Alter Ego

by Brian Freeman

  “This is not the way it should have been,” he murmured.

  “I know.”

  “She spent her last few seconds right here in this pissant place. She knew what was going to happen to her.”

  Maggie didn’t say anything, but she took hold of his hand.

  “This was my case,” he went on. “It wasn’t hers. If anyone should have faced down that gun in the woods, it was me.”

  “Come on, Cab. Don’t do this to yourself. There’s only one thing we can do for Peach, and that’s the most important thing.”

  Cab stared down at her and nodded.

  “Let’s go get Jungle Jack,” he said.

  *

  Stride found Serena sitting in her Mustang outside their cottage. She hadn’t gone inside yet. He parked his truck and walked across the snow to her car and climbed into the front seat. She looked cold. Her long black hair was mussed. He could barely see her green eyes in the shadows.

  “You okay?” he asked softly.

  “Aimee’s locked up in a cage,” Serena replied. “She’s probably freezing to death. And I don’t know where she is or who did this or how the hell we’ll ever find her.”

  “Believe me, I know what you’re going through.”

  “Is it starting all over again? I mean, is it really possible that you were wrong about Art Leipold?”

  Stride allowed doubt to creep into his mind for the first time. “I don’t know. Art didn’t do this, that’s for sure.”

  “So what can we do?” Serena asked.

  “I retrieved the case files from storage. All the notes, evidence, interviews, media reports, everything we gathered. We can go through it again together.”

  “Looking for what?”

  “To see if I made a mistake,” Stride said.

  They both got out of the Mustang. Stride went up the driveway to the rear door of his Expedition and opened the back panel. He had several boxes inside. He stacked three of them together, then Serena took two more, and they climbed the porch steps to the front door of the cottage.

  Inside, he dropped the boxes behind the red leather sofa. He checked his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock.

  “Cat?” he called. “We’re home.”

  There was no answer.

  Serena went into the girl’s bedroom and came back out with a worried look on her face. “She’s not there. Did she say anything about going out tonight?”

  “No.” Stride took a deep breath, and musk cologne filled his nose. His mouth screwed into a frown. “Curt Dickes was here. Cat’s car is still outside. She must have gone somewhere with him.”

  He took out his phone and dialed Cat’s number, but the call went straight to voice mail. “Do you still have that tracking app on her phone?” he asked Serena.

  “No, I disabled it. I wanted her to feel like we trusted her. I guess that was a mistake.”

  Stride dialed Maggie’s number next. He had a brief conversation and then hung up the phone.

  “Maggie and Cab are at Casperson’s rental house,” he said. “They were going to pick up Jungle Jack, but he’s not there. Neither is Casperson. There’s some sort of wrap party tonight up on the North Shore. They’re trying to find out where.”

  “Do you think that’s where Cat is?” Serena asked.

  “Don’t you?”

  They turned back to the front door, but Stride’s glance strayed across the bookshelf near Cat’s bedroom door. He saw a yellow piece of paper with his name written across the outside.

  “Wait,” he said.

  Stride retrieved the page and unfolded it, and he and Serena read the note inside together.

  You’re wrong, Stride. This time you’re wrong. I’m sorry, but I can’t do nothing if it means other people get hurt.

  He crumpled the note in his fist and swore under his breath. “Cat, what the hell are you doing?”

  40

  The atmosphere at the party was subdued, and Cat knew why. Aimee Bowe was still missing. The lights were low, giving the room a romantic glow and making the faces hard to see. The band played soft string music, and a few people did slow dances on the floor. One wall of the resort ballroom was nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows that acted like mirrors at night. Beyond the glass was the lakeshore and forest trails leading to individual waterfront cottages. The room was warm, but outside the snow kept burying the land.

  Cat was a magnet for attention as soon she walked in. Every head turned. She was at a Hollywood-style party with the beautiful people, but she was beautiful, too. Tonight she wasn’t seventeen years old. Tonight she was someone else.

  A waiter passed them with sparkling water in a champagne glass, and she took one. She wanted to keep her wits about her for what would come next. Curt already had a cocktail.

  “Are any of your girls here?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah, I arranged for half a dozen to be on the bus. None of them is a stunner like you, though.”

  “You know what you have to do, right? If you see Jungle Jack, keep him distracted. Make sure your girls are talking to him. He’s the only one who knows who I am. I don’t want him seeing me here.”

  “Hey, I know the plan. Take Jack out of the play. You got it.” Curt leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Last chance to back out of this, kitty cat. We can turn around and leave right now.”

  “No, I can’t do that.”

  “Okay, you’re the boss.”

  Curt drifted into the crowd, sliding an arm around one of the other girls as he looked for Jungle Jack. Cat ignored the queasy feeling in her stomach and let a brilliant smile spill across her face. She fluffed her chestnut hair. She was alone, but she knew it wouldn’t be for long. Men began to descend on her as she navigated the room. They dropped whoever they were with, and the women who were left behind shot Cat icy glares. She didn’t care.

  She wasn’t seventeen. She was someone else.

  With each man who approached her, she made small talk about Duluth, about the weather, about the movie. When a man’s eyes wandered, she gently nudged his chin with her finger and moved his gaze back to her eyes. She teased the men, but when they tried to move in closer, she moved on. No one got more than five minutes of her time, but it still took her nearly an hour to cross the room. She had only one target tonight, and she wanted him to realize that she was the most in-demand, most wanted, most available woman at the party.

  Cat kept flirting, but she was aware of everyone around her. Her plan was simple. Avoid Jungle Jack. Hunt for Dean Casperson.

  Finally, she spotted him.

  He stood by the tall windows, framed by the darkness around him. Even among the Los Angeles crowd, the party people gave him space, because he was special. He was the star. Casperson swirled a drink in his hand, and his black tuxedo made him look like James Bond. His hair had been colored to its usual black luster. Three other men—probably rich and powerful, too—talked and laughed with him, but his eyes moved around the room, missing nothing. It was only a matter of time until he saw her.

  Cat chatted with a young man who told her that he was a rigging gaffer. She didn’t know what that was and only half paid attention to what he was saying. Her eyes went back and forth between the gaffer and Dean Casperson, who was standing just a few feet away from her. She angled her body toward him. She laughed at something the gaffer said, but the laugh was for Casperson. She baited the hook, then cast the line.

  The next time she looked Casperson’s way, he was staring back at her. She felt his eyes all the way inside her body. Her reaction was raw and physical, and she had to remind herself who he was and what he’d done and why she was there. His gaze didn’t let go of her. The gaffer felt it, and he melted away like a cub making way for a lion. Casperson came toward her, leaving the men to watch him go. People saw them nearing each other. She was aware of smirks and whispers around her. They all knew she was the chosen one. She knew it, too.

  “I remember you,” he said with a slight question mark in his voice. He took her
hand and cupped it in his. His palm was warm.

  “Cat, as in meow,” she replied. She hoped he’d forgotten how immature and foolish she’d been at the earlier party, when she’d fallen all over him. She didn’t want him thinking about her as young. She wanted him to think of her as prey.

  “Of course. I saw you the other night. I didn’t think it was possible for you to be more gorgeous than you were then, but you’ve done it.”

  “Thank you.”

  He didn’t ask for a compliment in return. Dean Casperson didn’t need to be reminded how attractive he was.

  “I don’t believe you told me who you are and what you do,” he went on.

  “I write for a local magazine in Duluth,” she lied.

  “And how is it that you’re here at the party?”

  “I met someone from the crew at a local bar. He called himself a best boy, whatever that is. Between you and me, he was really only a so-so boy, if you know what I mean.”

  Casperson’s mouth formed a grin. “Well, that’s what distinguishes the men from the boys.”

  “You are so right.”

  “Would you like to dance, Cat?” Casperson asked. “I feel like dancing.”

  She hesitated, wondering if her inexperience and high heels would betray her. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “Not to worry. I’m good enough for both of us.”

  He led her onto the small dance floor, where the others gave them room. More knowing glances and whispers passed through the crowd. Casperson shot a look at the guitarist in the band, and as if they’d used a secret code, the band switched songs. They played “What a Wonderful World.” The music had a sad, mournful quality, as if this were the last day on earth. Maybe that was the way Casperson wanted her to feel.

  He was right about his dancing. He made it easy to follow him. Without knowing any steps, she found herself turning in his arms, going where he nudged her to go. Everyone was watching them. She hoped that Curt had kept Jungle Jack far away, where he wouldn’t see Cat and Casperson together.

  “You move very well,” Casperson told her.

  “That’s all you.”

  He knew that was true, but he smiled anyway. She felt small and light in his arms, and he made her a little dizzy. She tried not to think about where she was and what she was doing. The only thing she knew was that his fingers were pressed firmly on the bare skin at the small of her back.

  “So you write,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you write?”

  “It’s not exciting. New restaurants, upcoming events, that kind of thing.”

  “Have you thought about acting? You have the looks for it.”

  “I don’t think I could ever do that,” Cat said. “I’m sure it’s way too hard.”

  “I’ll let you in on a secret. It’s really not.”

  “I’m sure it’s impossible to break in.”

  “Not when you know the right people,” Casperson said.

  They kept dancing. The slow song ended and blended without a pause into something with a salsa beat. Casperson switched his movements effortlessly, and Cat tried to keep up, but she felt awkward on the dance floor. Casperson seemed amused by her lack of grace. He let half the song go by, then took her hand and guided her away. Others in the crowd filled the space they’d left behind.

  Everyone stayed away from them. The crew. The money men. The staff. Security. They all knew what was going on.

  Cat fanned herself. “It’s warm.”

  “Too many people here,” Casperson said.

  “That’s true.”

  “Would you like to get some air?”

  “It’s cold, and it’s snowing,” Cat replied, smiling.

  “Well, I have a waterfront cottage a few steps away. There’s wine, fresh air, and a fireplace.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  “Come on, then.”

  He guided her to the glass door that led outside. Cat found herself on the balcony, looking down at the trees and the lakeshore. Someone had built a campfire in the snow that looked oddly appropriate and inviting in the winter. There were a handful of people in silhouette around it, laughing and drinking. The wind sang an ominous song, and the snow refused to let up. It landed on her skin like little needles. She heard the rhythmic thump of the waves.

  “I don’t think I can walk in these heels,” Cat said.

  “Do you trust me?”

  She blinked. “Of course. You’re Dean Casperson.”

  He literally swept her off her feet. One moment she was standing on the balcony, the next she was in his arms. He carried her as if she weighed nothing. He made his way effortlessly to the path and through the trees to a two-story cottage not far away. With a tap of his foot, he kicked open the door and carried her over the threshold and set her down.

  “How’s that?” he asked.

  “Wow,” she said.

  Music already played from hidden speakers, a low piano solo so clear and perfect that she thought he must have a pianist in the cottage. The gas fireplace was already lit. That was the only light in the room. The white wine was in an ice bucket with two crystal glasses next to it on a wet bar. This had all been planned. A girl was going to come here with him this evening, and whatever was going to happen was going to happen. If not to her, then to someone else.

  She didn’t have much time to think. Her gaze explored the room quickly. The fireplace was surrounded by flagstone that took up the entire wall. Among the stone shelves near the glow of the fire was a large flat-screen television. The picture window had no ledge and looked out on the lake. There were two leather chairs and a table with a lamp, but the lamp was turned off. A plush red sofa waited for them with multicolored pillows and a chaise. It had plenty of room for two. Beyond the sofa, a doorway led into the full kitchen. The bedrooms were upstairs, but she didn’t think they’d make it that far.

  She thought: Where?

  She had only seconds to decide. She sat down on the sofa and kept looking around the room.

  “Would you like a drink, Cat?” Casperson asked. “Trust me, the wine is superb. It’s one of my favorites from a little winery outside Lyon.”

  “Actually, could you get me some water first? I’m really dry.”

  He smiled at her. “Of course.”

  Casperson turned around and disappeared into the kitchen. Cat moved fast. She grabbed her purse and took out her phone and tapped out a quick text to Serena. Then she leaped off the sofa and endured five seconds of interminable hesitation as she tried to decide the best place in the room. Not the floor. Not the windows. Not the table. She ran to the television and propped her phone against it, with the black case covering up everything except the camera. She didn’t have time to go back and check the angle; she had to hope that it was right and that there was enough light from the fire. She already could hear the refrigerator door closing. She ran back and settled down on the sofa just as Casperson loomed in the doorway again. He handed her a small open bottle of Fiji water.

  “Here you go,” he said.

  “Thank you, Dean.”

  She held the bottle, which was almost impossible because her fingers were shaking so hard. The reality of everything, of where she was, of what she was doing, of what was about to happen, crashed down on her. She’d planned it all out, but now she didn’t know if she could do it. She wanted to run. Her throat felt tight. She drank half the water with one thirsty swallow and gave him a nervous little smile. Then, trying to hide her fear, she finished the bottle and put it on the floor.

  “How about that wine now?” he asked.

  “Sure. That sounds great.”

  He went over to the wet bar, and she watched him carefully. The wine was already uncorked, bathing in the ice bucket. She heard the slosh of water and ice. He glanced back at her with a confident, seductive smile. He was going to do it now. Definitely. Absolutely. He was so smooth as he poured that she didn’t even see it happen. She didn’t spot his hand dipping
into his pocket for the vial. No one would know he’d done it. No one who didn’t realize it was about to happen.

  “So what’s it like being Dean Casperson?” she asked him.

  Casperson turned around with two wineglasses in his hand.

  Don’t look at the television, she thought, staring at him, holding on to his gaze with her smoky eyes.

  “Honestly? It’s an amazing life.”

  He came and sat down next to her and handed her a wineglass. If you knew what to look for, you could see the predatory anticipation in his face. This was more than romantic seduction. Most of the women who came here would have slept with him anyway, but it wasn’t about that. She’d been with men who needed to dominate. Who needed to win. Who needed to abuse. She’d seen that sickness, and there was no cure.

  “To the most beautiful girl I’ve met in Minnesota,” he toasted her, clinking their glasses together.

  This was the moment. It was now or never.

  Cat stared down into the golden pool of wine and tried to will herself to drink. He watched with a hawk’s eyes and waited for her to take a sip. She didn’t know what he’d put in her glass. Xanax. Ecstasy. Rohypnol. Ketamine. She only knew she was about to be drugged. And then much, much worse.

  “You’re being very sweet to me,” she said, forcing a smile and twisting the glass in her hand. Her fingers on the stem were slippery with sweat. You have to drink.

  “Naturally,” he said. “That’s what you deserve.”

  The fire sparkled in the wine. Cat brought the glass to her mouth, but her hand quivered.

  “I don’t want to lead you on,” she said, playing for time. “It’s fun to talk and this is very flattering, but we’re not going to have sex. I don’t do that with men I’ve just met. Even if you are Dean Casperson. Are we clear about that?”

  “I would never make you do something you don’t want to do,” he told her.

  Cat tried to make her expression sincere. “Well, good. As long as we understand each other.”

  “Try the wine,” he urged her. “I think you’ll love it.”

  You have to drink.

  She tilted the glass, fully intending to taste it, to let it happen. The wine splashed against her lips, but she kept her mouth closed. She couldn’t even run her tongue over her damp lips. She couldn’t do it. Everything about her past began to flash in her mind. Every man she’d been with, every man she’d hated, was there in the room with her. They knew she would drink. She’d done it before. She’d taken drugs. She’d been with men who did what Dean was going to do to her. What did it matter if she did it one more time?