Already Gone (A Laura Frost FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 1)

by Blake Pierce

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Laura shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket as she walked, trying to keep the pace brisk. The longer she lingered in any one spot, the higher the possibility that she would wind up leading herself right into a vision, and she couldn’t afford to see anything that didn’t affect the case right now.

  Of course, there was also the possibility that walking this fast would put her into the path of someone else and trigger a vision anyway, but Laura could hope.

  She didn’t know where she was going and barely remembered how far she had walked already, but she was stuck in a cycle in her mind that she couldn’t seem to break. First, she would try not to think of anything at all. To clear her mind. Instead, she would end up seeing the face of the poor dying woman from her vision, the woman she knew would be killed tonight.

  And she would think about that woman, helpless and alone right now, maybe even dying right now. Or lying already dead, waiting for someone to find her. And Laura would feel sick to her stomach, and powerless, and she would clench her fists to stop herself from crying.

  And then the rest of it would pile in afterward: the knowledge that she couldn’t save anyone right now. The shadow of death hanging over Nate, which hadn’t given her a vision. Which might not give her a vision for months.

  And from there, onward to Amy, little Amy trapped with her father and in need of help. Maybe in need of help even now. Laura would remember what she had seen and the sickness would roil in her stomach again, and she would wonder what the hell she was doing here in Albany instead of back in DC trying to make sure none of it ever happened.

  Because no matter which way she turned, Laura was needed. She had to do something to stop all of these awful things from happening, because she was the only one who knew that they would. But she couldn’t keep all of these plates spinning in the air. She couldn’t report crimes that hadn’t yet happened, and she couldn’t be everywhere at once.

  She had to choose who to help, and when.

  Laura felt something at the bottom of her pocket and pulled it out. She hadn’t worn the jacket during the warm days of summer, and it was only in flying out here that she’d pulled it out of the closet; she couldn’t even remember when the last time she wore it would have been. Looking at the disc between her fingers, Laura realized what it was: a sixty-day chip.

  She’d only ever made it to the full sixty days once, so it wasn’t hard to recall when she’d put it there. And then, like every other time, she’d fallen off the wagon.

  She could do with falling off the wagon right now.

  How else was she supposed to cope with this awful knowledge, these terribly images that kept flashing behind her eyelids, than having a drink? If she went to a bar right now, she could order something cheap and strong and feel the burn as it slid down her throat. Before long, she would forget about the visions, forget about the people who needed her. She didn’t get visions at all when she was drunk either. It drowned everything out. She needed to drown everything out.

  But Laura only spurred herself to walk faster as she dug her cell phone out of the other pocket. She hit the speed dial—the one number she would need the most in emergency situations—and waited for it to connect.

  “Laura,” he said, answering the call. “This is late, even for you. It’s past midnight already.”

  Laura took a deep breath. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry, Garth. I just needed you to talk me down.”

  He chuckled. “Well, that’s what I’m here for.”

  It was true. Garth Rupertson was Laura’s AA sponsor; they’d met when she first starting going to meetings and hit it off, although it wasn’t as though Laura had been to a lot of them lately. She vacillated between being too ashamed to show her face and admit she’d been drinking again, too busy with a case, and too overconfident that this time she was going to stay sober without help. Garth was always there for her in the moments between, when she was able to accept she still needed a hand—and to reach out for one.

  “I’ve been out walking for half an hour,” she said, partly to explain why she was breathing a little faster than normal. “I can’t stop thinking about how much easier everything would be if I just went out and had a drink.”

  “Would it?” Garth asked. He had a hint of amusement in his voice. “Will it be easier to deal with everything you’re doing right now, as well as a hangover? Will it be easier to work if you can’t walk in a straight line or remember anything you did for the past twenty-four hours?”

  “No,” Laura admitted, but Garth wasn’t even done.

  “Will you find things easier to deal with when you’ve lost your job because you were drunk on duty? You are on duty, right?”

  “I’m working a case in Albany,” Laura admitted. She wrapped her free arm around herself against the night’s chill. “No, it wouldn’t make things easier. Not in the long run. I know.”

  “What are you dealing with right now?” Garth asked, then continued before she could interrupt to fob him off. “Now, I know you can’t tell me the details of an active case. Just in general, Laura. Are you feeling overwhelmed?”

  “Yes,” she said. “There’s so much pressure. Right now, I’m the only one who can do anything about this—this danger. If I don’t stop the person we’re chasing down, then people will die.”

  “Now, that’s not quite right,” Garth said. “I know it isn’t. You’ve told me before you have that wonderful partner of yours. The one who doesn’t judge you for your past mistakes, isn’t that him? And he’s a good agent, too, the way you tell it. You’re saying he doesn’t share any responsibility at all for doing this work?”

  “Of course he does,” Laura said, closing her eyes for a moment before refocusing on the sidewalk. There were so many times in her life when it would be so much easier if people understood where she was coming from. Saw that she really was the only person who could do what she could do. “It’s just—the pressure is still on. We have different leads to follow, and if I don’t get mine right, this guy ends up walking free for longer.”

  That, at least, was close enough to the truth.

  “So, you’ve got to do your job right, and you will,” Garth replied, his voice steady and reasonable. “But stop discounting your partner. He’s got his part to play as well. And if you make a mistake, that’s what he’s there for—to catch it.”

  “I get it,” Laura said, and sighed. In spite of the fact that she wanted to argue, Garth was right. Nate was a good agent. If she didn’t get a lucky break with a vision, that didn’t mean they would never solve the case. He was just as capable at chasing down a lead as she was.

  Now, anyway. While he was still here. Laura shuddered, remembering that aura of death that surrounded him and hugging herself tighter.

  “You don’t sound convinced, Laura,” Garth said. “Talk to me.”

  “I just want a drink,” she said, her voice cracking. “I know there are so many reasons not to. But it’s not…”

  “Not logical. I know.” Garth paused, and when he began to speak again, his voice had a cadence that Laura recognized as him settling into one of his Life Lesson Moments. “I’ve been sober for twenty-one years, Laura. Since I was around your age. Do you know what I think, every time something bad happens?”

  “No,” Laura said, prompting him impatiently when he didn’t go on.

  “I think, I could really do with a drink.” Garth paused to let that sink in. “Twenty-one years. But, see, here’s the thing. You’ve got to build yourself a wall of reasons. Not just one thing, or two things. You need this giant wall of reasons that stands between you and that bottle. So that if any of those reasons get taken away, the wall still stands. Do you understand me?”

  “I think so,” Laura said. Her pace had started to slow down. She kicked a loose stone and made herself jump as it skittered away from her, out into the road.

  “Right now, you’re trying to get sober for your daughter, and that’s great. It’s amazing.
Kids—they’re one of the best reasons in the world to fight those inner demons.” Garth paused again. Laura rankled at these long pauses of his. If she didn’t appreciate his guidance so much, she would be telling him to hurry the hell up. “But, Laura, one reason won’t keep you sober. It won’t. It can crumble so easily. You mess up by showing up late to a court appointment, you realize you’ve let your little girl down, and there you are—you might as well have a drink and really finish the job off. You know? I know you’ve been there.”

  Laura sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. He was right. She had.

  “So, you’ve got to work on this. Come to meetings when you’re home. Build yourself up a wall of reasons. And every time you think about having a drink, instead of going out for one, start building up that wall. Think about all of the reasons you can’t have a drink right now.”

  Laura nodded, even though Garth couldn’t see her. “Okay,” she said, at length, realizing that he was done and not just leaving one of his long pauses.

  “All right.” Garth took a breath. “Now, you go ahead and work on that. You call me again if it’s not working. And, Laura? For goodness’ sake, go to your motel or wherever it is you’re staying. It must be freezing out there.”

  Laura half-laughed. “Yeah, it is,” she said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. She turned her steps back in the direction she’d come, trying to remember the way back. “All right. Thanks, Garth.”

  She ended the call, slipping the phone back into her pocket as she took a deep breath and thought about the walk she had ahead of her. A pang of homesickness hit her: being at home in her own bed would be fabulous right about now. And hearing her daughter’s voice. Maybe tomorrow she could try Marcus again, see if he would let her talk to Lacey. Even for a moment. Even to hear her voice in the background of the call.

  She must have pressed a button on the side of her cell phone as she put it away, because it buzzed in her hand.

  But then it buzzed a second time—and a third.

  Laura grabbed it back out of her pocket, realizing that it was ringing. She checked the caller ID and began to walk back to the motel faster even as she answered. “Nate?”

  “Why aren’t you in your motel room?” It was him, all right, and he sounded irritated. Laura didn’t doubt that he had been woken up from what would have been a pretty short nap. “It doesn’t matter. Get back here now. We’ve got another body.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Laura leaned her head, looking out of the car window at the building as they pulled up outside it. There was no need to ask which building they were looking for. The sheriff’s cars and the deputies milling around gave it away, as did the ambulance.

  “This is different,” she said, as Nate put the car into park. “A house, not an apartment.”

  “Let’s go see what else he’s changed,” Nate said grimly, getting out and walking around to her side as they crossed the sidewalk together. “Third time proves the rules, after all.”

  Laura nodded, her head heavy. Nate was right; this was an opportunity to see which elements were truly tells of their killer’s MO, and which were coincidence. But Laura already knew what they were going to see when they went in there—or at least who.

  She couldn’t recognize the building from the outside. It looked like any normal family home: a short driveway with enough room for one car, three windows on the front side, one solid-looking door. She didn’t know the bearded man who was standing to the left of the entrance with his arms folded across his chest, a look of faded and strained grief frozen on his face. But she knew that she was going to recognize the victim.

  Nate flashed a badge and then followed one of the sheriff’s men into the house, down a hall to the kitchen. This was where the majority of the activity was taking place: a crime scene photographer was flashing images of the body, and white-suited forensics professionals were taking samples from the rest of the room before starting in on the victim herself.

  Laura felt no joy at the fact that the woman lying on the floor next to her fridge was the same one from her vision. That feeling of déjà vu lingered, though this time she wasn’t concerned by it: she’d seen this vision twice, after all. This was her third visit to the home. Of course she would feel like she’d seen it all before.

  Perhaps she should at least have felt glad. It meant that she was getting closer to the killer: the vision had been much more clear, given her so much more detail. And it had been accurate.

  But Laura would have given away all of that progress in a heartbeat if it meant that this woman didn’t have to die.

  “There you are,” Sheriff Lonsdale said, turning his gray eyes on them as they stepped inside the room. Nate took up most of the doorway until he moved to one side, allowing Laura to stand by the sheriff and look down on the grisly scene. The woman’s neck was marked by ugly red marks where the dish towel had slipped away. “This is the work of the same guy, no doubt. The lady here is Nadia. Her son was sleeping upstairs while she was strangled to death.”

  Laura’s heart clenched desperately at his words. They were said so casually as to sound bitter; Sheriff Lonsdale, too, seemed to find the situation deplorable. But Laura’s pain hit twice as hard, then three times. Once, for Lacey. Twice, for the other little girl she hadn’t yet been able to rescue: Amy. Laura thought of either of them dealing with the loss of a parent and it made her blink back tears. Mostly because Lacey effectively had—and Amy was going to.

  “Is he okay?” she asked, one hand going up to her chest.

  “Oh, yes,” Lonsdale said, his voice softening as he looked her over, realizing he had caused unnecessary worry with his words. “Yes, the little lad is fine. His father came home and found the body, and the boy was still sound asleep up there, none the wiser. He’s been taken to a neighbor.”

  “It looks to have all the usual hallmarks,” Nate commented, seemingly unaffected by their conversation. He didn’t have children, Laura thought, uncharitably. A moment later she reprimanded herself. The boy was fine. Nate was getting on with the job of getting justice for his mother. “I can’t see anything that stands out as different.”

  “Me either,” Laura said, swallowing hard and fighting to come back to a professional standard. Of course, she knew firsthand that nothing was different. She’d seen it.

  “Well, shall we go talk to the husband?” Nate asked. “Get his statement before he collapses?”

  “Good idea,” the sheriff said, gesturing toward the door. “He’s right outside. Name’s Paul.”

  “We saw him on the way in, I believe,” Laura said, nodding. She nodded one more time to Nate, an unspoken communication. “Thanks, Sheriff. We’ll wait to hear the preliminary forensic report—I guess, tomorrow morning?”

  “Right,” he agreed, as Laura turned and led Nate back outside.

  She headed right for the bearded man she had seen earlier. He was easy to spot: the only one not in a uniform, the only one standing around idly, the only one who looked like he still had no idea what was going on. He was tall and broad, his arms folded across his chest with the air of a linebacker, but he couldn’t have looked more lost. Laura felt terrible for him. He’d had the shock of his life, coming home and finding his wife like that. If she had been able to get here quicker and save him that, Laura would have.

  “Excuse me,” she said, feeling the cold air of the night on her face again. It was welcome right now. It kept her awake and alert, soothed off the sickness in her stomach at the thought of Nadia’s eyes as she died. “You’re the victim’s husband?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I…” He stopped, seemingly at a loss as for what to say.

  Laura gave him a sad, sympathetic smile. “We’d like to talk to you for a moment, if you can. I’m FBI Agent Laura Frost, and this is my partner, Agent Nathaniel Lavoie.”

  Paul looked at her sharply for a moment, and gave a bark of unhumorous laughter. She thought he was probably thinking that he didn’t know if he could do anything right now.
“Okay,” he said, though, and so she took the opportunity to press on.

  “Do you know if there is any reason why someone would want to harm your wife? Or hurt you?” she asked. It wasn’t as though she thought he was going to come up with anything. Nothing had come up with the other two women. But there was always the possibility that this one was going to be the one that cracked the whole case wide open.

  “No, no one,” Paul said. He was distracted, looking back toward the house often. His eyes had a glazed look to them. He still hadn’t processed things properly. “Why would they?”

  “Well, it’s entirely possible this was a more random crime,” Laura said, trying to keep her voice even and calm despite the fact that it made her so angry. To think of this woman cut down in her prime, her son left without a mother—just because this killer wanted a victim, and anyone would do? “Have you noticed anything unusual over the past few days? Anyone in the neighborhood that you didn’t recognize?”

  “No, nothing like that either,” Paul said, running his hand over his hair. He turned and froze; Laura followed his gaze and saw that he was looking at a half-deflated ball on the lawn, obviously one of his son’s toys. “Ashton. My—my son. I should go and check…”

  “Of course,” Laura said quickly. She could see that he wasn’t in his right mind right now. Her questions were barely getting through to him at all. She glanced up at Nate, checking whether he wanted to say anything before they let him go.

  “Just let us know your contact details, sir, if you would,” Nate added, his voice low yet brisk. “So that we can get in touch with you if we have any more questions later.”

  “Sure.” Paul reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet, extricating a business card from it. He handed it to Nate, who responded in kind with one of his own. With the exchange complete, Paul slipped away, moving through the stream of law enforcement professionals and heading next door.