The Last Move

by Mary Burton

  Inside the shed was the wooden box. Inside the box was Sara Fletcher. Naked and trembling, her pale body was desperately thin and skin raw with sores. Her hair was matted and twisted.

  Sara didn’t open her eyes immediately, and her hands covered her face. When Kate touched her, she screamed and jerked away.

  “It’s okay, Sara. I’m with the FBI. You’re safe.”

  “I’m not safe,” she said. “I’m alive, but really I’m already dead. He killed me. And he’s going to kill you, too.”

  Kate startled awake, her gut tight with regret, loss, and shame. Shadows slashed across the unfamiliar room, and for several beats she didn’t know where she was.

  She’d not been good enough to save Sara.

  Mazur roused. “You okay?”

  The sex with Mazur had been great, but it had been a temporary fix to the problems she faced. As soon as they left this house, the hunt for William and Drexler would take over her life again. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  He smoothed his hand over her back, and she flinched. He stopped rubbing but didn’t remove his hand from her skin. “Is this your idea of not getting weird?”

  The sound of his voice and his touch settled her and chased away the doubts and regrets. “What do you mean?”

  “You said you’d not get weird after sex. Withdrawing into yourself might be a little weird.”

  She sat up in bed and leaned against the headboard. “Sorry. It’s the safest place I know.”

  “Is it? Judging by what woke you up, I’d say differently.”

  “I can control it.”

  “Really? Even nightmares?”

  She glanced toward him. The cross on the gold chain around his neck dangled. “You sound like a psychologist.”

  “Aren’t all cops part shrink?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was the nightmare about?”

  Absently her fingertips went to the worn toy bracelet around her wrist. She wouldn’t be a coward now. Not in light of what Sara had suffered. “I was dreaming about the day we found Sara. As long as I live I’ll never forget her. She didn’t look human. But I wanted to believe that we had made it in time and that she would be all right.”

  “Sometimes victims can’t be put back together again. No matter how hard we try.”

  “I’m supposed to be so smart. I wasn’t good enough to find Sara Fletcher faster.”

  “You did what no one else could do. You found her.”

  “But it wasn’t enough.” She wanted to fly back to the funeral and pay her respects, but right now she felt too ashamed.

  He rubbed his hand over her leg. It wasn’t sexual but an absent, familiar thing lovers did. And oddly, more personal than sex. She stiffened, uncomfortable with a touch that felt so intimate.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “It feels too personal.”

  “And personal never ends well, does it?” There was a bitter bite to the last word.

  “No, it doesn’t.” She looked down at his hand brushing her scar. “People like us don’t get happy endings.”

  “Why not?”

  “We see too much. It ruins us for the normal people in the world who don’t believe in monsters.”

  “Maybe.” He ran his hand up her thigh. “Maybe we should stick to our own kind.”

  She glanced toward the digital clock behind him. They’d slept for an hour. Soon they’d have to be back to work, but for now, they still had a pocket of time that was all their own.

  She slowly climbed on top of him. This time she straddled him, and just a few strokes of her fingertips against the tip of his penis and he was hard and ready.

  The last time he’d teased her. Now it was her turn to taunt him just a little. She lowered her lips to the tip of his erection and then took all of him into her mouth and throat. He hissed in a breath and ran his fingers through her hair.

  “Jesus, for someone who comes across as repressed, you sure aren’t.”

  She licked her tongue around his shaft, kissing and teasing. “We all have a hidden side.”

  She saw his belly twitch and the muscles in his neck strain. She released him and positioned herself on top. Slowly, very slowly, she lowered onto him, filling herself and capturing him.

  She moved up and down, cupping her breast.

  “One hell of a hidden side,” he groaned.

  Rage filled William as he sat by the monitor and watched Kate whore herself out to that cop. “Why are you cheating on me?” he shouted.

  He’d not liked Mazur from the moment the cop had set foot on his property. He’d watched from a closed-circuit television as his housekeeper had sent them away. Even then, he’d considered the cop a trespasser.

  Now the cop was more than an annoyance. He was a threat. A thief. An intruder who endangered seventeen years of planning.

  “Steal from me, and I’ll take twofold from you, Detective Mazur.”

  He reached for one of the cells he’d bought with cash from a box store. He dialed the one number he cared about now.

  Drexler’s voice was groggy when he answered the phone. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “I haven’t been drinking.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I cannot save you if you lie.”

  “A few. But I didn’t get drunk. Half the case you brought is still unopened.”

  He still sounded as if he were drunk. “Make yourself coffee and take a hot shower. We have work to do.”

  “What kind of work? You said to lay low. To stay out of sight.”

  “I thought you wanted to build another box?”

  He hesitated. “I do. But you said I had to wait.”

  “Well, time’s up.”

  He cleared his throat, and bed springs squeaked. “Why the hell should I trust you?”

  “I’m feeding you. And if I’d wanted, I could have called the cops, but I haven’t. I’m the closest person you have to a best friend right now. If you want me to bail and drop a dime on you, say the word. Otherwise, stop acting like a little bitch.”

  “Okay. Okay. I get it.”

  “Goddamn right, you got it. Right now you need to shower, shave, and change into the clothes I left for you in the room.”

  “And then we get to go hunting?”

  “Oh yes.” William turned to a stack of photographs he’d taken of Isabella. He traced the line of her jaw in a picture he’d snapped while she was shopping at a local boutique. She was supposed to be next on his list. It was important to stick to the plan, but strategies sometimes required modifications.

  He shifted to a computer screen and pulled up a picture he’d taken today. These pictures were of the lovely Alyssa. She was younger than he preferred, but he would make an exception.

  He traced his thumb over the outline of her smiling lips. “You’re going to like this one, Mr. Drexler. She’s just your type.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  My must-do list: Gloria. Rebecca. Isabella.

  San Antonio, Texas

  Friday, December 1, 5:00 a.m.

  Mazur woke to the still darkness. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the clock and realized he’d slept a few hours. Though he couldn’t really afford the shut-eye, it would ensure his brain clicked on all cylinders for a couple more days. His hand slid to the other side of the bed. It was empty. Cold. Kate was gone.

  He checked his phone. Three bars. Enough. And no calls from Alyssa. He never went to sleep without the phone by his bed in case she needed him.

  Out of the bed, he switched on a light and went into the bathroom. Afterward he gathered his clothes and dressed. He clipped his gun, cuffs, and badge on his belt. A look back at the rumpled sheets coaxed a smile.

  Tie dangling around his neck and his coat slung over his arm, he moved down the hallway and paused at a series of pictures that hung on the wall. He switched on the overhead light and studied the images, not the least bit concerned about sticking his nose into the life of
a woman who didn’t want anyone poking around.

  There were several family pictures. The first was Mom and Dad and toddler Mitchell. The next frame captured the addition of the second child. A chubby-faced little girl with curly blond hair and a gap-toothed smile.

  There were more pictures of Mitchell, but his interest zeroed in on Kate’s life story. Moments captured during soccer, birthday parties, chess, and graduations showed the progression from a cute toddler to a gawky teenager and then to the serious FBI academy graduate.

  Absently he rubbed his fingers together as he remembered the rough skin of the scar on her leg. It was a wonder the bullet hadn’t hit the femoral artery or the second shot hadn’t slammed into her brain. Jesus.

  The scent of coffee drifted down the hallway, luring him from the pictures. In the kitchen, he found Kate fully dressed and sitting at the kitchen table. Beside her was an empty cup.

  Scattered before her was a collection of files and crime-scene photos. She didn’t look up. “I made a fresh pot of coffee. Mugs in the cabinet above. Milk in the refrigerator.”

  He made himself a cup and poured in a splash of milk. “If your mother left you fresh milk, my guess is there’s food.”

  “Bagels in the bread box.”

  He kissed her on top of the head. “And good morning to you.”

  She looked up. “Good morning.”

  As he moved to find the bagels, he asked, “Do you always wake up this productive?”

  “Sometimes.” She ran her fingers through her tousled hair she’d yet to tie back. “When a case is bothering me.”

  He pulled out two bagels. “You want yours toasted?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what has your mind buzzing today?”

  “I would bet money Drexler’s headed to San Antonio to find me. I’m the one who found Sara and the other bodies. I’m the one who ruined his good time.”

  “Are you that easy to find?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Or at least my mother’s home is easy to find.”

  Mazur’s gaze roamed the kitchen. “And she’s in Dallas with Aunt Lydia, correct?”

  “Yes.” She shook her head. “With William and Drexler out there, she’s better off in Dallas.”

  “This isn’t your fault.”

  “Of course it is. Given my work, I should have never come here.”

  He reached for her mug, refilled it, and set it in front of her. “It’s a matter of time before Nevada catches him.”

  “He’s completely shaved. His own mother wouldn’t recognize him.”

  He moved to the toaster, set the bagels on a plate, and placed them in front of her. From the refrigerator he dug out butter, cream cheese, and strawberry jelly. “We eat first.”

  “I can’t eat now.”

  “Yes, you can. We have thirty minutes. Then we’ll head to the station. Eat.”

  She looked toward him and then back at her computer.

  “Is this the part where you get weird?” he challenged.

  “I’m not being weird. I’m being normal. This is how I am all the time.”

  “Which is a little weird, Kate. In a good way.”

  The acceptance in her expression was almost sad. “It’s amusing to you now, but in the long run it’ll drive you crazy. I’m not an easy person.”

  “Neither am I. And don’t you think we have to be a little odd to do what we do?” he asked. “But we found a few perks of the job last night.”

  She grinned slightly. “I really enjoyed those perks last night.”

  He raised his cup. “To more perks.”

  The idea made her frown. “We can’t be lovers and work on this case.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because sex taints relationships.”

  “Taints?”

  She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “That’s not the right word.”

  He shook his head. “Words are your specialty.”

  “You’re right. Taint is the word I meant to use. I’ve been to a few shrinks. The consensus is that I was intimate with William Bauldry and it destroyed my family, so since then I associate sex and closeness with trouble.”

  “Do you like being alone?”

  She dusted the bagel crumbs from her fingertips. “I understand the practicality of it.”

  He shook his head. “Classic deflection, Dr. Hayden. Do you like it?”

  “No. Not really. But it works for me.”

  “How much longer do you think it’ll work?”

  “I don’t know. For as long as I can take it, I suppose.”

  “Why don’t you allow yourself a damn personal life?”

  A brow arched. “With you?”

  “Sure, why not? There’s a good chance I’ll be in Virginia by the end of the year. I’d like to see you again.”

  She stood, moved to the sink, and poured out the coffee. “Like I said, once you get to know me, you’re going to be disappointed. I’m a workaholic, and I don’t leave my work at the office.”

  He moved to within inches of her and leaned in a fraction to set his coffee cup on the counter next to hers.

  She stiffened but did not pull away. “There are two monsters out there, and they both want to kill me. I don’t want you to get killed, too.”

  “I’m a big boy. Besides, I hope ol’ Willie or this Drexler make a play. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to bring them both down.”

  She laid her hands over his. “You’re cocky.”

  “I’m confident. Big difference.” He kissed her.

  She leaned into the kiss, and he could feel the fresh coat of ice melting. She pulled back. “We have to get to the station.”

  “I know.” He glanced at the clock. “We still have half an hour.”

  “A whole thirty minutes?”

  “Yep.”

  She smiled.

  Drexler was glad to get out of the city. He couldn’t breathe around all the buildings and people. But under an open sky he felt free. He followed the directions William had given him. As he moved down the barren stretch of road, he saw in the distance the gates that seemed to open to nowhere. Nothing in Texas was nearby. No telling how many miles he’d drive once he turned onto the property.

  Dust billowed around his tires as he came to a stop. The name of the ranch was The King’s Castle. A smile crooked the edge of his lips. Even he got this one.

  “King’s Castle,” he said as he drove down the lane. More red dirt kicked up around him as he made the two-and-a-half-mile trek to the two-story brick home with a wide front porch. A couple of hundred feet beyond that was an outbuilding. He headed straight to the back barn.

  He parked and got out, stretched his back a few times. He’d been on the run for days now, and it was beginning to take its toll.

  He moved to the barn door and lifted the latch. He glanced back at the house to make sure no one was watching before opening the door. Inside to the right of the door was a light switch. He flipped it on.

  The lights cast a warm glow and brightened his mood. Centered in the room was a stack of lumber, sawhorses, nails, hammers, and saws. All the supplies he needed to build one of his boxes.

  Drexler skimmed his hand over the fine lumber. These weren’t discarded scraps, but oak that had been milled to a smooth finish.

  He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a sawhorse. A scan of the room revealed a cot made neatly with white sheets and a green blanket, a sink, open cabinets stocked with canned goods, a hot plate, and a refrigerator. He looked behind a wooden partition to find a toilet. Bauldry was good with the details.

  He opened the refrigerator and found it packed with beer. Pinned to the beer was an envelope. He studied the note a beat but reached for a beer first.

  He popped the top, drained it, crushed the can, and tossed it toward the trash. He missed. Grabbing another beer, he opened the envelope. There were two images inside. The first featured a young girl. She had blond hair. Whoever took the picture captured her hair blowing back in
the wind. She had a blush to her cheeks and perfect white teeth. She was petite, likely not more than five feet tall.

  The picture behind the first featured a familiar face. The woman was Kate Hayden. She wore her dark badass FBI jacket, jeans, and boots. She was staring off into the distance.

  He took a long swig as he continued to study the images. The lumber pile beckoned him. It was just enough for two boxes.

  “Nice.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  New Year’s resolution: burn it all down.

  San Antonio, Texas

  Friday, December 1, 11:00 a.m.

  Kate was in the conference room reviewing her notes on William when a uniformed officer knocked and entered. “Sorry to bother you, but there’s a Mark Westin here to see you. He said he’s the attorney for Charles Richardson.”

  She let her pen drop and for a moment didn’t speak. “Where is he?”

  “He’s in the front reception.”

  “Right. I’ll be right there.”

  When the door closed, she rolled her head from side to side trying to work some of the stiffness out. She’d dealt with Mr. Westin when Richardson had been arraigned, and the judge, based on her testimony, denied bail. Richardson had been furious, but Westin had taken it in stride, knowing there’d be other opportunities to help his client.

  She slid on her jacket, pulled a brush from her backpack along with lipstick. Chin up, she closed her laptop, shoved it into her backpack, and dropped it in Mazur’s cubicle. He was on the phone. She mouthed, “Can I leave this here?”

  He nodded and cupped his hand over the phone. “What’s going on?”

  “Richardson’s defense attorney is in the lobby.”

  Ignoring his frown, she wove through the cubicles toward the elevator and rode it down to the first floor. The scent of cologne greeted her as she stepped into the lobby. The room was buzzing with activity. In one corner, a mother and child were waiting. In another, a couple of cops were in a heated discussion. At the front desk a man in jeans, an old plaid shirt, and worn boots was shouting at the police sergeant behind the desk.