then.”
He helped her to her feet, supported most of her weight. Her legs were rubbery but she managed to move along beside him. The progress up the stairs was frustratingly slow. Halfway up, he stopped, picked her up and bounded up the rest of the way.
When she was on her feet once more, she nodded. “Thank you.”
He grunted something that sounded vaguely like ‘yeah’ and ushered her toward a door at the end of the hall. Rowan still didn’t quite trust her bearings but if she recalled correctly the other end of this corridor was the guest wing of the upstairs. Three bedrooms, each with its own bath. The end that appeared to be there destination was the owner’s suite. They entered the double doors that led into a large sitting area with a small bar and an incredible view of the lake. Another set of double doors led into Julian’s bedroom. It was decorated as exquisitely as she would have expected. Yet another set of doors opened to the en suite. The far wall was glass and offered another spectacular view of the lake and the forest that surrounded it.
“This way.”
The paramedic steered her toward the low murmur of voices. They walked through a single door and into a massive closet. Elegant suit jackets and matching trousers hung in strict rows. Ties were flawlessly folded and showcased by color behind glass doors. Shoes polished to a high sheen were displayed along the lower shelves of the generous closet. The room smelled of silk and cashmere, the finest wools and Julian.
At the far end of the extravagant space was what appeared to be a vault door but it stood partially open.
Rowan moved forward when her escort had stopped. “I can make it from here.”
He nodded. “I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me.”
The paramedic understood that whatever was beyond that odd door, he didn’t need to see it unless told otherwise.
Rowan moved slowly, hanging on to the edge of a shelf. When she paused in the opening, she spotted Jones, Wells and a forensic tech standing in the middle of the large room. Like a vault, the space was climate controlled and all walls, ceiling and floor were lined with a dark material—rubber maybe—that served as a noise reducer or perhaps additional insulation. White shelves wrapped around the walls. She counted three small safes, doors closed which meant they needed to find the combinations or the keys.
Each shelf was filled with glass or plastic cubes, organized by size and shape. Some cubes contained what appeared to be pieces of female lingerie. Some had jewelry or a playing card from a card game deck or a lock of what appeared to be hair. Others contained drivers’ licenses.
“What is this?” The question came from Rowan. All in the room turned to look at her except Wells.
Wells frowned at the screen of his cell phone before meeting her gaze. “I don’t know about the rest of this stuff, but at least two of the drivers’ licenses belong to homicide victims.”
“Jesus Christ.” Jones surveyed the hundreds of carefully curated items. “Doc, I think your friend is a serial killer.”
Unable to properly process the comment, Rowan asked, “Where is he?”
Jones shook her head. “We don’t know. He was gone when we got here. He took the car I lent you.” She
looked away a moment. “He left Jackson, the security detail assigned to him, for dead. We got here in a nick of time. He’s in surgery in critical condition, but he has a chance.”
Rowan braced herself against the doorframe, any strength she had regained draining out of her. “He killed Ames and the others. To get back at me for…”
Her voice faded as another wave of weakness overwhelmed her.
“Let’s get you into a chair, Doc.” Jones pulled Rowan against her and ushered her back into Julian’s bedroom and into a chair. The detective settled into the chair on the opposite side of the small side table. A nod to the paramedic whose name Rowan still didn’t know sent him out of the room.
“We’ve issued a BOLO for Addington and the car he’s driving, though he’s probably abandoned it by this point. We’ve got people looking for him at the airport, train and bus stations. Everywhere. He’s not going to get away,” Jones promised.
Rowan shook her head. The urge to vomit hovered at the back of her throat. “I can’t believe I didn’t see any of this.”
“Let’s not worry about that right now,” Jones urged. “I’ll have plenty of questions for you when you feel up to it.”
“I’m fine.” Fury erupted inside Rowan. “Ask me whatever you like. I want him caught as badly as you do. Maybe more,” she confessed.
Jones reached for the cell phone on her belt. “Hold on a minute.”
Rowan hadn’t heard the phone ring. Most likely Jones had silenced it when they approached the house. Standard operating procedure.
Rowan wished she had a bottle of water. Her mouth was so dry. She should call her father. He was still at headquarters and probably wondering when she was coming back. She didn’t even know what time it was. He would not be happy about her close encounter with…Dear God, if Julian had killed all those people…
“Doc.”
Rowan shifted her gaze to Jones. She hadn’t realized the call had ended. She was still too groggy. “Sorry, I was just thinking that I needed to get back to headquarters.”
“That was Detective Keaton. The car Addington was driving has been found.”
“Julian?” Her heart started that frantic pounding again and suddenly her head was doing the same. She needed water. And, unfortunately, time.
Jones shook her head. “Addington is gone, but...”
Her hesitation had a new kind of dread expanding inside Rowan. “What?”
The older woman moistened her lips and took a big breath. “They located the car at your home, Doc. Addington drove it there and then used your cell phone to text Vasquez.”
Officer Vasquez was the uniform assigned to her father today. A thick, blackness wound around Rowan, tightening like a vice, threatening to drag her back into the darkness of unconsciousness.
She would not hear this. Would not listen. She shook her head. “No.”
“Vasquez believed it was you telling him that you were home so he drove there as per the message. When he arrived he saw the official vehicle—the one you and I often use—so he accompanied your father into your home. Addington was already there.”
“No. No. No.” Rowan surged to her feet. The room tilted.
Jones stood, pulled her against her chest, held her tight. “Vasquez and your father are dead. I am so very sorry, honey.”
Rowan tried to scream but she was too weak. Tears streamed from her eyes. She would have collapsed into a heap but Jones held her closer, tighter and murmured softly to her.
Julian’s words reverberated in Rowan’s head.
…when I’m done, you will want to end the agony…
Chapter Twelve
Winchester, Tennessee
Tuesday, March 19, 5:30 p.m.
Lieutenant Jones and the rest from SCU had come to her father’s funeral. Rowan appreciated the gesture. Jones had actually arrived before the funeral and insisted on taking Rowan to lunch where she proceeded to try and talk her into changing her mind about the decision she’d made.
Rowan couldn’t do that. Her decision was the right one.
Julian Addington had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth. Of course he had the resources to disappear. Rowan imagined he had overseas bank accounts and perhaps a home in some country that didn’t share an extradition treaty with the United States. She doubted he would ever be found.
Her entire adult life she had prided herself on reading people, alive or dead, and forming a reasonably accurate assessment of who they were and how they fit into this world. But Julian had completely fooled her. She had no idea why he had bothered to go to such trouble for her.
Oh, Rowan, we are so much more than friends.
He’d said those words to her and she still had no idea what he’d meant. They’d never shared anything beyond a doctor-patient relationship that years later had developed into a friendship. Absolutely nothing more. Like many things about him, that, too, would likely remain a mystery.
So far Metro with the aid of the FBI had a preliminary estimate of more than a hundred victims to Julian Addington’s credit. Not only had he kept souvenirs of all his kills, he kept an appointment book—the victims’ pertinent personal information and the final disposition were included on the date he carried out the kill. The case had thrown the FBI for a loop. Addington was different from any serial killer they’d encountered. He chose an MO and killed a series of victims, whether two or three or ten or twelve. Then, he changed his MO completely. It was as if he changed his preferred victim and mode of operation often so as not to become bored. Or perhaps because he became someone else—a different personality who killed for a different reason. He had killed all over the country.
Addington would change the way the world looked at serial killers.
Special Agent Lancaster from Quantico’s Behavioral Analysis Unit had refused to believe that she had been so completely fooled. Her education and training should have allowed her to see what Julian Addington was…but she had not. Her colleagues at Metro had stood behind her, but the investigation was far from over. Rowan suspected she would remain a person of interest until the bitter end.
She bent down and took one of the beautiful white roses from the blanket on her father’s grave. She would press this one into the family Bible. There was a pressed rose from Raven’s funeral as well as her mother’s already there.
Rowan was the only one left.
…when I’m done, you will want to end the agony…
No. Rowan’s lips tightened. She would not give that bastard the pleasure of accomplishing his ultimate goal. He had murdered at least four people to get her attention, to make her feel the guilt and then he’d killed her father and the man protecting him to tip her over the edge. She would not give Julian Addington what he wanted.
If he wanted to see her give up he would have to come back here and do the job himself.
“It’ll be dark soon.”
Rowan turned at the sound of Billy’s voice. She managed a weak smile. As the crowd had drifted away from the cemetery, she had returned to her father’s grave. “I forgot to take one of the roses for the family bible.” She showed him the rose in her hand.
He nodded. “Why don’t you let me take you to my place, Ro? You don’t have to go back to the funeral home and go through all that. Herman has everything under control.”
He was right. It was almost dark. Everyone who had come to the graveside service was gone now, headed back to the funeral home for the gathering in her father’s honor. The cemetery was deserted. She’d told Woody to drive the hearse back to the funeral home. She’d ridden to the cemetery in the hearse with her father. Her heart sank all over again. He was gone. Dead and buried.
Two days ago when she’d arrived in Winchester and told her father’s assistant director that she would be taking care of the preparation of his body personally, Woody had not been happy, but it was the DuPont way. Woody didn’t know or understand. Herman had come to the funeral home and insisted on helping. Rowan hadn’t argued. She had let him. He a
nd her father had been best friends their whole lives. It was only right that he be a part of her father’s final moments before being interred.
Hundreds of people had come to her father’s funeral and then many more had filled the cemetery. He had been a beloved fixture in the community all of his adult life, just like his father, grandfather and great-grandfather before him. Though her heart remained heavy, her chest had filled with pride as the crowd gathered to show their respects.
Once the flowers were all arranged around the grave and there was nothing left to do, Rowan had thought everyone was gone but she should have known better. Billy wouldn’t have left without her. She wasn’t sure how long he had watched and waited for her to feel ready to go.
“I should be there.” She could walk, the funeral home wasn’t far, but it was cold. She’d only just become aware of how cold.
She looked from her parents’ wide granite headstone to her sister’s smaller one. A gulf of emptiness widened inside her. She pushed it away. She had Billy and Herman. Billy offered his arm and she wrapped hers around his, so grateful for his steady presence.
“I could take you to my place, let you relax while I go to the funeral home and help Herman,” he offered as they walked through the maze of headstones with the shadows of night descending rapidly.
“Thank you, but you know I have to do this.”
He sighed. “I know.” He opened the passenger door of his truck and held her hand while she settled into the seat.
A gathering with family was expected after a loved one’s passing. Her father would have been the first to suggest good food and companionship after his funeral. Though, like her, he had never been a socialite generally speaking, he believed in going the distance for the passing of a loved one. He had loved his work and he had done it well.
Silence enveloped Rowan and Billy as they drove through the small town that had changed little since she was a child. She was home. Somehow no matter how long she had lived in Nashville, this was still home.