“Do you know how to handle a gun better than most people who work here?”
“You know I do.” She grinned. “I was born to shoot.”
He smiled back. “Do you feel bad about Becca being taken on your watch?”
“You know that, too.”
“Then what more motivation could there be to free her?”
Taylor raised her eyes in thought as if she believed he was really looking for an answer.
“Love,” she said as they got on the elevator. “I’d have to say love trumps it. At least Nina and Kait would say that about Becca.”
Yeah. Taylor was totally right. Love did trump it. Add a healthy measure of guilt over her being taken, and that just about explained how he was feeling.
He discussed the blueprints and maps with Taylor on the drive to the shop, which didn’t take them long at this time of night. To confirm the pictures were correct, he did a slow drive-by of the building located in a strip of old stores.
The storefront was covered in paper, the exterior paint chipped and flaking. The black letters that made up the Ace in the Hold sign had faded to gray and the A hung at an angle, looking as if a strong wind would rip it free.
Satisfied they were at the right place, he parked near the back of the building where the blueprints showed the basement entrance. They climbed out.
“Door’s gonna be locked,” Taylor said.
He produced a set of lock-picking tools. “That’s not going to stop me.”
“I can’t believe you just pulled those out of your bag.”
The tools were illegal if the owner’s intention was to use them to commit a crime. Sure, breaking into the gun shop was technically a crime, but saving a woman’s life trumped that.
“You mention it to anyone, and I’ll deny it,” he joked as he put on his vest and checked his rifle and ammo, hoping that they’d have better luck than the last time he’d worn the gear, to raid the hotel.
The lock was old and no match for Connor. He soon had it open. A nearly negligible light shone on the stairs, and he heard music playing. It sounded like classic ballroom music.
He glanced at Taylor, and she shrugged. At least it proved someone was here. He gestured that he would go first, and she was to follow.
He eased into the store, walking on the balls of his feet to keep from giving them away. He might be big, but staying out past curfew in high school and slipping into a house filled with family members had taught him how to be quiet.
He made his way down the stairs. Thankfully, the wall went all the way to the floor and the music masked any creaking of the old wooden steps. They reached the bottom, and he signaled to his right, then, with his gun outstretched, he took the corner. It opened to a hallway, dark and shadowy. At the end, light shone from a cracked open door, creeping out like it was trying to brighten the darkness around them. He silently made his way over old split vinyl tiles. Taylor crept behind him.
At the doorway, he heard Van Gogh’s voice for the first time. “Tell me now, Lauren, or Mother will make me get the information from you. Like I had to do with Molly.”
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” Becca replied, sounding calm and in control.
Yes! She was alive. Connor’s heart soared. He remembered the horrific injuries on Molly’s body and his heart took a dive.
“I’ve said everything there is to say,” Becca added.
Connor loved hearing the spunk in her voice, even after all these hours in the hands of a killer.
“Then Mother says the number five goes back on your stomach, and you will be cleansed like the others.”
“Do what you have to do.” Becca sounded resigned but strong.
“You may be interested to know,” Van Gogh said, “that Molly’s daughter, Haley, is next on my list. She flaunts herself on Facebook. A real little tease. In fact, I found Molly through Haley. A happy coincidence for both of them.”
“I’m sure my team will catch you long before you get anywhere near Haley.”
“That’s doubtful,” he said, sounding preoccupied.
Connor figured Van Gogh’s focus would be on Becca right now, so he risked easing the door open farther to take a quick look at the room.
It was a small root cellar, with a dirt floor and wooden shelves, with jars lined up, ears in each.
Connor stifled a curse. He’d known the jars existed, that Becca wouldn’t lie about them, but seeing them sitting there all shiny and bright on the shelf brought his dinner up his throat. He searched them carefully, holding his breath as he looked for number five. He could only pray they’d arrived in time.
VAN GOGH HOVERED over Becca, but she wasn’t afraid. She’d had enough of being afraid to last a lifetime. She’d wasted years of being terrified to face up to what she’d done in leaving Molly behind. Running. Shutting others out. And where had that gotten her? On Van Gogh’s table of death, not having really lived at all.
At first, she’d struggled to get free. Strained, until her wrists were raw from the metal handcuffs he’d snapped on, all to no avail. He wasn’t going to forget to lock her shackles again as he had when he’d abducted her last time. So she was trapped, unable to free herself. If no one came for her, she’d put on a brave face to the very end. But if help came?
Oh, if help came, she’d embrace life, find a way to get beyond her past, to live a life filled with laughter and love. If.
“You can still change your mind, you know. All you need to do is tell me.” Van Gogh grabbed a rag from the table and polished the knife until it gleamed. “Mother says it’s not too late.”
“No, I’m good.”
He looked at her quizzically. “You’ve changed over the years.”
“You haven’t. Still a big mama’s boy.” She couldn’t get at him with a weapon, so she’d wound him with words. And they hit the mark.
He flinched. “That wasn’t necessary, Lauren. Mother and I simply have your best interest at heart here.”
She scoffed.
He moved closer, lifted the knife.
She saw movement at the doorway. Twisted her head to see Connor standing there with a rifle, Taylor behind him. She nearly shouted with joy. He lifted his finger to his lips to silence her. She blinked a few times to acknowledge it, her mind racing as she tried to come up with a way to help him. When he started moving forward, she realized she could do something—she could distract Van Gogh so Connor could sneak up on him.
“Reginald.” Her voice was so syrupy sweet that she almost gagged. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but I want to whisper it in your ear so your mother doesn’t hear.”
His head popped up. “Mother hears everything.”
“I still want you closer when I tell you.”
He moved up the table, his knife still in his hand.
“Closer,” she said, trying not to vomit or spit in his face. “I know you have a thing for ears, and I want to whisper into yours.”
A light sparked in his eyes, and he inched closer. His breath, a mixture of garlic and foul air, fell on her face. “Mother always hurt my ears. She didn’t mean to, but when I was bad and needed discipline, she dragged me by them. I deserved it.”
“I’m not going to hurt your ear.” Becca swallowed hard. She sensed Connor nearing her.
Now was the time. She rested her head on the table. “Look into my eyes first, Reginald.”
He lifted his head a fraction. She smiled, and with all the force she could muster, she head-butted him. He bumped backward. She heard feet pounding closer.
Connor’s arm shot around Van Gogh’s neck, the other karate-chopped his arm.
The knife clattered to the floor.
Van Gogh’s hands came up to pry off Connor’s arm. He gasped. His mouth opened and closed, making him loo
k like a fish out of water.
“Secure the knife, Taylor,” Connor called out then looked at Becca. “Are you okay, honey?”
“I’m fine.” She should warn Connor to loosen his hold, but she simply watched Van Gogh struggle, his face turning red, his hands clawing at Connor’s arm. Frantic. Terrified. It felt good to see him as the victim for once. To see him fight off pain and fear of death.
His eyes bugged out, and his mouth flopped open. He looked like he might pass out.
“He can’t breathe, Connor,” she finally said.
“So?”
“Let him go. We can have the pleasure of knowing he’s behind bars for the rest of his life.”
“He doesn’t deserve to live,” Connor growled out.
“It’s not up to us to decide that.”
Connor’s gaze waffled.
“Please, Connor. For me. Let him go.”
Despite the barely restrained fury on his face, he released his hold enough for Van Gogh to drag in air and start coughing. Connor spun him against the wall and quickly cuffed him.
Becca wasn’t happy to see Van Gogh released from his pain, but it was the right thing to do. She closed her eyes and took a few breaths of her own. She offered a prayer of thanks for her safety, then, feeling like she could face the million questions that would be coming in a debrief and interview, she opened her eyes.
Taylor was just finishing a call to request backup. Van Gogh’s breathing had calmed, though Connor still had him up against the wall, his hand planted on his back, holding him in place. Connor’s body was rigid and nearly vibrated with anger.
Taylor came up beside him and took hold of Van Gogh’s cuffs. “You tend to Becca. I’ve got him.”
Connor watched Taylor for a moment, then he suddenly spun to face Becca. His eyes were a volcano of anger ready to erupt as he ran his gaze from her head to her toes and back up again. His focus rested on her face and his expression softened as the moments ticked by, slower than a malware-infected computer. He shook his head, as if shaking off his anger, and dug out his handcuff keys before coming over to her.
He rested a hand on her cheek and stared into her eyes, his concern masking the anger that had consumed him a moment ago. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
She kept her focus trained on him. The caring he was exhibiting was beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Love? Was this what pure and complete love looked like? If so, she wanted more of it.
“Honey,” he said, breaking the trance. “Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head and smiled. “But if you don’t mind, my arms are kind of getting tired of this position.” She laughed.
He didn’t crack even a fraction of a smile, but tenderly unlocked her handcuffs. She started to move one and the strain had her moaning in pain. He cursed under his breath and took her hands, moving her arm slowly until it lay by her side, then followed suit with her other arm. He started for her ankles but she grasped the back of his shirt and drew him back.
“Those can wait.” She twined her arms around his neck, the pain in her muscles nearly stealing her breath, but she didn’t care.
She gazed into eyes that were riveted on hers. Then he lowered his mouth and kissed her. The kiss became urgent, frenzied, as if he thought he might never see her again. She returned the emotion, ounce for ounce. Her arms ached and complained, but she didn’t care. She was alive and safe and kissing the man who seemed to love her, a man she loved too. If that meant a little discomfort for a few minutes, then so be it.
“Um, guys,” Taylor said. “Backup’s here. I don’t think you want them to find you this way.”
Connor lifted his head a fraction, his eyes now filled with desire.
“Go put Van Gogh in a squad car,” he said gruffly to Taylor who’d done nothing wrong other than to get in the way of his kissing Becca.
She started for the door, jerking Van Gogh roughly.
“Don’t worry, Mother,” Van Gogh said as he stopped to look at the ceiling. “I’ll get out of this and my work will continue. You can count on it.”
“Ha!” Becca shouted. “The only thing you’re going to be doing is sitting in a five by eight for the rest of your miserable life. If you’re lucky, that is. You know what happens to child killers in prison, don’t you?”
Van Gogh blanched, and Becca felt free at last.
Taylor prodded Van Gogh to get him moving again.
“Hey, Taylor,” Connor yelled. “Thanks for the help. You’re gonna be a real asset to the cyber team.”
Becca looked over Connor’s shoulder. “Yes, thanks, Taylor.”
Taylor stopped and grinned. “I guess this means he’s off-limits after all.”
“You know it,” Becca said, and grinned at her teammate.
Connor’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this all about?”
Becca smiled reassuringly up at him. “It’s a long story. With Van Gogh headed to jail, we’ll have plenty of time to talk about it.”
CONNOR WANTED nothing more than to be alone with Becca, so he waited while his lieutenant gave them both an attaboy for arresting the terrifying serial killer. He waited while Dane arrived and started processing the scene. And he waited while the medics checked Becca’s vitals. But he was done waiting now.
He liked to cut to the chase, and the chase here was that he had no reason not to be with Becca. And if she had any concerns, he would do everything in his power to change her mind. Tonight.
He crossed the street and stared down the medic. “I’m taking Becca home.”
He didn’t give the medic or Becca a chance to argue, but gently lifted her by the elbow and escorted her through the chaos on the street.
Eva Waters stepped out from the crowd, her microphone dangling from her fingers. “Thanks for the exclusive. I honestly thought you were blowing smoke with your promise, but I’m glad to see you came through for me.”
Becca gave a weak nod and continued walking. Connor settled her in the passenger seat of his car and held her hand for a moment, looking into her eyes, trying to transmit how important she’d become to him.
She smiled. Softly. Sweetly, as if this was all new to her. He could totally understand. He’d never experienced this depth of caring for a person outside his immediate family. They were both experienced law enforcement officers, but when it came to relationships, they were rookies.
He squeezed her hand and closed the door, then saluted Sam before running around the front and climbing in. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m taking you to my house.”
“Kait has asked me to stay with them, and that’s what I want to do.”
An ache, the same one that had plagued him when he couldn’t find her, tightened his gut.
She rested a hand on his arm. “Don’t be upset. I need time to think. After Van Gogh took me, I came to some realizations. One of them is that I can’t continue to live my life cut off from the world. I need to let others in.”
“Does that include me?” he asked quietly.
She slid her hand down his arm and twined her fingers in his. “I hope so. At least,” she said softly, “if you want it to.”
He pulled his hand free and tipped up her chin. “Of course I do.”
“But you said you weren’t interested in a relationship.”
“Despite what I said, you changed that. So come home with me, and we can talk about it.” He cupped the back of her head then slid his fingers into her hair. He grinned and winked. “Or figure it out another way.”
She took his hand down and kissed the palm. “That is why I have to stay at Kait’s place. I want to figure out if I’m ready for a relationship, or if I need time to work through my junk. To do that, I need space.”
“Does that mean I won’t see you?” He heard the panic in his own voice.
> “I’ll be at your office first thing in the morning to be grilled by your lieutenant. And then there’s all the paperwork we’ll need to close out. Plus, I’d like to come with you to do the death notification calls for all the girls whose names we found on the wall.”
“You don’t need to do that, honey.”
“Yes, I do,” she said with sincerity. “If you want me to resolve the things that have kept me away from you, then yes, I do.”
Chapter Thirty
BECCA STEPPED BACK from Molly’s grave and watched her friend’s coffin being lowered into the ground. Seven days had passed since Van Gogh had been arrested, and Becca was starting to put her past where it belonged—in the past. But that wouldn’t include Molly or her family.
The coffin disappeared from sight, and Becca’s knees felt week. Connor supported her elbow and held her close.
Goodbye, Molly. I wish I could have known you as an adult. But I know your kids now, and I’ll always be there for them. I promise.
Becca felt good about her promise. She could do this. It wasn’t a promise made out of guilt, but out of love for her friend.
She dabbed her eyes and turned to Molly’s husband, Finn. “It was a lovely service.”
He nodded woodenly.
Haley, her eyes red-rimmed, stood next to him and stared at Becca. She put her arm around the teenager. “You know you can call me anytime. Day or night. I’m here for you.”
She sobbed and nodded. Becca hugged her close and vowed to be sure this young lady had a better life than Becca and Molly had endured.
Becca pushed back and ruffled Todd’s hair. “That goes for you, too, squirt,” she said to the ten-year-old.
He took a step back and clung to his father. Becca was thankful they both had Finn, who seemed to be a strong man and parent.
“I’ll call you later this week,” Becca promised and stepped away.
She and Connor crossed the grass toward his car. Becca fought the tears, but she wouldn’t keep them at bay forever as she’d done in the past. She’d gone to her first appointment with a shrink, and had high hopes that if she faced her emotions head-on, she’d eventually be free from residual nightmares. Doing the parental notification visits, like the final one she’d conducted with Connor that morning, had helped, too.
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