by Melinda Colt
The sound of Evan’s phone startled them both. While she wanted to ignore it, reason prevailed.
“It’s your phone,” Chelsea said. “It’s in the kitchen.”
He dashed out of bed and rushed through the open doorway to the kitchen. Chelsea heard him answer, listen, then end the conversation with a brisk “I’ll be there asap.”
The sound of that statement had a menacing quality that sobered her instantly. She sat up straight in bed, wrapping the sheet around her breasts. Something was wrong. She waited for Evan’s shadow to appear in the doorway, growing more worried by the second when he didn’t show up. The silence scraped her nerves.
“Evan? Who was it?”
He walked to the bedroom, and she switched on the nightstand lamp to see him better. His grim expression made her stomach sink. Something was seriously wrong.
“It was the dispatch,” he said.
He bent to pick up his boxers, then pulled them on.
“What did they want?”
Evan didn’t answer right away. He stepped to the dresser, and donned a pair of jeans and a sweater. As he sat down on the bed to put on socks, he finally looked over at her.
“A woman was reported missing,” he said. “Her name is Alice Winters. Her sister called the Garda not long ago and said Alice should have gotten home four hours ago, and hasn’t. She claims Alice is never late. The officer who took the call looked into it and, because her physical description matches my two victims, he thought he should let me know.”
Chelsea couldn’t swallow the knot in her throat. Suddenly her skin was clammy, and a wave of cold crept over her.
“Do you think Aideen killed this woman?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
“I don’t know. As long as she’s at large we can’t eliminate the possibility. That’s why I’m going to check.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Absolutely not.” Evan sat on the bed beside her and gripped her shoulders, preventing her from getting up. “Chelsea, this might be just a coincidence. I’m pretty sure Aideen is too busy hiding right now to deal with another victim.”
“This woman could have been on her list already,” Chelsea argued. “Evan, Aideen is unstable and unpredictable. If she thinks she’s as good as caught, she’ll just want to take out as many people as she can.”
“Including you. Especially you. That’s why you’re not going anywhere. You’re safe here, and I need to know you’re safe so I can do my job. I have an alarm system, and I’ll leave you my spare piece.”
He went to a drawer and retrieved a gun, checked to see if it was loaded, then brought it to Chelsea.
She had never held a gun. The cold steel was a shock to her skin, and so was the weight of the pistol. It was surreal to hold this weapon in her hand, knowing the power it had to destroy life.
“I don’t know how to use this, Evan.”
“You pull the trigger.” He smiled crookedly, trying to make light of it. Swiftly, he showed her how to release the safety catch, hold and aim the gun. “I’m sure you won’t need it, but if you’re in a life or death situation, you need to have protection. If you keep all the windows and doors closed, there’s no way anyone can get in. The old lady who used to live here believed in being protected. The security system is a great one, plus there’s a deadbolt and a panic button. You couldn’t be safer anywhere else.”
“I would be safe next to you,” she muttered, then stared up at him. “I’m not afraid, Evan. I want to be there in case you need me, in case I can help, in case we capture her… I don’t know. I need to do something, don’t you understand?” she demanded, willing him to sense her desperate need for action.
Evan holstered his gun, arranging it at his hip. Then he knelt down to be eye to eye with her.
“I do understand, and you are helping. It’s thanks to you that we know who she is, we know her habits, we can anticipate some of her reactions. I know she’ll try to get to you, Chelsea, and I can’t deal with that thought. Can you understand me? Can you understand that I need to know you’re safe so I can think straight and catch this bitch once and for all?”
His eyes burned into hers, his expression fierce.
Chelsea was torn between her own need for action and the objective need for doing what had to be done. It wasn’t easy to accept there was nothing she could do right now. However, the sooner she did, the sooner Evan could start doing his job.
Nodding, she lowered her face and placed the gun beside her.
“Be careful,” she said, wrapping the fallen sheet once more around herself. “And call me if there’s anything I can do. Please keep me posted, and let me know as soon as you know something.”
“I promise.” He kissed her, squeezing her shoulder. “Do not open the door to anyone and keep all the windows closed. I’ll check them before I go. The code to the alarm is 3895, but you won’t need it. Don’t disable the alarm under any circumstances, okay? The panic button is in that drawer,” he added, indicating a vanity table. “I’ve never used it, but the owner assured me it works.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be in touch,” he said, checking the window.
After quickly walking through the house to check the doors and windows, Evan pulled on his jacket and headed out, locking the door behind him.
For a moment, Chelsea stared at the gun he’d given her. She’d never fired one and hoped she’d never need to, but it was reassuring to know it was there. She got out of bed and pulled on one of Evan’s T-shirts. The short sleeves came down to her elbows, and the rim almost reached her knees.
She wondered what had happened to that poor woman, Alice. Was there any connection between her disappearance and Aideen O’Bannion? Had she even disappeared, or was this a false alarm? God, she hoped so! She wished Evan would come back or ring and say it had all been a misunderstanding. Alice was home, and all was okay.
If she dwelled on it any longer she would drive herself crazy. She went into the living room, finding Kieran on the sofa. The cat was sound asleep, but his ears twitched when she walked in. She found her phone on the coffee table and checked to see if it was charged, pleased to see that it was.
She curled up on the sofa, phone in hand, and checked her emails. Nothing important. Biting her lower lip, she accessed her social media account and searched for Alice Winters. There were dozens of them, but when she filtered the results to include only people located in Dublin, there was only one.
“Jesus,” she whispered as she looked through the woman’s photos.
Perhaps it was only because Chelsea was looking for it, but there was a marked resemblance between herself and Alice. She had similar blond hair that matched her eyebrows and beautiful blue eyes. Her mouth was fuller than Chelsea’s, her cheekbones rounder, and she couldn’t judge Alice’s height. However, the similarities were there. Like Shannon and Jenny, the women’s physical descriptions coincided with a type.
“The Chelsea type,” she muttered bitterly.
How could she not feel guilty? If only… What? What could she have done to prevent this? Not receive the award for her work? Not write her book on schizophrenia? Stay friends with a psychopath?
Massaging the bridge of her nose, she shook her head in defeat. The truth was there was nothing she could have done to stop Aideen from becoming what she’d become. Something would have triggered her at one point. Chelsea couldn’t have predicted any of this. She had been just an excuse. Even if she hadn’t existed, Aideen would have picked someone else as a target for her fixation.
Chelsea stared back at the phone. Alice didn’t share a lot of public information. According to her profile, she worked as a curator at an art gallery. There was no information about her relationship status, religious views, or political orientation. She hadn’t posted many photos either, but the ones she had were stunning—probably taken by a professional photographer. There was one of her in a sparkling silver gown at an art event. Another showed her on an old, dark street, on a rainy day. T
he photo was black and white, and the only spot of color in it was Alice’s red umbrella. Chelsea smiled at the beauty of the image. Her smile collapsed as she swiped to the next photo. Alice and a black cat, both cuddled up on a white sofa.
Chelsea’s heart began to beat faster. This was proof that Alice’s disappearance wasn’t a coincidence. Aideen had chosen her, probably days ago. It wasn’t a random decision. Obviously, Aideen had done her research. Despite the fact that she was on the run, she’d still gone ahead with her plan. Chelsea dreaded being right about this unstable woman who was cornered and had nothing to lose. She would take as many people down with her as possible. If she’d kept to her pattern, Alice Winters was already dead.
A sob speared her chest. Another woman dead because of her. No matter how much Chelsea reasoned that she wasn’t to blame, everything was too fresh for her to shed the guilt and look at the situation objectively. How many more women would die? How would the Garda ever catch Aideen when they didn’t have a single useable clue to her location?
In her desperation, she didn’t even flinch when her phone signaled an incoming email. She couldn’t imagine it being anything important, but checked it anyway out of habit. Listlessly, she tapped the screen, and her blood ran cold. The sender was Black Dawn. Heart hammering, Chelsea tapped to open the email.
It was a photo of Alice Winters, eyes wide, mouth covered by duct tape. Only her face and upper body were visible. Her hands were duct taped together, and there was a thick rope around her neck. She was tied to the tombstone that marked Chelsea’s mother’s grave.
Under the photo, a message was written in caps:
YOU HAVE ONE HOUR TO COME ALONE TO GLASNEVIN CEMETERY, OR SHE DIES. NO POLICE, NO PHONE, NO WEAPON—OR SHE DIES.
Chapter Twenty-One
Chelsea’s hands trembled once as she reread the message and took another good look at Alice’s photo. She allowed herself one shiver before she steeled her jaw. Never had she experienced the cold determination that descended over her. All at once, she knew what she had to do. A sense of purpose spread through her veins, washing away any trace of fear or doubt. She would save this woman. She was going to save Alice. She would face Aideen and bring her down.
All these thoughts ran through her mind in seconds as she dashed into the bedroom, pulled on her jeans and a sweater. She hesitated, but decided to tuck the gun Evan had given her into the small of her back. This wasn’t something Aideen could trace with her computer skills, and if Chelsea stood a chance she would need the gun. She was sure Aideen was armed too—Christ alone knew with what.
As she rushed to the front door and pulled on her coat, her mind worked frantically. She grabbed her purse and dug out her car keys. What else could she take? She didn’t dare take her phone because Aideen might track it somehow through its GPS function.
Should she call Evan? Aideen might track that too. She could have spoofed her phone and followed her calls. Chelsea suspected Aideen was itching for a reason to kill Alice, and damned if she was going to give her one.
Besides, she wouldn’t place Evan in danger. She had to do this alone to regain her self-confidence. Until recently, Aideen had been just a distant memory, one in a million. Now, she had become her nemesis, one Chelsea had to face and defeat once and for all.
She inserted the code to disable the alarm, went out and closed the door behind her, listening as it clicked shut. She ran down the stairs, thanking God her car was here. She’d insisted on bringing it in case she had to go out when Evan was not at home. Hopefully, it would be a life-saving decision.
Starting the engine, she mentally traced the fastest route to Glasnevin Cemetery. Time was short—too short. What if she didn’t make the deadline and arrived only to find Alice dead? No. Aideen would wait for her. If she knew anything about psychopaths, she knew that Aideen would want her to watch while she killed Alice. And Chelsea was not going to let that happen.
She took a right turn, doing her best to respect the speed limit. The last thing she needed was to be stopped for speeding. The roads were slick with the rain that continued to fall, reducing the visibility and making everything blurry. The windshield wipers could barely keep up. Absurdly perhaps, Chelsea thought it was as though the skies were crying in anticipation of her confrontation with Aideen. Was this a weeping of sorrow or a promise of triumph? Who would win on this freezing November night? Her? Her enemy? Would she be Aideen’s last victim? Was she going to die next to her mother’s grave?
“No fucking way.”
She looked at her watch for the umpteenth time. Twenty-seven minutes had passed. Thirty-three left. She was going to make it. If only she’d had more time to find a strategic way to approach this, to make a plan. Aideen wasn’t foolish enough to give her that opportunity.
She conjured up the topography of the cemetery. It was a place she knew all too well, but so did Aideen. They’d spent plenty of time there together. If only she had known then where that destructive friendship was going to lead…
Chelsea shook off her sorrow. It wasn’t doing any good, and neither was the thought of Aideen desecrating her mother’s grave. Chelsea hadn’t been there in several weeks, but she knew the grounds. There were trees everywhere, which would give her an advantage. She knew where Aideen was, unlike Aideen, who didn’t know from which direction Chelsea would come. It was a slight advantage, but still an advantage.
The cemetery gates appeared in her range of vision. She looked at her watch. She had seventeen minutes left. The barrier that gave access to the parking lot at the entrance was down. Chelsea cut the engine and rushed out of the car, careful to keep quiet and not to slam the door. She was grateful for the late hour and terrible weather. At least no one else was around to become a collateral victim.
The rain was vicious, lashing at her face, beating down on her scalp, making her vision swim. Her breath huffed in rhythmic clouds as her strides turned into a jog. Instead of heading to the main pathway, she took a side route and decided to walk along the surrounding stone wall. This was no easy job because the wall, bordered by thick vegetation, was built on an incline with a steep downward angle. Rainwater had gathered in the trench. As she made her way through the thick brush and trees, Chelsea felt the cold water creep up and reach her ankles. It was painfully cold. Her feet stuck in mud every few steps. Stray branches scratched her face and hands, which she held up protectively like a boxer. She was grateful for the rain though. The sound of it on the cement lanes and marble headstones covered any sound of her approach.
She had five minutes left when she estimated she was somewhat parallel to her mother’s grave. Cautiously, she stopped and looked up at the wall, sleek with rain. It wasn’t very high, but to her it looked huge. How would she climb that wall? Had she made a mistake that was going to cost at least one life?
“God dammit!”
Panting, she looked around, knowing it was useless. She could see nothing but darkness. Getting on her knees, she began to search for a rock, a fallen log, something she could use to give herself a lift. There was nothing. Desperate, she put her hands against the wall and felt her way up. She almost gave a cry of joy when she felt a small crack in the stone barrier. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for her to place her foot into and give herself a boost. She had a nanosecond to coordinate her frozen limbs to make the jump and grab the edge of the wall, while fumbling wildly to find the tiny crack and plant her foot in it. Pulling herself up required a herculean effort, but adrenalin was doing a lot of the heavy lifting right now. Suddenly, she was over the wall and landing with a quiet splash in the mud on the other side.
She stared around at the dozens of tombstones. There were soft nightlights scattered here and there, giving this realm of spirits a surreal quality. While they helped her orient herself, they also worked against her because now she wasn’t as inconspicuous as she’d wanted. She made her way forward among the graves, heading to the place where her mother was buried. She did her best to stay in the shadows and masked he
r steaming breath by pulling the neck of her sweater up to cover her mouth.
She squinted at her watch. Two minutes left. She was almost there. Stopping next to a majestic oak, she supported herself against the sturdy trunk. And as she peeked beyond it toward the approximate location of her mother’s grave, she saw a silhouette faintly outlined by dim light and splattering raindrops. Aideen.
Chelsea’s eyes narrowed involuntarily, her nostrils flaring. Finally, she had a chance to face this bitch who’d wormed her way into her life and made a mess of it, while taking two others. It was payback time, for Shannon, for Jenny, for Alice… for herself.
Like a warrior before a battle, she fought to steady her breathing and gather her strength. An image of Evan flashed through her mind, smiling, his peaceful face resting on her breast. If God was watching tonight, He would help her get back to her lover—her love. She wanted to enjoy moments like that with Evan for the rest of her life. But first, she had business to finish.
Reaching under her wet coat, she felt the reassuring cold steel of the gun at the small of her back. After a moment’s thought, she grabbed it and moved it to her right hip, where it was concealed by her coat yet easily accessible. Then, she stepped out of the shadows.
As she drew closer, she saw Alice tied to the tombstone where words she’d memorized had been inscribed by people she didn’t know: Here rests Cassandra, beloved wife of Martin and loving mother of Chelsea. You will be dearly missed.
Aideen was pacing several steps away. The light of a tall, slim lamp fell across her, and Chelsea saw her from behind. She wore a black leather coat and thick boots. Her hair was soaked with rainwater, and she held a deadly-looking revolver in her right hand. Chelsea swallowed, wishing she had a Kevlar vest, wishing she’d practiced target shooting… Useless thoughts now. The best weapon she had was her brain—and she had to prevent Aideen from putting a bullet in it.