Don't Tell

by Karen Rose

  “There is one more piece of information that was irregular,” Lambert said, a gleam in his eye.

  “Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Steven returned impatiently. Lambert just grinned.

  “He was using the yellow pages on the Internet. He looked up the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. The computer science department.”

  Toni scrunched her brows. “Why?”

  “My guess?” Lambert asked. “He wanted a hacker. Someone who could get into the personnel database at Asheville General. The hospital’s website was the last one he visited before looking up UNCC. He tried the ‘career opportunities’ area, but of course that told him nothing. He may have been looking for names of hospital personnel.”

  Steven ran his tongue over his teeth. “Susan Crenshaw.”

  Lambert stood up. “That’s just a guess.”

  “A damn good one,” Toni stated. “I feel like we’re finally getting close to this bastard.”

  Steven sat down in a chair heavily. “If he’s in Chicago, it’s because Mary Grace is there or someone who knows where she is.”

  Lambert sighed. “It’s hard to believe Rob would go to such lengths to find her.” He shook his head. “My God. He murdered that nurse.”

  “Power,” Steven muttered. “He gets his rocks off by controlling people. She outsmarted him. He can’t live with that. And once he finds her, he finds the boy. Sue Ann said he was obsessed with the boy to the point of wanting no other children. We need to find him.”

  Toni straightened her shoulders. “Before he finds her first.”

  Chicago

  Thursday, March 16

  3 P.M.

  Max sat alone in the deafening quiet of his office, staring at the note.

  All week she’d prepared his coffee, sorted his mail, and typed his letters. She’d greeted him with a good morning, exited with a good night, in every way the model secretary. Except that never once did she smile. Certainly never laughed. She’d stayed away from his office, coming in only once the day after that terrible meeting to pick up his papers and restore his desk to rights.

  He’d catch her looking at him with eyes so sad it nearly tore his heart out. Then the blue would flash with challenge and she’d turn away. He knew what she was waiting for. But the bitterness had become a close, if not hated, bedfellow. Twelve years of anguish was a hard thing to simply erase. He’d tried. God, he’d tried.

  He’d returned to his house after taking her home the night after their explosive fight and stood in his driveway, staring at the pole that had once held the backboard where they’d played ball as kids. He’d stood and listened to the echoes of pounding balls, grunts and hoots of glee. Swishes of the net as the ball cut neatly through. All in his memory. All long gone. He’d stood and stared until David pulled him inside.

  Just last night he dragged himself up the attic stairs, found the box of newspaper clippings his grandmother had so religiously saved. He’d managed his way through three or four articles before the grief returned, stabbing deep.

  He ran a hand down his face, trying to relieve the tension pressure behind his eyes with no success. It had been days since he’d drawn an easy breath, since he’d slept through the night, since he’d had the energy to care about anything. And although the March sun shone brightly at his back, the world seemed gray. David wasn’t speaking to him and Ma nagged him continuously to apologize to Caroline.

  But worst of all were the words that kept running through his mind, mostly Caroline’s. She needed a man she could lean on. He wanted so desperately to be that man. For her. For himself. But it still hurt. The pain of losing his wings was still so strong it crushed him inside.

  And now this. He felt like tearing it up but he only stared at her hastily written note.

  I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you more than you’d already hurt yourself. You’ll have my resignation on your desk tomorrow morning.

  No signature, certainly no ‘Love, Caroline.’

  With a sigh of capitulation, he picked up the telephone.

  Chicago

  Thursday, March 15

  4. P.M.

  Winters was lying on the hotel’s lumpy mattress smoking a cigarette when his cell phone rang. He immediately swung himself to a sitting position and answered it. “Yeah?”

  “Rob, Ben here.”

  Winters ground the cigarette in the cheap metal ashtray with an oath. “What are you doin’ calling me here? Don’t you know they can trace this call?”

  “I’m using a pay phone. I thought you needed to know the latest.”

  “You told me Ross revoked my paid leave and ordered me back. I told you I can’t come back yet.” He was close. So damn close. One more day and he should have the list.

  “Yeah, well now she’s put out an APB for you.”

  Fury erupted and the hotel phone went flying into the old television set. “An APB? Like I’m some common crack-head?” His hands itched to find their way around Ross’s black throat, to hear her gurgle an apology that would be way too little, way too late. “When this is over, I swear to G—”

  The hotel room door opened and Angie slipped in. Rob didn’t believe the hooker’s name was Angie, but it didn’t really matter in the whole scheme of life.

  “Did you get it?” he growled.

  Angie nodded and tossed several sheets of paper on the bed.

  “Bingo.” Winters held his cell phone to his ear once again. “Thanks for the update, Ben. But I got the information I was looking for. Before long I’ll be home. I’ll deal with Ross then.”

  He disconnected and picked up the first page. It was covered with names. The guest list of Hanover House the summer Mary Grace stole his son. He scanned the list for Mary Grace’s name and came up nil. “This many?”

  Angie shrugged. “That Hanover House helps a lot of women.”

  Rob grabbed Angie’s shirt and yanked her face down level with his, finding the fear in her eyes a real turn-on. He was already hard. “That Hanover House is responsible for the breakup of good marriages. The husband is the head of the household and has every right to discipline his wife and children. It’s Biblical.” He closed his fingers on the back of her neck and pulled her down to the mattress. Angie liked it rough. “‘Till death do you part,’” he quoted. “And soon I’ll find the bitch that made that promise to me.” Then I’ll release Mary Grace from our marriage, he finished to himself. Till death do us part, Mary Grace. If that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll get.

  Winters smiled and rolled on top of Angie, pinching her nipple through her shirt, hard. She whimpered softly. He liked to hear her whimper like that. Soon he’d be hearing Mary Grace whimper like that once again. He could hardly wait. “Tell me the setup of the place again?”

  “It’s an old house. It has a parking area off the street, room for about three cars, that’s all.”

  He yanked at the buttons on the shirt he hadn’t seen before. “Where did you get this shirt?”

  “Dana gave it to me.”

  Dana Dupinsky. Angie had come back talking about her the first day she’d found Hanover House. “The head interfering bitch.” He stripped the shirt from her body and kneeling astride her, ripped it to shreds with his bare hands. “Don’t be taking charity from that woman, Angie. You work for me.”

  She shrank away from him. “I need to be getting back, Rob, or they’ll know I’m gone.”

  “Honey, your job there is finished.”

  “But—”

  He silenced her with the back of his hand. “Don’t argue with me, girl. I hired you to find the place and get taken in. You did good, pretending to be an ‘abused woman.’” He said the words mockingly. “Asking that social worker how to find Hanover House, making up the friend that had heard of it—nice touch. You got into the office, broke into that bitch Dupinsky’s files. That was good. You found the names of all the women who’d come through Hanover house seven years ago. Good job again. Now you’ll finish the job, here, wi
th me.”

  “But—”

  He slapped her again and blood swelled from her lip. “Surely you’re not that stupid, Angie. Surely.” He trapped her hands above her head and grabbed the roll of duct tape he’d purchased at the corner hardware store especially for this occasion. Angie saw the tape and her eyes widened. She screamed and fought, clawed her nails down the side of his face. Swearing viciously, Winters forced her back down to the mattress, overpowering her with no effort at all. He taped her wrists together. Then silenced her with a six-inch strip across her mouth. Her ankles were last. He looked down at her face, eyes wide and terrified. She shook her head, desperate. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes down into her ears.

  He smiled, stood and grabbed one of her ankles and taped it to one of the posts at the foot of the bed, then repeated it with the other ankle. She was spread-eagled. Wide open. He shrugged, looking down at her with revulsion. “You’re a hooker, Angie. Did you honestly think this would never happen to you?” He taped her bound wrists to the rails of the headboard. He’d planned this from the moment he walked into this sleazy fleabag of a hotel. Lumpy mattress, but a great bed frame.

  Leaving her to struggle to no end whatsoever, he picked up his cell phone and dialed Randy Livermore, Wonder-Hacker. “I’ve got some names I want you to run through the Illinois Department of Motor Vehicles computer,” Winters said. “I’ll fax you the list in twenty minutes. I want you to find their addresses and pictures. Oh, and narrow the search to any women five-five and under.” She could change her name and maybe even her hair and eye color, but Mary Grace couldn’t change her height. Most people wouldn’t even think of lying about it. “Call me on my cell phone when you’re through.”

  He disconnected and turned back to Angie who was lying very still. But still breathing. That was important. Only sickos did women after they were dead.

  Asheville

  Thursday, March 15

  5:45 P.M.

  The phone rang in Ross’s office and all present jumped in their chairs. They’d been gathered, silently waiting since four o’clock.

  Ross picked up. “Ross, here.” She nodded to the group. “I’m going to put you on the speaker phone.” She pushed the speaker button. “You still there, Lieutenant Spinnelli?”

  “Yes, I am. Who do you have in the room?”

  “Detectives Lambert and Jolley from my department and Special Agent Stephen Thatcher, North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation. Tell me, did our idea work?”

  “Well … yes and no.” Spinnelli sighed. “Technically it worked like a charm. Jolley chats with Winters, we trace the call through the local wireless company faster because they know the exact time to search for the signal, and we deploy our men to the scene.”

  “But you still didn’t find Winters.” Steven didn’t even have to ask.

  Spinnelli sighed again. “No. We got to the hotel too late. The room was empty with the exception of one thing.”

  “And that was?” Toni asked, frustration etched deep in her face.

  Steven watched Ben Jolley stiffen. After Toni had confronted him with his calls to Winters’s cell phone, Jolley had agreed to place the call only to clear his friend’s name, once and for all. From the tone of Spinnelli’s voice, Ben Jolley was about to be gravely disappointed.

  “A dead hooker. Hands, feet and mouth duct taped. She’d been sexually assaulted.”

  Jolley paled, sweat beaded across his forehead. “No,” he whispered hoarsely.

  Toni dropped her forehead into her hand. “Sweet Jesus.”

  Jonathan Lambert leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

  Steven watched Lambert’s throat work as he struggled for composure and realized how difficult this must be for all of them—discovering a man they’d stood with for years was capable of cold-blooded murder. Steven cursed softly. “Broken neck?”

  “Yep,” Spinnelli answered, his voice hard. “I gather this is not a new MO.”

  Steven turned to look at the photo of the broken, bloated body of Susan Crenshaw, his stomach rolling over. “No, it’s not new. Did you find any physical evidence linking Winters to the murdered woman?”

  “That’s the good news. She scratched him good; we found skin under her nails. The lab will get us something tomorrow afternoon at the latest. He must have been so excited about whatever it was that she brought him that he didn’t think to clean under her nails. We posted his picture and the picture you sent of his wife in every precinct in the downtown area. He’ll make a mistake soon, then we’ll find him.”

  Steven sighed when Toni disconnected. “Potato chips.”

  “He can’t seem to stop at just one,” Toni agreed woodenly. “Let’s pray we find Mary Grace soon.” She looked over at Ben Jolley whose pale face had become noticeably green. Steven almost felt sorry for the man. “Are you okay, Ben?”

  Jolley nodded shakily. “Yeah. I …” He stood, visibly trembling. “I need to get some air.” He turned for the door, then turned back, his expression tortured. “I didn’t know, Toni. I swear it.” He swallowed hard. “My God,” he whispered. “What have I done?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chicago

  Thursday, March 15

  6 P.M.

  The dull roar assaulted Caroline’s ears before she’d even entered the gymnasium. Tom had a home game tonight. The cheerleaders were warming up on the sidelines and for a moment Caroline envied their high kicks and youthful bounces. She could walk, but like Max, she’d never fly. Rob had seen to that.

  “Hi, Miz Stewart!”

  Forcing a smile to her lips she waved at the miniskirted group of pom-pom girls on her way to the bleachers. It wasn’t their fault she had terrible judgement when it came to men. It wasn’t their fault that her note to Max had gone unanswered the whole damn day. She wished it was someone’s fault, but in the end, the finger pointed squarely back at herself.

  She leaned back, propping both elbows on the bleacher above her and dropped her head back, trying to stretch her tight neck muscles. She shook her head, feeling her hair brush against the bleachers. It was hard to believe almost two weeks had passed since she looked up to find Max Hunter standing before her. In only two weeks, she’d had her heart turned inside out, felt the first stirrings of lust in her life, and held the man of her dreams in her arms for a few brief shining moments.

  She shook her head again. But he wasn’t the man of her dreams. He wasn’t a man she could respect. She’d meant every word of her note. She’d even typed her resume and had several jobs circled in yesterday’s want ads. Leaving Carrington before graduation would be hard, but working so close to Max Hunter would be worse. She’d fold eventually, tolerate his self-pity. Tolerate his blaming something or someone for his misfortunes. And start the cycle all over again.

  That cycle must never start again.

  “I need to thank you, Beautiful.”

  Caroline jumped a foot, much to the amusement of Tom’s coach. A hulk of a man, he towered over everyone she knew. Everyone but Max, that is. Angrily, she banished the thought from her mind as she struggled to straighten her body.

  Angling a glance up, she found his black eyes dancing with suppressed laughter.

  “Don’t, Frank,” she warned. “Don’t tease me. I’ve had a hell of a bad day.”

  One eyebrow arched, stretching one side of his ebony face. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you use the dreaded H-E-double hockey sticks, Cara-line.” He said her name with the smooth drawl of deep Mississippi, drawing her name out to four syllables.

  She hung her head. “I’m sorry. It’s just been … well, whatever.” She looked up to find his expression calm and waiting. He’d been a good friend to her for years. She’d met Frank and his wife when the three of them volunteered at the local grammar school and Caroline had been so glad when Tom became a member of Frank’s JV team. He was truly a good man. “How are you?”

  “Happy as a dog scratchin’ a flea.” He grinned when her lips twitched. “Bu
t I didn’t come over here to discuss my personal state of being. I came to thank you.”

  Caroline frowned. “For what?”

  Frank’s bass laugh was enough to vibrate the glossy wood beneath their feet. “For sending a legend my way, Beautiful.” He gently grabbed her chin between two beefy fingers and turned her gaze to the end of the court. “He’s going to be a godsend. The boys are practically drooling puddles on their shoes. A Laker. I still can’t believe it.”

  “When … Uh …” Caroline stuttered and gave up.

  “Today. Uh.” Frank tilted her chin up to check her eyes.

  “You’re surprised. You didn’t think he’d come. Hmm. And just why did you have an H-E-double hockey stick of a day, Cara-line?”

  “Shut up, Frank.” But her smile was practically ripping her face. “He’s good with the kids?”

  “Oh, yes. Is he good with Cara-line?” His laugh boomed out again at her blush. “No need for words, darlin’. You just said it all. I won’t tire him out on his first day. I’ll make sure I leave some of him for you.”

  “Oh, stop.” With a mock push she sent Frank on his way, then turned and watched Max. For a full fifteen minutes he drilled the second string while the first string kept missing their cues to rebound as they stared at the sight of a former pro in their midst. As a pre-game warm-up it was a bust, but Caroline doubted any of the boys would complain.

  Max had discarded the jacket of his suit and his tie and stood in his street shoes, his shirtsleeves rolled to just below his elbows. A steady line of perspiration dripped from his forehead down the side of his face and that lock of black hair kept falling across his forehead. Sweat had darkened his underarms and soaked the back of his shirt.

  He’d never looked more disheveled.

  She wanted him with a fierceness that stole her breath.

  Then he stopped with his hand on a boy’s shoulder and turned around. He caught her gaze as that slow smile she’d come to love lit his eyes, then curved his beautiful mouth. And he winked, just once, before turning back to instruct the lucky boy in the art of the free throw.

  And quietly, without thunder or lightning, it all fell into place. A sweet peace filled her as she watched him. This was right. This was for keeps. Her lips curved. She’d call Dana tonight and tell her to stop cursing Max with every spare breath. But for the moment she hoarded the absolute happiness, the sheer contentment of knowing she’d found the one. The right one.