“They giving you your pain meds?” he asked.
She shook her head. “But I haven’t really been open to them coming in here.”
Axel got up, too and crossed to her. He wanted to draw her into his arms, wanted to kiss her and assure her that everything would be okay. Instead, he kept a safe distance and crossed his arms over his chest.
“We’ll find him, and we’ll get you back home as soon as possible.”
“What happens when you find him?” she asked. “Does he go to jail?”
“I don’t know. It depends on what the cops and district attorney think after we turn him over.”
“Are you going to turn him over?”
Axel tilted his head, trying to read her intentions. Was she asking him not to?
“It really depends on what we find when we locate him.”
She turned toward the window, her hands shaking as she dragged them through the tangled curls in her hair. “It’s not his fault. As much as I want to hate this guy, as much as it still frightens me to think of him, it’s not his fault. Morty used that device to change how his mind works. He trained his brain cells to do things he would never have done otherwise. This . . .” She shivered a little. “This was what I wanted to avoid with this project, was why I was so careful about who was allowed in on it. I never imagined Morty would turn on me so completely!”
“But he did do those things, and we don’t know if he’d do it again or not. We have to think of your safety and the safety of other people.”
“I know.”
“We have to make this right.”
She nodded, but she shivered again. Axel moved up behind her and touched her shoulders, resting his hands on the outer edge rather than close against her neck where he really wanted to touch her.
“I know Morty’s behind this. Have you talked to him?”
“That’s where I go after we check out this Sanchez fellow.”
She shook her head, twisting in his arms. “You have to go to Morty first. He might even have this man somewhere close to him if he’s still treating him. You have to—”
She was growing hysterical. Axel pushed her back against the window, intending only to calm her down. But she twisted the right way, and he twisted and . . . their lips were just right there and he couldn’t help himself. He kissed her with all the passion he’d been pushing back since he walked into this room. He hadn’t realized how much he missed hearing her voice, laying eyes on her, until this moment. Every time she crossed his thoughts over the past day—which was constantly—he pushed it away. He pushed it all down, buried it under concrete. But he couldn’t do that now.
He kissed her because he wanted her with a need he’d never felt before. He kissed her because he wanted to take her pain away. He kissed her because he wanted to make her world safe and perfect, and he didn’t know how else to do it.
And she kissed him back. For a moment.
“Stop!” She pressed her hands against his chest and shoved him backward. “You can’t just kiss me and think that’s going to calm me down! We aren’t in that damn barn anymore!”
“Abbie—”
“And don’t call me that! No one calls me that!”
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want you to bury me in this . . . whatever it is! You can’t kiss me every time you don’t know how else to calm me down.”
“Okay.”
She brushed passed him, crossing the room. She opened the door, but the moment she saw the three operatives sitting around the living room, she slammed the door again.
“I need out of here.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t stand being locked up! I want to go home.”
Axel touched her arm, drew her back into the center of the room. “You have to trust me. I will get you out of here.”
“I did trust you. Before.”
He lowered his head, hiding the pain that flashed through his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I just want my life back.”
“I know. We’ll make sure you get it.”
He walked away, afraid of what he’d say next if he didn’t. She slammed the door behind him, the springs of the bed loud enough that he knew she’d thrown herself onto it. He wondered if she was just frustrated with the situation or if she was angry with him for leaving. What was it she wanted from him?
What did he want from her?
Maybe that was the real question.
Chapter 31
Thayer, Illinois
Peters’ Home
Durango drove around the block a dozen times, unable to bring himself to park and walk up to the front door. He’d been welcomed here thousands of times over the last three years, and he’d never hesitated to walk up to that door. But he hadn’t brought a killer down on these good people’s family before today.
There were cars parked along the block, all centered on the Peters’ residence. Friends and family come to take care of the grief-stricken parents, of Kyle’s little brothers and sister. He knew that Rebecca had flown home from college, that the boys were doing the best they could to keep their mother from completely falling apart. He’d checked in with mutual friends, knew that Leslie was staying in their guest bedroom because they hadn’t known about the breakup and she was deeply broken by what had happened. He knew what was happening inside that house even if he hadn’t stepped foot in there.
It was too much like the chaos that had taken over his life after Sarah.
His father, of all people, had provided plane tickets to anyone who wanted to go see him, had called all his friends and colleagues, setting up schedules to make sure Durango was never alone. Billy had flown out and stayed with him for two weeks, putting his television show on an unscheduled hiatus. All these people when all Durango wanted was to be alone with Sarah’s things, with the memory of her in their empty bed.
He knew this side of grief. He knew what those people were going through.
He couldn’t face it knowing the police blamed him, knowing he blamed himself. Know he’d brought this on their eldest child.
But he had to face it.
He finally parked half a block down from the house and walked to the front porch, hesitating again before pushing the button for the bell. He turned and surveyed the neighborhood, surprised to find a lot of people home on this Wednesday in the middle of a busy week. Retirees, he supposed. Or just nosy neighbors.
“Durango.”
He turned and found himself face to face with Kyle’s father, Nathan Peters. He was a tall man, handsome in a mature sort of way. He wore the stress of his job in the lines on his face, the gray at his temples. But he still looked like he could go back to the Chicago police department if they happened to call.
“Nate, I’m so sorry.”
Nathan grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into an awkward embrace, a sob slipping surprisingly loud from his lips. He hugged Durango hard against his chest.
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through. They said you went to the crime scene, that you lost your lunch when you saw where it happened.”
“Yeah. Not my finest moment.”
“Who would handle that with any sort of dignity. If it’d been me, I would have lost it before I crossed the threshold.” Nathan pulled back, his eyes red and filled with tears. “I can’t believe this happened to her! But if anyone can figure out who did it, it’s you.”
That was not what Durango had expected to hear.
“I did this to her, Nate,” he said, unable to keep the words inside. “I brought this death on her.”
Nathan glanced behind him, then pushed Durango out onto the front porch, closing the door behind him.
“You didn’t hurt my daughter.”
“No, but this killer . . . it’s got to be the Harrison Strangler. The MO, the way he killed her . . . it’s all the same.”
Nathan nodded. “I suspected as much when the cops said she’d bee
n strangled. But Durango, this isn’t on you.”
“He killed Sarah. And now he’s killed Kyle. How is that not me?”
Durango’s voice rose an octave, pain shredding his intestines. He wished he had a drink in his hand, needed something to keep the pain from rising the way it seemed determined to do. He needed to be numb.
“Kyle knew all about you, Durango. She knew about the trial, about Sarah, about the Harrison Strangler. She knew who you were and that only made her more determined to be your partner. We argued about it when she first told me what she wanted to do.” Nathan took Durango by the shoulders and forced him to look in his eyes. “Kyle walked into your life with her eyes wide open, and she never looked back. She loved you.”
Durango nodded, his throat too sore, too filled with unshed tears to speak.
“If we’d told her this would be the result, I suspect she would have done it anyway. That’s how much she believed in you. And now, you have to believe in her enough to find her killer, to remove that scum from the face of the earth!”
There was vehemence in Nate’s voice. But then he softened. “We all loved Kyle. We’ve lost an incredible soul. But at least we had her in our lives for a while, at least we got to know her and were loved by her. That’s what I’m clinging to. That and the knowledge that you will find this bastard.”
Durango nodded again. “I promise.”
“Good. Let’s go inside and eat something. You look like shit!”
Chapter 32
Springfield, Illinois
Safe House
Abigail decided that she hated being protected. She hated being in the apartment, hated not having the freedom to so much as use the toilet without reporting to someone. She imagined this must be what prison was like. And she was so incredibly bored!
There was nothing to do but think about Morty and grow more and more infuriated at him for doing this to her. Who did he think he was, using her device in this way? What had she done to that poor accountant? Why him? And why her? Why send that man after her, of all people? What was he trying to prove?
Was he really that angry at her for leaving him?
He’d been shocked that he couldn’t convince her that selling the device to the highest bidder was the best thing. They’d talked for hours after she confronted him, told him she’d seen his emails. She argued for safety, against this exact thing . . .
“Someone could use it to brainwash people, Morty! To take away a person’s ability to think for themselves. They could use it to take a healthy person’s sanity from them, use it to control people in ways we haven’t even imagined yet, but I’m sure some insane person out there has. I can’t allow that to happen!”
“Why do we have to concern ourselves with what someone else might do? It’s our device to sell, after that, to hell with it. We could live happily off the money these people are offering me.”
“For what reason? We live happily off all that money while the world goes to shit around us? Can you really do that, Morty?”
“Yes!”
“Then you’re clearly not the man I thought you were.”
He didn’t seem that broken up when she packed her stuff, when she called a taxi and walked out of his house without speaking another word. Was that just a cover? Had he done all this because he wanted to show her he really didn’t give a shit?
She didn’t understand. Morty was a good man. He had compassion for his students, excitement for his chosen field. Why would he suddenly turn on everything he believed in like this?
Was money really that much of a motivator?
She could have told him that money wasn’t really that great a thing. It hadn’t saved her mother from the car accident that killed her, didn’t save her father from the cancer that ravaged his body before taking him. It didn’t save her grandparents, and it didn’t do more than turn her great-grandfather’s hobby into a working business.
Not many people knew, but the Rains family had made their fortune in oil several generations ago. Rain Drop Farms started out as a joke, a lovely place to live and play at being a gentleman farmer. But it became a passion that took root in all the men in the family. Abigail, too, she supposed. She struggled to keep the place afloat, careful to keep farm money and personal money separate as her father had always taught her. But she was guilty of providing an infusion of funds to the farm from time to time. It wasn’t going to be under her watch that the farm went under while she was sitting on a trust fund worth ten times what Morty was hoping to get for the device. Keeping the damn ledger balanced . . . she wasn’t a math major. She could balance a scientific equation, but she couldn’t make column A say the same thing as column B.
So, yeah, money wasn’t really that important to her. She wouldn’t sell her soul for it quite like Morty was willing to do. To give up all his morals and watch her walk away . . . it must have been a really strong motivator.
She needed to talk to him. She knew he’d done this, knew that he was responsible for what was happening all around her. She needed to prove it.
She couldn’t sit here in this room for the rest of her life.
“Hey!” she called, opening the door to the bedroom. “I need some fresh air. I’m feeling suffocated in here!”
“Orders are to keep you inside,” the dark-haired man left to watch over her announced.
“I know. But I really . . .” She swayed a little. “All this canned air . . . I can’t breathe!”
The guy didn’t even set down his magazine.
“Come on,” she said, injecting a little whine into her voice. “I’ve been locked up in here since we arrived yesterday. Would it really hurt to just let me take a little walk to that park down the block?”
“Yes. What if the hitman is out there?”
“Then just around the lobby?” She groaned. “Come on! I’m feeling claustrophobic!”
He finally set down his magazine and sat up, regarding her with open curiosity. “Did you really find Kinkaid naked in some shed?”
“A barn.”
“Yeah? The hitman got the better of him?”
“It happens.”
He cracked a smile, a nice dimple coming out on one chin. “Did he give you details?”
“Maybe. What’s it worth to you?”
The guy groaned. “I really can’t let you out of here.”
“I just want to stretch my legs, nothing more.”
He studied her a moment longer. “Yeah? If I take you down to the lobby, will you tell me how that guy got Kinkaid?”
“Sure.”
He hesitated only a second longer. Then he stood and grabbed a gun she hadn’t seen before on the couch beside him, checked the clip, and shoved it into a holster under his arm. Then he pulled on a light jacket.
“Grab that coat.”
Abigail did as she was told for the first time since being brought here, suiting up for a walk in the park in twenty-degree weather. He led the way, checking the hallway and then the elevator before letting her step foot in either. They were truly cautious, these Mastiff people. In the lobby, she took the lead, dashing off the elevator before he could stop her. She was out the door and halfway down the block when he grabbed her arm.
“You can’t just rush off like that. You have to let me check things out first.”
“He’s not out here. He’s probably long gone if you ask me.”
“But you don’t know that for sure. So quit running off.”
Abigail nodded, and then let out the loudest scream she’d ever let loose in her life. And she kept screaming even as he yanked her arm, pulling her toward him on the narrow sidewalk.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded.
Even as he said it, a cop approached from his squad car that had been sitting at the corner. Abigail spotted it as she came through the door and thought she’d have time to reach it, but this was better.
“What’s going on here?” the cop asked.
“He’s trying to kidnap me!” Abigail annou
nced.
The dimpled operative stared at her, anger flashing in his eyes as he realized what she’d done. He let go of her and she took off, running faster than she imagined she could with her thigh stiffening more and more each day that passed. But when you’re motivated, anything’s possible.
Chapter 33
Somewhere over Arizona
Mastiff Private Jet
Axel settled in a seat and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind after the quick brief he’d just given his team. They were approaching San Diego, another forty-five minutes or so. Once they hit the ground, they’d have to move quickly, get to this guy’s apartment and workplace before the police got involved. And they would get involved because they always seemed to be putting their nose into everyone’s operations.
The sheriff down in Virden was making a big stink over Mrs. Philips’ murder. He wasn’t happy that a private security firm was sticking their noses into things. He wanted them out of it even though Mastiff had probably made twice as much headway on this thing than he had. If this slipped out of his hands . . . it wouldn’t. He wasn’t letting this go until he could assure Abigail she was safe.
Until he could assure himself she was safe.
He’d been rolling Durango’s job offer over in his mind. He would never have considered it before the past weekend, but after everything that had happened, it seemed to have shifted the way he looked at the world. Being with Abigail had shifted his outlook.
There was a foster family once, when he was about ten or eleven, that he thought briefly might become a forever home. They had a little girl of their own and they normally only took in infants but had agreed to take in Axel because it was an emergency—his last foster home had burned down after one of the other kids lit a trash can full of paper on fire. They were kind, gentle people who seemed to like having him around. He’d never known anything quite like it. For six months, he had clean shoes and good food in his belly, was offered hugs and bedtime stories. He walked to school hand in hand with his new sister, laughed with his new parents when they played board games on the weekends. It was a sort of paradise. He believed he could be happy there.
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