Dark Deeds

by Anne Marie Becker

  * * *

  The screech of a key being inserted into a cell door had Becca standing up to face Patrick. She’d had to discard her mic, and chose to leave the earpiece behind as well. Now that he was close, he might see it, and she couldn’t risk breaking his trust. But, damn, losing Diego’s voice in her ear left her feeling vulnerable. I’m right there with you. She tried to focus on his final words.

  “Turn around,” he ordered. “Put your hands behind you and back up until your fingers are by the opening. When I open the door, I’m going to tie your hands together. If you try anything funny, I’ll kill you and the other women here and now.” He flashed the blade of a knife.

  She did as instructed, putting her wrists together against the small of her back. Her cell door opened, but only a crack.

  After he had the zip-tie secured, he gestured for her to come out. “Don’t be shy.”

  She’d put on the ridiculous skin-tight satin and gold-sequined outfit, but she certainly didn’t want to parade around in it in front of this guy. She gestured to her dress. “Are we going back in time to a seventies disco or something?”

  “The world would have been a better place if we lived in a seventies sitcom.”

  “Or eighties,” she said, mainly to be on his good side...but also because there were no serial killers running rampant in the shows she’d seen as a kid. And no assholes like James Powell taking advantage of their prey. Only four big brothers teaching her how to be tough. Patrick gestured to a chair that faced two others at a V-like angle so that the camera would have a full view of all of the occupants.

  “Sit.” He moved aside, keeping his distance, possibly feeling threatened by her. You should be.

  “I don’t bite,” she said.

  “Sit down and stick your hands behind your back.”

  He bound her wrists to one rung of the chair with another zip-tie. She was at an awkward, painful angle in her seat and let out a moan.

  “Sorry,” he said, actually sounding like he meant it. “It’s only temporary.”

  “What is this all about?” Maybe asking questions would give her some insight.

  “You’ll find out soon.”

  Satisfied Becca was restrained properly, he moved to Eve’s door and unlocked it. He had to practically drag her out, she was so weak, but she still tried to kick at him as he sat her in the chair farthest from Becca and tied her in place. He’d selected a clean outfit for Eve, too. It was a low-cut red dress that showed dirty, skinned-up knees.

  “Water might be nice,” Eve muttered.

  “Sure,” Patrick said, so agreeable that Eve looked suspicious. “But if you spit it at me this time, you’ll die.” This was said with such calm normalcy that Becca felt a chill.

  He brought a water bottle and held it to Eve’s lips. “Can’t have your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth before your big Cattle Call debut. Although, you always said hot tea was the trick for you.”

  “With honey,” Eve added.

  Becca had to admire Eve’s bravado, but the woman’s eyes were wary. The words Cattle Call chilled her. If Patrick was mimicking the Circle’s techniques, he’d be broadcasting to potential buyers. Did he mean to sell them to the highest bidder?

  “You two worked together,” Becca said, to keep the conversation going as her mind worked out the possibilities.

  “He was my cameraman,” Eve said. “But I had no clue who he really was.” She met Becca’s gaze, trying to convey a wealth of information that Becca surmised meant tread carefully with this monster.

  Patrick had moved to Catherine’s cell. “Come on out,” he called as he swung the door open. She emerged, blinking at the colored spotlights and fog. The bruise on her cheek seemed to glow, especially with her hair drawn back into a ponytail. The white sundress Patrick had dressed her in, à la Marilyn Monroe, made her features even more stark.

  Patrick finished tying Catherine to her chair, a foot from Becca, and stood in front of them to survey the display. “I dressed you this way for a reason, though you’ll have to forgive the outdated clothing. It’s all they had at the secondhand store.”

  “Vintage, darling,” Eve said with heavy sarcasm. “It’s all the rage right now.”

  “Not that our viewers will care about that.” Patrick scooted Becca so that her knees were almost touching Catherine’s. She tried to smile encouragingly at her friend, but Catherine was quiet and avoiding eye contact.

  Eve was not. She was prepared to fully engage Patrick with the only weapon she had available. Her tongue. “Your so-called viewers—all two or three of them—probably only want to see the cleavage. Strapping us to these chairs is impeding that.”

  Patrick’s mouth tightened and, apparently done arranging them to his satisfaction, he moved to pick up his camera and looked through the lens. “My viewers—which number closer to a couple hundred, for your information—care more about what I’m going to do to you than what you look like, though it helps that you’re all very beautiful.”

  Patrick said this matter-of-factly, then set the camera down again to pick up a length of rope, tied into a noose, then slipped it around Eve’s neck. He did the same to Catherine. He pulled a step stool from a corner and looped the ends of the ropes around hooks he’d attached to the exposed wooden boards in the ceiling, then tightened the slack. Eve and Catherine sat, ramrod straight, looking fearfully at each other.

  “Don’t move,” Eve said. The women were trapped. If they moved more than a couple inches any direction, the rope would tighten.

  “Good advice,” Patrick said, then moved away to adjust some lighting, shining white spotlights on each of the three women. Despite the chill in the winter-cold basement, Becca felt a trickle of sweat slide down her temple.

  “What about me?” Becca asked when he didn’t move to place a noose on her neck. Not that she wanted one, but she was still striving to understand this madness.

  “You’re the star of the show. You decide who lives or dies.” He clapped his hands together once, evidently happy with his morbid set-up. “We’re ready to begin. You’ve seen my tapes. I always give my interviewees a chance to unburden their consciences, to determine for themselves if they’re good or evil.”

  “I think you made that decision for most of them, when you selected them as candidates for murder. You deemed them unworthy to live.”

  “That was my purpose. It’s why I survived all those illnesses.” He picked up his camera and aimed it at Becca. The red light indicated he was filming, and the cord leading to the laptop on the folding table behind him told her he was feeding it to something...very likely his internet viewers.

  “Your mother decided whether you’d survive or not.”

  Patrick looked up sharply. “She took care of me. Don’t talk about her like that.”

  “She’s a selfish woman. She hurt you to get attention. You fell for it, believing your purpose was to keep her in the limelight. You didn’t decide your purpose. She did.”

  His fists were white with anger, but he made a visible effort to calm himself. “This time, Becca, you’ll make the decision. Who will live and who will die?” He turned the camera on Eve. “Your enemy whose contributions to society supposedly have a global impact and who personally attacked you.” He focused on Catherine. “Or a friend whose only impact is on your life, and maybe a few other agents at SSAM, who is supposedly there for you through thick and thin but tried to steal your date? You’ll each make your case.”

  “But I’ve already selected,” Becca said calmly. Her throat clenched for a moment as she imagined never seeing her family again. She’d lost her mic connection to Diego, so she couldn’t even give him final messages to send to the people she loved. She couldn’t even tell Diego she loved him.

  Eve and Catherine turned surprised gazes to Becca. Patrick and his camera swiveled to her. “You have?”

  “I choose myself.”

  * * *

  Diego bit back a curse, since they were in stealth mode. Thou
gh Becca couldn’t hear him, Einstein had managed to keep the feed going from Patrick’s filming setup, so Diego heard the killer’s insane demand—and Becca’s response. Her readiness to sacrifice herself made Diego want to roar with frustration. He wasn’t surprised that Becca would put her own life on the line, though. That was who she was, and he loved that about her. She helped the underdog...even when she was an underdog herself.

  Nico had finally found a way in through a rooftop vent, since Patrick had barricaded the main door to the building. It had cost them precious minutes trying to find an alternative entrance. Luckily, Nico was familiar with the layout of the building.

  Unfortunately, the door to the basement was locked. Patrick was organized enough to cover all his bases. Hopefully, not all the bases.

  Diego nudged Nico aside. “I’ll get this one.”

  It looked to be an ordinary lock this time. He’d kick it in if he had to, though that would hurt like hell and give Patrick advance warning they were there...enough warning to do some serious damage to one of his abductees. Thankfully, he had Becca’s lock-pick tools.

  Einstein broke into their communication. “Patrick’s begun broadcasting live on his private site. I’m tracking his scumbag viewers for future reference. Probably the type to watch snuff films and child pornography, too.”

  Likely, they were among the clients on the Circle’s human trafficking list. Had Tony given Patrick that information, too? With any luck, one of them might lead to the man who paid for Samantha Manchester to disappear.

  “We can’t go storming in there,” Nico muttered, looking at the phone’s screen where they still had images of the inside. “Eve and Catherine are in a precarious position with nooses around their necks. If he decides to knock their chairs over...”

  Diego hoped Becca had the time to spare. Hold on just a little longer. I’m coming...

  His phone screen went black.

  Einstein cursed. “We lost video connection.” They were flying blind.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “You’re ruining everything.” A haze of red clouded Patrick’s vision. He leaned against the table, where he could see the laptop screen but still film the women sitting a few feet away. The votes and comments were streaming in. He grinned. Eve wasn’t the only one who could attract and enthrall an audience.

  But he hadn’t counted on Becca’s stubbornness. She wasn’t supposed to be a martyr. She was supposed to let him save her.

  Already, the viewers were voting to give Becca her wish and kill her first. Their comments were vicious.

  Give the bitch what she wants if she wants to be so noble.

  I don’t care who dies, as long as one of them does soon. I want the one in red for myself. How much?

  The white one is an angel. The bruise on her cheek is a nice touch. She’s mine. I’ll pay you a million.

  Patrick felt disgust well up inside. These men weren’t interested in justice, or discovering truth. They were only watching for sexual gratification—whether it came from degrading women or any other means, they didn’t care. This wasn’t what he’d wanted.

  “You’re not an option,” Patrick told Becca. “That’s not your purpose.”

  She shrugged. “I decide what my purpose is. And I’m not going to choose between these two fine women.”

  Fine? She had to be kidding. “Let’s review the facts, because I’m certain you’re remembering things wrong. Better yet, I want each of these fine women to tell you how they’d tip the scales between good and evil, and what fine punishment they think they deserve.”

  He put the camera on a tripod and went to Eve’s chair. He gave the leg a swift kick that moved it back an inch and tightened the noose around her neck. “You’re first.”

  Fear widened Eve’s eyes as the rope turned her throat a blotchy red, but she could still breathe, still talk, though it was raspy from the last time he had put a rope around her neck. The bruises he’d left by partially strangling her would likely serve to excite his audience and remind them of the high stakes in this game.

  “Unburden your conscience. State your case.”

  Eve released a shaky breath. “Becca, you don’t know me, but I’m not a bad person...”

  He shook his head. “She knows what you tried to do to her. The whole world knows. Where’s that golden tongue when you need it? Trust me, you need it now.”

  Eve’s blue eyes were wide, the pupils tiny in the brightness of the spotlight as she lifted her face to Becca. The camera loved her. “I’m a dedicated person. Like you, I seek out the perpetrators of injustice and fight to right the wrongs.”

  “Good,” Patrick murmured. “Keep going. Other than your video blog, will anyone miss you when you’re gone?”

  Eve shot him a glare. It was clearly eating her alive to have to defend herself to him. “I’m a daughter, and a sister. A friend.”

  She stopped and her eyes suddenly looked wild, probably because she’d just realized how few people would actually be personally affected if she were gone tonight.

  Patrick turned to Catherine. “Looks like it’s your turn.”

  Catherine looked straight into the camera, biting her lip. Then, something seemed to come over her, a calm awareness as if she’d made an important decision. “I don’t deserve to live—or die—any more than anybody else. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”

  “Explain, please.”

  “I’d rather not,” Catherine said. “You can take it or leave it.”

  “Catherine?” Becca’s voice was a plea. “Tell him you’re a good person. You love with all your heart.”

  “But I’m far from perfect.” Finally, she looked away from the camera and met Becca’s gaze. Just as quickly, she looked at the floor, careful not to move in a way that tightened the noose.

  “Nobody’s perfect.” Becca’s confusion was genuine. Was Catherine simply trying to distract Patrick? Because it was working. But if that was the case, she was an awfully good actress, because Becca believed that, deep down, something was troubling her friend. Becca could relate. She had her own dark past to confront...and she wouldn’t let it torment her anymore. If she got out of here—when she got out of here—she was going to get rid of that baggage once and for all.

  “I think we’ve heard enough,” Patrick said into the silence that had fallen over the group. “Let me check the voting. It might influence your decision.”

  As Patrick moved to check his laptop, Becca tried to make eye contact with Catherine, to encourage her to be strong. But her friend wouldn’t meet her gaze again.

  “I’m not going to choose anyone,” she told Patrick when he looked up from his computer screen.

  “I was afraid you might say that,” he said. “Perhaps I can encourage you with a little video that reminds you what happened last time you tried to play the martyr.”

  Panic welled up as he pulled out a DVD case and slid the disc into his computer. It didn’t matter that Becca had tried to hide her shame from Diego, or that she’d finally decided to share the entire truth with him when she got out of here. Patrick was about to make her past very public.

  His finger tapped a key, and he turned the computer so that the three women could see.

  No. No, no, no! She wanted to scream, to struggle in her chair until her hands were free and around his neck. But she could only sit and watch as a much younger, much more naïve Becca seduced James Powell, not knowing James had been filming it all.

  Catherine’s look was pure amazement, and then sympathy. “What’s this?”

  “Yes, do explain,” Patrick said.

  * * *

  Diego paused in the selection of a lock-pick tool. Einstein had found a way to direct Patrick’s webcast to Diego’s phone, and he and Nico could again hear and see what Patrick was filming. As could the three CPD officers who’d followed them inside and carried a hydraulic ram for busting open the door to the basement. It was the only barrier left, but breaking in so suddenly and loudly could put the
women in danger. Still, his muscles bunched with the desire to do just that—to barge in and take out Patrick Bigelow. The only thing that stopped him was Becca hadn’t said the code word yet, which meant she wasn’t in grave danger—he hoped.

  But it was the sudden silence that worried him now. He watched the screen, shocked to see a video of Becca making love to James Powell. No, not love. Just sex, he told himself. His stomach churned with outrage and frustration that Patrick would humiliate her like this.

  “Explain to our viewers what’s happening here,” Patrick urged Becca.

  Becca’s voice shook when she replied. “When I was accused of murder, years ago, the police told me they had nothing on James. That I was their prime suspect. They implied that if I could give them something more to go on...”

  So she’d degraded herself to find justice for Amy? And then she’d lived with the humiliation when it hadn’t worked. Diego wanted to howl at the unfairness.

  “So you filmed this, hoping to get a confession?” Patrick prodded.

  “He somehow knew what I was up to, and turned the tables on me,” Becca said. “He got me into bed with the illusion he would tell me everything once he could fully trust me. So I did...what I had to do.”

  Trust. That was why she didn’t give it easily. Diego’s chest squeezed, and he attacked the lock on the door with renewed vigor. He was going to get her out of there, going to save her from this asshole, and going to prove to her that there was one man in her life who was absolutely, without a doubt, worthy of her trust.

  * * *

  “I, for one, admire that,” Eve said. “You did what you had to, and it was unselfish.”

  Becca met Eve’s and Catherine’s eyes and found silent support that buoyed her sagging spirits. And they certainly didn’t deserve to pay for her mistakes, so she drew strength from them and faced Patrick once more. “I’m not going to choose. None of us deserves to die...except for you, Patrick.”