In His Protective Custody

by Marie Ferrarella

  You’d think, she mused as her finger kept pushing the delete button, that the people who sent out these annoying emails would get the hint when she didn’t answer. Apparently not.

  She pared down her emails from 320 to 85, then, finally satisfied, she felt free to surf the internet. But rather than look up the medical articles, she looked up Harry McBride. Who knew what she’d find? He and Abby hadn’t been here that long. Maybe they’d lived in a smaller city before this. Hometown papers sometimes listed crimes that had been committed during the week. What if they’d moved because he’d made the papers for turning his wife into a punching bag?

  The moment she typed in Harry’s name, an ad popped up, telling her that for a nominal sum, she could find out everything there was to know about the eight Harry McBrides who were listed in response to her search.

  The sum quoted wasn’t anything that would break the weekly allotment she allowed herself.

  She debated for a moment, then told herself that if she came up empty via the regular route, she’d fall back on this.

  Getting rid of the ad, she found more than a handful of hits. Holding her breath, she opened up the first. It was a short article in the Albuquerque Express, dated four years ago. It named Harry McBride as a “person of interest” in his wife’s mysterious disappearance. It seemed that no one could locate her and now her husband also had gone missing.

  Alyx’s mouth went dry as she continued to read. It wasn’t Abby they were talking about. It was someone named Sara.

  Alyx hit “print” as she went to the next article on the list, which was another article from the New Mexico newspaper. The third hit on the list was from a Seattle newspaper, a thumbnail article in the obituary section. Robin Wales McBride, 24, had drowned in a boating accident. She was survived by her grieving husband, Harry McBride.

  “God damn it,” she murmured under her breath, not fully aware that she was saying this out loud, “he’s killing them.”

  There were more.

  Alyx’s heart began to hammer in her chest. She printed that article next, then the others she came across. In total she connected McBride to four wives, not counting Abby. Four wives in four different states. Four wives with two things in common. They’d all been married to Harry McBride and they all died young.

  Returning to the first name she’d come across, she typed in “Robin Wales McBride” to see if there was anything else on the woman. There was and it made her ill. Two years after the last article naming the vanishing Harry McBride as a possible person of interest, hikers had come across a badly decomposed body in the woods. An exceptionally diligent medical examiner had matched Robin’s dental records to that of the charred victim. Cause of death couldn’t be pinned down because of the decomposition.

  That was all she could find. Who knew how many more wives Harry had disposed of? “Abby’s going to be your last,” Alyx vowed.

  Leaning back in the chair, she felt excitement race through her. This was big. Because these occurrences were scattered across several different states during different time periods, no one had bothered connecting them. Until now.

  A wave of excitement akin to electricity went through her. This guy—there was no doubt in her mind—was a psychopath.

  A psychopath.

  The phrase echoed in her brain with mounting horror. There was no other name for him.

  Alyx let out a long, shaky breath, trying to pull herself together. This was big, very big. She looked at her watch. It was two in the morning. She had to be at work, bright eyed and bushy tailed, in less than six hours.

  But there was no way that she would sleep, at least not until she was able to share this with Zane.

  Alyx hurried out to the living room. Where had she put his card? her brain demanded as she tried to backtrack her steps earlier this evening. And then she remembered.

  She picked his card up from the table in the living room, then stood and regarded the number written there, waffling, for exactly one minute.

  “He said to call if I remembered something,” she said out loud, as if to talk herself into doing what she desperately wanted to do. This wasn’t remembering something, but it was definitely “something” with a capital “S.”

  Taking a deep breath, holding his card, she pressed the keyboard on her portable telephone. She waited for the phone to ring.

  When it did, she half expected to be kicked into voicemail.

  When she heard his deep, baritone voice, she realized with relief that she’d gotten the man, not the recording. Thank God for small favors.

  She was both surprised and relieved that he didn’t sound sleepy. “Zane,” she cried, “it’s Alyx.”

  “Alyx.” His voice was sharp, alert. “What’s wrong? Is McBride trying to break in?”

  Guilt slashed through her. She hadn’t meant to worry him. “No, no, he’s not here,” Alyx assured him quickly, then added even more quickly, “But I think I just found something.”

  “Found something?” he questioned. “What do you mean? Found where?” he asked.

  Her tongue was getting tangled. She wished she could get this out in a more orderly fashion. She was usually a lot calmer than this. But as it was, she was all but blurting things out.

  “On the internet,” she told him. “I found it on the internet. There are all sorts of articles about McBride. He’s—”

  “Hold it,” Zane instructed. “Take it from the top. From the beginning,” he stressed.

  He was right, she had to be more coherent here. “I couldn’t sleep so I decided to see if I could find anything out about Abby’s husband.”

  For a second, she heard nothing but silence on the other end. About to continue, she suddenly heard Zane say, “You found out that Abby might not be the first wife he’s suspected of killing.”

  Stunned, she could only ask, “How did you—”

  “I did a little digging of my own tonight. I had his name and as much of what seemed like an MO put into the national database that we have at the station,” he told her.

  Because of her cousins’ husbands, Alyx thought that only detectives had access to those kinds of databases. Detective and hackers and Zane definitely didn’t strike her as being a closet geek.

  “You did?” she asked, trying not to sound as if she was skeptical. “Personally?”

  “Let’s just say I have access to someone who could do that,” he answered evasively.

  There was no need to tell her about the hacker he hadn’t busted in exchange for the teenager’s word that he would go straight—and the promise of being able to tap into the teen’s vast abilities on occasions when he needed to investigate something that had no other visible avenue of information.

  “This guy,” Zane continued, “isn’t just a wife abuser. That’s just one aspect of this worthless piece of garbage’s bag of tricks. He was ‘a person of interest’ in the death of every single wife he’s had. From what I can see, in each case, there’s no mention made of any previous marriages. No one made the connection. He’s beginning to really look like a psychopath and maybe even a serial killer.” He paused for a minute, letting his words sink in. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  Alyx wasn’t certain that they were on the same wavelength. “What?”

  His answer surprised her. “That you’re not responsible for Abby’s death. One way or another, this bastard would have killed her. It was only a matter of time. From all indications, he doesn’t stay married for very long.”

  “He wouldn’t have gotten to kill her if I had been able to convince her to leave him.” But she hadn’t thought that it was her place to even try.

  From his experience, on the force and off, most people would have taken the absolution he’d offered and just run with it.

  But she hadn’t.

  She was definitely a woman who marched to her own drummer. He liked that.

  Maybe a little too much. And that, more than the prospect of an armed gunman hiding in the shadows, made him nerv
ous.

  Chapter 11

  “S he wouldn’t have listened,” Zane assured Alyx after a beat had passed. He focused on the case before them and not on his personal reaction to the woman on the other end of the phone. “Women who allow themselves to be victims, to be abused because somehow they believe they deserve to be treated so badly and no better. They don’t usually abandon the man they think they love.”

  Again, he paused for a moment, thinking. His concern got the better of him and came to the foreground. “Listen, I think it really might not be a bad idea for me to hang around you for a bit when I’m off duty. At least for a few days, to make sure that this dirtbag doesn’t suddenly decide to pay you a visit. In his mind, he might see you as being instrumental in changing the course of his life. Men like McBride like to call all the shots, not be surprised by a curveball someone throws their way.”

  There was no question in Zane’s mind that the missing “suspect” in Abby McBride’s murder was a control freak of the first degree. Even if he didn’t turn out to be a serial killer, as other evidence of his past dealings seemed to indicate, obsessively controlling personalities made for dangerous acquaintances. And could be twice as dangerous when crossed.

  “And I threw him a ‘curveball’?” Alyx questioned. “How?”

  “You got the police involved. You got his temper to flare faster and he took it out on the first person who irritated him—his wife.” The tone of his voice shifted as he brought the receiver closer to him. Alyx felt another warm shiver slide down her spine even as she tried to ignore it. “In either case, he might want to pay you back.”

  Alyx refused to let her mind go there. “I’ll be fine,” she told him, cutting Zane off and simultaneously banking down the physical responses to him she was experiencing. Or trying to. “I’m not alone that much. My cousins make a habit of dropping by. And while the idea of having a guardian angel with a gun hovering around does sound interesting, there’s really no need. You have more than enough to do. Your off-duty hours should be just that—off duty.”

  “Your choice,” Zane responded, backing off. “Well, good night.”

  “Good night,” she said, but the line was dead already. She stared at it for a moment, a little stunned that he’d been convinced that fast.

  Had she hurt his feelings, turning him down so quickly?

  Off the top of her head she would have said that the patrolman didn’t have any feelings, at least that was the way he struck her. She couldn’t shake the impression that she had managed to unintentionally step on his toes—and his ego.

  She replaced the receiver into the cradle and rose to her feet. Walking into the kitchen, Alyx put on a pot of coffee. It promised to be a very long night with no sleep.

  It wasn’t that she wouldn’t have liked having Zane around or even that she wouldn’t have felt better with him here. The answer to both was a resounding “yes.” God knows he had managed to spook her a little talking about McBride’s desire for revenge. Most likely, she wasn’t going to sleep too well not just tonight but for the next six months or so.

  Given her active imagination, she would magnify every noise she heard—or thought she heard—and she’d be seeing McBride hiding in all the shadows. But, admittedly, having Zane around scared her even more. Because the patrolman attracted her. Strongly.

  She could so easily see herself falling for him, falling for the man with his flat abdomen, his hard body and his beautiful, beautiful stormy-blue eyes. They might not be as expressive as she would have liked, but she could still see herself getting lost in them with just a glance.

  And as for his smile—when he smiled—well, that sent her body temperature into the next bracket of ten. She had a pretty good hunch that all these feelings would be one-sided and she really didn’t need any additional frustrations right now. Just having to interact with the doctor from hell was enough for her to deal with. Having her emotions trapped in a shark cage by this man whose very manner made it clear that he was a loner and intended to remain that way was just asking for trouble.

  And that was one thing she never asked for.

  It had been raining all day long, coming down as if God had left the faucet on. At noon, when she made a mad dash across the street to pick up sandwiches for herself and a couple of the people on duty with her, Alyx was fairly certain that she’d seen a man with a flowing white beard collecting two of everything.

  The effect of the humidity that came along with the rain was almost overpowering. By the end of the day, that oppressive air had managed to penetrate absolutely everything—especially the parking structure. The heavy air made it particularly difficult to drag herself through the structure at the end of her exceptionally long day.

  Somehow she’d allowed herself to take on a second shift because Eloise had called in sick. In her heart, she knew the ER resident’s young daughter was the sick one, but she’d agreed to take the doctor’s shift.

  Now she was finally going home. And none too soon. She wasn’t sure just how much energy she had left.

  Even putting one foot in front of the other was challenging. Mentally, she started counting the steps, trying to take her mind off the fact that the parking structure was almost empty.

  The rain had abated, but the humidity had not. It expanded, pressing down everything in its path. If she didn’t know better, she would have said that the air coming into her lungs was actually solid. At least it felt that way.

  As she made her way through the parking structure, Alyx thought she heard something behind her.

  Footsteps?

  But when she turned around, there was no one around. From what she could see when she scanned the area, she seemed to be alone. The operative word here being “seemed.”

  “You’re letting your imagination run away with you,” she upbraided herself in a hushed whisper.

  Nevertheless, Alyx forced herself to pick up her pace and walk faster. Her footsteps echoed back at her. Or at least she thought those were her footsteps. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being followed.

  When she turned the corner on the second level of the structure—still with no one else in sight—Alyx made herself as small as possible. Hiding in the shadows, she raised her umbrella over her head, holding it as if it was a bat. It wasn’t much of a weapon but better than nothing. If she had to, she could run fast right after she struck a blow.

  And she could scream. She didn’t see anyone around, but her scream could summon an army. Her sisters always complained that her voice was exceptionally loud and carried for blocks.

  Having felt leaden just a few moments ago, she was now alert and ready to fight. Adrenaline was firing through her veins in double-time.

  She heard it again. She was right. Those were footsteps behind her.

  Her heart was set to explode out of her chest as she heard the footsteps coming closer.

  He was almost on top of her.

  With a guttural yell, Alyx swung the weapon in her hands, connecting hard just as the man shadowing her steps came around the corner where she was hiding.

  She dropped the umbrella the second she saw him. But it was too late, she had already made contact, hitting his shoulder. The only thing she managed to do was divert the blow, which would have connected with his head had she not quickly lowered her arms.

  Still, she knew that it had been a hard blow despite the fact that he swallowed his cry of pain. The resulting muffled groan told her all she needed to know. That, and she had put most of her weight into the swing. She’d hurt him. The wrong him.

  “Zane!” she cried, horrified at what could have just happened. He grabbed his shoulder, then let his hand drop, but he wasn’t fooling her. She’d hurt him. The question was, how much? “Why are you following me?”

  Pain radiated out up into his neck and down along his arm.

  “To protect you,” he answered, trying to modulate his voice so that the pain would not show through and give him away. For such a small wo
man, he marveled at the amount of power she had in those arms. “Obviously you don’t need as much protecting as I thought. Right now, I’m beginning to think that McBride would lose in any sort of a confrontation with you.” He realized that he was unconsciously rubbing his shoulder and let his hand drop to his side again. He glanced down on the ground to make sure she’d used an umbrella and not a tire iron. “Where the hell did you learn to swing like that?”

  “I used to play baseball with the neighborhood boys when I was growing up in Chicago,” she told him. Back then, it was a matter of pride not to let the boys show her up. She used to practice every chance she got, tossing up a ball and hitting it, then having one of her sisters go running after it. It took her an entire summer, but she got very, very good at power hitting.

  He laughed shortly. “I would have hated to be in the outfield when you came up to bat.”

  Alyx pressed her lips together as guilt wafted through her. “I’m so sorry. But I didn’t know it was you. I thought…” She let her voice trail off for a moment, then raised her eyes to his face. “You spooked me, saying what you did about McBride coming after me.”

  He hadn’t wanted to scare her, but he did want her to be aware of what could happen. “Better safe than sorry, although I’m going to have to revise my image of you being this helpless, delicate damsel in distress.”

  “There’s something else.”

  He looked at her, alert, his pain temporarily forgotten. “What?”

  “McBride called me. He said it was my fault his wife was dead and that he was coming after me.”

  “Damn it, why didn’t you lead with that?” Zane demanded. “You should have called me right away.”

  “I did—after I found something substantial to give you. I can take care of myself,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah.” He knew there was no point in arguing with her. He’d never win.

  Zane rotated his shoulder and sharp blades of pain raced through his arm and back up his neck. He thought he’d masked the pain, but the look on her face told him he’d failed to keep it entirely to himself.