by Angi Morgan
Logically, if this man killed her, he’d finish an objective and get away with it. No one knew who he was and wouldn’t know as long as he kept his mouth shut.
“Brian was arrested. So unless you mixed up his fingerprints, you’re wrong.”
“My dear, I’ve gone to great lengths to assure he’d be here. So he’ll be here. If he lives up to half my expectations, it’ll be a worthy fight.”
Had the other people he’d killed felt this way? Had he ignored them as insignificant? He’d been targeting her family members for at least twenty years. Why was Brian so important now?
“Did you kill Jeremy? Or my parents? Why? Why do you want the Cook family dead?”
“You want to alleviate your conscience? Make yourself feel better? Tell yourself that your cousin’s death wasn’t your fault?” He paced along a short wooden platform—it was the creaking she’d heard earlier. “That information isn’t ready for public knowledge yet. Unfortunately, you won’t be alive when it is.”
“Can’t you at least tell me why you want my family dead? Or even who you are? What did we ever do to you? And what does Brian have to do with it?” The sun was sinking, the shadows were getting longer. But she saw bright light from a porch or window. Someone was nearby, if only she could scream....
“Don’t think about it, Lindsey.” He leaned over the rail with a finger over his lips. “If—and I mean that in the slimmest way possible—if you manage to get their attention and they venture here to see why we’re on the premises, I will be delighted to kill them, too. No thought or debate needed.”
Dear God, what if a child wandered in here?
For all she knew, they were in a populated area and this man didn’t look worried about being caught. Maybe he wasn’t the one responsible for all the deaths after all? Maybe he worked with someone else and couldn’t make the decisions on his own.
There had to be someone else involved. Someone had been following her. She couldn’t recall ever having seen this man. Was he the butcher in black clothes who had tortured that poor girl? This well-spoken egomaniac was the same man who had nearly sliced her throat?
“Since I’m not the public and you assume I’ll be dead when your statement’s ready, it won’t matter if I hear the imperfect version. Would it? I don’t think you’re the beast responsible for killing my family. You lack...authority.”
He didn’t like that at all. He ran down a flight of stairs until he was even with her, until he could look her in the eye and point his finger at her face.
“I am Victor D. Simmons. How did your arm heal after our encounter at your home? Or should I refer to it as Jeremy’s home, since that’s how you refer to it?”
“That proves nothing. The real murderer could have told you lots of details.”
“You aren’t going to goad me into admitting I’m the mastermind. I have nothing to prove to you.”
“So you did kill him. You’re the monster. A horrible little man who never fights face-to-face.”
That got his attention. “What makes you assume that?”
“You cut me loose and I’ll show you what happens when you give one of us a fighting chance.”
He threw his head back in laughter, slowly clapping his hands. “Brava, Lindsey Cook. It’s going to be thrilling to describe how you die.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
There was only one place in Aubrey Victor D. Simmons could be referring to on his map. Brian knew the small town like the back of his hand. He’d avoided the main roads for several years when he’d been the focus of every questionable action that happened. Many years ago he’d learned the habits of the police and the sheriff—when they liked to eat, what streets they liked to drive looking for troublemakers and especially the speed traps on 377 where weekenders heading for the lake would forget to slow down.
That was exactly where he hoped both cops were tonight. Those heading up to the bigger lake, Texoma, would be heading home now. He took a slightly longer route, Sherman Drive from the hospital instead of the more traveled road. Speeding with blurred vision and taking risks he didn’t ever consider while driving the ambulance, he actually made fairly good time.
Lindsey had to be in the abandoned peanut-drying plant that still sat on either side of the railroad. Rusty from top to bottom, it had been officially off-limits but just sitting there for a couple of decades. But every kid in town had played there sometime in their life. It was one of the few places he still remembered with fondness.
It was in the middle of town, across a gravel parking lot from the fire department, which was next door to the police station. Brian couldn’t just drive up to the front door and ask him to hand Lindsey over.
He also knew he couldn’t involve the police if he wanted to keep the woman he’d fallen in love with alive. As his head cleared, he deciphered more of the jumbled visit with Victor D. Simmons.
The beautiful body he’d explored extensively meshed with the image of the woman slain in Jeremy’s home. The words in that small room just before he’d passed out— If you touch her... Oh, I plan to, Brian. Many, many times.
She was alive.
She had to be alive. He wouldn’t think of her vibrant personality any other way. Rage coursed through him with any thought of the lawyer’s hands on her. Leftover effects from the drug that had been pumped from his stomach. He had to get himself under control and think clearly.
Running would clear his head. He parked the car two blocks from the building and ran, pushing through the aches and clearing the throbbing in his head. He avoided the police station, noting that no squad cars were there so that meant both were out on patrol, but Polly’s car was in the lot so someone was manning the dispatch. He stopped at the corner where the city kept the fire truck, catching his breath.
Two peanut buildings—both were on his map. If he held someone captive, where would he do it? Hell, he didn’t know and there was no way he could think the same way as this guy. He’d never have broken his opponent out of jail or been as bold as to face him in a police station.
Trying to understand a murder was not solving the problem. The only thing different about this Cook murder was him. It wasn’t because he’d tried to think like a killer for the past couple of months. It was because he’d thought like himself. He was the difference.
He pulled the magazine from John’s gun. Full, but that was it.
An all-volunteer squad meant the fire station was empty. He twisted the knob. Locked. He pushed up on a window and hit the jackpot. It was unlocked and he could get inside. He needed another weapon. A plan.
The way the adrenaline was still pumping through his system, it was hard not to rush in shooting and ask questions later. That was what John would do. He and his brother hadn’t ever had the twin connection that people talk about. He’d accepted responsibility when he screwed up and John had sweet-talked his way out of more than one problem. Neither would work this time.
What he really needed was his brother and some of those SEALs he worked with. They’d have a lot of gadgets to locate Lindsey and extract her from a hostile environment. He should have swallowed his pride and just told John to take care of the rescue. But he hadn’t, and he wasn’t his brother.
Then why was he deliberating what his brother would do? The knowledge to save lives worked both ways. It was his grit that would find the way to get both him and Lindsey out of this alive.
And stop Victor D. Simmons forever.
* * *
LINDSEY WAS TIRED and drained. If she weren’t perched on a six-inch beam three stories above the ground, she’d make fun of herself for being totally out of shape. It had been hours and several attempts to get herself untied, always resulting with a slip and jerking her arms from their sockets when she fell.
At the moment, exhaustion was her most immediate enemy. If she fell again, she wouldn’t be able t
o lift herself back to the beam. She’d be useless if help arrived. If help arrived. At the moment she had her doubts.
Without any explanations or reason why he thought Brian would be arriving to honor him by “doing battle,” her captor had stopped talking and disappeared. As if there was any honor in murder or abductions. Almost dozing, she wobbled on her perch.
Catching her balance, she looked again for a way to reach the knot. Her fingers were numb and raw from gripping the rope to stop the plastic from cutting her skin. She startled herself awake again, her hip hitting the chute next to her.
This time when she’d almost fallen, there hadn’t been a snicker from some odd location in the building. Could she hope that he’d left her alone? Maybe she could get someone’s attention if they passed by. But for as long as she’d been trapped in the rafters, she’d only heard a couple of children’s voices, and that had been before night had fallen.
Groggy as she’d been, she had no idea how he’d gotten her onto this beam. And as weak as she was, she had no idea how she’d hold on to anything to get down if she could get free. The stitches pulled, her arms shook, everything ached, especially her neck.
A train whistle sounded in the distance. She heard the birds rustle. Then the familiar creak of wood. Her captor was on the platform. Somewhere to her right. Moving up or down or across, she didn’t know.
“How long are you going to keep me here?”
“Long enough.”
“Why haven’t you just killed me?” her parched throat hoarsely whispered, and didn’t expect an answer. She’d asked before. “This is senseless.”
“Nothing I do is without purpose.”
Now she could see his outline in the dim light. The sound of the train grew louder.
“Ha. It’s very easy for you to claim whatever you want since you refuse to explain.”
“You’re trying to taunt me, Lindsey? How very predictable.”
“Oh, I’m not taunting. I think you’re an idiot. There’s no way that Brian Sloane is coming anywhere near this place. He’s in jail by now. I’m just wondering how long I have to endure your threats.”
“I think you understand that I don’t threaten. I succeed.”
“But at what?” She pushed the words out through her parched throat, loud enough to be heard over the train passing next to the building. A bit of dust falling from the ceiling caused her to shut her eyes.
Her captor appeared close to her at the rail, just to her left. Close, and yet not close enough to kick out and do damage.
“I set things in motion to make it impossible to say no. As predictable as human nature is, I’m confident he cares too much for you not to handle it himself.”
“Flaw number one. Brian’s smarter than that. His brother has kick-ass Marine and Navy SEAL buds. Why in the world wouldn’t he let them tear this place apart and you along with it?”
The train passed the building, doing weird things with the light coming through the side panels that had broken free over the years. She tilted her head up. The monster looked even more frightening. Dressed in black again, his eyes loomed large in his shadowed face.
His fist pounded the metal pipe used as a rail. “He has to come.”
“Flaw number two. I barely know this guy and our relationship hasn’t been a piece of cake. Assuming he wants anything to do with me any longer is a huge assumption.”
She didn’t have to see his fist hit the panel of the chute that hung over his head. It shook next to her. Perhaps it was stable with birds resting on it, but along with the slam of his fist came loud creaking and a trail of dust from overhead.
“Flaw three. If—and that’s a big if—someone decided to rescue me, why in the world would they meet you face-to-face for this ‘battle,’ as you put it? Even if you’re honorable—” she tried not to choke using that word “—why do you think they are?”
“Shut up! I’ve planned this. My plans always work.”
She’d finally gotten to him. Or maybe the wait had. Maybe he had his own doubts about whether anyone was coming. Whatever the reason, he raced up the stairs. Loose particles rained from the ceiling. She closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest.
When the train had passed and was somewhere in the distance, she could hear every creak and moan from the building. Including every wing flutter and scurry of small animals’ nails clicking on the metal beams and pipes. The metal staircase and wooden platform creaked as they had every time the savage had approached.
She didn’t want to look up, petrified she’d goaded him into action. Action might mean he finished her off. She ignored him, tired beyond reason and with no thought left other than keeping her balance.
More debris fell on her neck, sticking to the sweat, begging to be brushed aside. Concentrate on your grip. One thing. Keep your head down and don’t fall.
A larger sting. More creaking. She didn’t listen to herself, she opened her eyes, letting them adjust to the low light. In seconds she could see someone...
“Br—” Brian, she finished in her head, immediately stopping when she saw his finger across his lips.
How had he gotten free from the police? Why had he come for her? What difference did it make? He was there. She was free.
He held up a finger, then a palm. One stop? She shrugged, not understanding.
He moved two fingers pointing to the ground. Walking?
Pointed to his chest. Him.
Patted his back. No! She shook her head, silently screaming no. He couldn’t leave her here. He just couldn’t.
He held up four fingers and then pointed at her. He was coming back for her? She lost her footing with all the movement, one foot sliding off the side, and she wobbled. Brian was half over the pipe rail. She locked eyes with him, hoping that her fierce glare told him she was okay.
Her arms ached from the strain, but she managed to nod her head in the direction of the stairs. He stopped, one leg over the rail, ready to come to her rescue. She shook her head, this time agreeing he needed to take care of their tormentor first.
There was only one quick way down, and that wouldn’t happen as long as the rope held. Freeing her was much more complicated than it looked. She was stabilized, and yet Brian wasn’t moving away. She pulled herself upright, wanting to cry out, biting her lip so she wouldn’t. Hoping beyond all reason the madman wasn’t watching and ready to push her rescuer over the side.
She’d tapped into a strength she’d never realized she had and got her feet under her again. Brian waved, used his broken sign language to indicate he was coming for her now. She shook her head, mouthed “no,” then, “I’m okay.”
Tears of pain washed her eyes clean, but she was able to see the last sign he made for her. He stood with the rail between them again, put both hands together in the shape of a heart.
It was enough to make her lose it as she watched him climb the stairs. A heart. His? Hers? She waited, knowing this time she’d torn a muscle in her shoulder. The raw pain wasn’t easing like it had before. She clung with her left hand to the rope and balanced on her right foot—her left ankle now caught between the beam and the metal chute.
She couldn’t move and was completely helpless if the monster returned victorious.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brian turned his back and climbed the stairs. He left her, obviously needing to be cut down and gotten to safety, one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
The noise of the train had covered his entry through the door. Overhearing the exchange between Simmons and Lindsey caused him to take the bottom three steps to intervene when the murderer lost it. But the knife had disappeared and Lindsey was no longer threatened, allowing Brian to press against the wall and hide. Simmons had returned to the roof where Brian had seen him keeping watch.
Leaving Lindsey now,
dangerously hanging there, was tearing his guts out. It put another burr under his saddle as he took the steps two at a time.
It had been a long time since he’d climbed to the eagle’s nest—what they’d called the east peanut elevator as kids. He rushed through to the outside, remembering that the stairs turned back over the roof. He could see Simmons ahead of him, dressed in black, but showing up against the rusted tin roof as plain as day.
Hang on, Lindsey.
Since Simmons was running, he probably knew Brian was chasing him. They both pulled on the handrail, taking the stairs. The place had been structurally sound sixteen years ago when he’d gotten caught exploring. Now he could feel the joints giving way, wondering if the rusted bolts would pop with the weight of two grown men.
He took the last step to the metal grating, did a one-eighty, grabbed the ladder rungs to the top. Just as he raised his eyes, his opponent stopped, and Victor’s work boot caught him in the chin. He lost his grip, falling a couple of feet until he hooked his arm in the circular safety cage on the outside of the ladder.
Simmons couldn’t come down the ladder with Brian blocking it. It was the only way down. If he descended on the outside, Brian could still grab him. He heard Simmons scrambling around the far side of the catwalk.
The blurred vision from knocking his head cleared a bit. Once he knew Simmons was headed across the chute to the roof, Brian bent and twisted to get upright again. He grabbed a rung, then a second until he pulled himself free to follow.
As Simmons jumped the rail to descend to the roof, Brian twisted through the safety rail and slid to the warm tin in time to grab the man’s foot. Simmons kicked out. Brian avoided being hit by rolling to his side. He stopped and began racing up the steep slick metal. Brian caught the older man just as he straddled the building’s ridge to head down the other side.
Simmons lifted his leg to strike out again, but Brian kept hold. Victor D. Simmons may have been older, but he gave as good as a weakened Brian. They rolled, and Simmons threw himself to the west side of the roof. Brian didn’t let go and couldn’t stop the headfirst slide.