by Brenda Novak
This wasn’t going anywhere. Evelyn jumped in before the animosity could get worse. “We’ll order another count. That’s all there is to it.”
Fitzpatrick’s attention slid over to her. “Sure, accommodate him. Why not? We have nothing to worry about.” He stalked off, but Evelyn called after him.
“Everything else okay?”
“Of course.” The way his gaze riveted on the sergeant made it clear that his next words were intended for him. “Hanover House has been running like a top since the day we opened.”
The hostility apparent in Amarok’s body language made Evelyn wonder what she’d been thinking when she’d slipped out of her room last night. Maybe he was as attractive as sin, but they were worlds apart in every other way. He didn’t believe in what she did, didn’t even want Hanover House in the area.
“Please excuse Dr. Fitzpatrick,” she said when he was gone. “It hasn’t been easy to establish HH. He’s understandably defensive of what we’ve created.”
“He’s a pompous asshole,” Amarok muttered.
Evelyn feared he viewed her the same way—or that the other locals did. She, too, was a cheechak. Ignoring his derogatory comment, she motioned him toward her office.
Along with the other doctors’ assistants, Penny had a cubicle in the reception area. She couldn’t speak to them because she was on the phone, but she waved. As Evelyn waved back, she wondered if her assistant noticed that she was wearing the same outfit she’d had on yesterday and couldn’t help feeling as if the lack of fresh clothes somehow advertised the fact that she’d gotten intimate with Amarok.
Regardless of what her guilty conscience suggested, she had bigger things to worry about than a random, once-in-a-lifetime close-but-no-cigar hookup with a younger man, even if he was an important official in Hilltop and someone she was likely to bump into time and again.
“I’ll call the warden and have him order a count.” She straightened one of the chairs across from her desk. “Take a seat. We’ll have an answer in no time.”
Amarok didn’t do as she suggested. He prowled around her office, making her even more nervous.
“Is this Brianne?”
Finished dialing, she looked up to see him holding a photograph of her and her younger sister. “Yes. She and I went to Italy when I finished my undergraduate work.”
“What part?”
“Rome, Florence, Venice, Milan and Tuscany.”
“Just the two of you?”
“Yes.” Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a note on her desk. Judging by the chicken scratch, Fitzpatrick had left it. What the hell is going on with Anthony Garza? Are you crazy? Why didn’t you fully explain his history?
That must’ve been what her colleague had been looking to discuss with her when they bumped into him. But it wasn’t Garza who concerned her right now. It was getting the warden to do a count. And figuring out how Hugo could’ve predicted something like this.
She wasn’t getting a response on the phone, so she expanded on her answer to Amarok. “We spent two weeks there. It was fabulous. Have you been?”
“No.” He didn’t elaborate, which led her to believe he’d never left Alaska.
Crumpling Fitzpatrick’s note, she tossed it in the wastebasket. For some reason, Warden Ferris wasn’t picking up, and she was hesitant to use the radio for this.
“You went to Harvard, right?”
She didn’t remember ever talking about her education with Amarok. They hadn’t spent that much time together. And she didn’t care to discuss it now. She was afraid she might sound snobbish, especially after the superior way Fitzpatrick had behaved. But refusing to answer would make her education even more of an issue. “Yes.”
“Thought so.” He whistled. “An Ivy Leaguer.”
Did she detect a trace of sarcasm? “My parents were big on education.” She hung up and tried the warden again.
“They must’ve been wealthy, too, to afford a school like that.” Amarok arched an eyebrow. “Or did you put yourself through?”
“I helped, but they paid for the bulk of it. I’d say they’re … affluent but not necessarily wealthy.”
He chuckled as he returned the picture to its place on her credenza. “There’s a difference?”
“It’s subtle.” Where the heck was Ferris?
“I’m amazed that, after the attack, you were able to pull yourself together enough to concentrate on your studies.”
His words made her self-conscious about last night. Although he’d been patient, he couldn’t have been pleased with the way their encounter had turned out. “Getting past the attack wasn’t easy. But the curriculum challenged my mind and kept me occupied. Gave me a purpose, a way to fight back. That helped.”
“You wanted to climb inside the mind of the guy who attacked you.”
“The boy.” She was about to pick up the radio when she finally heard a hello. It wasn’t the warden who’d answered. Her call had finally been routed to Dede, his administrative assistant. But at least Evelyn had someone on the line.
When Evelyn made it clear what she needed, Dede put her on hold long enough to track down Ferris.
“Something wrong?” the warden asked when she eventually made contact.
She told him about the murder in town. He told her that no one at Hanover House could’ve gotten outside the walls. And she felt reassured but told him to count, anyway.
“No problem,” he responded. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
The silence stretched while they waited. Having lost interest in the limited number of personal belongings she had in her office, Amarok crossed to stand at the window. “How do you do it?”
She perched on the edge of her chair. “Do what?”
“Deal with the kind of scum you deal with day in and day out?”
“You already know. I’m looking for answers. Not only for me, for other victims.”
He grimaced. “There’s no way to explain crazy.”
“These men aren’t crazy. They’re narcissists who exhibit anti-social behavior. Some do so in extreme ways, but they’re legally and psychologically sane.”
“Anyone who can murder someone and hack that person into pieces—like what I saw this morning—is insane as far as I’m concerned.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “Conscienceless, yes. But I’m not studying psychotics. These aren’t people who hear voices that tell them to kill or don’t know the difference between good and evil. They simply have no real understanding of emotion, can’t truly connect with other humans. They do whatever benefits them, whatever interests them, and they feel perfectly justified. The real problem is that psychopaths are more common than most people think.”
“You already told me—they make up four percent of the population. But I’m having a hard time believing it. That’d be a hell of a lot of serial killers.”
“Fortunately, not every psychopath is a serial killer. Some are subclinical, meaning they don’t break the law. They don’t worry too much about what is ethical, however. They are liars and manipulators, often wife abusers, bullies and cheats if not swindlers, robbers and rapists. They all leave pain and anguish in their wake. It’s a complex problem; there’s so much yet to learn.”
“And you think facing your past every single day is the only way to solve the problem?”
She’d had critics challenge her choices before. Heck, Amarok had challenged her before. “Who else would be more dedicated? More driven? Besides, in my opinion, it’s always better to face your fears.”
“Even though you’re putting yourself in harm’s way.”
According to the clock on her wall, it’d been ten minutes since she’d spoken to the warden. But she was already antsy. Now that she was in her own environment, she wasn’t sure she cared to deal with the sergeant and his skepticism. He made her react on so many levels. Regardless of the chasm that stood between them now, it was difficult not to think about last night and how powerful and liberating it had felt when
they first touched. Already she wanted to try again.
That worried her as much as everything else.
“Someone has to take the job, assume the risk,” she said. “It can’t always be the next person in line.”
“It could be a man.”
Attitudes toward women hadn’t changed here as much as other places in America. “So you’re as sexist as some of the other guys around here?”
“Merely practical. These guys should have to confront someone their own size if they get out of line.”
“It’s not always about what’s practical.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear that’d fallen from the tie holding the rest back. “Think of the damage Jasper has probably done over the past twenty years. The damage he’s probably still doing. He’s out there … somewhere.”
“So you’re empowering yourself.”
She could feel him examining her scar. “If that’s how you’d like to look at it.”
“How hard are they searching for the bastard?”
“They’re doing everything they can. I check in religiously with the detectives back home, to keep prodding. And not just since last summer. I always have. It’s been a long time since they’ve had any solid leads, though.”
“What about hiring a private investigator?”
She chuckled humorlessly. “I’ve hired an army of them over the years. They’ve never been able to come up with anything solid, either. The one I’m working with now believes Jasper left Boston after the attack last summer and went to Aruba. But he hasn’t been able to confirm it.”
Pale yellow sunlight limned Amarok’s profile as he turned toward her. “Have you tried contacting his parents? They’re the ones who helped him get away the first time, aren’t they? A boy that young wouldn’t have had the resources to disappear on his own.”
She believed they had. So did the police. The detective on her case just hadn’t been able to prove it. “It always helps to have rich parents. But they wouldn’t talk to me before, and they won’t talk to me now.”
“Would ‘rich’ fall under ‘wealthy’ or ‘affluent’?”
He was needling her, but she ignored it and gave him a straight answer. “Wealthy. Wealthier than my parents.” She had no doubt Jasper’s parents had gotten him out of the country or, at a minimum, out of the state that first night.
It was difficult to tell what Amarok was thinking. He studied her so intently she couldn’t help but glance away.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take a look at your file,” he said.
He’d asked her the same thing last summer, and she’d put him off. “Out of general curiosity?” She straightened her desk so she’d have an excuse not to meet his gaze, but he waited until he had her full attention.
“Let’s call it professional interest.”
“Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “I’d rather you not have access.”
His eyebrows knitted, showing his displeasure. “Why not?”
“The boy I loved slit my throat and left me for dead. I’ve never been more vulnerable in my life. That makes the details pretty … personal, for lack of a better word.” It was the sexual torture that made it extremely private, but she didn’t say so. Why raise the level of his curiosity? “It’s not something I want random cops going through just for the hell of it.”
His jaw hardened. “Is that what I am? A random cop?”
Hardly. She couldn’t look at him without remembering last night. But that was the problem. He made her long for things she could never have. That was why she’d backed away after their brief romance last summer, too. “You’d like nothing more than to shut down Hanover House and send us all packing, including me. That doesn’t make you my friend.”
“You didn’t mind being my friend last night. Maybe we didn’t have sex, but we came damn close to it. I can still smell you on my fingers.”
The heat of a blush warmed her neck. “That was … that was an isolated incident.”
“It didn’t change anything?”
“No. But … I appreciate how you handled the … situation. It was … nice of you.”
He winced at her halting words. “Don’t thank me for being decent!”
Her phone rang. Eager to put an end to the conversation, she snatched up the handset.
“We’ve laid eyes on every last inmate,” the warden informed her.
“Even Hugo?”
“Were you particularly worried about him?”
She cleared her throat. “No. Never mind. Thanks.” Exhausted, Evelyn hung up and dropped her head in her hands. “We’re in the clear.”
“Glad to hear it.” As Amarok turned to go, he nearly collided with Penny, who appeared in the doorway.
“Dr. Talbot?”
“Yes?”
Her assistant glanced at the trooper, blushed and smiled. Then she couldn’t seem to quit looking at him even though she wasn’t speaking to him. “The kitchen just called. They need some help down there.”
“What do you mean?” The warden ran the prison. Evelyn, with Fitzpatrick second in command, ran the mental health team and managed all the studies. Although the mental health team often collaborated with those who ran the prison side of the institution—had helped with the initial staffing of HH and often consulted on how to respond to various problem inmates—this was something the warden would ordinarily handle. Was he unavailable again?
She’d just talked to him.…
“They’re in a mess without Lorraine. They called to see if you know whether or not she’s coming in.”
Evelyn rose to her feet. “She’s not here?”
“Not yet.”
“How did anyone get breakfast—or lunch, for that matter?”
“We called in Kathy Olsen and Patrick Bolen. They managed without her, but they’ve been running all morning and can’t keep up.”
“What about the new girl, Danielle Connelly? She’s not here to help?”
“I guess not.”
A cold unease spread through Evelyn. “Have you tried calling to see where Lorraine is?” The question felt like an echo. She’d asked Lorraine the same thing about Danielle yesterday and had never learned what’d kept the girl from work.…
“The phones are still out. We can only call internally.”
That meant Lorraine could be snowed in. Or be sick and unable to let them know. But, storm or no storm, it seemed odd that Danielle hadn’t shown up for two days in a row.
The concern on Amarok’s face indicated he’d taken note of the fact that they had a couple of people missing. Evelyn guessed he was thinking what she was thinking: What if Hanover House had supplied the victim instead of the perpetrator?
The possibility that they’d lost Lorraine, or Danielle, particularly in such a horrible way, made Evelyn’s heart race. Her first impulse was to track Danielle down, then drive to Anchorage to check on Lorraine. If the BMW wouldn’t start, she’d get the sergeant or someone else to take her.
But what if she couldn’t find one or both women? Absence didn’t necessarily equate with death. They could’ve stayed over with someone last night like she did.…
The best way to figure out whether the victim was one of her employees wasn’t to spend hours searching. Not when there was a far more efficient method available to her.
As repulsive as it sounded, she had to take a look at the severed head.
6
I actually think I may be possessed with demons, I was dropped on my head as a kid.
—DENNIS LYNN RADER, BTK KILLER
Dr. Evelyn Talbot had caught Amarok’s eye—and his full attention—the moment she started coming to town. She was a beautiful woman. But she was also someone who wouldn’t last long in a place like this. Other than her work, which kept her in constant danger and served as a perpetual reminder of the trauma she’d suffered, there wasn’t anything in Hilltop to hold her. He’d always believed she’d stay, at most, five years before heading back to warmer climes.
No
w that they’d had such a violent murder and she didn’t have the usual army of police and detectives to rely on, he thought she might go back a lot sooner.
Noticing a light sheen of sweat on her upper lip, he adjusted the heat even though he wasn’t sure there was any correlation. She was sweating because she was nervous. Her silence said as much.
“You okay?” he asked as he drove.
She continued to stare at the road ahead but nodded.
“You should take that off.” He gestured at the coat she had buttoned up to her neck.
“I’m fine.”
“I need to warn you about what you’re going to see. It won’t be easy.”
“I’ve seen dead people before.”
That was true. She’d seen her friends. Jasper had attacked and killed three other girls before dragging Evelyn off to an abandoned shack—not that Amarok knew exactly how that had all played out. They hadn’t discussed it—he wasn’t sure she could—and he’d been only nine years old when those murders occurred. He didn’t remember what was reported at the time, and the articles he’d looked up once he learned a psychiatrist who’d once been a victim of a brutal assault was coming to town and bringing a bunch of psychopaths with her didn’t include the level of detail he was searching for. Even the anchors who had hosted Evelyn on TV during her big push to build Hanover House provided only a short biographical summary.
He wanted to delve deeper. The more interested he became in her, the more he craved all the answers. But he didn’t have them yet. The only thing he could say for sure was how deeply the past had affected her. He’d felt it come between them last summer—and then again last night. That meant her medical training and experience in corrections might not amount to shit when it came to this. Being confronted with a severed head, especially one that had been abused to such a degree, would disturb anyone.
“You’re white as a sheet,” he said. “And we’re not even there yet.” Not only that, she was sitting so rigidly it looked as if the slightest bump might cause her to shatter.
“I’ll be okay.”
It sounded as if she was trying to convince herself, not him. But he had to trust her to handle what lay ahead. She could possibly identify the victim.