It was past ten. Judy was officially missing.
Didn’t bother Rick in the least that he paced like a caged animal outside the office building while arson detectives did their job. The only injured people in the building were from the floor where the first bomb exploded. No doubt now it was set . . . along with smoke bombs placed in various parts of the building.
The whole thing was a diversion . . . a distraction to remove Judy. He knew it the moment he heard about the blast. Now it was confirmed.
In a van parked beside that of the media who’d finished their live shots for the late news, sat Russell and Dennis, who were searching the feeds generated from the office before the explosion.
The first sign of Detectives Raskin and Perozo resulted in Neil holding Rick back as they approached.
“You son of a bitch. Spent all your time on the wrong guy and now she’s missing.”
Raskin held up his hand. “Everyone is looking for her.”
The hell. Like that’s enough!
Dean stepped in and pulled the detectives out of the way.
From the van, Russell called Rick over. “What do you have?”
“This is the last few minutes before the explosion.”
They’d seen it before, but it didn’t have sound.
Judy stood with her back to the camera, bent over her desk.
A kid, midtwenties at best, filled the cubicle doorway. “Miss Gardner?” The sound was muffled.
“Can you turn that up?”
Russell upped the volume.
“I have a delivery for Mr. Archer.” The kid had a box in his hand. Looked away for a moment and then back again.
“He’s gone today. I’ll take it for him.” Nothing looked out of the ordinary with the exchange.
“What happened?” Judy’s sweet voice stroked Rick’s heart.
The kid jumped back, pushed his hand behind him. Nervous. He’s anxious.
Rick peered closer . . . watched Judy leave her cubicle with the package while the kid promised to come back to have her sign for the package.
“I don’t see much here, Russell.”
“Wait.”
The footage was void of anything, and within seconds the explosion was heard and screams of people reacting to it filled the footage. Strobe lights and fire alarms blared.
Mitch moved into the frame as he passed the people running toward the stairs. Judy wasn’t seen in the mass exit. Neither was the kid.
Rick clenched his fists. “Rewind that to get a clear shot of this guy.”
“Got it.”
Rick sent a whistle in the air and captured Michael’s attention. He motioned the man over, pointed at the image on the screen. “Ever see this guy when you’ve visited Judy?”
He shook his head. “Can’t tell you.” Michael turned around, waved to a few people he had been standing next to.
Rick recognized Judy’s boss. Debra Miller sat huddled under someone’s oversize coat.
Michael directed the woman’s attention to the screen. “Do you know this guy?”
Debra looked closer. “A courier. I think. Delivers stuff but doesn’t work for us.”
“Know his name?”
She shrugged. “My secretary handles deliveries.”
Much as Rick hated to bring in Raskin and Perozo . . . they had an entire police force to tap into where he and Neil didn’t. “Dean?” Rick called his friend over. “I need to know who this guy is.”
Dean stood beside Raskin and Perozo as they watched the footage.
“He doesn’t leave the building.” Dean stated the very observation the rest of them had made.
“Neither does Judy.”
If I show fear, he’ll exploit it. That was obvious when he’d spread peanut-butter-covered bread close to her . . . taking great pleasure in smearing the sticky stuff above her knee. Why had she picked a skirt today?
She couldn’t determine the time, but her stomach growled and her eyes were having a hard time staying open. If not for the fear of closing them, and the need to pee, she would be asleep already.
The first rat took the peanut butter offering, bringing her wide awake in a heartbeat. Her back stiffened against the old metal box she was propped up against. From the corner, she watched Mitch eating the bread as if it were popcorn.
She shoved the rat away with her foot, and found another one willing to come in close for the food. Her first scream moved them along . . . but the second didn’t do much other than make them pause before finding the food.
Her eyes locked on the four foot-long varmints fighting over the food when she felt something brush against her hand. It jumped, landed on her lap, and Judy lost it.
The rat squealed, its tiny feet clawed into her bare thigh. Her screams didn’t stop the tiny beast as it scented the food and ran in circles. A flash of light blinded her.
The bastard was taking pictures of her.
Only with the bright light, the rats scurried into the dark.
“Priceless,” Mitch managed.
Judy kept screaming. Someone had to be nearby . . . someone would hear her.
Mitch lifted his voice to match hers. Yelled the word help at the top of his voice.
“Do you think I’m that stupid, General? I assure you, I’m not.” He advanced then, dropped his hands to her ankles, which were covered by her long boots, and kept her from kicking him. With a free hand, he covered the peanut butter and smeared it up her thigh.
She couldn’t stop the few tears that spilled, but she didn’t cry out when he pinched her by squeezing her bare skin.
“It was only a game,” she told him.
His hand slid higher, his face grew dark.
Judy forced her eyes to his, clenched her back teeth together, refusing to respond.
“Is this a game, General?” Higher he went.
He loved her tension . . . enjoyed her pain.
Judy sucked in a deep breath and willed her limbs to relax. She even forced a smile past her drying tears.
His eyes searched hers and he shoved his hands between her thighs.
She squeezed her toes inside her boots and never stopped staring at his dark eyes, didn’t let him see her fear.
He jerked away, his hand leaving her only to rap his fist against her jaw. She went with the punch just as Rick had told her to. The taste of blood trickled in her mouth.
Instead of provoking another punch, she kept her eyes to the side of the room.
Mitch stood and moved back to his corner.
Dean and his posse of detectives were waking up the courier company that delivered packages in an effort to learn more about Mitch.
As they did this, Neil and Rick found a link on the game.
Dainty Destroyer was the gamer tag of a woman who called herself Michelle. Only when Neil and Rick looked over the Facebook page where Michelle spoke with Judy up until the first attack, they didn’t find any evidence that Michelle was a woman. There weren’t any pictures on the profile . . . just random postings of flowers and cats. She did respond with a comment or two on Judy’s page where Judy had posted pictures of her graduation. I didn’t know Michael Wolfe was your brother.
Judy’s response was a simple Shh, don’t mention that on the game.
“How fast can we get an ID on this person?” Rick asked Neil.
“Through the right channels? Monday?”
Rick simmered. “Through the wrong channels?”
Dennis had an earpiece in. Their resident hacker clicked away. “Working on it.”
Dean stepped up to the van. “They’re letting us in.”
Rick waved a finger in Dennis’s direction. “Keep looking.”
Rick stood shoulder to shoulder with Dean as they marched past the police line, ducked under the tape, and jogged into the building. They started at the site of the first explosion. Looked like an equipment room of some kind. Burned-out monitors, lots of trashed wires.
“Guess what this was?”
Rick glanced above
him, noticed a lack of cameras, stepped outside and found a few burned-out ones. “Surveillance.”
“So the guy took out the cameras first.”
“Only he wasn’t expecting ours.”
“Right,” Dean said as they started up the main stairway. At the seventh floor, Dean gripped the banister and waved Rick along. “Go. I’ll catch up.”
Rick ran the rest of the way, felt the burn in his lungs, and ignored it as he pushed into Judy’s floor. Emergency lights were the only thing working, giving very little light to a space he’d only ever seen filled with people.
He stepped into Judy’s cubicle, stood exactly where she had when the courier approached her. Rick turned, mimicking their conversation, and stepped around the flimsy office wall and a few steps down the hall to Mr. Archer’s office.
The door was open. Rick removed a flashlight from his pocket and followed a line down the frame, noticed something lying on the floor below the jamb. He bent down, noticed a metal fragment and searched for where it originated. By the lock, the door was scarred, as was the threshold. As if the metal on the floor somehow kept the door from opening. Rick glanced around the office, noticed the package Judy had taken from their suspect.
He heard Dean sucking in a breath from outside the door. “Careful,” he warned. “Looks like the door was locked from the outside.” He shone his light on the floor for Dean to see.
While Dean investigated that, Rick walked over to the desk and laid his light to shine on the package.
It was addressed to Mr. Archer but didn’t have a return address. Using a letter opener, Rick tilted the box over and dug into the tape sealing the package.
Dean moved beside him, held his breath.
Rick opened the box, noticed several papers inside.
Before the first one slid onto the desk, he recognized a photo of Judy’s red dress . . . her hat as she ducked into the limo.
“Damn it.”
Dean used a pen on the desk and spread the images out. They were all of Judy. Several were cut up.
The phone in Rick’s ear buzzed.
He clicked on. “Talk to me.”
“We have an address.”
Rick bolted from the room.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rick and Neil rolled up to the property that held two living spaces divided by a chain-link fence. The front house had lights blazing and evidence of children’s toys scattered in the yard. The back house, the one they focused on, appeared empty. Seconds after they skidded to a halt, Raskin and Perozo moved in behind them.
The detectives left their blue lights flashing on the car while Rick ran toward the back of the house. The place was dark, no car in the drive. Holding his weapon in front of him, Rick nodded toward the back of the structure.
Neil moved around the house.
“Back off,” Raskin told Rick, his own weapon pointed toward the ground.
In his ear, Neil said, “It’s dark back here. Don’t think he’s home.”
“Roger.” Rick ignored the detective and rapped his finger on the door. “Hey, Mitch?” Rick yelled at the closed door.
There wasn’t a response.
“Still nothing,” Neil reported. “What are the chances he booby-trapped this place?”
“What are the chances Judy’s inside?” Rick asked.
Raskin heard Rick’s question, motioned toward the front house, where a woman and a child peered through the kitchen window. “I need to get them out of there.”
Rick nodded. “Go.”
Less than a minute later, the family from the front house were shuffled away. Perozo huddled next to the neighbor’s car. “They haven’t seen him since this morning.”
She’s not here.
“Back up,” he told Neil in his mic. “Just in case.”
“We need a search warrant,” Raskin managed from the side of the front house.
Every minute Judy was missing was one too long.
“You need a search warrant.” He wiggled the handle, just in case it wasn’t locked. It was. “I don’t.” Rick lifted his foot to the door, busted through the lock. The door crashed against the frame.
When no explosion ruined what was already the worst day of his life, Rick led with his gun aimed into the room. He flipped a light switch on the wall and stopped cold.
Judy was everywhere.
Images tacked, stapled . . . strung around the room.
“Holy hell,” he heard Raskin say behind him.
Mitch Larson had only lived in the converted garage for a few months . . . that was according to the tenants of the front house. He didn’t have parties, came at strange times but never seemed to have anyone around so the people in the front house didn’t pay him much attention.
Seeing Judy on every wall, every surface, told Rick how sick the man who had her was. It also gave him hope she was still alive. Because as much as he was beating down any possible emotion that resembled grief, it lingered above his head like a cloud. Statistically, Judy was already dead.
When his mind went there, he pushed it away.
Hold on, baby. I’m coming.
They were closer. Though she wasn’t sitting in Larson’s rented space, they were closer to knowing the man who had her.
Police filled the space, lights flashed outside the residence like white noise from rain.
Several images kept playing in his head, pictures of Judy with the word General written over them in a juvenile hand, images of her home . . . the office building where she worked. There were even a few shots of her outside of Zach and Karen’s house taken the night of the fundraiser. Pictures taken by a private camera and not something printed in the local paper or gossip magazine. So Mitch had been watching her since then.
The images of her prior to coming to California were taken off the Internet, mainly with Michael in the shot and generated by the media.
The office building shots caught his attention. They didn’t hold images of Judy, just the building. The bastard had even taken pictures of the place he attacked her the first time. Question was, did he take the shots before or after he’d attacked her?
Outside Mitch’s place, Dennis and Russell were inside the van with Neil . . . all working hard to find out any information they could about Mitch Larson.
Rick’s gaze met that of a picture taken of Judy and Mike outside the café close to her office. She wasn’t wearing what she’d left the house in today, so the picture had to have been taken long before. In his ear, he heard Neil’s voice.
“He’s wannabe military.”
The information didn’t come as a surprise. “How wannabe?” he said into the mic, ignoring the detectives around him who were swiping for prints and photographing the scene.
“Enlisted only to feel the sting of rejection six months in. Army. Had a psychotic break while on a training mission.” Neil delivered the facts without emotion.
Rick diverted his attention away from the photographs. “What kind of break?”
“Challenged a superior officer. Female. Went through a series of tests and was discharged.”
“Dishonorable.”
“Is there another way six months in without an injury?”
“What else do we know?” Rick turned back to the images, knew something was there . . . he just needed to find it. Only the pictures were floor to ceiling and many were carved into while others had dried blood smeared all over them.
“He’s crazy, not stupid. Excelled in intelligence and details. First clue he wasn’t balanced was his desire to get close to his enemy. Guns aren’t his thing.”
Rick thought of the scars on Judy’s arm. “He likes knives.”
Neil paused. “Yeah.”
Rick knew a trip to the dentist was inevitable with how much he was grinding his back teeth. “Get close to your enemy. Feel their pain, their fear.”
Neil waited a second . . . maybe it was two. “We’re going to find her, Smiley.”
More images of the office building filled
the wall of Larson’s bedroom.
The sick fuck slept in here . . . imagined whatever it was he was doing to Judy right now.
He had no intention of bringing her back here.
The room was littered with Judy’s image. Some were taken at the Beverly Hills home where even now her brothers and friends waited for any word on her well-being.
It was well past three in the morning, so no one was at the office except the lingering fire department and police that would guard the place until first light. Until arson could poke around with fresh eyes and a new outlook. None of them were actually looking for a missing wife.
Only Rick. He was looking for his wife.
The woman he married and swore to protect.
The thought of telling her father he didn’t find her in time ate at him. The thought of her lying lifeless . . . finding her dead and abused.
Rick closed his eyes and blew out a slow breath.
No.
He opened his eyes again, tuned out the noise around him, and focused. The wall in Larson’s bedroom showed images of Judy everywhere. Rick looked beyond the woman he loved . . . looked at the world surrounding her.
The office building loomed in many images.
The parking garage. Empty. Dirty.
The office.
Empty halls of concrete and grime. Every tenth image was of an abandoned space. In many were pictures of Judy cut out and standing, sitting in the space.
Cut up.
Bloody.
Rick touched the device in his ear. “Is there a basement in the building Judy works in?”
Neil said one word. “Checking.”
A few second later he heard him reply. “New building. No basement.”
Raskin tapped Rick’s shoulder. He jumped.
“I owe you an apology.”
Rick glared at the man. “You owe me more than that.”
Raskin offered a nod, turned back to the images in the room. Both of them worked to find her. Rick felt that now.
Dean stood in the corner of the room, fatigue sat behind his eyes like a drug.
None of them did anything other than drink bad coffee and keep looking for something . . . anything.
Taken by Tuesday (Weekday Brides Series) Page 25