by Karen Rose
“Finished,” Susannah said impatiently. “She gave the sketch to Leigh so she could make copies. Dammit, listen to me. I found Jane Doe on the missing kids site.” She put her laptop on the table. “I was looking at girls whose names started with M. Then I thought ‘What if M was a nickname,’ so I started back at the beginning. Here she is, in the Bs.”
Luke squinted at the screen. “She doesn’t look like the girl in ICU.”
“Because she weighs thirty pounds less and her face is all bruised up. I told you your people wouldn’t recognize her based on what she looks like now. But I saw her eyes, Luke. She looked up at me in the woods and I saw her eyes. This is the girl. Her middle name is Monica. M. Look. Beatrice Monica Cassidy.”
“Excellent work, Susannah,” Chloe said.
“There’s more. I Googled her.” She toggled to another screen and Luke stared.
“Amber alert,” Luke said. “Her sister Eugenie Cassidy was abducted from Charlotte sometime between Friday at midnight and Saturday at eight a.m. The contact is Special Agent Harry Grimes. Was Charlotte a point on Mansfield’s map, Nancy?”
“Yes. Mansfield marked a route to Port Union, South Carolina, south of Charlotte.”
Susannah looked around the table. “Well? What are you waiting for? Call him. I’m going to the hospital.” She started to move, but Luke gently grabbed her arm.
“Wait.” From the pile of photos on the table, Luke found stills of the woman in black and Mrs. Davis. His jaw tightened as he saw what he hadn’t seen before. “Look.”
Susannah went still. “It’s her. Her mouth is the same shape. It was so red, I saw it through the lace. But . . . this is Barbara Jean Davis, Garth’s wife. Oh,” she breathed. “Bobby Jean. She was in Dutton yesterday morning. She never ran away.”
“Look closer,” Luke said. “Look at her eyes.”
The color in her face drained away. “Her eyes are Daniel’s. Our father’s eyes.”
Chapter Seventeen
Atlanta, Sunday, February 4, 3:00 a.m.
Ella buzzed Susannah and Luke into ICU. “She’s awake.”
“Good.” Susannah looked across the nurses’ station to find Daniel’s room empty.
“He was moved to a monitored care room on the floor,” Ella said. “That’s good.”
“He’s got a guard,” Luke murmured in Susannah’s ear. “That’s better.”
Monica was still intubated, but her eyes were alert. Susannah smiled down at her. “Hey.” When the nurse had gone, she leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Monica.”
Monica’s eyes widened, then filled with tears.
“Sshh,” Susannah soothed. “We know who you are.”
Frantically Monica blinked her tears away.
“Can you hold a pencil?” Luke asked.
“She’s still not moving her hands,” Susannah said, worried. “Let’s use the letter board. Luke, if you point, I’ll watch her blink. Monica, do you know who took the girls?”
Between them, the process moved quickly. “My sister,” Luke said, when Monica stopped blinking. “You know about your sister?” he asked her.
Monica began blinking again.
“Nurse said they took her. Picture.” Luke gently squeezed her other hand. “The nurse took a picture or she showed you a picture?”
“Cell phone.”
“There weren’t any pictures on the nurse’s cell,” Luke said, “but she could have deleted them. I’ll have the phone sent to Forensics. Maybe they can recover the file.”
“Genie still missing?”
“I’m afraid so, honey,” Susannah said, and Monica flinched even as her eyes filled.
“They called her Honey in the catalog we found on Mansfield’s computer,” Luke said.
“Beatrice Monica,” Susannah said, wiping at Monica’s eyes as tenderly as she could. “Honey Bea. Oh, Monica, you must have been so scared.”
“Nurse drugged me. Couldn’t kill me. Didn’t want me talk.”
Luke frowned. “How?”
“Paralyzed.”
Susannah met Luke’s eyes over Monica’s bed. “That’s why she didn’t move.”
“A paralytic will wear off in time,” Luke said. “Monica, did you see Bobby?”
“No. Rocky.”
Luke leaned in. “You saw Rocky? What did he look like?”
“She.”
Luke sat back, stunned. “Did you say she?”
“Yes. Rocky woman.”
“Oh my God,” Susannah breathed, poleaxed. “All this time we assumed . . .”
Luke’s jaw was tight. “A woman. Hell. We’ve been chasing our tails for two days.”
Monica’s eyes filled with tears. “Sorry.”
Luke blew out a breath, abruptly relaxing. “No, no, Monica. This is not your fault, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Luke,” Susannah murmured, “do you have a photo of Bobby?”
Luke searched his briefcase and pulled out the picture he’d shown Susannah earlier. “Monica, is this the woman you saw?”
“No. Young. Dark hair. Chin bob.”
Susannah’s gaze flew up to meet Luke’s and she saw he was thinking the same thing. “Do you have a picture of Kate Davis?” she asked.
Frowning, he searched his briefcase again. “Only this one.”
Susannah winced. It was Kate lying in the morgue. At least her face wasn’t scarred and bloody. Bobby’s bullet had hit her in the heart. “Monica, is this Rocky?”
“Yes.”
Luke let out a breath. “I’ll be damned,” he said softly. “Rocky is Kate Davis.”
“And Bobby killed her.” Susannah’s heart pounded hard in her chest. “My God.”
“I hate her. Said to kill the girls. Kill me.”
“But you escaped,” Susannah said, holding her hand. “And now you’re safe.”
“No. Other here. Hurt rev.”
“Rev? Reverend,” Luke said. “So Jennifer Ohman didn’t try to kill Beardsley?”
“No. Another. Not safe. Killed Jen sister.”
“The nurse’s sister is dead?” Susannah asked.
“Beat her death. Jen cry. Worry about son.”
“Wonderful,” Luke muttered. “We’ll check on the little boy. But Rocky’s dead.”
Satisfaction filled Monica’s eyes and Susannah didn’t blame her a bit.
“Monica,” Luke asked, “how did they get you?”
The satisfaction in Monica’s eyes disappeared. “My fault.”
“None of this is your fault,” Susannah said firmly. “You’re the victim.”
“Met boy. Online. Jason. Not. Was deputy.”
Luke’s eyes narrowed. “So Mansfield lured you, pretending to be Jason?
“Yes. Made me . . .” She stopped, closing her eyes. Tears seeped from beneath her eyelids, running down her temples, into her hair.
“We know,” Susannah said, drying her tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“Jason,” Luke murmured.
“Just like Agent Grimes said,” she murmured back. Harry Grimes had told them about the conversation records he’d found on the Cassidys’ home computer. He’d also told them that Monica’s father was missing, with foul play assumed, but Monica didn’t need to know that now. Not yet. She’d been through enough.
Monica opened her eyes and began to blink again, fast. “Who is Simon.”
Susannah started. “How did you . . . ? You were awake. You heard everything.”
“Simon. Who.”
“My brother,” Susannah said, and Monica’s eyes flickered wildly. “He’s dead.”
“Good.”
Susannah smiled grimly. “I agree.”
“Monica.” Luke leaned close. “Did you know Angel? They called her Gabriela.”
“Yes.”
“What about Kasey Knight?”
“Truck stop whore.”
Luke’s face darkened and a muscle jerked in his cheek. “Bobby, Granville, and Mansfield had a truck stop p
rostitution business?” he asked.
“Kasey ran away. Deputy caught. Doctor put Kasey river place. Starved.”
“We found IVs in the river bunker,” Luke said. “We thought he was treating them.”
Monica’s eyes flashed. “Fixed us. Hurt again. I wanted die.”
Susannah could feel his temper boiling, barely checked. But it was checked, and when he spoke, it was with a gentleness that made Susannah want to weep. “You can’t die, Monica,” he said. “You die and they win. Live, and help me throw them into hell.”
Monica blinked away more tears. “Throw away key.”
Luke smiled down at her. “You heard that, too.”
“Want bite apple too.”
“You’ll have another bite at the apple, too,” he promised. “We have to go now, but I’m putting another officer on, so they’ll be inside and outside ICU. You’ll be safe.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you. You’re a very brave young lady. Now try to sleep. We’re going to look for your sister and all the others.”
“Mom.”
“She’s on her way,” Susannah said. “She said to tell you she never stopped missing you.” She smoothed Monica’s hair, then pressed a kiss to her brow. “She loves you.”
Outside of ICU, Luke pulled her to him. “That was good. We worked well together.”
He was right. She rested her forehead against his chest. “I should stay with her.”
“I’ll bring you back after we go to see Angie Delacroix.”
She pulled back to see his face. “But we know about Bobby now.” The thought of going back to Dutton still filled her with anxiety. “Why do we need Angie?”
“We don’t know where Bobby’s hidden the girls—or where her own two sons are.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
Atlanta, Sunday, February 4, 3:25 a.m.
When Luke got behind the wheel, Susannah was digging in her briefcase.
“What are you doing?” he asked when she pulled out a compact.
“I’m fixing my face. My mother never would have dreamed of going to the beauty shop without every hair in place and her makeup on. I never have either.”
“Then why go?”
She shrugged. “It’s a woman thing. Don’t try to understand it, Luke. It just is.”
“My sisters say the same thing. I was hoping it was just them.”
One side of her mouth lifted. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“You don’t,” he said seriously. “You couldn’t.”
The hand applying her lipstick trembled, then steadied. “We’ll see,” she said cryptically. She shot him an annoyed glance. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“I can dial Chase and look at you at the same time,” he said, punching buttons on his cell. “I’m a multitasker on top of being sinfully sexy.”
“The sinfully sexy came from you.” She snapped her compact closed. “Not me.”
“But you agreed. Because I’m engaging on top of being sinfully—” He broke it off when Chase answered. “Hey, it’s Luke.”
“I’ve got news,” Chase said before Luke could say any more. “Ed got a match on the prints on that road atlas of Mansfield’s. Guess who else touched it?”
“Kate Davis,” Luke said. “Monica Cassidy identified her as Rocky.”
“Really? I shouldn’t continue to be surprised by anything on this case, but I still am,” Chase said. “You still going to talk to the beauty shop lady?”
“Yeah. But you need to check on Jennifer Ohman’s son. Monica said the nurse told her that her sister had been murdered and that Ohman was worried about her son.”
“So that’s how she bullied the nurse. I’ll follow up.”
“She also said the nurse claimed someone else tried to kill Ryan Beardsley.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I don’t know why she would have lied about it. Isaac Gamble had an airtight alibi, so he wasn’t the one in Beardsley’s room Friday night.”
“Everyone has a guard outside their room.”
“I’m not sure that’s enough. We had a guard outside ICU and Jennifer the nurse still managed to give Monica Cassidy a paralytic that’s kept her quiet since Friday night.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. We can’t just make sure nobody goes in. We’ve got to make sure nothing is administered that isn’t specifically ordered.”
“Pain in the fucking ass,” Chase muttered. “What else did Monica say?”
“That Kasey Knight was forced into prostitution at truck stops.”
Chase cursed quietly. “Every time we clean that up . . .”
“I know. But they’re mobile. They just break down and move to the next stop. I was thinking that that might be how the trucker who’s been using Bobby Davis’s cell phone got it. Maybe he was a client.”
“If he kept a clean truck log we might be able to find out where he’s stopped around here,” Chase said. “We haven’t had any hits on his BOLO yet. I’ll call you when I do.”
“We’ve seen a rise in interstate truck stop prostitution up north, too,” Susannah said when he’d hung up. “It’s a frustrating problem.”
“I-75 is a problem,” Luke said grimly, pulling out of the hospital’s lot. “For a long time it was drugs coming up from Miami. Now it’s prostitution and a million other things.”
“That’s going to be hard for Kasey’s parents to hear.”
“I know. But knowing what happened to her might help Talia loosen the tongues of her so-called friends who wouldn’t help the police two years ago.”
“My money’s on Talia,” Susannah said. “I think she can make them talk.” She settled into her seat, frowning. “Why won’t Darcy’s killer talk? What’s he so afraid of?”
“Maybe he’ll talk once we catch Bobby. Maybe she’s threatening him, just like she did Jennifer Ohman.”
“Maybe. But . . . I’ve been thinking. Bobby Davis isn’t that much older than I am—maybe a year or two. I was twenty-two when I met Darcy and twenty-three by the time she died. Barbara Jean wouldn’t have been more than twenty-four or so herself. It’s hard to believe she could have pulled all those details together at twenty-four.”
“Not so hard to believe. I investigated a fourteen-year-old who had a Web site and was exposing his seven-year-old sister. We caught him, but it took some doing. Even he knew how to set up the servers so that he couldn’t be easily found.”
“Is he redeemable?” she asked softly. “Or at fourteen, is he beyond help?”
“The second one,” Luke said. “And at seven, the little girl’s life is over.”
Susannah frowned. “No, it’s not,” she snapped. “Just because she was . . .” She stopped and looked at him. “You think you’re pretty clever.”
“And engaging.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, relieved her frown had smoothed from irate to thoughtful. “I told you that you wouldn’t accept a victim thinking her life was over. Why should you be any different?”
“Maybe I’m not,” she said and hope surged inside him.
“Damn straight you’re not. You’d be arrogant to think you were.”
“Don’t push your luck, Papadopoulos,” she said, quietly serious.
He nodded, satisfied he’d made his point. “Sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”
Dutton, Sunday, February 4, 3:55 a.m.
Charles answered on the first ring. He’d been waiting for the call from Paul. “Well?”
“Bobby killed the nurse in front of about ten witnesses,” Paul said in disgust.
“Did they catch her?” Charles asked, bitterly disappointed. He’d hoped Bobby would have more finesse.
“No, they hid for a while. I led the cops away so that they could get away.”
“Then where did they go?”
“Jersey Jameson, the drug runner.”
“Bobby told Rocky to hire him to move inventory from the bunker. Jersey’s dead?”
“Simon was smart, but so unstable. I was hoping Bobby had the Vartanian brains without the insanity.”
“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think so.”
“I know. I’ll deal with Bobby. Be on call in case I need you.”
Ridgefield House, Sunday, February 4, 3:55 a.m.
One last push. Ashley Csorka put her face against the hole she’d created in the wall, feeling the cold air on her hot face. She rested as she sucked in more fresh air. The hole in the wall was small, but Ashley didn’t think her hands could chip away at the wall any longer. She’d used the second brick she’d loosened to pound the nail into the mortar. It was louder than the nail alone, but she was growing desperate enough that she risked discovery by the creepy butler. She’d loosened a third brick, then two more together, and he never came.
If she angled her head, she could see dim light. Moonlight, maybe. That meant a door or a window on the other side. She tensed. A car was coming, crunching up the drive and around the house. Doors slammed and she heard laughter, low and mean.
“I think we’ve had a good night, Tanner.”
“I concur.”
It was the woman they called Bobby, and the creepy butler.
“Jersey Jameson shouldn’t have tried to tell me what he would and wouldn’t do. I might have let him go painlessly otherwise.”
“I’d say he’ll serve as an example. So are all of our ends now snipped?”
“I think so. Oh, but I’m beat. I think I could sleep through the second coming.”
Ashley hoped so. Their voices faded as they rounded the house toward the front. Good. That means I’m at the back. That’s the side the river was on.
Ashley frowned. They hadn’t spoken to the guard. Where was he? She couldn’t wait. She’d been lucky to have had all this time to break out. Now it was time to act.
She sucked in her breath and stuck her head through the hole. It was the other half of the room and there was a window. Hurry. The sharp edges of the brick cut into her skin as she tried to force her shoulders through the opening. She angled her body, grateful for the yoga her swim coach had made part of their workout. She was flexible.