He leaned his body over her, pressing his erection against her aching belly and pinning her to the carpet. “Aww, honey, you haven’t figured it out yet? Some psychic.” His hot breath coated her cheek, and his rough mustache rasped against her as he licked her from her jaw to her temple.
She cringed and sobbed. “Stop, oh God, please stop,” she wailed.
“No one’s gonna stop me.” He reached into his pocket with one hand, while keeping her arms confined with the other. “Not you. Not your powers.” He held a rag above her. “Not your limp dick boyfriend. You’re mine.”
“Wait,” she screamed, her breath coming in shallow pants.
“No time for talking.”
“Please, just tell me why. I don’t understand.” She stared at the rag, not sure what he was going to do with it.
A slow smile crossed his lips. “Women should be obscene and not heard,” he said mimicking Groucho Marx to a tee, down to the twitching mustache and wriggling eyebrows.
She stared at him as he laughed, realizing she didn’t know this man. This demented, scary man who she’d once considered a friend.
“Still don’t get it? Okay, okay.” He sighed. “Time’s a wasting, so let me set you straight. Those women you’ve been dreaming about? I killed them. Winston? He’s my brother. Too bad he’s such a fuck-up, because if he were free, we’d sure have some fun with you.”
“Oh my God. No.” Screaming as loud as she could, she fought him. Turning her head from side to side, trying desperately to avoid the rag he dangled over her face. Not Dan. He couldn’t be Winston’s partner. He couldn’t be the masked man from her trances.
Laughing he held her still. “Fight me.” He pressed his erection against her. “I love it when they fight.”
She did fight, until her muscles burned with the exertion. Until her neck ached from trying to avoid the rag he teased in front of her face.
“I’d love to keep playing this game, but like I said, time’s a-wasting.” He clamped the rag over her mouth and nose. “Breathe. Take it.”
Holding her breath, she knocked her body against his, refusing to give up the fight.
He only groaned with sexual gratification. “Yeah, keep fighting me,” he encouraged, and pushed himself against her.
She went still. With fright. With horror. She wouldn’t give him what he wanted. He wasn’t going to rape or kill her now, she assured herself, but he would try later. She’d escape him then, or maybe John would...
Dread gripped her. No one knew she’d volunteered to help Dan today, except Ian and Will. But she’d told Will she wouldn’t be at The Sugar Shack until around twelve thirty. As for Ian, he was supposed to leave for Chicago this morning.
Her lungs burned. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold her breath. Would Will even suspect something was wrong if she didn’t show? Would he call John?
John. Despite what had happened yesterday, she loved him so much. He’d blame himself for this. For all of the things he’d said last night. He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to her. She wished she could tell him she loved him, that none of this was his fault.
She pushed a few breaths out, still refusing to inhale. But her lungs demanded air. Her face grew hot as she stared up at Dan. The excitement in his eyes sickened her. Bile began to rise in her throat, and her air waves opened instinctively.
“That a girl,” he crooned as she drew in a deep, ragged breath. “Take it all.”
Her head swam. Her eyes drooped.
Then everything went black.
*
“About fucking time,” Dan muttered, then unable to resist, he ground his dick against Celeste’s limp body. He’d prefer her awake for what he’d do to her, though. He did like when they fought, and she was a fighter. He couldn’t wait to break her and show her who held the power, the control.
He lifted her into his arms, then carried her to her car. Racing back into the house, he grabbed the duffle bag he’d packed last night, her purse and keys, then paused at the front door.
Miranda had still been breathing when he’d bent down to kiss her. She should have been dead with the amount of morphine he’d pumped into her body. With his hand on the door knob, he fought the urge to go back and check if she’d finally died or not. Glancing at his watch, he realized he was already behind schedule.
Burn the place.
He could, but the fire would alert them to him. He needed to make sure he had hours between them and the time they discovered Celeste was missing.
The phone rang. He jumped and dashed into the living room for the receiver. If Roy or anybody else were calling, he’d have to play it cool. After all, he was the concerned, doting husband with the terminally ill wife.
He checked the caller ID, then relaxed.
Private Number.
Probably another solicitor. He tossed the phone on the couch, and without hesitation this time, slammed the door behind him.
*
Dr. Alex Trumane cradled the phone against his ear. When a computerized voice message came on the line, relaying the number he’d dialed and nothing more, he ended the call, then rested the phone in his lap.
It had been a stupid idea to call in the first place. If Miranda had answered, what would he have said? Worse yet, what if Dan Malvern had answered? The man was a walking nightmare.
Thank God he had an unlisted phone number. He didn’t want Dan to know he’d called. Malvern had been a cop when he’d first blackmailed him, and now Alex wondered if he were still in law enforcement.
He quickly Googled: Dan Malvern, Wissota Falls, WI. The screen popped up with more links than he’d expected. None of them had to do with Dan, but with a serial killer plaguing the county. Frowning, yet curious, he opened the first link from the Chippewa Gazette’s website, then jerked back with a gasp.
Garrett Winston. He stared at what was likely a photo taken from Winston’s driver’s license. He had a beard now, but those cold, arrogant eyes, the hard set of his mouth —he’d never forget that face.
Skimming through the article, he shook his head in disbelief. Winston had killed four women, and was suspected to have murdered two others.
In Wissota Falls.
Where Dan and Miranda Malvern lived.
Alex opened another article. This one reported that Winston had murdered a prison guard, and was now hospitalized after suffering severe injuries.
He clicked on several other links, hoping for more information, but they all told the same story. Then he found an article, dated two years ago, this one also from the Chippewa Gazette, and about Deputy Daniel Malvern. He read through it, then snorted.
The Wissota Falls mayor had honored Malvern for acts of bravery. Apparently the deputy had gone to a house because neighbors had complained about the traffic and noise that had been disturbing them during all hours of the day and night. Instead of handling a case of simple noise disturbance, Malvern had discovered a meth lab.
“What a prince,” Alex muttered, then looked up the number for the Wissota Falls Sheriff’s Department. They needed to know about Malvern and his connection to Winston. He knew they’d ask him questions, but he no longer cared. What he’d found today went beyond making amends with Miranda Malvern. If she were dead, he’d have to live with that. But what if, as a deputy with the means and the badge, Malvern tried to help Winston escape? What if Malvern had taken part in Winston’s killing spree, or knew about it all along and had turned the other cheek?
He dialed the phone number that had popped up on his computer screen. A woman answered the call, and he froze. Damn, he should have rehearsed what he’d planned to say.
“Hello?” she asked. “Are you there?”
“Ah...yes, may I speak with the sheriff?”
“He’s not in right now. Can I take a message and have him call you back?”
“I...just tell him that I have reason to believe Deputy Malvern is personally associated with Garrett Winston.”
“Reason to belie
ve? Who’s calling?”
“Ma’am,” he began. “I don’t just have reason to believe, I know for a fact that your deputy and Garrett Winston were friends, partners, when they lived in Mississippi.”
There was a long pause before she finally spoke. “Did you say Mississippi?”
Sweat began to dampen his brow. Maybe this had been a stupid idea, too. Maybe he should have just chartered a plane to Eau Claire and met with the sheriff in person. He was dealing with a small community. What if she was good friends with Malvern? She could go to him first, rather than the sheriff. If she did, Malvern would know he’d been the one to place the call that would incriminate him. He wasn’t ready to sign his own death warrant.
“Yes,” he finally said his voice rising. “And I have urgent information the sheriff needs to know.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll patch you through to the sheriff. Before I do, give me your number in case I lose the connection.”
“Malvern can’t know about me,” he said with vehemence, with fear. “He’ll...I know what he’s capable of and I have a family to protect.”
“I understand, and I swear to you no one will know about this phone call except me and the sheriff. I’m assuming you’ve read about what’s happening here.”
“Why do you think I’m calling?”
“Then you know we could use any help we can get. Please, sir, give me your information and I’ll patch you right through.”
Paranoid that she might be lying, he almost gave her a false name and number. Then a thought occurred to him. “Before I do, I need to know something.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“Is Malvern’s wife, Miranda...alive?”
The woman’s breath hitched. “She’s...yes, but terminally ill. Why do you ask?”
He released a deep sigh of relief. She was still alive, there was still time.
“Because he’s killing her. Slowly.”
“Sir, do you know what you’re implying? First—”
“My name is Dr. Alex Trumane,” he interrupted, his chest suddenly swelling with pride. He’d found Number Twenty-Two and he would save her. “And I know exactly what I’m implying. You have a monster on your hands, and I’m about to help you stop him.”
*
John shuffled through the sodden, dead leaves, poking the wet ground with a wooden pole. Roy moved alongside him, keeping a five foot range and doing the same. Surprisingly, so did Ian. Ian had planned to leave for Chicago this morning, but he’d decided, since he had no other plans for the weekend and he hadn’t been in the field for a while, he’d join the search.
John hadn’t bought his excuses, not after last night. Instead, he suspected Ian had stuck around to ensure he had his manipulative nose right where he wanted it. Between he and Celeste.
In the distance, the rest of the search party, including all of Roy’s deputies minus Dan, a half dozen State Troopers, and a few locals, moved through the woods. Roy had hoped to have a cadaver dog as part of the search, but the handler, who had been driving from Green Bay, had run into a pile-up on the interstate. Still, they had eighteen men looking for the third victim, and that was more than he’d expected given the short notice.
Radios squawked and men’s voices echoed against the trees. The air already damp from last night’s storm, grew thicker as they approached the river.
John stopped and closed his eyes. Listened. Even from here it did sound like the water was rushing in three different directions. Goose bumps rose over his skin as he remembered Celeste’s trance and how she’d described the sounds.
Celeste.
God, he’d been such a stupid ass and he couldn’t wait to tell her. To apologize.
After he’d gone back to the Chippewa Inn, he’d spoken with Rachel, who had assured him that all of Roy’s deputies’ backgrounds were in check. Then he’d sat in front of his laptop, opened the binder containing everything they had on Winston, and instead of focusing on the investigation, he’d thought about nothing but Celeste.
He’d already realized what a fool he’d been even before Ian had called around midnight to read him the riot act. He’d let him say his piece anyway, knowing he’d deserved every bit of it. Instead of considering how Celeste must have felt when she’d found out her dad wasn’t really her dad, and that her mom had kept so many secrets from her, he’d only thought of himself. Instead of comforting her, he’d walked away. Childishly.
She had every right to be angry with him, but he’d grovel, explain himself away until he was blue in the face. Maybe he should buy her a gnome as a peace offering. A way to break the ice. Then he pictured her throwing the plaster bastard at his head, and winced.
“Heartburn?” Roy asked as he prodded the ground, and shoved the wet leaves aside.
Ian chuckled. “Safe to say.”
John glared at him, then shook his head. “Not the kind you’re thinking, Roy.”
“Screwed up again, huh?” the sheriff asked.
“Big time.”
“Right it when we’re done here.”
“I—”
The sheriff’s radio chirped. “Hang on a sec. Roy,” he answered.
“It’s Bev, I’ve got a call I’m patching through to your cell phone. It’s urgent,” she said, sounding breathless.
Roy frowned and looked at him, then Ian. “Patch it through,” he said as he pulled out his cell phone.
“I’ve got something,” one of the men yelled out not more than fifty yards from them.
“Bev, hold the call,” Roy said into his radio.
“No,” she shouted loud enough Ian, who was ten feet away, turned and raised a brow. “It’s urgent.”
“Go ahead, we’ll check it out,” John said, and nodded to Ian. They left the sheriff behind, and jogged to where they’d heard the commotion.
As they neared a clearing close to the river, John stopped dead.
“Oh my...” Ian turned away from the decomposing body tied to a tree.
One by one, the rest of the search party approached. When they’d glimpsed the nude, battered body of the third victim, they’d turned away as well.
He didn’t. He wanted to, but remembering Celeste’s trance, he knew this was the crime scene. Another woman murdered by Winston and Haney. “Everybody stay back,” he ordered, then turned to Lloyd. “You’ve got the tape?”
The Viking nodded.
“Set up a fifty foot perimeter around the body, CSU is on call.” He scanned the crowd, then called on Jesse, one of the only men that didn’t look as if he was about to lose his breakfast. “Get these men out of here. Have Ed wait for CSU along the road and lead them back here.”
While Lloyd began laying the crime scene tape, Jesse disbanded the search party, just as Roy ran toward them. Pale, his eyes bleak, he looked to the dead girl with disgust, then to Lloyd. “You’re in charge. Wait for CSU.”
“Sure, Roy.”
“Jesse, I need you to gather the rest of my deputies, along with the state troopers and meet me at the highway. Be ready to move out.”
“Got it.”
Roy began to move, but John grabbed his arm. “Roy, what’s going on?”
“That call...I don’t know what to believe, but I’ve got a doctor from Mississippi claiming he can connect Dan to Winston.”
“Who’s Dan?” Ian asked.
“Dan Malvern’s one of my deputies.”
Ian frowned. “The one with the sick wife?”
Roy’s brows skyrocketed. “How did you know about that?”
“I was with Celeste last night. She told me Will was opening the diner this morning because she was going to help your deputy by watching his—”
John took off in a sprint. Fear squeezed his chest.
Better watch out for her. My brother’s got a thing for knives.
Chapter 28
Frantic, after Roy and Ian had discovered Malvern’s wife barely hanging on to life, and no sign of Celeste, John burst out the back kitchen door. As he ran across the dr
iveway apron, Jesse staggered from the garage, his face white, his eyes round with horror.
He grabbed the deputy, as fear grabbed hold of his heart. “What is it? Celeste?”
“No, it’s—”
Releasing the man, John raced inside the garage, aware Ian was now only a few steps behind him. He stopped cold when one of the state troopers stumbled out the door of another room attached to the garage. Without preamble, without a word, John shoved his way in through the door.
Ian gasped over his shoulder. “Oh...God.”
John couldn’t speak past the bile rising in his throat as he stared at the grotesque scene. Blood coated the floor, splattered one of the walls, a patch on the ceiling, and even the light bulb. A woman, duct taped to an overturned chair, lay half-naked and lifeless on the floor, blood coagulating around her. The small room stank, not only of the dead victim, but as if something had been burned.
“This just keeps getting better and better,” Mitchell said as he walked into the room.
John turned, relieved the lead CSU investigator was here rather than at the other crime scene. “He has her,” he snarled. “That son of a bitch has her.”
“Highly possible based on what I’ve been told.” Mitchell gripped John’s shoulder. “Keep it together.”
“Keep it together?” John shouted, then pointed at the dead woman. “Look what he’s capable of. Look at what he’s done.” Raw fury, fear, and guilt suffocated him. Needing fresh air, needing to think, he stormed from the room, until he made it outside.
Resting his hands on his knees, he drew in deep gulps of the brisk, Fall air, as his mind and heart raced. Malvern, rather Haney, had Celeste. The things the sick bastard could do to her...
God, he loved her so much, and had made a huge mistake last night. What if that was the last time he’d ever see her alive? What if he never had the chance to talk to her, hold her, tell her he loved her and what a fool he’d been?
“John,” Ian said as he came from the garage.
He stood and ran a hand through his hair. “Not now. I need—”
CORE Shadow [1] Shadow of Danger Page 36