by Kylie Brant
Watching her brought a rush of emotion, something surprisingly close to affection. Ah, Laura. I have such plans for you.
Time slowed to fractions of seconds as the inner power built to an all-encompassing roar. Then stepping away from the wall into her line of vision. Relishing the instant she’d see the stranger in her home.
“Warren?” The one word was thin. Uncertain. A step closer. Two. No hurry. Let her see her future. Watch the fear take her.
“Who are you? What do you want? Is it money? Here.” She stumbled to her purse on the edge of the counter.
Was she going to bargain for her life? That was always amusing. How much did the bitch think she was worth? And how satisfying to watch her realize there’d be no escaping her fate.
But it wasn’t money she withdrew from her purse.
Shock bloomed. A gun? When had the cunt gotten a gun?
The muzzle flash was blinding, followed by a searing pain.
“I know who you are, you son of a bitch. It’s in all the news.”
Another shot, this one nearly as close as the first. The disbelief was gone, mingled rage and pain taking its place.
Drop to the floor. Crawl rapidly, clumsily backward, away from the gun and the crazy whore wielding it. Who did she think she was? How did she dare?
“Run, you bastard, you coward.” Bradford’s voice was shrill, hysterical. “That’s what you are. I saw the news. You’re a pathetic coward who preys on women because you’re nothing but a fucking loser!” The last words rose to a shriek and a bullet buried itself in the wall just inches away.
The pain was jagged agony now, joyfully gnawing through flesh and muscle. There were no choices left. Clutch the injured arm, rise, run for the front door, leave the demented whore behind.
For now.
Breath turning into a sob, stumbling away faster. Jesus, how far was the car? Two blocks? Three?
Every step brought a fresh flood of pain. Fury. Humiliation. By God, Bradford would be sorry. She wouldn’t be spared for a fate chosen especially for her. She’d die, in as hideous a death as could be fashioned. She’d merely delayed her destiny.
But first there was someone else to deal with. The bitch responsible for those news stories. She’d pay for ruining everything.
She’d pay with her miserable life.
Chapter 19
Ryne stepped gingerly, staying well clear of the UV light sources, and the plastic evidence markers that dotted the floor, and made his way to the spare bedroom, where Abbie had been interviewing Laura Bradford for the last hour.
The uniform at the door moved aside to allow his entry. Abbie was seated across from the woman on a chair dragged over from the computer desk tucked in the corner. Bradford sat huddled on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a robe, arguing with Abbie.
“He never got near me, I swear. I don’t understand why I have to go to the hospital.”
“We’d like an exam done to be sure you don’t carry any forensic evidence on your person,” Abbie explained. “We don’t know where he was, or what he might have touched. You could have minute splatters of his blood on your skin. It just helps us collect more evidence against him.”
The woman made a grimace of distaste, and apparently gave up the battle. “A few of us were just discussing it today at lunch.” She had the robe’s belt in her hands and was wringing it convulsively. “We got to talking about him, the Nightmare Rapist. How it was like Fear Factor, that show, you know? Having to confront your worst nightmares. One gal told everyone how she was petrified of snakes. I admitted I was terrified of heights. We were joking about it. God.” She swallowed convulsively. “How macabre is that?”
“Can you give me the names of everyone you were talking to, Laura? And anyone else in the vicinity?” Bradford rattled off several names, which Abbie wrote down.
“But it’s not like it’s news to anyone who knows me,” Bradford added, winding the robe’s tie around one finger. “It’s a running joke at the courthouse. I get teased if I so much as wear high heels. People will ask if they’re giving me acrophobia.”
Abbie exchanged a look with Ryne, who’d taken up a stance next to her chair. “So your fear was common knowledge.”
“I’m pretty open about it.” Her face crumpled, and she shoved one fist to still her trembling lips. “I had no idea that anyone was even here. We locked the door after we came in, and I’m sure Warren locked it behind him. He’s always very security conscious. That pervert had to have been hiding the whole time. Watching us.”
“You’ve been through a terrifying experience. But the fact that you weren’t alone tonight might have ended up saving your life.”
At Abbie’s words, Bradford managed a shaky smile. “That and my revolver. I’m sure I hit him. I saw him grab his arm. And then when I fired again . . .” She stopped, sending a guilty look toward Ryne. “Am I going to get charged for that? For shooting him, I mean? The gun . . . I don’t have a permit for it.”
“I can’t make any promises,” Ryne said, a glint in his eye, “but under the circumstances, I don’t think you need to worry about it. Don’t expect to get the gun back, though.”
Twenty minutes later after the EMTs escorted Laura to the hospital, Abbie faced Ryne, finally able to ask the question that had been burning in her. “What has CSU come up with so far?”
“She’s a lucky lucky lady. She probably did hit him,” Ryne confirmed, a hard satisfied smile on his face. “We got a good-sized sample, and several smaller ones from the carpet. Another from the handle of the front door.”
Abbie pumped one fist in the air. “That’s a huge break.” She was already calculating how long it would take the labs to run the blood analysis. And then there was the process of submitting the resulting data to CODIS, to see if it matched any DNA evidence left at any other violent crime scene in the nation. She was willing to bet it would. This UNSUB had been evolving, so he’d had to start somewhere. He couldn’t always have been as fortunate as he’d been so far with this latest string of rapes.
But tonight it looked like his luck was running out.
She said as much to Ryne, adding, “He’s had a couple of instances now when things haven’t gone as planned.” When Ryne raised his brows, she explained, “First he had to rush the Larsen job, when she didn’t come home as expected. And tonight Bradford arrived home with company.”
“The bastard’s adaptable.”
Although neither of them had gotten any sleep before Ryne had received the call, he looked as wide awake as Abbie felt. Her earlier exhaustion had dissipated, at least for the moment. She was still on an adrenaline high. “He would have been watching Bradford for a while, so he’d know Denton sometimes came home with her, but never spent the night.” And Abbie hadn’t missed the tinge of bitterness in the woman’s tone when she’d divulged that fact.
“I’m not an advocate for citizens carrying concealed weapons—especially illegally—but she saved herself a horrible experience. The women of Savannah will probably give her a medal.” He hesitated, and something about the pause alerted her. “And now for the bad news. Dixon wants another press conference.”
She brought a hand up to rub the ache that had suddenly appeared between her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
“He’s going proactive on this latest development. And he specifically asked for you to be there with me. He wants an updated profile, complete with your best prediction of what the UNSUB is likely to do next. Bring your crystal ball.”
“I can make an educated guess. Highly intelligent offenders think they’re smarter than anyone else. The cops and their targets. Being outmaneuvered by Bradford was probably a shock. But it’s going to enrage him, even more so if it’s made an issue in the media. It’ll be a slap at his ego and may be the one thing that could motivate such an organized offender to act impulsively.”
“Bradford’s still in danger.”
It was more statement than question, but she nodded anyway. “He won’t let thi
s go. And I don’t even want to consider what he’d do to her if he catches her again.”
“I can get a female officer to stay with her around the clock. Another one posted outside her house. At least for a while.”
“If he’s unable to get at her right away, he’ll strike out in another fashion,” she mused. “Possibly speeding up the selection and targeting the next victim weeks earlier than originally planned.”
Ryne’s face went grim. “So he’s an immediate threat.”
Lifting a shoulder helplessly, Abbie said, “That depends on a lot of variables. How badly he’s hurt, for one.”
“Hard to say.” Ryne leaned a shoulder against the wall. “But it was most likely a surface wound, from the amount of blood left. He was able to walk out of here. We’ve got the streets blocked off, and as soon as dawn breaks, we’ll canvass the area and see if we can pick up his trail.”
“He’d have a vehicle stashed nearby.”
“Unless he lives in the vicinity.”
Recalling the map Ryne kept tacked above his desk at headquarters, Abbie mentally added Bradford’s house to the locations of the other attacks. “He doesn’t stick to a specific area,” she murmured. That had been one more challenge to predicting his actions. “He’d have planned to transport her. Either with her vehicle or his own. Hang her over a cliff. Dangle her off the side of a building. God knows what he had in store for her.” But it would have been specially designed with Laura’s phobia in mind. Of that they could be sure.
“He left his bundle of toys.”
That had her straightening. “Are they bagged yet? I’d like a look at them.”
“Give the tech another ten minutes or so.” He indicated the form in her lap. “Is that the completed interview form?”
Handing it to him, she said, “I asked if she’d done any volunteer work lately. I was disappointed when she said no.”
Flipping through the interview pages, he made a noncommittal sound, which she took for interest. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you yesterday. Hornby’s sister told me Ashley had been doing a lot of volunteering since coming to Savannah. She wasn’t sure on specifics, but thought a couple schools, the free clinic. Maybe a homeless shelter. That started me thinking, because Amanda Richards had made all those public appearances before women’s groups, schools, and a battered woman’s shelter. I thought I might find some victim intersections using that angle, but haven’t yet.”
“It’s probably like you said. He’s using more than one method to find them. Any connections at all at this point could be useful.”
The adrenaline high was fading. Abbie feared she was going to hit the wall of exhaustion soon, and she still needed to prepare for the meeting with Dixon. And the press conference.
She looked up, surprised at the expression of concern on Ryne’s face.
“You look like you’re ready to fall over.”
Standing, she began gathering up her things. “Very flattering. Thanks.”
“You know what I mean.” He was silent for a moment, still regarding her with that enigmatic stare. “Bet you never slept at all last night either, did you?”
“I’ve gone without sleep before. I’ll manage.”
“I can have a uniform take you home. You could get a few hours in before the task force meeting this morning.”
“I want to get a look at the scene first. And his tools.” Standing, she worked her shoulders to free them of the kinks in her muscles. “Any idea how he got in yet?”
“Came in the bedroom window. Sliced the screen then cut out a piece of glass above the lock, reached in, and unfastened it. Must have seemed like a piece of cake.”
Lack of sleep was making her punchy. “Well, there’s nothing like a bullet to persuade him otherwise.” They grinned at each other. “They should process her car. If he’d planned to use her vehicle to transport her, he may have used the time he was waiting to get it ready.”
“We’ve got it covered.”
She wasn’t surprised. Of course, he’d have already thought of that. Ryne was a good cop. The best she’d worked alongside. His instincts would impress even Raiker, a difficult feat.
“If it’s distance you’re wondering about, I’ve got some facts for you. I’ve been doing some checking.” Something in his tone alerted her. They’d gone abruptly from professional footing to personal. “It’s about five hundred seventy miles from Savannah to Manassas. Less than two hours by nonstop flight.” He took in her arrested expression with a lift of his brow. “Think about it, Abbie.”
He left the room, but it was long moments before she’d be able to follow him. Unconsciously, she reached out a hand to the back of the chair to steady herself. She knew how long a flight it was between her home base and Savannah. She’d flown it, hadn’t she?
But Ryne hadn’t. He’d checked. And the implication of that held Abbie immobile.
She certainly would think about his words. She’d be helpless to do otherwise.
The task force morning briefing had been delayed by several hours, until the team had finished at Bradford’s. “Contents of the satchel the UNSUB left behind are on this list.” Ryne passed a sheaf of papers to Cantrell, who took one and passed the rest on. “The bag itself is leather, brand name Volux, which is sold primarily to scuba enthusiasts. Wayne, see what else you can discover about it. There’s bound to be scuba shops in the vicinity. Maybe we’ll get lucky. We’ll also get started on the listed contents. Phil, you take the top half of the list and Isaac can work the bottom half.”
Cantrell let out a low whistle. “I don’t even know what half this stuff is, but this is one very sick fuck.”
“Just like we figured—a handheld forensic vac.” Holmes scowled. “No wonder we never got squat off the bedding. But what’s the packaging tape for?”
Abbie consulted her own list. “My guess is he planned to use it to tape Bradford’s eyelids open once he transported her to the arranged site. With her phobia, it was likely he was going to suspend her from a considerable height. After all his trouble, he’d want to force her to see every minute of it.”
“He’s going to want to replace what he’s lost, so alert every merchant you chat with about our interest in these specific items.” Ryne shifted his attention to the officer who’d been on surveillance detail last night. “Greenway, make my life easier.”
The heavily muscled officer shook his head regretfully. “Sorry, Detective. I stuck to Juarez all night. He went to work, home, and then to Shorty’s. Five a.m. he went home again.”
“Shit,” someone muttered.
Ryne tamped down a surge of frustration. “Did you get a visual during the time he was at Shorty’s?”
“No, but he went there at one a.m. He can’t be the guy at Bradford’s place.”
A murmur swept through the room, and Ryne flicked a glance at where Abbie was sitting silently in the front row. She couldn’t have gotten more than a couple hours’ sleep before making it back to headquarters. “Okay. We keep the surveillance on Juarez because at some point in time, he did come in contact with the rapist. Or at least came to his attention. It’d be nice to know how.”
“My guess is at one of those dives he goes to a few times a week,” volunteered Cantrell. “Where are we on those photos that have been taken at his hangouts?”
“We’ve identified several known scumbags, and a couple parole violators. A few people have been seen talking to Juarez when he’s at one of the places, but all have been known acquaintances.”
“You might want to compare the photos to the film taken outside all the crime scenes to those of any crowds that gathered to watch the police work,” Abbie said.
Ryne nodded. “Phillips believes this UNSUB may seek to insert himself into the investigation in some way. And he wouldn’t be the first one to hang around to watch the police work.” He consulted his notes. “Vincent, Garcia, Lee, and Brooks, you can start on that comparison today. The rest of the officers will be needed to help canvass Bra
dford’s neighborhood.” When they’d left the scene that morning, the crime scene techs were searching Bradford’s yard and the surrounding sidewalks, streets, and neighboring yards. He had uniforms there to control the perimeter, but he was anxious to hear what, if anything, CSU discovered.
“Any latents on the contents in the bag?”
“They’ve been wiped clean,” Ryne responded to Malloy’s question. “But further tests might bring something.” It was harder than most people thought to get rid of bloodstains. If any of the devices in the satchel had been used on other victims, they could yet find proof of it. “We do have one valuable lead—a partial hair—blond—found in the seam at the bottom of the bag. No root, but still appropriate for mitochondrial DNA testing. We can compare results to the DNA blood sample, or see if it matches one of the victims.” Richards, Larsen, and Bradford were all blond.
He gave a brief update on the Ketrum lead he’d be following, closing with, “Hopefully I’ll hear from Sheriff Jepperson today. I want a verbal report on your progress before end of shift.” The press conference was scheduled outside headquarters at three. Surely it would be over in time.
Memory of the press conference, and the prior meeting with Dixon, darkened Ryne’s mood. As the detectives and officers filed out, he walked over to Abbie. “Get any sleep?”
Her gaze flickered over the men still within earshot and said noncommittally, “Enough. I’ve put something together for Dixon for this afternoon.”
“Before we’re expected over there, I’d like you to connect with Bradford again. You told her she can’t go back to her place until CSU is done with it.” He waited for Abbie’s nod before going on. “If there’s someone she could stay with, that’d be best. Or a motel. Either way I need an address, and I’ll arrange her protection.” Captain Brown had already okayed the expense.
“All right. I’ll meet you at Dixon’s office prior to the press conference.” Her tone was almost studiedly impersonal. Which didn’t account for the faint flare of color that washed her cheeks before she rose and hurried after the last of the men.