Violated

by Arnold, Carolyn

  Even her voice sounded like a woman’s. “Leslie Shaw.” He said her name for two reasons. One, to let her know he was aware of her true identity, and two, to let his team know to trace his phone.

  “Would you be expecting someone else?”

  “I thought you’d be here, where Clancy’s used to be.” He inflected a hint of disappointment into his voice.

  “Ah, well, you jumped to the wrong conclusion.” She sounded pleased with herself.

  “Where are you?”

  “Oh, if I told you that, it wouldn’t be any fun. And don’t bother trying to trace this call. It won’t get you anywhere.”

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I want you to know why I did what I did,” she said, “why I killed those people. To stand where I was when—”

  “When what?” He had to keep her talking, but as he kept the conversation going, he remained vigilant to his surroundings.

  “At least you are there. I knew I could count on you.”

  Click.

  Jack squeezed his hand around his cell phone. “Tell me we got something,” he said to his team.

  “Unfortunately not,” Zach informed him.

  “Son of a bitch!” He ripped the comm from his ear and stuffed it into a pocket as he hurried back to his vehicle. But he went past his to go to his team’s. He tapped a cigarette out of his pack and lit up, savoring every little bit of nicotine that hit his system.

  Zach put the driver’s-side window down.

  Jack exhaled a puff of smoke. “She’s not here, and this was a fucking waste of time.”

  Paige leaned over the console to see him. “Do you think we interpreted the clue wrong?”

  Jack shook his head. “No, she wanted us to come here. Not that it seems she had any intention of joining us here. She wants to make sure that we understand her and know what happened to her.”

  “And she had to drag us all the way out here to do that?” Brandon asked.

  “She’s trying to manipulate us, and she’s done a fine good job of it.” Jack took another deep drag from his cig.

  Ah, almost as good as an aphrodisiac.

  But it still didn’t calm the frustration over having wasted the time coming here. “Let’s get back to the hotel and talk this out. Who knows when she’ll kill again…”

  -

  Chapter 47

  WE MADE IT BACK TO the Hyatt around eleven at night, but it felt like two in the morning. While we had been in California for a couple of days, my body still hadn’t adjusted to the time change. I wasn’t sure what else we were going to accomplish tonight, though. It seemed apparent we were letting Leslie call the shots right now, and there still hadn’t been any hits on the BOLO for the rental. Trying to track the GPS in Leslie’s phone also met a dead end, which meant she was smart enough to call Jack from a burner cell.

  The four of us entered the lobby. Paige yawned, and Zach and I followed suit. Jack seemed immune.

  “Maybe we should pick up in the morning, boss?” Zach suggested.

  I liked his proposition, but I wasn’t about to request any leniency on bedtime.

  Jack’s jaw tightened, and I wasn’t sure what he was going to say to Zach but I had a feeling it might not be so nice.

  “All right,” Jack said on a sigh. “Five o’clock in the lobby.”

  Shows you what I know.

  We all headed to the elevator bank. Paige was the first off the car as her room was on the third floor. The rest of us continued up to the fifth floor. I couldn’t wait to sink into the pillow-top mattress and drift off to dreamland.

  “Night,” I said to Zach and Jack as I stopped at my door and slid in the keycard.

  I wasn’t sure if I had enough strength to even get undressed before dropping into bed, but I managed to walk out of my clothes as I went across the room. I set my gun and holster on the nightstand, crawled under the sheets and comforter, and I closed my eyes.

  But my mind wouldn’t rest. What had we missed? That clue left behind with Foreman… Two words: crime and scene. What did they mean?

  I rolled onto my side, willing my mind to shut off.

  It wasn’t working.

  I rolled onto my other side.

  Seconds later, I was sitting upright, eyes wide. There were actually three words in Leslie’s clue to us, only we hadn’t put them together. The first word was what Foreman had said when we first got there. Jack. We had thought Jack was just being addressed with the message, but what if Jack was supposed to be connected to the other two words? What if she was actually threatening to kill Jack? What if she meant Jack’s crime scene?

  “Shit!”

  I jumped up, stubbed my toe on the nightstand—how I managed that, I don’t know—and let out a string of curse words. I turned on the light.

  I fumbled with my clothes as I tried to get them back on. This was crazy. I could be totally wrong about this. I tried his cell phone, but it was going to voice mail. Maybe he couldn’t get to it or he didn’t hear it?

  He could be asleep already, I reasoned.

  No, that wasn’t like Jack…

  But I’d try calling his room before I got too worked up. If he answered and everything was fine, I’d figure out something to say.

  I dialed. One ring…two…three… I let it continue until it rolled over to voice mail.

  All right. I had to breathe. Maybe he was just in the shower or in the bathroom and couldn’t get to the phone.

  I called Paige and Zach to let them know what I was thinking, hoping that my gut feeling was wrong.

  NOT COUNTING THE NIGHT SHE had spent in jail, Paige hadn’t remembered ever being this tired. But she wanted to be strong for Jack and the others. Mainly Jack. She had been so relieved when Leslie hadn’t shown up at the address. And she had been just about as relieved when Zach made the suggestion to resume things in the morning. It had been a good call. What else were they going to do tonight?

  But as tired as she was, her stomach still growled for food. They’d worked right through dinner, so as soon as she stepped off the elevator on her floor, she hit the vending machine for a bag of chips.

  She opened the bag and stuffed a few chips into her mouth before unlocking her door. Inside, she slipped out of her shoes, dreaming of setting her weary bones on the soft mattress when she noticed a silhouette in the chair next to the window. She dropped the bag of chips and had her gun drawn and aimed.

  “Put your hands up!” she shouted as she closed the distance.

  The figure moved, and it looked like the person was wiping his or her eyes.

  Paige flicked the light switch on the wall beside her. As her eyes adjusted and she made out her visitor, she holstered her gun. “What are you doing here?”

  Sam came toward her, arms extended, hands reaching out to touch her. “Listen, I can understand if you’re mad at me.”

  She held up her hands and backed up to where she had dropped her chips. Her appetite was gone, but she had made a mess, and she rather wanted the distraction of cleaning it up. She was bent over picking up the chips when she felt his hand on the small of her back. She stood and looked him in the eye.

  “I’m sorry, Paige.”

  Since he’d left, she’d been thinking about reconciliation, but now that he was in front of her, she was angry. “You made me look like a fool. At the very least, feel like one.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He paced a few steps. “I was hoping that we could—”

  “You left me, Sam. I came to California to spend time with you.”

  He angled his head. “Be honest. You came to California to confront Ferris. It wasn’t about us.”

  “I could have come by myself, but I didn’t.”

  “You just wanted someone to tell you that you were doing the right thing by dredging up the past.”

&n
bsp; Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it beating in her ears. “I was doing the right thing. People like Ferris—rapists like Ferris—need to know that their behavior isn’t acceptable, that it has real-life consequences.”

  “And I get that, Paige, I do.”

  Silence fell between them.

  What was she supposed to say? She had hurt him, too, let him down. But somehow, in her mind, his leaving her trumped all she had done.

  “Why did you come back?” She wasn’t going to ask him where he had been for the past day. She hoped wherever he had been that he’d regretted leaving her every second.

  “I’m hoping that you’ll forgive me.” He searched her eyes, his own gaze soft and sincere. After a few seconds, he added, “But if we’re going to make a relationship work, I need to know it’s over between you and Brandon.”

  She pressed her lips together, not wanting to say anything she’d regret. “I told you it was over, but you didn’t want to believe me.”

  “I still don’t understand why you called him first.”

  “You want to know why? Because I knew I could trust him. I didn’t want to give you a bad impression of me. Here your new girlfriend is suspected of murder, and I knew how you felt about me going to see Ferris in the first place, let alone by myself.” She crossed her arms.

  “What if he still loves you?”

  “Brandon?” She puffed out a lungful of air. “The only person he loves at this point in his life is himself.”

  Sam shook his head. “I don’t believe that.” When she didn’t respond, he went on. “Do you?”

  He obviously wasn’t going to let her bypass the subject. She looked him straight in the eye. “What does it matter if he loves me or not? What we had is over.” She held up her hand because Sam opened his mouth as though he was going to say something. “And even if things did change—one of us got another job, Brandon decided he did love me—none of it would matter if I’m in a relationship with someone else.”

  “Are you in a relationship?” Sam studied her eyes. The pain in his gaze mirrored what she felt inside.

  Her old self would have given him the power to decide their status, but if Brandon had taught her anything, it was that she needed to assume that power for herself. “How about we take it one day at a time?”

  Sam’s shoulders sagged.

  She touched his arm and caressed his cheek. “Neither of us is good at the long-term thing.”

  “I’m willing to give it a go with you, Paige.” He took her hand from his face and held onto it. “I promise I’ll never run out on you again. I’ll trust you.”

  “And I—” she took a deep breath “—will trust you.” She pointed a finger at him. “But if you ever leave me again, I will give you a swift kick in the ass.”

  Sam laughed and scooped her into his arms. “Deal.”

  She let herself sink into his embrace. Whether she had another day with Sam or fifty years, she was going to enjoy the moment. Then her cell phone rang.

  -

  Chapter 48

  JACK FLICKED ON THE LIGHT as he entered his room, closed the door, and slid the chain across. The day had seen far too much murder. First Simpson and now Foreman. He had received the text from a local agent on the way from the elevator to his room, telling him that Foreman had died on the way to the hospital. He wasn’t going to bother his team with that news right now.

  Let them go to sleep thinking they saved a man.

  Calling it a day might have been the right move for his team, but Jack wasn’t built that way. He could only rest when circumstances dictated it, and while he knew he should have been exhausted like the others, his mind whirled with thoughts about Leslie Shaw, aka Sandy Hoss.

  Jack reached the nightstand and slipped out of his shoes as he set his phone down and worked to unfasten his holster. It was then that he felt the sharp point against his back. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

  “Leslie Shaw,” he said looking over his shoulder, figuring she had been hiding in the bathroom.

  The pressure on the blade eased slightly. It told him she didn’t like being called by her real name.

  “Put your gun on the nightstand,” she said.

  He held up his one hand and used the other to do as she directed. As he put the gun down, he noticed his cell screen light up with a message. He read the part that showed. They found the rental that Leslie had taken out under the name Sandy Hoss in a lot near the Hyatt. He let out a deep, yet controlled breath.

  “Brilliant move telling me to meet you at the crime scene,” Jack said.

  Appeal to her narcissism, make her think she is in control.

  The phone rang on the nightstand.

  “If you get that, I’ll kill you,” she hissed.

  “What is your plan, Leslie?” He kept his tone calm, controlled, submissive.

  “Why must I have a plan?”

  “You always do,” he said, matter-of-fact. “You kill for a purpose.”

  “You FBI think you know everything.” Her words seemed to lack conviction. She’d had no previous run-ins with the FBI on which to base her opinion.

  “We don’t.”

  “Damn right you don’t.” She had found a spot beneath the edge of his Kevlar vest and had the blade on an upward angle. She applied pressure. He was well aware that a thrust upward would meet perfectly with his liver.

  “Why are you here?”

  “You interfered. You got involved.”

  “Did Malone rape you?” he asked. “If so, he got what he deserved.”

  Say whatever is needed to get on her good side.

  The pressure on the blade eased again. “Turn around and face me.”

  He did, slowly, realizing that if she stabbed him, he could die.

  “Tell me what you think you know,” she spat out, poking the tip of the knife to his abdomen.

  He nodded. “Malone raped you and gave you HIV.”

  “Keep going.”

  “You found him and got even.”

  “Yes.” A sick smile. “I did. What else?”

  “The rape happened at Clancy’s.”

  “Yes, and?” She seemed to be enjoying his telling of the assault. Most rape victims wouldn’t derive pleasure from reliving the event, but her mind wasn’t really on the past, it was on what she had done to rectify it. This fact sent a shiver of fear mixed with adrenaline through Jack’s system.

  “Why don’t you tell me? I can only surmise,” Jack said.

  Her eyes darkened. “Malone raped me in the club’s restroom, and no one helped me!”

  “People saw what—”

  “Yes!” she interrupted. “And I thought Sandy was a friend! She saw what was happening but just left. She did nothing to help.” Her eyes softened. “At least not until I followed her back to Texas where I killed her.” She peered into Jack’s eyes. All he saw was an inky pool of nothing.

  “And you assumed her identity and took her million dollars.”

  “Ah, yes,” Leslie said. “She paid for her negligence. Her money, ironically, kept me alive.”

  “And Clive Simpson drugged your drink that night,” Jack stated.

  “You found his stash of drugs?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Good. He was guilty.”

  “Why Peter Foreman?” he asked.

  She tsked at him. “I’m disappointed, Jack.”

  He remained quiet, not taking the bait that entreated him to talk.

  “Pete let the violators into the club,” she ground out.

  Along with the anger in her eyes, Jack picked up on something else. “You burned the club down, didn’t you?”

  A proud smile. “Yes, that was me.”

  “Why confess now?”

  “Those who needed to really pay for their crimes agai
nst me have done so.” She shrugged. “And I suppose all good things must come to an end.”

  Jack’s cell rang again, and it proved to be enough of a distraction for him to put sufficient space between them that he no longer felt the blade. He turned quickly, grabbed his gun, and poised to see the butt of his weapon meeting Leslie’s temple, but his movements stopped short when the knife buried into his flesh. He howled in pain, his vision going to pinpricks of white and red.

  Leslie twisted the blade, and it chewed his insides with a fiery intensity. And then she withdrew the knife.

  Jack dropped to the ground, clutching his side with one hand. With the other, he still held onto his gun.

  He heard clamoring out in the hallway and did his best to scream, but it came out as a garbled whisper.

  God or no God, he wasn’t going out this way.

  He put all his strength and focus into lifting the gun. His hold on it wobbled, but he pulled back on the trigger.

  The bullet fired wide, missing his target.

  Leslie came at him again, swiping the knife at him. In this moment, with all his senses heightened, the blade made a whooshing noise as it sliced through the air next to him, barely missing his face. But he knew she’d been aiming for his throat.

  He managed to kick out one of his legs, taking her down. But he hadn’t thought it through. With her on the ground next to him, she became a tougher target to hit.

  Pain had his mind slipping in and out of logical thought, and his vision was going blurry.

  He did his best to aim the gun again, hoping he’d have enough strength to pull the trigger one more time, but he found his power lacking. He dropped the hand holding the gun to the floor. His other hand still clutched his injured side, and he shut his eyes and succumbed to the darkness.

  I RAN INTO GRAFTON IN the hallway outside my room.

  “Her car’s in the area, and there’s no response from Jack,” he said.

  Oh, this really wasn’t good at all.

  The elevator dinged, and Paige and Sam unloaded.

  Sam? I did a double take.

  “I can’t reach him. Has anyone—” Paige didn’t finish her sentence, and her voice was riddled with panic.