by Green, Stacy
“He knew Josephine in childhood,” Nathan said. “I’m convinced of that.”
“Agreed.” Ronson nodded. “She’s got to be his trigger. The field office will find her.”
“If that’s her real name,” Chris said.
“It is. He’s trying to live as though she’s still with him. He’s not going to give her a fake name.”
“We know he left New Orleans in 2004—” Nathan started.
Avery entered the room clutching a stack of paper. “Nearly a hundred antique stores in the New Orleans area. This is going to take forever.”
Ronson looked at Nathan and Chris. “Let’s get to work.”
Chapter Forty-One
“You must be hungry.”
“Starving,” Emilie said.
The Taker grabbed the light and stepped to the side. Emilie studied her prison. The room was barely large enough for the Taker to stand upright and no more than six feet square. Plywood ceiling held up by two by fours, earthen walls.
He’d stuck her in her own personal vault. If she disappointed him like Marie Adrieux had done, he could leave her here to rot.
She strained to see the ceiling. It had to have a door of sorts. The light shifted. She quickly lowered her gaze.
“I’m sorry our space isn’t larger,” the Taker said. “Your friend’s visits to the tunnels left me with little preparation time.”
“It’s fine.” Emilie took the plate he offered and balanced it carefully in her zip-tied hands. A shiny red apple sat in the middle surrounded by seven club crackers. “Thank you.”
She stifled a moan as she bit into the apple. The Taker put a bottle of water at her feet and sat back down in front of her. “Drink up. You need to stay hydrated.”
A humiliating thought suddenly occurred to her. “What about when I have to go to the bathroom?”
He tilted his head to his left. “I’ve provided facilities.”
A bucket sat against the wall. It was covered by an embroidered, linen sheet. Tears popped into her eyes before she could stop them. “A bucket?”
“Don’t worry, Miss Emilie. It’s only temporary.” The Taker patted her arm. “We’ll move to a more comfortable location when you’re ready.”
“Is there any way you could untie my ankles?” She’d been sitting with her legs stretched out for so long her ass was numb.
He studied her again.
“Julian, I promise I’m not going anywhere.” She kept her voice modulated. “I just want to get more comfortable. Please?”
He traced his index finger over his lips and hummed a tune she didn’t recognize. “Tell me about the negotiator first. His name is Madigan, I believe?”
Her heart raced. She worked hard to keep her face benign. “What about him?”
“Seems the two of you have been spending a lot of time together.” The Taker’s mouth twitched. “In fact, I believe he spent yesterday evening at the Vance’s home. With you.”
“He did. I couldn’t stay at the hospital, and Agent Ronson didn’t want me to be alone. Nathan offered to keep an eye on me.”
“Isn’t that a bit out of his job description? SWAT’s a team operation, not a bodyguard service.”
“He’s interested in my case.”
An eye twitch this time. “And you.”
She had to convince him Nathan meant nothing to her.
“I don’t know about that. He’s fascinated by your escape and feels responsible. He thinks he should have figured you out.”
“Why?”
“He’s got a hero-complex. I told him you were too smart, and there was nothing he could have done. Guess he’s been trying to make up for his shortcoming.”
“A good man,” the Taker murmured. “But what about you? What are your feelings for the stalwart Nathan Madigan?”
She’d fallen in love with him. But the Taker needed to believe her feelings were ambivalent. Seeing Nathan as a rival would derail her chance at freedom.
“Like you said, he’s a good guy. I suppose I’d call him a friend of sorts.”
“And that’s all.”
“That’s all.”
He stroked his chin, again studying her with frightful scrutiny. She felt stripped bare.
The Taker reached into his back pocket and drew out a Swiss Army knife. The blade wasn’t big enough to kill, but a cut from the knife would do plenty of damage. He turned the knife over in his hand and stared at it as if in thought.
Emilie didn’t move. The knife was a reminder of who was in control.
His hand shot out, the steel glinting in the dim light as he sliced the zip ties in one swift movement. “Is that better?”
She sucked in sharp breath and let the air recede from her lungs. The Taker grinned, a hint of malice in his smirk. He enjoyed her fear.
Let him. As long as he was happy, she’d stay alive. She drew her legs into her chest and leaned forward with a groan. Her tailbone would never be the same.
“Much. Thank you, Julian.”
“Drink, please.” He handed her the bottle of water. “I don’t want you falling ill.”
* * * *
“Augustin Bougere died in 1840.” Ronson tossed her phone onto the table.
“The field office didn’t find anything more current?” Nathan asked.
“Nothing. Plenty of Augustin’s and Bougere’s live in Louisiana, but only one Augustin Bougere in the last two hundred years. He lived in the Cane River Valley and established Bougere Plantation in 1795, according to the deed. Plantation remained in the family until the 1940s. The house was torn down in 1982 after being abandoned for years.”
“So the Taker stole Augustin’s identity,” Nathan said. “But why?”
“I’m betting it’s got something to do with his trigger. I’m waiting for the history of the plantation. Hopefully the field office will find a picture or two. Any luck in New Orleans?”
“Most of them are family owned shops. No one lost an employee in 2004 and no one remembers an Augustin Bougere or anyone fitting his description.”
Nathan reclined in the stiff chair. Emilie had disappeared some time before dawn. She’d been missing around twelve hours. The Taker had kept his previous victim for weeks. He would be patient at first, treating Emilie with politeness and care in the hope of gaining her affection.
Emilie knew this. She could earn his trust.
“You okay?” Ronson’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“No.”
“None of this is your fault.”
“I know. It’s hers.” Nathan’s tone was bitter. “She knew better than to go out alone, and at night. What the hell was she thinking?”
“She wanted answers. You’re tortured sitting around here waiting, right? Imagine what it was like for her, looking over her shoulder and hoping we could protect her. Then she’s betrayed by her closest friend. Can you blame her?”
“All she had to do was wait a few more hours. Why didn’t she just call you?”
“Her life’s been out of her control for weeks now. Maybe she wanted to take some of that back.”
“It was still stupid.” Nathan swallowed the ache in his throat.
“She’s probably thinking the same thing right about now.”
* * * *
“I’m surprised by you.” The Taker mimicked her posture, sitting cross-legged in front of her so their knees touched.
Had he expected her to cry and beg for her life? Scream and fight?
“Why?”
“You haven’t asked about your mother. I was the last one to see her alive. Don’t you want to know her final words?”
Another test. He wanted her to appreciate his gift.
“No need to ask. I’m sure they were about herself, like always.”
“Yes. How she was a patron of her community, her husband was an important lawyer who adored her. All ego-laced pleas. And lies.”
“She was good at that.”
“Do you believe what she said about your biological f
ather?”
Emilie knew the Taker wanted to hear information she’d only shared with those closest to her. He wanted to be a confidant.
“I have no idea.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
The Taker leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers. Emilie resisted the instinct to recoil from the intimate gesture. “Because people are always honest when they’re about to die.”
She wanted to lunge at him. Her mother had been a terrible person, but Claire shouldn’t have been used as a pawn in his sick game. “What did she say?”
“She’d made a mistake by having a one-night stand with a man whose name she couldn’t remember.”
“What did she say about me?” Emilie couldn’t help but ask.
“That was quite interesting. I expected more of the vitriol she spewed in the alley, but she sobbed about how she wanted to love you. She just couldn’t. Every time she looked at you, she saw her mistake and hated herself for it. So you became her scapegoat.”
Her throat tightened. “She said that?”
“Yes. Claire even begged me to leave you alone. Then she pleaded for more time so she could apologize to you.”
“She wanted to apologize?”
“I briefly considered it, but the logistics just weren’t possible. How could I have released her without being caught? She’d seen my face. I wanted her to.”
“Why?”
“So she would know her daughter’s avenger, of course. Thirty-four cuts for thirty-four years of misery. All for you.” He held her hand and laced his fingers through hers. His skin was clammy. “I only wanted to make you happy. To free you from her torment.”
Emilie didn’t realize she was crying until she tasted salty tears. Claire had wanted to apologize. Deep down, she’d hated herself, not her daughter. And now she was gone.
The Taker smiled. He expected praise. Emilie wanted to rip his heart out.
The taste of vomit burned in her mouth. Her next words would be the most horrid she’d ever uttered. “You did make me happy. I’m free. Thank you.”
The Taker’s expression changed. His haunted, docile look was replaced by sheer happiness.
“You’re welcome, my sweet Emilie.” He still clutched her hand. “So many great things lie before us. You’ll see.”
God forgive me.
* * * *
Nathan sat in the station’s break room, an untouched bag of Doritos in front of him. New Orleans had seventy-three stores listed under antiques. Fifty had been contacted and none had any information. Two of the owners had heard of the Bougere family and confirmed the plantation had been divided into individual parcels and the house demolished in 1982. Like most of the South’s historic plantations, Bougere’s had a history of sorrow and death. Augustin’s first wife and child had died; slaves had been beaten to death. Nothing to help find Emilie.
The tunnel search came up empty. Officers were still in the drains, but Nathan had little hope they would find anything. The Taker was too smart. He’d found a new place to stash Emilie.
The apartment above Bougere’s Antiques served as an office and storage area. Techs were still processing evidence but hadn’t found anything that proved useful. The Taker could be out of the city and long gone by now. He’d reinvented himself once. He no doubt had a new identity for himself and Emilie already. If she managed to keep herself alive.
A large hand touched his shoulder.
Nathan stared up at his father. “Dad. What are you doing here?”
“Chris called. Got me a visitor’s pass.”
Sean ambled to the other side of the table and sat down. “How you holding up?”
“We’ve got nothing.”
“You’ll find her.”
“I’m not a detective, Dad. And Emilie and I are involved. I can’t do much but make phone calls and sit on my ass, waiting.”
“You’re a good cop. The puzzle pieces are all there. You’ll fit them together.”
“And what if I don’t? What if I fail her?”
“You can’t think about the what-ifs, son. That’s nothing but a waste of time. All you can do is keep digging. Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself ain’t gonna save her.”
Sean slid a bag across the faded table. “Lefty’s pork sandwich and fries.”
“Thanks.” Nathan’s stomach growled at the mention of food. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
The break room’s door burst open. Chris stumbled in. His shirt was half un-tucked, his short hair a mess. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and too much coffee.
“Julian Batier.”
“What?” Nathan asked.
Chris shoved a handful of fries into his mouth. “The Taker’s name is Julian Batier. He worked at M.S. Rau Antiques in New Orleans. Place is over a hundred years old and a French Quarter landmark. I looked it up online. We aren’t talking shit from Grandma’s attic. This place is ultra-high-end. Most of their stuff costs more than I make in a month.”
“How do you know the Taker came from there?”
“For one, it fits his description and his attitude. Second, when I brought up the name Bougere, the manager said the mansion was long gone, but I should contact Julian Batier. He grew up in the Cane River Valley and is an expert on Bougere Plantation. Guess he suddenly left town in 2004 after fifteen years at M.S. Rau.”
“Jesus Christ.” Hope rose in Nathan’s chest.
“Hell yes,” Chris said. “Ronson’s searching for Batier’s residence now, but she’s afraid he won’t be listed. No need to use his real name here with a fake identity.”
“He’ll be listed somewhere. He doesn’t live in the apartment above the store. He’s got a residence some place. He’s too tied to his previous life to give up his real name.”
“Then we’ll find him.” Chris looked at Sean for the first time. “Where’s my sandwich?”
“You didn’t ask for one,” Sean said.
“I’m the one who called you.”
Nathan’s phone beeped with an incoming text. “Avery just found Josephine.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Emilie had lost track of time. How many hours had she been stuck in the stale hole? She had to pee. She glared at the bucket and refused to lose her dignity in such a humiliating way.
“Julian?”
The Taker opened his eyes. Reclining against the dirt walls, he’d been resting peacefully.
“Yes, Miss Emilie?”
She hated the way her name rolled off his tongue, how the thick Louisiana accent made it beautiful. She didn’t want to like anything about him.
“I’d really like to get out of this hole. You said you had something better planned for us. Can we please go there?”
“I’m not sure you’re ready yet.”
“Are we ever really ready for our lives to change?”
He moved away from the wall and brought his face near hers, once again invading her space. She didn’t flinch.
“A good point.”
“I’d just like to get to know you in a more comfortable place. I know you did the best you could,” she added. “Short notice and all. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know you’re not.”
She forced a smile. “I meant to say, I don’t want to. After all, you’ve gone to such trouble to bring me into your life. I’d like to know why you chose me.”
“I already told you.” His eyes drifted to the necklace she wore. He stared at the bell in reverence. His hand reached out to stroke the pendant.
Light reflected off a band of silver on his index finger. In the center lay a ruby with the fleur-de-lis etched into the stone. Panic and disgust shot down her spine. Had he sought the ring out after seeing her necklace in an effort to solidify their connection?
“Your ring is beautiful,” she said. “Is it a family heirloom?”
“No.” He continued to study her necklace. “I purchased this in New Orle
ans before I moved several years ago. It dates back to the nineteenth century. Louisiana is part of my soul. I wanted something to remember her by.”
One sentimental moment had sealed Emilie’s fate. Had the Taker never bought the ring, would he have been as obsessed with her?
“Is that what drew you to me? The matching fleur-de-lis?”
His fingers trailed over her collarbone. Emilie kept her eyes locked on his, willing her body not to shrink away from his touch. “Everything about you drew me in, chère. I watched you in the gallery. Your appreciation of the art was so genuine, your expression so profound as you studied Girl with a Straw Hat. I had to know why.”
His hand moved to her bare upper arm. “I was fascinated by you. The fleur-de-lis was the final sign, but it was your eyes that awakened me. So green, so serious. They remind me of someone I once knew.”
Her mind raced. Marie Adrieux, the woman he’d kidnapped and murdered in Louisiana? “Who?”
His serene expression faltered. “Someone I lost long ago whom I cared for very much.”
Emilie recognized the pained look in his eyes. She’d seen it before, in the bank. Josephine.
“What happened to her?”
“She died.”
“How?”
The Taker dropped his hand. He gazed at the earthen walls. His mouth sagged, his body slumped.
“An accident.”
Emilie rested her tied hands on his. “I’m sorry, Julian.”
“She didn’t deserve to die. She was so innocent, so young.”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through.”
He gripped her fingers. “The moment replays in my mind every day, as vivid as when she first fell.”
“What was her name?”
The Taker’s eyes closed. His mouth twisted into a grimace. “Josephine. It means ‘God will add.’ I’ve tried to tell myself that’s why he took her from me, but then I never really believed in Him. Josephine had the faith, not me.”
“Will you tell me about her?” She brought their laced fingers to rest on her legs and tried not to think about the gesture.
The Taker didn’t respond. Instead he looked down at their interlocked hands. This was her moment. If he believed her, she had a small chance of getting out of the miserable hole. She refused to let her inner turmoil show.