Particles of Obsession (A Shadow of Death Romantic Suspense Book 2)

by Charlotte Raine

  I stop at the desk in the main lobby where a woman with short black hair perks up as I approach her.

  “Hi,” I say, leaning against the desk. She eyes my hood, so I pull it off. “I’m looking for Berta Kamiński.”

  “Are you a member of her family?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Can I see some ID then?” she asks.

  This is when it would have been nice to have a detective with me. “I don’t have it on me.”

  “Maybe you should call her then,” she says, “and she can tell us who you are.”

  “Uh, I’ll just wait for my mother to come around,” I say, stepping away from the desk.

  As I pass by a blond man, I realize I recognize him. I double back, grabbing his arm.

  “You’re Andre’s contact,” I say. “Henryk.”

  “Yes.” He raises his eyebrow. “Last time I saw you, you were trying to hurt me. Did you actually put someone in the hospital? If it’s your sister’s killer, it’s not my fault if you got in trouble for hurting him. All I do is give information.”

  I shake my head. “No. I didn’t hurt—or, I didn’t kill anybody. Listen. You’re good at tracking people down, aren’t you?”

  “Me? No. Half the time, I can’t find my grandmother. I’m good at extracting information,” he says. “I know a group of people who are pros at tracking people down though. It costs a lot of money to hire them. More than someone like you can afford. And if I’m getting involved, it costs even more.”

  “Can you tell me where to find this group?”

  “No,” he says. “I don’t earn a living by giving away information. All right. Since I’m feeling generous, tell me who you want to find, I’ll reach out to them, and we can figure out a payment plan.”

  “I’m not going to get involved with loan sharks,” I say, though I know that I will to find John.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he says. “The payments will work through me. We can say that I’m doing it for Andre. He was a good man and if he was going to get murdered—which, over time, that likelihood was increasing—it should have been in a blaze of glory. Since he seemed fond of you, I’m willing to be a bit more lenient. Who do you need to find? I’m assuming if you’re reaching out to me, then it’s an emergency, so I wouldn’t drag your feet.”

  “His name is Dr. John Zimmer,” I say. “He’s been taken by a woman. I have a few names of who the woman could be, but I can’t be sure which one it is…or if it’s any of them.”

  “Names?”

  “Kate Millington, Rachel Terrios, Maiko Kimura, Anna Hartley, and Jillian Irving,” I recite.

  He pulls out a cell phone and types into it. I hear the swooshing sound of a text being sent.

  “Can I get your number, so I can text you when I have some information?”

  “I’ll just wait with you,” I say. “I really need this info as soon as possible…and I don’t have a cellphone on me.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Let me guess—the police are trying to track you down?”

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  “Well, then, you’re going to have to follow me to my grandma’s room. She tried to start a fight with a bartender and ended up cutting herself on a bottle that she broke.”

  A few weeks ago, a story like this would have surprised me—I may have even questioned its legitimacy, but now it seems like just another shattered piece in the world.

  Henryk Kamiński—who still hasn’t introduced himself to me and he doesn’t seem to want to—keeps glaring at my hand as I keep thrumming my nails against my thigh. He and his grandma have been talking in some other language—Polish, I think—but I don’t care because I can’t take my eyes off his cell phone. It’s vibrated a few times, but he’s reassured me that it’s not the people he texted for me.

  “So, Miss Solano,” Henryk’s grandmother says. “Henryk keeps telling me that you two aren’t dating, but you have to be reaching an age when it’s hard to settle down.”

  “Grandma, it’s not like that anymore,” Henryk says. “She’s still young and has time to find someone.”

  He glances at me. There’s something in his eyes—a mixture of pity and sympathy. Andre must have told him enough about me that he knew there was something going on between us.

  “Yes, but the older a woman gets, the less likely she’ll have children,” his grandmother says. “She has to think about that. Sometimes you have to settle. I did with your grandfather and then I ended up with a wonderful man a few years ago.”

  “You hate both those men,” Henryk argues.

  “That’s true. But it was good while it lasted,” she says. “And I had three children, five grandchildren, and one great-grandchild. It’s not a bad life when you just hate two of your ex-husbands and only one of your daughters.”

  “Aunt Anka isn’t a bad person. She’s just gay. You’re going to have to get over that, Grandma. People fall in love. There’s not much you can do about it.”

  Henryk’s phone vibrates. He grabs it. He hands it over to me.

  Horus:

  Anna Hartley

  Works as an EMT for Tuskmirth Hospital

  Did not show up for work today.

  Home Address: 383 Riverside Drive in Stonefall.

  Also inherited a marina called Hallowed Land, 908 North Shore Road, Stonefall.

  Jillian Irving

  High school gym teacher at Tuskmirth High School

  Did not show up for work today.

  Home address: 6791 Lilac Road in Tuskmirth

  Kate Millington does not live in Tuskmirth (currently in Philadelphia) and she is currently at work as a secretary for the law firm Jacobs and Arnold, but she is also worth of suspicion—previously had an affair with her high school biology teacher.

  “They couldn’t find out more?” I ask.

  “You wanted the information quickly,” he says. “That’s what they could do in a short amount of time. You have to do the rest of the work unless you’re willing to wait longer. The fact that she’s a woman can’t possibly be all that you know.”

  “She’s a woman and she’s athletic,” I say. “She’s also a crazy bitch. I don’t know what else I could possibly figure out.”

  A male nurse walks in.

  “Hello, Mrs. Kamiński,” the nurse says. “How are you feeling now? Do you still have pain in your hand?”

  “I’m fine,” she mutters. “I just want to get out of here.”

  “You just need to stay for a little bit longer,” he says. “You lost some blood and we want to make sure that your strength is restored before you leave.”

  My memory is still fuzzy, but as the nurse checks the needle that’s inserted into Mrs. Kamiński’s arm, I remember how easily the killer slid the needle into my arm. She had created a tourniquet and everything. I remember thinking that maybe she had done drugs in the past, but she also cut off part of Kiona’s ear and there was no sign that she had struggled to cut it off. It was a clean cut.

  The killer works in a medical profession.

  Works as an EMT.

  I type Anna Hartley’s address into my phone before standing up.

  “I have to go,” I tell Henryk. “I’ll be sure to pay you back as soon as I can. Thank you so much.”

  He nods. “I hope you find whatever you’re looking for.”

  As I leave the room, I wonder about why he said he hoped I’d find whatever I’m looking for instead of whoever. But maybe he wasn’t talking about this single instant. Maybe he knows I’ve gotten into this much trouble—with Andre and John—because I am searching for something more.

  Regardless of what I’m looking for, the consequences are still the same. Anna is going to learn that soon, too.

  The marina looks like it’s been abandoned until I step inside and see all of the fishing boats, sailboats, and sport boats on large metal racks. Some of them have blue tarps draped over them and they’re clearly new.

  But since the lake is starting to freeze over, nobody
will be using their boats, which means Anna would have this whole place to herself with little fear of getting caught.

  I keep walking to the end of the room where there’s a door. I open it and find myself in an office. The office feels small compared to the last room, but it still fits an oak desk with a computer, an ergonomic computer chair, and a bookshelf full of books about boats, lakes, and fishing. There are two doors I could go through next.

  I try the left one first. It looks like it’s just a closet for cleaning supplies. I turn back and go through the right door.

  It’s like I’ve stepped into a room meant for literature royalty.

  There’s a king-size bed in the center of the room with crimson sheets and the white walls have been painted with words. I recognize a few of them as the quotes that Anna had been leaving for John and me.

  Kill your darlings seems to be repeated a few times.

  There’s also a dresser made from dark red finish, multiple bookshelves, several full-body mirrors, and a large chest over a Persian rug. There’s a vase full of red roses on top of chest. Nothing is out of place except for John, who appears to be unconscious on the bed.

  I run over to him and press my hand against his chest. His heartbeat is still strong.

  I grab his shoulders and shake him.

  “John. John, wake up.”

  He takes in a deep breath and his eyes open. He closes his eyes for two seconds before opening them again. He looks up at me.

  “What’s going on?” he mumbles.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” I ask.

  “I was going to go get you,” he mumbles. “The greenhouse. Anna…”

  “Good. Good, so you know Anna Gibson is the killer, right?” I ask. “And she’s apparently crazy?”

  “She used to be a student of mine,” he mutters. “A very gifted student, too. I don’t know…I never thought of her as mentally unstable. I mean, at least not mentally unstable enough to commit murder. She dropped out a year ago, which was a little weird, but…sometimes highly ambitious students burn themselves out and I figured that’s what happened.”

  “Did she explain anything more to you?”

  “I’m trying to remember,” he says.

  I offer my hand to him and help pull him up into a sitting position. He’s unsteady, so I let him lean against me.

  “While she was driving us here, she was talking about how we were meant to be together and I was the only one who understood her. I tried to tell her that I didn’t like her that way, but she kept on insisting and she said this is why she had to kidnap me because she needed enough time to convince me that we’re meant to be together. I tried to switch gears and convince her that I was in love with her, but I guess my acting isn’t that good. She didn’t believe me. She mentioned something about how it was almost the anniversary from the first time we met and…then I think she knocked me out. I don’t remember lying down on this bed, but I could have…”

  “So she’s crazy. That’s not new information,” I say.

  “She just seems…really confused, but in a confident way,” he says. “She has these preconceived ideas about everything and…she’s detached from the reality of her relationship with me, but she seems fully aware of everything else she’s done. She knows she’s killed people and that they were individuals with their own lives. She just thinks that she’s done it for me. Where is she?”

  “I didn’t see her when I came here. There wasn’t any vehicle out front,” I say. “She must have gone to get something. Did she tell you where she plans to take you or was this her final destination for you? It looks like she’s spent a fair amount of time setting this up.”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “She may be in love with me, but she doesn’t seem to trust me.”

  I hear screeching tires.

  “Shit.”

  “That has to be her,” John says. “You have to get out of here. There’s a door to the right in the back that you can escape out of.”

  “I’m not going to let you out of my sight again,” I say.

  I help him lie down again. He closes his eyes.

  “My head hurts,” he says.

  “Well, she either knocked you out or gave you some kind of medication that knocked you out,” I say.

  I see two places I can hide: in the chest or under the bed. I crawl under the bed. It’s a tight fit, but I could likely stay here for a couple hours if necessary. One of the mirrors reflects the tiniest part of my foot, but I doubt Anna will notice. I hope she doesn’t.

  The door swings open.

  When Anna walks in, I use the mirrors to catch glimpses of her. She walks with the confidence of a model. She’s carrying a picnic basket and there’s the hint of a smile on her face as she stops on the side of the bed that John isn’t on. She sets the picnic basket down on the bed. She’s wearing a paramedic uniform, but the first couple of buttons are undone and her auburn hair is flowing down her shoulders. She is truly beautiful, but not in a conventional away. Her intensity brightens all of her features to the point that she seems ethereal.

  “Hello, John,” she purrs, reaching over to touch his shoulder. “I brought us a dinner for our anniversary.”

  He turns his head to look at her. “Anniversary?”

  “Since the day we first talked,” she says. “I know that seems a bit weird, but I wanted to celebrate, and everything you said to me that day was so nice.”

  “I had you as a student during a spring class,” he says. “It’s winter now. We didn’t meet until the spring.”

  “Yes, but we met the semester before that class,” she says. “I was listening to you read one of your short stories and—you really don’t remember?”

  He shakes his head. She sighs.

  “Well, like I said, I was listening to you read one of your short stories and I talked to you afterward. I asked you for writing advice and you told me, kill your darlings. You told me that I should eliminate the things that I truly loved and I would find if anything I wrote was worth saving…that I would find out if I was in love with what I was writing or simply infatuated with it. And now I’m doing the same thing for you.”

  “By killing my students?”

  “By getting rid of those people you’re infatuated with,” she says.

  She begins unloading the picnic basket. I can only see the items through the reflection, but they’re clearly expensive ceramic dishes. She pulls out wine and two wine glasses. “You wrote about them, you praised them endlessly, you put them up on pedestals…but you were simply enamored. They were your darlings and they were holding you back. I would never do that to you. I wouldn’t waste your time with pity stories or cocaine-addled ramblings. I’ve only ever wanted to lift you higher.”

  “This is insane, Anna,” he says. “I can’t believe you would ever think I would be okay with you killing people. I wasn’t infatuated or enamored with anyone. They were just my students that I cared about just like I cared about you. You…I can’t believe you killed them. What happened to you? You’re mentally ill. You need to turn yourself in.”

  “No,” she says. “You just don’t understand yet. I haven’t opened myself bare to you yet. Over time, you’ll see that we’re meant to be together. We just have to stay away from the police. Don’t worry. We won’t stay here for much longer. I have a feeling that the police are already digging into Alex’s life and that could lead them to me, so I’ve started making plans to cross into Canada.”

  “I don’t want to go to Canada and I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” he says.

  I wince. He needs to play along with her plans. She may think she’s in love with him, but she wouldn’t be the first person to kill someone they had sworn to be in love with.

  “You just need time,” she says. “I bought white wine. I’m not a wine enthusiast, but I hope you like it.”

  I could grab her ankles and knock her onto her ass. But then what? By the time I could crawl out from under the bed, she would be back
on her feet and have the advantage.

  “Did you drug me?” John asks. “I feel…sick. Weak.”

  “I just gave you a sedative,” she says. “You’ll be fine.”

  “You say that with the future tense. When am I going to be fine? How am I going to eat when I can barely sit up?”

  “I could always feed you,” she teases. Her voice becomes serious, “I don’t know if I can trust you yet. You seem to be unwilling to comprehend what’s going on here.”

  “I’m not the one with the comprehension issue,” he says. “But if you want us to be open with each other, then let’s be open. Just give me something to counteract this drug.”

  She takes a sip of her wine, then holds the glass up to John’s lips. He turns his head away, refusing to drink. She sets the glass back down.

  “Come on, John,” she says. “At least try to see it from my view. I wouldn’t have gotten rid of all those people for my own benefit. I did it for you. It’s the only way you would grow as a person and as a writer. You were too dependent on them. I saw the way you looked at them, the way you held their praise of you in such high esteem, the way you wrote about them. You were always such a better writer when you weren’t writing about someone else. You needed to break free from all of that. They were a crutch. Now that I’ve taken them away, you’re limping a bit, but you’ll become stronger over time and you’ll be better than ever.”

  “You could have at least had a conversation with me before doing all of this,” he says.

  “So you could talk me out of it? And then tell the authorities, so they would lock me up for knowing you better than anyone else?”

  “I would have made you see that you need intense therapy,” he says. “I could have gotten you the help that you need. Hell, we could have talked and gotten to know each other better and you’d realize you’ve idealized me in the same way that you think I’ve idealized these students. I’m not that great. Seriously—I’m needy, I’m reckless, I’m not good at explaining how I feel about things, and I’m essentially bad at everything except writing.”