by Kimberly Rae
“We should check them out.” Steve re-tied the trash bags and was starting toward the wooden hives when he heard another blood-chilling scream. “What now?”
Quinn had his gun out already. “That sounded for real.” He took off and Steve followed, vowing next time to just take the woman to the mall. They came within sight of the car, but it was empty. Steve did a one-eighty turn and his jaw dropped when Stephanie bolted out the door of the trailer.
“What were you doing inside?” he asked.
She was pale as skim milk. “I tried closing my eyes and resting in the car, but I kept hearing sounds.” She gestured toward the trailer, then grabbed at his arm. “The door was open so I thought you were inside. I went in, but then I saw a spider. Two spiders. Huge ones.”
He was going to have to bribe Quinn to keep from telling this to everyone at the office. “Spiders?” he said. “You’re screaming about spiders?”
Quinn headed for the door. “If the door is unlocked, we might as well check it out, since the warrant is coming.”
Steve ignored the twinge of guilt. It wasn’t really a lie. The warrant would come. Eventually.
Quinn turned to Stephanie. “Do you want to come with us?”
“No.” She grabbed a handful of her hair in each fist, a sure sign she was, as she liked to put it, freaking out. On one of their first dates, she’d told him she was deathly afraid of spiders. He always thought she was exaggerating. “No, you couldn’t pay me to go back in there. I’ll wait here.”
He handed her the car keys. “At least go back to the car and turn the heater on. It’s got to be in the thirties out here.”
She accepted the keys and turned without another word to either of them. Steve could see even as she walked away that she continued to pull on her hair. He chewed the inside of his cheek and said to Quinn, “We’re dropping her off at the mall before we go anywhere else.” He pushed on the trailer’s front door and it swung open. “I guess we should go hunt down two spiders, or at least pretend to, for her peace of mind.”
“I’ll go in first,” Quinn offered. He pulled his gun but kept it at his side and Steve did the same. It sounded like spiders were the biggest threat inside the house, but they were trained to take precautions. If he’d been a criminal and heard a scream like Stephanie’s, he’d have been out the door in a second.
Quinn stepped inside. Steve entered behind him and coughed. “Uugh, do you smell that?”
His partner nodded. “Mold. Musty old carpet. Drugs. And ketchup. Gross combination. Wish I’d brought a mask.”
Steve stepped over an empty dog bed and took a look in the kitchen. The counters were lined with Styrofoam plates and cups, and bags of plastic silverware lay in a pile on the table. “Guess that explains the dishes in the trash.”
“Steve, you need to see this.”
He made his way out of the kitchen area toward the sound of Quinn’s voice. “Find a spider?”
“Not yet.”
“Then what did you—” Steve came to a halt and stared. “Oh, man.” On the far side from the couch, above a small square TV placed on a chair, the wall displayed at least twenty photographs of a slim woman with long, dark hair. The photos were taped to the wall with clear packaging tape. Every one of them had red marker slashed across the woman’s face in the shape of an X.
Quinn waved him over. “Look at the floor here.”
Six inches deep out from the baseboard under the photo wall, torn portions of more photos lay scattered on the floor. Quinn picked up several, then dropped them. “All the same girl,” he said. “Black straight hair. Mid-twenties I’d guess. Dresses professionally. The angles and distance of the photographs make me think of the kind of pictures our surveillance team gets from a distance.”
“So he’s either in the security business, or he’s stalking this girl.” Steve pointed at a few torn photo edges still taped to the wall. “Between the red Xs and the fact that he ripped at least half of the photos off the wall and tore them up, it’s not a big leap to assume his obsession with her didn’t turn out the way he’d hoped.”
“We should find out who this woman is. She may be in danger.”
Steve picked up one of the smaller torn photos. “We can’t run facial recognition on any of these pictures. Her face is just a red X.” He crossed the room to the two remaining doors. One led to a small bathroom. The other was locked. “Why would a guy leave his front door unlocked, but lock his bedroom door?”
Quinn put his nose close to the door. “I don’t smell a dead body. We need that warrant. When’s Phil going to get here?”
Guilt flickered again at the look Quinn gave him when Steve admitted the warrant wouldn’t be ready until Monday. “We’ll come back first thing Monday,” Steve said. “I have a feeling we’ll find something important behind this door. For now we can take some of those photos in for prints.”
“We can’t take anything, Steve. You know that. And we need to leave now.”
“But this girl might be in trouble.” Steve waited for Quinn to cave but he didn’t. “Fine. Let’s get out of here.” On his way back through the living room, Steve noticed a framed photo on a table next to the couch. “Maybe there’s a face on this one,” he said, coming closer and picking up the frame. His mind seemed to stall at the familiar face, then pedaled double time. He quickly set the photo back in its original place. Another frame lay face down next to it. He picked it up and looked at the photograph of a smiling woman with her arm around a young boy. “This must be the mother,” he said. “Let’s find a photo of Darla Moore once we’re back in the office and verify this is her.”
Quinn frowned, but he took a picture of the photo with his phone, then nodded his chin toward the framed picture that was still upright. “She’s not the girl on the wall, is she?”
Steve shook his head. “No, she isn’t.”
“Should I take a photo of her, too?”
“No need to.” Steve put the mother’s picture face down again on the table and turned to go. “Her name is Meagan Winston, and we’re going to her house right now.”
30
Saturday, January 3
11:30 a.m.
Raymond’s jacket provided little barrier against the cold, but even still Lucias found himself sweating. He parked outside Meagan’s home and went around to the passenger side to get the flowers. The door screeched and complained, but Lucias pried it open, got the vase in hand, and kicked the door shut. He looked under the flowers to make sure the powder had dissolved. Seven steps got him to the porch stairs. Another six brought him to the front door. He adjusted his jacket, checked his wig, and held the vase down so he could best see her face when she opened the door.
He leaned to the right and used his elbow to ring the doorbell. “Coming!” a feminine voice called, and Lucias’ heart pounded so hard the flowers in his hands vibrated from the force.
The door opened and Lucias’ smile dissolved just like the red powder. “Where is Meagan?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
The woman was older than Meagan and seemed vaguely familiar. She might work at Meagan’s shop. Silently, inside his head, he ordered Raymond to remember they were supposed to sound like professionals. “I have a delivery for Miss Meagan Winston,” he said. “Can I bring it inside? It’s heavy.”
The red-haired woman looked at him in that judging, suspicious way and Lucias felt his fists want to clench. He saw his old co-workers’ faces, their hesitation and fear. He hadn’t let them stop him then and wouldn’t let this woman stop him now.
A male voice called from somewhere out of sight. “Let him in, Kelsey,” the voice said. “Bring the flowers in here so I can see them.”
With that invitation, Lucias moved forward, forcing the woman to step back and allow him to pass. The warmth inside the home made the fragrance of the flowers more potent. Meagan was going to love them. The woman directed him to an adjoining room where an old man sat in a recliner with his feet propped up. Lucia
s knew he was Meagan’s grandfather from all those nights watching through their bay window with his binoculars. “Well, now, that’s a vase a flowers,” the man said, folding and setting aside the newspaper in his hands. “Do I need to sign for them or anything?”
“No.” Lucias held tight to the vase. “They are for Meagan. I need to give them to her. Where is her room?” He had seen most of the downstairs of her home over the past two years, but he’d never seen inside her upstairs bedroom. Was it a girly color like pink, or a passionate color like red? Did she have pictures hanging on the wall? Were there any pictures of him?
No, there couldn’t be. Every flight but that last one, he’d been in disguise. He should mail her a photograph to put on her wall. Of him, Lucias Maddox Moore. She could put it up next to a picture of her, and they’d be together, the beginning of forever.
The woman’s voice interrupted his happy thoughts. “Meagan’s not here right now.” Lucias did not like her. Her presence, the way she looked at him, made him nervous.
“When will she be back?” He could wait. He could sit on the porch and wait all day. If they made him leave, he could wait in the car. He’d refuse to give the flowers to anyone but her.
“Don’t know,” the old man said. “She’s off with that soldier of hers and didn’t say when they’d be back.”
He almost dropped the vase. “The sol-soldier?”
“Cole Fleming.” The man reached for the card in the bouquet but Lucias pulled back. “Are the flowers from him? He’s a fast mover.”
They are not from Cole Fleming! Lucias almost shouted. They are not from anyone but me! Lucias was the one who loved her. Lucias was the person she belonged with. How dare she go somewhere with another man?
“I thought he got killed in an accident,” Lucias said, his voice coming out a little too high to be casual.
“Where did you hear that?” The woman tried to get him to look into her eyes. Lucias turned his back on her, but not before he saw her suspicion grow into something like fear. His palms went clammy and he had to set the vase down before he dropped it.
“I have to go,” he said. His disappointment was beyond expression. The man he’d run off the road was still alive, and he was with Meagan. Lucias did not even know where she was. How could he watch over her, protect her, if she ran off like that?
He jerked open the door and stomped down the porch steps back to his car. Something had to be done. And soon. Cole Fleming had ruined his perfect moment and would have to face the consequences.
Killing him hadn’t worked, but death wasn’t the only way to destroy a person.
31
Saturday, January 3
11:45 a.m.
Meagan’s stomach hurt. Poor Sadie had one day a week to spend with her brother, and Meagan had ruined it. Why hadn’t she thought of the fact that talking about selling drugs in a recovery facility was foolish?
But at the time she and Cole had been alone in the kitchen. She had not guessed her words would be overheard. She drove home praying for help. Her life had been so good. Secure and predictable, just the way she liked it. Now she felt like Joseph in the book of Genesis, unjustly accused and—
Wait. Joseph got thrown in jail and was there for years before being let out. On second thought, she didn’t want to associate with Joseph’s situation at all. “God, are you trying to teach me something through this? Is it a test of some kind? What am I supposed to do?”
The quiet joy of her home coming into sight was therapeutic. She’d go inside and make some hot chocolate, and ask Pops to tell her a story of the good old days. She might even take a nap.
She parked in her usual spot in front of the shed, deliberately not looking at the dilapidated structure. So many things needed to be fixed, painted, repaired, but that took either personal skill or money to pay the people with the skills. She had neither. The shed would collapse one day and she’d have to deal with it then, but hopefully that day would not come anytime soon. She had enough to handle right now.
Cole parked his car, or rather Steve’s car, next to hers. He stepped out and closed the door with his left hand. He winced and Meagan approached to say, “You need to see somebody about that hand.”
“It’s fine.”
“Yeah, that’s what Pops says about his legs. And his first heart attack wasn’t really a heart attack. Like the two other ones don’t count if the first one didn’t.” She crossed her arms. “You need to go to a doctor.”
“Doctors don’t see patients on Saturday.”
“Go to Urgent Care then.”
“Trust me, Meagan.” He held the bandaged hand in his good one. “I’ve had a lot worse. This is not a big deal.”
She saw him lift his shoulder and move it in a slow rotation. “Is that where you got hurt in Baghdad?” She reached out and almost touched him but her hand stopped to hover near his shoulder.
He frowned and she put her palms up. “Sorry, I forgot that subject is off limits. Can I ask you a question about Sadie though?”
His head dipped once in a slight nod.
“Why is she in Shady Grove? I mean, what happened to make her need to go there?”
He turned away from her and leaned his forearms on the top of the car. “Someone drugged her and her friends at a slumber party, then while they were under the influence, took pictures of them.”
She put a hand to her mouth. “You mean...”
His face showed deep pain when he looked back at her. “Internet pornography.” He turned away. “She was twelve.”
Meagan stepped closer and put her hand on the tense muscles of his arm. “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered.
He looked at her and his voice carried agony. “It was.”
She reached up with her other hand and wrapped her gloved fingers around his tightly gripped fist. “But Sadie said—” Meagan heard gravel shifting and looked to see a maroon Toyota Camry coming down the drive. “What—” She lowered her hands and put them in the pockets of her coat, her question left unfinished. They stood in silence while the car came near and parked facing the house. After squinting to look through the tinted windows, she asked, “Is that—”
“Steve.”
The ache in her stomach spread. “Did you ask him to come here?”
“No.”
Steve stepped from the car, along with another man, and both made their way to where Meagan and Cole stood. “What are you doing here?” Steve asked Cole.
“I—” Cole looked at Meagan, then back at Steve. “What are you doing here?”
“We found some important evidence,” the other man said. “Hey, you’re the guy who called in about the grey Oldsmobile, right?” He put his hand out and shook Cole’s. “I’m Quinn Phillips. Good work. We traced the car to Florida, then back here to a guy who—”
“Don’t tell them anything, Quinn,” Steve ordered, his mouth tight. “One of them is still a suspect and the other isn’t on the case with us anymore.”
Cole stood upright, Steve stepped forward to face him, and Meagan watched the unspoken challenge pass between the two men. She had no desire to try to break up a fight. “If you didn’t come here to tell us what you found, what did you come here for?” she asked Steve.
The front door to the house opened and Kelsey stood in the doorway. She called out, “Your grandfather says to bring them inside, Meagan. You all must be freezing.”
Steve looked at Meagan. “You might as well let us come in. I’ll have a warrant to search your house by Monday.”
She stepped back and wished she could lean on the solid wall of Cole’s chest behind her. “You don’t need a warrant. I’ve told you I’m not part of this. Search all you want.”
With a nod toward his partner, Steve led the way to the house and they both flashed their badges and introduced themselves to Kelsey as they stepped inside. Cole touched her arm and said quietly, “I told you I wouldn’t ask to come in, so I’ll say goodbye for now. Thanks for coming with me this morning.”
>
Meagan looked at the front door, left open after the two men entered. She should go shut it before Pops caught a draft. “I was going to offer to re-bandage your hand, since you’re a stubborn male and refuse to go to the doctor.” She had decided Cole Fleming was a man worth trusting. Here was a test to see if she really believed it. “You can—you can come in.”
“Are you sure?”
She bit her lip, but nodded. He walked with her up the porch steps and into her grandfather’s home. The thought of the FBI searching inside the house did not make her stomach feel any better. It was foolish, she knew, but she felt more secure having Cole there with her.
Steve stood in front of Pops, an eight-by-ten printed photo in hand. “Have you ever seen this man before?”
Meagan came to stand beside his recliner and looked at the picture, surprised to see it was the man in the plaid suit from the plane surveillance. Quinn had said they’d found evidence. Were they pursuing someone other than her?
Hope built inside her until her grandfather said without hesitation, “Sure have. He was here just this morning.”
“What?” Meagan asked in disbelief. Steve looked at her with open suspicion. “What do you mean, Pops?”
“He brought flowers. Got pretty unhappy when I told him you weren’t here.”
Kelsey entered the room and looked from her grandfather sitting in his recliner to the men standing in front of him. She crossed to where Cole stood near the fireplace. “You said the car that had been following Meagan was a grey Oldsmobile, right?”
Cole nodded, his eyes studying Meagan. “That’s right.”
Meagan felt like her mind switched to slow motion when Kelsey said, “Some guy brought you an enormous, gaudy vase of flowers this morning. He wanted to put them in your bedroom.”
She shivered. “Did you let him?”
“Of course not.” Kelsey stepped from the room and returned with a huge pink vase. An eclectic combination of large flowers stemmed out from it in all directions. She set the vase on the coffee table in the center of the room and they all stared at it. “Meagan, he knew about Cole’s car accident. He got all flustered when he found out Cole wasn’t dead, and when I asked him how he knew about the accident, he said he had to go.” She walked to the bay window and looked out. “I watched him. He drove a grey Oldsmobile.” She glanced back at Steve and Quinn. “I wrote down the license number if you want it.”