Smoke Screen (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 7)

by Linsey Lanier

  “Roger that,” Holloway murmured under his breath.

  And the two of them crept out from their hiding place.

  They found a path that wasn’t so overgrown leading to the back of the house. Finding a clump of gnarled bushes they crouched behind them and checked out the place.

  This side was even worse.

  Trashcans and buckets of junk were piled up along the cinderblock, casting weird shadows in the grass. The siding was in ruins. The familiar black mold grew between the boards, under the eaves, along the foundation. A sheet of asphalt on the roof was torn and hanging down over the side.

  “What a mess,” Holloway whispered.

  She nodded in agreement.

  What was this guy doing? Buying up repossessed houses like a real estate agent?

  “C’mon,” she said to Holloway. “Let’s get back to the others.”

  They scampered back to the trunk and found everyone waiting there looking hopeful.

  Miranda shook her head. “That roof isn’t stable enough to hold any of us.”

  Becker stifled a groan. “That’s why I should go through that open window.”

  Miranda stared at it a while, thinking about the house on the east side. Yesterday the door had been left wide open. She knew now that had been deliberate. This door was probably open as well.

  And if that were true, then this was personal. It wasn’t about Gen or Parker.

  It was about her.

  Why, she wasn’t sure. But she knew it was definitely about her.

  Suddenly her spine and the back of her neck went crazy with that awful sensation. Stronger than she’d ever felt it before. As if a thousand beetles were crawling all over her. It was a harrowing feeling, but one she knew well.

  And she knew it was telling her exactly what she had to do.

  “I’m going in.”

  Becker let out a quiet gasp. “No, it has to be me.”

  “You can’t do that, Steele,” Holloway said.

  Wesson shook her red hair vehemently. “No, you’re not.”

  For once Parker was silent. His jaw was clenched tight but he wasn’t protesting with the others.

  She tried to explain. “I think all this—this whole elaborate cat-and-mouse game with Hannah Kaye and Gen—is all a ruse. A sick one, but a ruse nonetheless. I think it’s me this guy really wants.”

  Holloway’s mouth opened in shock. “You don’t know that, Steele.”

  “My instincts do. Hasn’t Parker always told us to trust our instincts?”

  Holloway was silent.

  “And if I’m right. If this guy wants me, maybe I can trade myself for Gen.”

  Now Parker came to life. “I can’t let you do that, Miranda.”

  She locked her gaze on him, drank in his pain and sorrow, wishing she could take it all away. If she did this one thing, maybe she could. “It’s not your decision to make, Parker.”

  Stunned he gazed back at her for a long moment. But he didn’t reply.

  It was true. She no longer worked for him. They were no longer truly married. There was nothing he could do to stop her.

  He breathed out a frustrated breath. “Wear a wire, at least.”

  That was a good idea. “Okay.”

  He turned to Becker. “You brought one, didn’t you, Dave?”

  Becker grinned. “Always at the ready.”

  In true nerd spirit, he’d brought his briefcase along, too, when they’d gotten out of the car.

  He pulled out a small contraption with a lot of sticky stuff on it and began checking it out. “It’s wireless,” he whispered. “Made of spool metal wiring, kind of like electronic yarn.” He went on for a while, jabbering out geek talk. Finally he handed it to her.

  It looked like a small white button.

  “Checks out fine,” he said. “Just put it under your clothes somewhere.”

  “Thanks.” She lifted her T-shirt and stuck it under her sports bra. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Parker touched her arm. “We need a signal in case you get in trouble.”

  “Like a special word or something?”

  “That would do.”

  She thought a moment. “Penthouse,” she said.

  Parker’s eyes narrowed and he nearly smiled.

  She smiled back, her heart melting. Then she took a deep breath. “Here I go.”

  “Good luck, Steele,” Wesson said.

  “We’ll be right here listening to everything,” Becker reminded her.

  Holloway gave her a thumbs up. “Don’t forget to use the signal.”

  She nodded and turned toward the dilapidated house.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  She picked her way across the yard, managing to avoid getting snake bit, and reached the creaky porch after what seemed like an eternity.

  Carefully, she reached behind her and drew out her Beretta from where she’d shoved it under her waistband that morning. She studied the construction.

  Four steps up to the screened-in porch. It looked like the whole thing would collapse as soon as she put a foot on it.

  She recalled how rickety the entrance of the house in the west had looked yesterday. But it had held. Somehow she knew the guy who had Gen would have made sure the way inside this place held today, too.

  She took the first step and found it more solid then it looked. Three more steps and she was at the front door.

  Like yesterday she could see it had been left unlocked and ajar.

  Beretta raised, she nudged the door open.

  She stepped into a large empty room with a grungy carpet-less floor and two ceiling fans. The single half-open window Becker had wanted to climb through was situated near her in a wall that was painted an ugly hot pink.

  On the far side of the room Miranda could see a hall that led to the kitchen and another opening with stairs leading to the upper floor. But today she didn’t bother to search the place.

  She turned to the door on the adjacent side of the room, strode to it quickly and turned the knob. Just as she thought. The stairs to the basement.

  The air smelled musty but she didn’t catch the foul odor of death she had yesterday. A hopeful sign.

  Taking a deep breath, down she went.

  Chapter Fifty

  It was hot on the stairs and the air had that familiar mildew scent.

  Miranda felt sweat bead up on her skin as she descended. It took a while for her eyes to become accustomed to the dim light. But there was light here.

  As she neared the end of the staircase she saw it came from a row of half a dozen paper lanterns—candles in a bag—placed along the edges of the floor, outlining the room.

  The lanterns cast eerie shadows against the walls, giving the place a weird feeling. Like some sort ceremonial tomb.

  Just like yesterday the walls were padded with acoustical foam to block the sound of female screaming. Overhead were the reinforced rafters, the ropes, the pulley system.

  Except here there were two of them, placed about five feet apart.

  She knew it.

  This guy had a plan and she was at the center of it. Well, he was in for a surprise because she was going to ruin that plan.

  Despite her resolve, as she stared at the pulleys and the thick ropes hanging from them, the image of Hannah Kaye’s mutilated body came to her. Fear clawed at her stomach, but she fought it down.

  No time for that. She had to rescue Gen.

  Somehow she had to get her away from this creep. Then Parker and the team and all the police in the southeast could swarm down and do whatever they needed to this guy.

  Three-quarters into the room stood a short waist-high divider. Across from it in a shadowy corner near the back she spotted a wire cage. Same size as the one she’d seen yesterday. The type you’d keep a big dog in.

  Miranda’s breath caught.

  On the floor inside the cage she caught sight of Gen’s short, white-blond hair. The sick bastard had her locked up in there.

  Miranda dared a st
ep toward the cage. Gen didn’t move. She took a few more steps.

  She blinked hard trying to make out more detail and noticed a strange odor in this part of the room. She couldn’t tell what it was.

  Gen’s eyes were closed. He had her down to her underwear. Miranda hoped that meant he hadn’t touched her yet. She didn’t dare call out to her, but she could see her back gently moving up and down.

  She was sound asleep. He must have kept her drugged all this while. She hoped he’d had to because Gen had given him a hard time.

  And where was he?

  Maybe she should have checked the rooms upstairs. She might have caught him up there. Too late now.

  If she could just get that cage open and get Gen out of here before he came back, they’d be home free.

  She took another step forward and saw there was a padlock on the cage’s door. She’d have to get that open fast. But what was that on the top?

  Two leads, like the type used to start a dead car battery. Jumper cables. One hooked to the cage’s top, the other to its side. Miranda followed their cords with her gaze and saw what they were connected to.

  A charger. A big one.

  She hadn’t quite reached the divider yet. But turning her head she could see an opening in the wall behind it. Looked like it led to a side room.

  Suddenly she heard footsteps inside the room. She scrambled to hide behind the divider but it was too far away. Before she could get there a shadow fell across the floor and a man appeared in the opening.

  He stared at her.

  He was in the same jeans and baggy gray T-shirt she’d seen in the surveillance recording from the mall. Tall, big shouldered, shaggy dirty blond hair that came just under his ears.

  He looked exactly like the photo Becker had doctored.

  He hadn’t been upstairs. He’d been in that side room the whole time.

  Waiting for her.

  He looked at her with eyes as green as well fertilized grass and gave her a sickly grin. “Hello there, Miranda Steele.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Her heart banging in her chest like a noisy water pipe, Miranda raised her Beretta and pointed it straight at the guy’s chest. “Hands up, Drew.”

  He chuckled. “Do you still think my name is Drew? And you call yourself a detective?”

  He was trying to rattle her. “I said hands up.”

  He shook his head at her as if she were a stubborn child who wouldn’t go to bed on time. Then he grinned again and pointed at her. “Interesting T-shirt. A philosophy I agree with.”

  Don’t look down, she thought. He’s playing with you. Then she remembered what her shirt said. Normal is Boring. Not a great thing to wear when you’re going after a serial killer.

  She took half a step toward him and put a growl into her voice. “I’ll give you one more chance, you sonofbitch. Get your fucking hands up!”

  Now he laughed out loud. A low sick guttural laugh that turned her stomach. This guy was certifiable.

  Still laughing he shook his head. “No, Miranda. It’s you who must put down that gun.”

  “Don’t think I won’t shoot you.” She braced herself, ready to do just that.

  “I know you won’t.” He snickered as if he’d just told a very funny joke. Then he raised his hand. Between his fingers was a small black plastic case about the size of a cell phone. “Did you know these things work remotely?”

  “What things?”

  “Why, that battery over there, of course.”

  He nodded to the car charger. The one hooked up to the cage Gen was asleep in.

  “You see, when I press this button the battery will send a charge to that cage in the corner.”

  The one with Gen in it.

  He turned the thing in his hand. “It’s a very interesting devise. Did you know it’s not the voltage that kills but the amperage? Fascinating, don’t you think? It takes only .65 amps to stop the human heart. This one is rated 700 amps. Of course, there’s the resistance of the body, but still it will do the job nicely.”

  Was he going to electrocute her? That wasn’t his M.O.

  Miranda’s mind raced. He had to be bluffing. There were a lot of urban myths around car batteries and whether they could kill you. But for the life of her right now she couldn’t remember any of them.

  “Care to press your luck?” He held up the devise and poised a finger over it.

  She didn’t lower the gun. But a shiver went through her as she remembered how intelligent Adam Tannenburg was. He’d made top grades all through school.

  “Oh, I see. You don’t believe me. That’s right. Good detectives are skeptical. Well, of course I’d test it thoroughly first. I was working on a specimen about an hour ago. Here it is.”

  He gave a kick and something furry flew out from behind the divider and landed near her foot.

  Keeping her gun aimed at his chest she risked a glance downward.

  It was a dead squirrel. That was the odd odor she’d smelled.

  Had he really killed it with that battery? Would it work on a human? She couldn’t take that chance. Even if the charge didn’t kill Gen it might do some serious damage.

  “Now, let’s try this again,” he said in the tone of a kindergarten teacher. “Put down the gun.”

  Suddenly Miranda remembered Parker and her colleagues were listening to all this. But the sound only went one way. If only she could talk to Becker and get his opinion on car batteries.

  “Very well.” Drew raised the switch in the air. “Say good-bye to your step-daughter.”

  Miranda held up a hand. “No. Stop. I’ll do what you say.” Slowly she bent down and laid the gun on the floor keeping it as near to her as she dared.

  Drew clucked his tongue at her. “You know better than that. You’re an ace detective, aren’t you? Kick it over here to me.”

  Feeling helpless she did as he said.

  “Very good. Now sit down on the floor over there.” He pointed to the far wall, near where the pulleys hung.

  She didn’t want to go over there, but she obeyed and sat down against the foam insulation about three feet from Gen. The mold smell was thicker here. She could feel the moisture of the cement floor through her jeans.

  She could still see her Beretta on the floor near his running shoes. He hadn’t picked it up yet. Awfully sure of himself, wasn’t he? Maybe she could use that to her advantage.

  She gestured at the room. “Pretty elaborate setup you’ve got here.”

  The side of his mouth turned up in a crooked grin of pride. “As was the one you saw yesterday.” He watched her closely to see her reaction.

  She kept her face still.

  “You know, it isn’t very difficult to remove a GPS tracker and toss it into a dumpster somewhere.”

  She had realized that. Too late, though.

  “And even though you and your husband are supposed to be such smart detectives, you couldn’t figure out I wanted you to get here. Oh, I know he’s outside. That was part of the plan.”

  Miranda gritted her teeth, tried not to show fear. She hadn’t notice any surveillance cameras on her tour of the place with Holloway. But maybe he was making an assumption.

  It made sense. That was why he’d taken Gen. He’d used Gen to draw both her and Parker to him. Of course, Parker would be here.

  He planned on stringing both her and Gen up and torturing them while Parker stood outside helpless.

  But he didn’t know the rest of the team was here. Or that she’d faced insane killers before. Or what was in her past that gave her the strength to face them down.

  She scanned the perimeter of the ceiling. The basement windows she’d seen from outside were covered with the acoustical padding. Otherwise Holloway or Wesson could crawl around to the back and take a clean shot.

  She’d have to think of something else.

  Keep him talking, she decided. Becker was recording everything this guy said. If nothing else, she could get a confession out of him and send him to pr
ison for the rest of his life.

  Start by playing dumb. “Did you say your name’s not Drew?”

  He bent down and smiled at her as if she were a child. “You found the fake drivers license I left in that Hyundai, didn’t you? I left it there for you to find the night I took Hannah.”

  “Somebody said she was in love with you.”

  “She was in love with herself. She was a whore. She kicked me. See?” He turned his head and showed her a bruise on his jaw.

  So Hannah Kaye had put up a fight. Gen would have, too. No wonder he’d resorted to drugs to keep her quiet.

  “You were going by another name, too. Gabriel Anthony Pierson.”

  Scowling he motioned with his finger in the air like a schoolteacher. “Thomas Anthony Drew. Gabriel Anthony Pierson. The middle initial is the same.”

  And maybe the same as his first name.

  “That was a gift. Did you find it helpful?”

  Miranda didn’t answer. The look in his eye was getting unbalanced.

  He took a step closer to her. “As Drew I watched you while you were doing rehabilitation at Saint Benedictine’s. As Pierson I emptied your trash at the Agency.”

  And got her phone number.

  Miranda took a breath to steady her nerves. “You sent me text messages.”

  His green eyes sparkled with near admiration. “Very good. I know who you are. I know where you are. I know what you are.”

  Confession number one. “And the one Parker got this morning?”

  “Exactly. Good Morning, Wade Parker. You may be interested to know that I have your daughter.” He giggled as if delighted with his own cleverness. “As you can see, I wasn’t lying.”

  She needed more. “But those names, Drew and Pierson. They belonged to other people.”

  His eyes widened. He was surprised she knew that. Then he waved a hand to dismiss it away. “They were just names I found. Silly old men who died a long time ago. Like my father.”

  Miranda recalled the neighbor in Evanston saying her suspect’s father had died when he was nine.

  Was this man standing before her Adam Tannenburg?

  How had the young boy who’d been in love with the art student who’d died in a house fire turned into a monster like this?

  “Who are you?” she dared to ask.

  “That reminds me.” Without answering suddenly he bent down and reached for something behind the wall divider.