by Julie Miller
Siegel was plastered, judging by the bleary focus in his eyes, but he wasn’t stupid. But there was no need to identify she. “I haven’t seen your crazy girlfriend. Not since she wigged out on me a couple of nights ago.”
“Um, Doc?” The small, grizzled man on the bed wheezed and interrupted. “Is this a bad time?”
T tore his gaze away from Siegel’s beady black eyes to spare the old man an explanation. He pulled back his coat and jacket, exposing his gun. The old man gasped. T pulled his badge from his belt and flashed it. “K.C.P.D., sir. This is police business. You’d better get out.”
The old man rose. Siegel pushed him back to his seat. “I’m treating this man for pneumonia. Who knows how many other cases are waiting out there? I’m the only treatment they get—you can’t toss him out.”
“I’m not tossing him.” T took the older man by the arm and helped him up. “I’m strongly suggesting that he might not want to stick around while I’m talking to you.”
“Do you have a warrant? I’ll sue you for harassment.”
“I have probable cause to ask you anything I want. I’m looking for a missing woman.” He stepped closer to the grungy doctor. “I have probable cause to throw you across that desk if I find out anything’s happened to her.”
The old man tugged on T’s grip. “Are you talking about that red-haired lady from the newspaper picture?”
T glanced down at the old man’s rheumy, yet lucid eyes. “Have you seen her?”
“She came in before dinner. I haven’t seen her since.”
Siegel turned and shuffled toward his desk. “And I haven’t seen her period. Now get the hell out of my office.”
Toward his desk. Something Kelsey had warned him about flashed in his mind. Shoving the old man behind him, T pulled out his gun and pointed it straight at Siegel. “Move away from the desk.”
“What are you going to do? Put me out of my stinkin’ misery?” Ignoring T’s warning, Siegel reached into the open desk drawer…
“Don’t do it.”
…and pulled out a bottle of booze.
Without wasting a breath on a curse, T strode to the desk and pushed Siegel aside, checking the drawer for himself. He quickly opened the other drawers and found papers and supplies and more bottles. But no gun.
“Kelsey said you kept a gun in here,” T prompted. “Where is it?”
Siegel wavered back and forth as he inspected the open drawers himself. “I guess it’s gone.”
“And you didn’t report it?”
“This is no-man’s land, Detective. Things get stolen here all the time.”
“Like that doll you pawned last year?” Siegel’s gaze darted to T’s and tried to focus for a moment. “You don’t seem like the doll collecting type, and yet here you are down at The Underground with an antique worth almost a grand. Where’d you get the doll?”
Siegel’s sallow skin blanched and he sank into his chair. “Clinic’s closed, Mr. Amos.” The old man nodded and left. “I want a lawyer.”
“You’ll get a lawyer when you tell me where Kelsey Ryan is.”
Siegel shook his head. “I pawned the doll because I needed supplies for the clinic.”
When he lifted the bottle to his mouth once more, T snatched it from his hand. “What did you do to Kelsey?”
“Nothing, I swear.” He dropped his face into his hands and his shoulders shook as if he was crying. “I only killed that first girl, I swear. And I don’t even remember doing it. I must have been so wasted. I swear to God, I didn’t hurt anybody else.”
T frowned. Only one? “You killed Jezebel?”
Siegel raised his head and looked at the bottle in T’s hand as if it was a lifeline denied him. “That’s what he told me. When he found me with the body, I guess it was easy to see that I’d done it.”
Too pat. Too easy. The facts had added up too easily at the precinct office. The confession came too easily now.
“Who found you with the body, Doc?”
Lifting his gaze to T’s, the bleary drunk answered. “Ulysses.”
Reverend Wingate. “And he didn’t report the murder to the police?”
“He said I could atone for my sin by staying on at the mission and taking care of these people. He lied and said I was at the morning church service with him so I’d have an alibi. Then we took the body out to the trash and called it in.”
“He covered for you.” T worked his brain around everything he’d read, everything Siegel was telling him. Everything Kelsey had seen.
Black and white.
“Son of a bitch.”
The pieces finally fell into place.
T set the bottle on the desk and pulled out his handcuffs. When Siegel reached for the whiskey, T snatched his wrist and cuffed him to his chair. “I hate to say this, Siegel. But I don’t think you killed those women.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in a number. “I don’t even think you killed Jezebel. But you did cover up a murder and hinder a police investigation. And I know there’s got to be some law about practicing medicine in your condition. Stay put.”
The phone picked up as he headed out the door. “Ginny. Get Josh and A. J. on the line and get them down to the Wingate Mission. I’ve got a lot of civilians on the premises I need to clear out. I think all hell’s about to break loose.”
KELSEY’S HEAD felt like a ton of bricks as she drifted back toward consciousness. It pounded as if those bricks were shifting inside her skull when she tried to open her eyes.
“Abi in malam rem. Abi in malam rem.”
The chant grated against her ears and abraded her soul with fear. She could barely breathe beneath the pressure in her chest.
“You…are one heck of a lot of trouble, Ms. Ryan.”
Her eyes snapped open at the grimly solicitous voice. “Reverend Wingate.”
Her head wasn’t just throbbing from whatever drug he’d used to knock her out. The bearded reverend with the black-and-white collar pressed his heavy hand against her forehead, filling her with chilling impressions of ten deaths. Ten cleansings. Innocent women judged unfit to be wives and mothers and friends and contributing members of society.
Judge, jury and executioner. Like all his other victims, Ulysses Wingate had found Kelsey guilty. “I tried to help you.” His smile turned her stomach. She tried to pull away from his touch, but her hands were bound with a long silk scarf and his hands were heavy on her forehead and heart. “I invited you into my sanctuary. To cast aside your affliction and become a better person. And how do you repay me?”
“By finding out the truth. By finally laying those women’s innocent souls to rest.”
His hand fisted in her sweater. He jerked her up to a sitting position. “Don’t you talk to me about innocent souls!”
His face was so close to hers, she could feel his beard scratching her skin in a repulsive caress.
“I know your kind.” While his hot breath damned her, Kelsey looked beyond his shoulder to take note of her surroundings. He was sitting on the bed beside her up in the attic. Still dark, still dusty, still rotten with mold and decay. “You’re abominations of nature. Possessed with unholy powers. I thought you could learn a better way. But you can’t be taught.”
She spotted the gun on the dresser behind him. He hadn’t used a gun in any of the other murders.
He shoved her onto her back and wedged his hand against her throat. “See? You’re doing it now!” Kelsey spluttered for breath. He stood over her, increasing the pressure. She beat at his arm with her bound fists and twisted her hips, trying to escape. “Don’t fight me. It’ll be so much easier to help you if you don’t fight.”
His grip lessened enough for a gasping breath, but no more, as he leaned back toward the bowl beside the gun. She blinked as he splashed water into her face and chanted something in Latin. Her lungs burned. Her thoughts clouded.
She couldn’t pass out. She had to find a way to stay conscious and try to escape.
“Every yea
r, I take on a project.” Target a victim, he meant. “I take her in. Treat her kindly. Give her meaningful work and try to teach her the way to be a good wife, a good mother, a good woman. But if she refuses to learn…” He eyed Kelsey up and down, clicking his tongue as if he loathed what he saw. “I suppose New Year’s is another holiday.”
Kelsey turned her head to the side as he splashed her again. “Stop it!” she wanted to scream. T!
A new surge of hope energized her, dampened the fear. T would come for her. She’d left him that note, and he was too smart not to figure it out. Find me, T, she prayed. Find me.
As if he could somehow read her mind, Ulysses Wingate eased his grip and laughed. She sucked in a reviving breath of air and scrambled to a sitting position, with her back against the rough, slatted wall. “Detective Banning is coming for you. He’ll figure this out. We’re partners. We work together. He knows everything I know.”
He shook his head and slipped the gun into the waistband of his black slacks. “That detective friend of yours is so blinded by lust that he’s chasing the wrong clues. Clues that I’ve carefully set up over so many years. Doc thinks he got drunk one night and killed a woman. I let him think that—all these years. Even made him believe I’d conducted a church service. I did. Later in the day. But that morning, Jezebel and I were the only two taking part in the ceremony. In return he’s done whatever I’ve asked of him, incriminating himself time and again.”
He pulled another scarf out of the dresser’s top drawer. Could she overpower him? With her hands tied together? Could she outrun him? Only if she got past him. She had to stall for time. She had to get that gun. She had to think. “You gave Doc the doll to pawn.”
“Yes. He needed money for the clinic. He had no idea where it came from.” Wingate twisted the ends of the scarf around his fists. “He’s been too drunk with guilt and booze all these years to ever question my instructions.”
Curling her knees up to her chest, Kelsey backed to the farthest corner of the bed. “What does Patrick Halliwell have to do with all this?”
He paused, as if surprised to hear the name. “Our benefactor?”
Kelsey watched his hands snap the scarf tight. Her aching throat suddenly felt parched at the thought of being strangled to death. “I know he was Jezebel’s husband. Mary’s husband. You’ve been blackmailing him, too, haven’t you.”
The reverend laughed, shaking his head. “Well, aren’t you just the clever little thing.” Kelsey flinched as he pulled the scarf taut and advanced.
“No.” She tried to work her feet beneath her so she could have leverage and stand. “No!”
He slipped the scarf between her lips, pulling them hard against her teeth and cutting the sides of her mouth. “Finding out that Mary was Patrick Halliwell’s wife was an unexpected bonus. Do you have any idea what guilt can do to a man? Imagine, sending your wife to a hellhole like no-man’s land. And she dies.” He tied a knot at the base of her skull, plucking out hairs, bruising her scalp. “He’s been atoning for his cruelty ever since.”
Kelsey jerked away when he caressed her face. Her cheek caught the wall, raising a welt. He tried to touch that, too. She screamed behind the gag and knocked his hand away.
The reverend cursed and grabbed at his forearm. “You freak!” He pushed up his sleeve and inspected a small, bloody gash on his forearm. About the size of a poodle bite.
Inspired by Frosty’s ferocity, Kelsey pushed to her feet and lunged at Ulysses. She managed to knock him back a step and leaped to the floor.
But she was dizzy. With her hands bound, her balance was off. She veered toward the door, but she could hear him behind her. She grabbed the stool, swung around and aimed it at his head. But he put up an arm and batted it aside. It crashed to the floor and careened into the shadows.
He didn’t even give her time to turn around. Kelsey’s cries were gobbled up in silk and violence. He grabbed her around the neck, fisted her grandmother’s necklace between his fingers and flung her to the floor. The chain popped and he slung the pendant away. “No!”
Pain ratcheted through her skull as every bruising touch—dragging her kicking and twisting across the floor, throwing her onto the bed, pinning her hip with his knee and yanking her arms above her head to tie them to the headboard—was intensified by horrific images of the same abuse he’d used on ten other women.
“I do good work here.” He whispered the words like a damning curse. “I need a doctor and I need money to make this happen. To help these people. To save them when society forgets them and they’re too evil to save themselves.
“Now you are going to sit here and shut up like a good little girl until I can take care of you later.”
He raised his arm. Kelsey braced for the backhanded slap that would send her into oblivion.
“Touch her and you’re dead.”
T HIT THE SWITCH, flooding the sadistic scene with light. Son of a bitch. Kelsey was bound and gagged. Her face was bleeding. That bastard had a gun and he was going to hit her again.
Anger—distilled by pure, adrenaline-pumping fear—poured through his veins, sharpening his senses and making his aim crystal clear. He cradled his Glock between hands that were rock steady and motivated to do some damage of their own.
“Move away from her, Wingate, or I will shoot you right between those smug little eyes.”
The preacher froze, one hand on Kelsey’s throat, the other poised to strike.
For a big man, he moved surprisingly fast. For a man of the cloth, he had surprisingly little compunction about endangering another human being’s life.
Wingate rolled to his feet, hauling Kelsey with him. In one smooth maneuver, he had her braced in front of him with the gun at her temple. “I don’t think so.”
“You can’t get away.” T held his ground, not risking an advance, refusing to retreat. “Your accomplice is already under arrest downstairs and backup is in the building.”
“My accomplice is a weak, drunken man. Anything he told you about me will never stand up in court.”
He allowed himself a brief glance into Kelsey’s eyes. They were frightened, but clear and strong. “Let her go and I’ll let you live to take your chances in court.”
Wingate shook his head. “She’s twisted your mind all around with her sinful ways. She’s got the devil in her head, Banning. Let me take care of her and I’ll put us both out of our misery.”
T was tempted beyond sane, rational sense to take his chances in this Mexican standoff and put a bullet through Wingate’s head.
But Kelsey was there. Too close. The woman he loved.
She couldn’t read minds, but he let everything he felt for her shine through his eyes. Be strong, sweetheart. Give me a chance. Give us a chance.
What? Was that a nod? Was she thinking…?
Oh, no. No, no!
Kelsey shoved her fists into Wingate’s forearm. The reverend cursed in pain, the gun shifted.
“Get down!” he hollered, ready to fire.
But Wingate jerked her off her feet, right into his line of sight. She kicked the reverend’s shins, elbowed, screamed.
“No!”
T charged. He lowered his shoulder and rammed full force into Wingate’s gut. The two men tumbled to the floor with a thud. Kelsey rolled free, but the fight was on.
KELSEY RIPPED the gag from her mouth and forced her aching jaw and raw throat to form a single letter. “T!”
Oh, God, what had she done? He was supposed to take a shot, like Dirty Harry on the firing range. But now both men had guns. Both were so angry. She was so afraid.
Ulysses Wingate was a bigger man. But T was younger, stronger. The reverend’s foot connected with T’s bad knee and she cried out.
She heard their pants, their curses. They smashed into furniture, screeching it across the floor. Grunts and oofs mixed with the chilling sounds of fist on bone.
A gun skittered across the floor.
What should she do? How could she help?
/>
He’d said backup was in the building. Of course. Get help. She ran to the door and screamed, “Help!”
But she was so hoarse. Her throat was so sore. The weak sound echoed back up the empty stairwell. The gun.
She’d never fired one in her life. She’d only held T’s once. But it had been deafening in her ears.
“Give it up, Wingate,” T ordered. He’d pulled his opponent up to his feet. Four hands on one gun.
“I’ll die first,” the reverend promised.
Kelsey scrambled for the discarded weapon. She ignored the smattering of deadly images. She held it up over her head, closed her eyes and aimed at the ceiling. She squeezed the trigger and…
Boom!
Kelsey jerked. Her eyes popped open.
She hadn’t fired.
“T?”
The two men stood locked together, frozen in a split second of time. Oh. My. God.
Reverend Wingate’s eyes stared, wide-open with fury and surprise. T stared right back.
“T?” Kelsey lowered her own weapon. The others would hear it.
Why didn’t Wingate fall?
T took a step back, fisted his hand and smashed it into the middle of the preacher’s face, driving him to his knees. “Don’t you ever…touch her again.” He pushed the big man to the floor, where his head lolled back, unconscious.
Kelsey shook as hours of fear and frustration worked the final sparks of energy out of her body. T tucked the gun into his belt and glanced over his shoulder at her. A cut bled over his left eye; his skin was pale. “We caught him, partner.”
She offered him a weak smile. “We sure did, smart guy.”
She dropped her gaze to the fallen man, needing to make sure for ten other women and herself that the threat was finally over.
Kelsey frowned.
Where was the blood?
“T?” A whole new sense of dread suffused her. He turned to face her, took a step toward her. “T!”
He’d been shot. A bright crimson stain slowly seeped across the front of his crisp, white shirt.
T FELT HIS KNEES buckle before he could get across the room to Kelsey. “Are you all right?” he asked, going down to the floor. “Are you hurt?”