by Rita Herron
Her expression turned grave. Resigned. As if she’d lost the battle she’d been fighting for four years. As if she’d known she would the minute he’d shown up in town.
But at least she was still fighting.
Then again, going with him was half the problem. He’d let her down before.
He wouldn’t do so this time.
Lisa punched in the day care number and spoke with Ruby, her voice stilted. When she hung up, she retreated to the bedroom to pack a bag. He phoned Ethan for an update and left a message. His phone jangled as soon as he disconnected from Ethan’s voice mail.
“Special Agent Booker?”
“Yes.”
“This is Sheriff Theo Hallwater in Woodstock. I sent my deputy out looking around. There’s an abandoned house nearby that we’re going to ride out and check. My deputy said he saw a suspicious car out there earlier. He ran the plate, but the car was stolen.”
Brad’s pulse accelerated. “Give me the location, and I’ll meet you there.”
The sheriff recited directions, and Brad jotted them down, then met Lisa at her bedroom door and took her bag. “Come on, there’s an old abandoned building in Woodstock we’re going to check out.”
“You think Mindy might be there?” Lisa asked.
God, he hoped so. “I don’t know, but the sheriff is suspicious. It’s worth a shot.” They hurried to his car, and he started the engine. As he veered onto the highway, he tried to remain optimistic that they’d find Mindy and the killer at this building.
But his gut warned him that Mindy was already dead.
* * *
“I HOPE MINDY’S NOT DEAD.” Anne, a young redheaded nurse, with startling hazel eyes, looked up at Wayne Nettleton, tears glistening on the fringes of her lashes.
“I know. Mindy’s a great girl,” a chubby nurse with bifocals added in a worried voice. “God knows we’ve been blessed to have her. We’ve all been sick about her disappearance here at First Peachtree.”
Wayne’s chin itched beneath the fake beard, but he fought the impulse to scratch it for fear the danged thing might slip and reveal his disguise. Not that he’d actually needed one to question the hospital staff, but he’d just left a seedy area where he’d questioned a few of the homeless, and had wanted to fit in. If they’d known he was a reporter, they’d probably have run. He’d learned long ago if he blended into the crowd, he’d glean more information.
He had shed the ratty clothes before entering the hospital, and was pretending to be a relative of Mindy’s, an uncle who’d rushed to Atlanta out of concern for his missing niece. He’d played the sympathy card when he’d first arrived, forcing a couple of tears from his eyelids. That had done the trick. The nurses were eating out of his hand now, really to spill their guts.
Besides, when people learned that the Grave Digger was calling him personally, they tended to look at him as if he was the killer.
“She enjoyed working at the hospital,” Nettleton continued.
“Yes, she loves nursing,” the redhead said. “She always keeps her head in emergencies.”
Wayne nodded, smiling at the chubby one, Doretha. She was as round as she was tall, with soft folds around her neck and a chin that reminded him of a chipmunk. But he’d tease her, flirt, whatever was necessary to keep her talking. “Mindy has a spontaneous side to her, too,” Wayne said. “And she’s so pretty.”
“Lord, yes, that she is,” Doretha said with a twinkle in her eye. “She likes to have fun. And let me tell you, more than one man’s head turned around here when she walked past.”
Anne tapped her fingernails on her clipboard. “I thought she was getting serious about a guy awhile back, but they ended things suddenly.”
“That FBI agent, Brad Booker,” Doretha said with a head bob. “He was a looker, but he was too brooding for Mindy. And Lord knows, the hours the man kept. He’d never be around to help raise babies with her.”
“She still had it bad for him,” Anne murmured. “But she thought he was in love with someone else.”
Wayne made a mental note to add Booker’s involvement with Mindy to his article. He’d like to question Booker now, too. See his reaction. Although if he did, he might arouse more suspicion on himself… Not a good idea.
Doretha snickered. “It didn’t take her long to find someone else.”
“Was she seeing anyone in particular?” Wayne asked, keeping his tone level.
Doretha and Anne traded skeptical looks. “Well,” Doretha finally said. “She dated one of the male nurses a few times. And…I saw her leave with Dr. Langley twice.”
Wayne’s eyebrows shot up. “She socialized with Lisa Langley’s father?”
Anne gave Doretha an odd look. “I don’t think so,” Anne said. “They worked together, but date—no. He’s quite a bit older.”
As if that mattered, Nettleton thought.
“I saw them arguing in the hall a couple of weeks ago,” Doretha added. “But it must not have been important because they went to lunch the next day.”
Wayne frowned and pressed a thumb to his chin to stem the goddamn itch. “Was there anyone who disliked Mindy? Someone who’d want to hurt her?”
Anne scrunched her nose in thought while Doretha’s pudgy cheeks ballooned outward. “Not that I know of,” Anne finally said.
“Everyone loved her,” Doretha added.
Which meant these women knew nothing. Wayne had been an investigative reporter too long not to realize that the lack of a connection between the victims complicated the police’s case even more. But there was a connection… The police just hadn’t figured it out yet.
He pasted on another look of concern. “I’d like to talk to Dr. Langley,” he said. “Can you page him for me?”
Doretha checked the schedule. “He should be out of surgery by now. I’ll see if I can find him.” She batted her eyelashes at Wayne, and he offered her a solicitous look.
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
Doretha showed him to the vending machine, and he grabbed a cup of coffee while he waited. But ten minutes later, she returned to the waiting area. “I’m sorry, Mr. Faulkner, but Dr. Langley has already gone for the day.”
He cursed silently, but thanked her and accepted the business card she handed him, smiling at her scrawled phone number.
“If you need anything while you’re in town,” Doretha said, “feel free to call. Our thoughts and prayers are with you for Mindy’s safe return.”
“Thank you so much.” Aiming for sincerity, he tucked the card in his pocket, knowing good and well he wouldn’t call this woman, not unless he needed more information.
Deciding a quick visit to Dr. Langley’s home might spruce up his story, he headed toward the elevator. The fact that Langley’s daughter was the final victim of the first Grave Digger, that Langley worked with Mindy Faulkner, and that Booker had dated her was too much of a coincidence to ignore. More spice for his article.
And what about Lisa Langley? She’d disappeared after the trial four years ago. Did she know about this copycat killer?
Maybe Langley was with her now. And maybe Langley would lead him to Lisa. An interview with daddy’s little princess would certainly raise even more hype about the story.
* * *
LISA STARED OUT the window at the passing scenery as Brad drove down the mountain through Resaca and several other small towns, the dismal gray sky overhead mimicking her mood. Rolling farmland and small, quaint towns passed, reminding her of the contrast to Atlanta with its skyscrapers, heavy traffic, endless milling people and sea of anonymous faces.
She tried to think about the kids at day camp, about the art activities they were doing, the innocent little faces, the smiles and laughter, the tears over trivial things like stubbed toes or frustration over not being able to tie their shoes. The friendly people in town, the small diner where everyone knew everyone else, the homemade banana bread Ruby had brought.
The things she’d miss in Atlanta.
Sh
e’d felt safe in Ellijay, surrounded by the jutting mountain ridges, fresh air, apple houses and normally clear blue skies.
Now, she felt anything but safe.
Exactly the way Mindy must be feeling. No, Mindy’s terror was much more real right now. She was probably being brutalized, tormented, her throat dry from lack of water, her body slowly dying, just as the flowers and grass were wilting from the drought.
And then the terror of being buried alive….
The familiar burn returned to Lisa’s throat, sending chills cascading down her arms and neck, and she opened the window for air.
Brad remained sullen, brooding, his eyes trained on the road, his hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel. She ached to comfort him, to assure him they’d find his girlfriend alive, but how could she make a promise like that when she had no idea if it would come true, when she had no control over the situation?
“I’m sorry, Lisa,” Brad murmured in a low voice. “I know you’d rather be anywhere but with me.”
She glanced at his taut face and saw the anguish in his expression. Had he felt this way, been tormented, when he’d searched for her that night?
His gaze cut toward her, and her breath caught. He had. She saw it in the flash of pain and remorse in his eyes. The same sense of helplessness she felt now.
Only he had dated Mindy. Their relationship was more personal.
“I want to tell you we’ll find her,” she said in a strained voice. “I…pray we do, Brad.”
His mouth worked from side to side. “I know you do, and I…appreciate you helping.”
“I haven’t done anything,” Lisa said.
A strained lapse of silence followed. “Yes, you have,” he said in a low voice. “You faced the past to help Mindy.”
Had she? Or had she done it for Brad?
Or maybe for herself. It was time she confronted her fears. Perhaps if she helped save Mindy, she could forgive herself for the other women. Forget the helplessness and anger that had nearly driven her crazy those first few months after her own abduction and rescue.
He turned his gaze back to the curve ahead. Traffic slowed, an eighteen-wheeler shifting into low gear, the car in front of them riding its brakes. Someone slammed on a horn and a chorus followed.
“I could drop you at the police station before we meet that sheriff,” he offered.
Lisa spotted the railroad crossing up ahead, and her stomach knotted. “No, don’t waste time. You need to hurry.”
His breath hissed out as the car bounced, then flew over the railroad tracks. He turned onto a dirt road, then followed it for about three or four miles to a boulder where a mailbox sat at an odd angle, as if it had recently been plowed over and jammed back in the ground.
Brad spun onto the narrow dirt drive, the car bouncing over the gravel and earth, hitting potholes and spewing dust in its wake. Brittle bushes and weeds nearly as tall as the car door scraped the sides of the car, and limbs clawed at the window.
Through the cloud of trees and weeds, Lisa spotted an old clapboard house in a small clearing. An ancient washing machine and sofa sat on the rotting front porch. A beagle loped down the steps, then stopped and cocked its head before dropping back to the ground to chew on a half-gnawed bone.
The sheriff’s car was parked to the side, a rusted Chevelle on an incline, facing down the hill behind the house.
Brad stopped his vehicle and gestured for her to stay in it. He locked the door, but left the key inside. “If there’s trouble, don’t wait. Get the hell out of here.”
She frowned, and worried her bottom lip, jiggling her leg up and down while he drew his gun and slowly approached the house. A second later, a barrel-chested man in a sheriff’s uniform appeared. Brad followed him inside the house, and Lisa fisted her hands, her leg bouncing faster as she waited.
The house was quiet. No signs of life.
Did that mean they were too late? That Mindy was dead inside, or buried somewhere on the property?
* * *
THE STENCH OF DRUGS and chemicals heated the summer air as Brad entered the wooden house, the sight in front of him giving him a jolt of surprise. Marijuana plants filled one entire back room, visible from the small living area, and a meth lab had been set up in the other.
Drug paraphernalia littered the wooden floor and threadbare furniture, along with empty pizza boxes, beer cans and a crack pipe.
He frowned in disgust and disappointment. “This isn’t our killer’s place.”
The sheriff shook his head. “I doubt it, too. We found a couple of teenagers here when we arrived. They stole the car. We have them in custody already. We don’t need the likes of this in our town.”
No town needed it, Brad started to say, although drugs, drug dealers and meth labs seemed to be cropping up in the rural areas by the dozens.
“Did your boys look around?” Brad asked.
“We checked the storage shed out back. Nothing but rusted farm tools. And we found supplies in the car. As you can tell, the only crop these boys are growing is weed.”
Brad nodded. The scenario was all wrong for the Grave Digger, even a copycat. Although he preferred the rural areas, and the woods, and it was possible that he might choose a place near this cabin for burial, if he sensed a drug house, he wouldn’t want to be close to it for fear of calling attention to himself.
“I’m going to look around.”
The sheriff nodded. “Suit yourself.”
Brad’s chest felt heavy as he headed outside. Lisa was waiting in the hot car, so he went straight to her and opened the door. “It’s just a meth lab,” he said wearily. “The sheriff found a couple of kids here when he arrived.”
“No Mindy?”
He shook his head. “I’m going to walk around out back, but I don’t think this is our place.”
Brad started to close the door, but his cell phone rang. He quickly flipped it open. “Booker here.”
“Special Agent Booker, this is Wayne Nettleton of the Atlanta Daily.”
Brad sucked in a breath. Nettleton, the Grave Digger’s contact. “I’m listening.”
“I just got a call about the Faulkner woman.”
That was odd; before, the killer had phoned in the middle of the night. He was varying his pattern again.
“Where do we look?” Brad bowed his head and listened while Nettleton rattled off the address. Seconds later, Brad jumped in the car and tore way, racing toward Buford.
If Mindy was buried where Nettleton said she was, once again the copycat had chosen a location near Brad’s very own home to leave her body.
* * *
LISA HAD THOUGHT the tension couldn’t get worse, but as they approached Buford, every bone and muscle in her body ached with anxiety. And every minute was filled with the pulsing agony of wondering what they might find. When she’d heard Brad phone his partner, then the local police in Buford, she’d wanted to offer encouragement. But she couldn’t deliver false platitudes or promises. Brad lived with the grim reality of death and violence every day, of knowing the depravities of mankind. He had even killed when necessary. When she’d asked him about other cases during her trial, he’d clammed up and refused to talk. But she’d heard hints that he had a reputation as a man without a conscience.
Yet he had never been anything but tender and understanding with her.
She thought about her father, too. The distance that existed between them. Thanks to Wayne Nettleton’s coverage in the Atlanta Daily, along with a few other reporters hell-bent on depicting every gory detail of the Grave Digger’s sadistic crimes, her father must have been eaten up inside, going out of his mind with worry.
Then again, Liam Langley was normally an emotionless man. He had bottled any feelings he’d once had after her mother died, and rarely revealed them to Lisa. After Brad had saved her, her father had shut down even more, keeping his distance, as if being close to her shamed him.
Her father had also blamed Brad. From her hospital bed, she’d h
eard him yelling at him. He’d accused Brad of incompetence. But Brad had done everything in his power to save her.
She had been the fool to trust William White.
She wouldn’t make that mistake again. For that very reason, she’d cut herself off from all men.
Except for Brad. Occasionally, his face, his voice, had slipped into her mind, taunting her with what-ifs, teasing her with fantasies of a life that might have been, but never would be.
Had Brad blamed himself when she’d been kidnapped, as he was blaming himself now?
The next few minutes, she gripped the console as he manipulated the turns, curves and traffic lights. He flipped on a siren and raced through Buford to the winding road leading to the lake.
“How did you make it through that night?” Brad asked in a voice thick with emotion. Worry? Concern?
Lisa licked her lips and placed her hand over his, aching for him, for Mindy and for herself, for all they had lost at the hands of a madman. “I kept telling myself that you would come,” she said simply.
His mouth twisted sideways, pain darkening his smoky eyes. “I was almost too late.”
“But you saved me, Brad,” Lisa said softly. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here now.”
His gaze shot to hers, questions and guilt shadowing his face. “I…” He shook his head, but didn’t finish his sentence. She didn’t have to ask why.
He was wondering if he would be too late now, if Mindy had assured herself he’d come, if death would cheat him this time.
They finally reached the turnoff for the property, and a police siren chimed in with theirs. Brad dovetailed into the turn behind the officer, and followed him down a twisted dirt road that led to a more deserted part of the lake, an area not yet overrun by cabins and new lake homes. Another police car was already parked near the edge of the woods.
Brad braked to a stop. “You can stay in the car.”
“No.” Lisa touched his arm. “I’m going with you.”