Imminent Danger

by Carla Cassidy

  With efficient movements, he strapped on the shoulder holster, then clicked the safety off the gun. With the gun firmly in hand and functioning with an aberrant calm that always arose in him in times of stress, he approached the front door.

  Nothing appeared amiss in the living room or kitchen. The house held an unnatural quiet that yelled loudly in Jesse’s head. Where was Shelly?

  It was possible Allison had sent Shelly away. Allison knew she was no longer in danger from the members of the Renegade Eight. She’d been upset when Jesse had left the house. Yes, it was possible she’d told Shelly to go home, and Allison had gone to bed early to prepare for her trip back to Chicago the next day.

  And maybe Shelly hadn’t quite gotten the front door closed and the evening breeze had blown it open. His mind worked overtime to provide safe, comforting scenarios, but that didn’t ease the trepidation that gripped him as he slowly headed down the hallway.

  The hand that held the gun before him was sweaty and his heartbeat pounded harshly, echoing in his head. Surely everything is fine, he told himself. Allison is safe and sound, in bed sleeping.

  But as he approached her bedroom, saw the door wide open and the light on, all fantasies of safety fled. He stood in the doorway and stared at the empty room—not just an empty room, but the place of a struggle.

  Signs of a fight were evident in the twisted condition of the bedclothes, the lamp that had been knocked to the floor near the bed. Jesse had seen three other bedrooms that looked like this, all victims of Casanova.

  His heart seemed to stop beating momentarily. Casanova. Did Casanova have Allison? Before the absolute horror of that thought could seep fully into his brain, he noticed something lying in the center of her bed, something that didn’t belong there.

  He holstered his gun and stepped closer. The soap sculpture. What was it doing in the middle of her bed? Had Allison placed it there? Had she been trying to tell him something?

  Vic.

  The name exploded in his head. Was it possible Vic was Casanova? Aware of precious seconds being lost, Jesse threw the soap sculpture back on the bed, turned and raced from the bedroom.

  He flew through the living room and out the front door, fumbling his keys out of his pocket as he ran. If Allison was intended to be Casanova’s next victim, then he would find her at the kissing tree.

  As he backed out of his driveway, he grabbed his radio, then hesitated. Dammit. He couldn’t use the radio without Vic being privy to what was being said. He couldn’t call for backup. He was definitely on his own.

  Vic. Surely not. As Jesse drove toward the kissing tree, his mind tried to comprehend the possibility that his trusted deputy was Casanova.

  Maybe the soap had simply fallen on the bed during the struggle. Perhaps it hadn’t been a clue left by Allison after all.

  But even as he tried to deny the possibility, doubts niggled. Lonely Vic, who had trouble getting dates. Overweight and intensely shy, poor Vic just couldn’t find love.

  Had his misery over his unpopularity with the opposite sex turned into a seething, malicious hatred of women? A hatred that led to him now raping women? Jesse knew rape was a crime of violence, not sex, a crime bred of enormous rage.

  Vic had dated all the victims in high school, and Vic had been rebuffed by all the victims in high school. Jesse squealed around a corner, his mind racing as fast as his car.

  Vic was always on patrol when the crimes occurred. He was proficient at picking locks, might have even known where spare keys had been kept for the victim’s doors. The women would have trusted him with that information. After all, he was an officer of the law.

  Of course, in two of the three cases, it had been obvious that Casanova had entered through an open window. Only at Maggie’s had there been no sign of forced entry, no open window to indicate a point of entry. Jesse banged his fist on the steering wheel. How had he been so blind? Or had he chosen blindness because he hadn’t wanted to believe. He’d thought he’d known Vic…he didn’t want to believe a man he’d called his friend, a man he’d trusted as his deputy, was capable of being Casanova.

  Jesse tightened his hands around the steering wheel, agony tightening his chest as he thought of Allison becoming the next victim.

  She’d been through so much already. She’d lost her family, lost her sight, but for the most part she’d remained so strong, so courageous. How much more could she handle without a complete break?

  He thought of her, bound and gagged, blind and helpless, and a killing rage of his own filled him. The idea that somebody would take by force from her what she’d so willingly given to Jesse, horrified him.

  He turned onto the gravel road that would take him to the kissing tree. Gravel banged the bottom of his car, spewed out behind in his wake as he barreled ahead.

  He had to get there in time. He had to. And he prayed that Casanova hadn’t decided to change his pattern. He prayed Vic hadn’t found a new place in town to torment his victims.

  Allison’s heart beat the rhythm of hope as she realized she’d managed to work one hand free from the tape that had bound them. Her first impulse was to reach up and rip the tape from her mouth and draw deep breaths of air, but she knew that would be a mistake.

  He’d instantly see the tape gone from her mouth and know she’d freed her hands. Besides, it was more important she be ready to run, and she couldn’t run if her legs remained taped together.

  Cautiously she reached down to her ankles, not wanting to alert Vic to what she was doing. Vic had been silent as he drove, and Allison knew he believed his silence was his protection.

  As long as the victims couldn’t see him, didn’t hear his voice, there was no way they would be able to make a positive identification of him. But there was no doubt in Allison’s mind that Vic was the man driving the car. Vic was Casanova.

  She had just managed to free her ankles when the car pulled to a halt. Vic got out of the car and Allison rolled onto her back, pulling her knees to her chest. He had no idea she was unbound, and she knew she’d have one opportunity to take him by surprise.

  She held her breath, praying he opened the door on the passenger side, where she could hopefully manage to give him one good, solid kick in the chest. If he opened the other door, where her head was resting on the seat, there would be no opportunity to kick at him.

  Had the other victims tried to fight him? Had they worked themselves free as Vic had driven them to the scene of the intended crime, only to be once again overwhelmed by his superior strength?

  Or had the others been too terrified to think, to fight. Not only had they suffered the terror of being taken from their rooms in the middle of the night and bound and gagged, but they’d had the additional terror of sudden blindness. Allison was spared the horror of an unanticipated loss of sight.

  She heard the crunch of gravel as Vic walked around the car. She tensed, legs ready to attack. She had no way of knowing when to kick, no way of aiming her offense at any particular portion of his body. She could only depend on dumb luck and hope she scored.

  The car door opened and she fought the impulse to instantly kick out. Instead she waited one second…two seconds… Then when she sensed him leaning in to grab her, she slammed her legs outward.

  She connected solidly. Vic groaned and she heard him fall backward. Allison shot out of the car like a bullet from a gun. Head down, arms flailing out in front of her, she ran.

  There was nothing more terrifying than the act of running in complete and total darkness, not knowing what deadly obstacles may be ahead. There was nothing more terrifying—unless it was being chased by somebody who was not in complete and total darkness.

  She could hear Vic behind her, advancing with sure, steady footsteps. She tore the tape from her mouth, drawing deep gulps of night air, and picked up her pace, praying she didn’t smack into a tree and render herself unconscious.

  She screamed as the ground suddenly disappeared from beneath her feet and she was falling. Head over hee
ls she tumbled, branches and brush gouging her legs, ripping her gown and scratching her arms and face.

  Forever. An eternity of pain. That’s what it felt like as she banged against trees, slid across rocks. She finally came to a halt at the base of a tree, her body screaming in pain.

  She remained unmoving, trying to still the breaths that came from her in deep, wrenching sobs. Where was Vic? Had he watched her fall? Was he now slowly making his way toward her?

  Slapping a hand across her mouth, she held her breath…listening. In the distance she could hear footsteps, but they seemed to have no real purpose or direction. They were tentative…going first one way, then another.

  He couldn’t see her. The thought filled her with hope. Was it possible the night was cloudy and the woods dense? Was it possible that for this moment in time she and Vic were even in their visual skills?

  Wincing in pain, she cautiously moved her legs, then her arms, making sure nothing was broken. Trying to make as little noise as possible, she moved to the opposite side of the tree and drew herself into a small ball. Hopefully the thick trunk would hide her if Vic came near.

  Leaning her forehead against the rough bark of the tree, she listened once again. The footsteps were still distant and still hesitant. He stopped every few steps and she knew he was listening for any sounds that might tell him her hiding place.

  Jesse. Allison’s heart cried. Would she ever see him again? How silly their little argument seemed at the moment. He’d told her he loved her, wanted to marry her and because of her own pride, and fears, she’d turned him away.

  Please let me have another chance, she prayed. She wondered if it would do any good to call out to Vic, let him know she knew who he was. If she talked to him, could she make him stop this insanity? Or would she push him further over the edge? Would she turn a rapist into a killer?

  Can he see me? Am I hiding in plain sight? An old childish ditty drifted through her mind. If Vic got close enough, would he be able to see her hair? Her toes?

  Vic’s footsteps drew nearer and Allison prayed.

  As Jesse pulled up toward the kissing tree, his high beams played on the stately old oak.

  Nothing.

  Nobody.

  A wave of despair swept through him.

  Had Casanova chosen a new place to commit his crimes? Dear God, where was Allison? If Vic was Casanova, where would he have taken Allison?

  Jesse shut off the engine and got out of his car. He grabbed a high-power flashlight from the back seat, then approached the tree, unsure what he was looking for, but not knowing where else to look.

  There was no indication that anyone had been in the area recently. The grass around the base of the tree appeared undisturbed. Yet, even as Jesse stood staring at the trunk of the tree, something niggled in the back of his mind.

  The silence.

  Jesse had never been to this heavily wooded place and heard such deep, profound silence. No insects chirped, no animals rustled, not a single noise of life resounded. It was an unnatural silence, as if the trees, the nocturnal creatures and the bugs and insects were all holding their breaths.

  At the same time Jesse’s mind was registering this, his flashlight beam shone on something in the distance. He squinted and took several steps forward.

  His heart beat rapidly and his hand tightened around the grip of the flashlight as he realized what he was looking at was the back end of Vic’s patrol car.

  “Vic!” The name exploded from his lips, filled with rage and tainted by fear.

  “Allison.” Her name tore from the deepest part of his soul.

  He listened, and heard nothing but the frantic beating of his own heart.

  He approached the car and shone the light first in the front seat, then in the back. There was nobody inside and nothing looked out of place. But Jesse knew in his gut that Allison had been in the back seat, that she’d been carried from his house and brought here for Vic’s insane pleasure.

  “Vic!” He yelled again, at the same time drawing his gun. He thought of the big deputy, his right-hand man. Vic had been a friend, a trusted coworker. Was it possible Jesse was betraying him by believing him capable of being Casanova?

  Maybe Vic was out here patrolling and had nothing to do with Allison’s disappearance. But even as he sought excuses, he knew deep in his heart that Vic and Casanova were one and the same.

  Jesse had studied enough profiles of criminals to know Vic fit the profile for a serial rapist. Why in the hell hadn’t he seen it before?

  “Vic, dammit, where are you?”

  “Jesse? Is that you?” Vic appeared from out of the brush. He looked disheveled and was half out of breath. He shielded his eyes against the glare of Jesse’s flashlight. “I’m glad you’re here. Something’s going on out here.”

  Jesse holstered his gun and walked toward Vic, fighting the anger that nearly choked him. “Where is she?” he asked, his voice a deadly calm.

  “Wha-what are you talking about?” Vic shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “I was driving patrol by here and saw a car take off in a hurry. At the same time I saw somebody run off in the woods. I’ve been investigating.”

  “I’m going to ask you again, Vic. Where is Allison?”

  Jesse fought the impulse to wrap his hands around Vic’s neck, squeeze until his eyes bulged and Vic was shouting what Jesse wanted to know.

  “Gosh, Jesse. How would I know where Allison is?”

  “If you’ve touched her, I’ll kill you. If you’ve harmed a hair on her head, I’ll see you in hell.” Jesse’s voice trembled with the force of his emotion.

  Vic blanched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said stubbornly.

  They both turned at the rustling sound of somebody approaching. Allison broke into the clearing. Her cheeks were bloody, her nightgown torn and she was limping. Her hands were out before her, as if to ward off a blow.

  “Jesse?” she whispered.

  He rushed to her. “I’m here,” he said, enfolding her into his embrace. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.” She sobbed into his shirtfront. Words jumbled in with the sobs, incoherent half sentences that spoke of her terror.

  “Oh my gosh,” Vic said. “Allison, what happened?” He took a step toward them, but once again Jesse drew his gun. This time he pointed it at Vic’s chest.

  “Stay right where you are, Vic, until I sort this all out,” Jesse said.

  “Jesse, you can’t believe I had anything to do with this?” Vic stared at Jesse with haunted eyes. “I just stumbled on all this by accident.”

  “Vic is Casanova.” They were the first real clear words Allison spoke.

  “That’s crazy,” Vic replied, his voice a mere whisper. “Allison, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Are you certain?” Jesse asked Allison.

  She stepped out of Jesse’s embrace and drew a deep breath, as if seeking the very last modicum of courage she possessed. “Vic, you came into my bedroom and you taped my wrists and ankles. You taped my mouth so I couldn’t scream for help, then you picked me up out of my bed and carried me to your car.”

  “No,” Vic whispered in protest.

  “I knew it was you the moment you entered the room,” she continued. “I smelled your scent, I knew your touch. It was you, Vic.”

  Vic opened his mouth as if to protest yet again, then he appeared to crumble into himself. “It was the legend,” he said, tears springing to his eyes.

  “Throw down your gun, Vic,” Jesse said.

  “But I need to make you understand,” Vic exclaimed.

  “Throw down your gun and then we’ll talk.” Jesse watched as Vic carefully removed his gun and threw it into the grass nearby. “Vic, I’m going to have to handcuff you.”

  “I understand,” Vic replied, his voice once again just above a whisper.

  Jesse touched Allison on the shoulder. “Just stand tight. I’ll be right back by your side in a minute.” He walked over to Vic and hand
cuffed the deputy, then instructed him to sit on the ground.

  “Jesse, I just want to explain….”

  “I’m going to put in a call for Shelly and Sam to meet us here, then you can talk all you want,” Jesse said.

  “Can’t you call somebody else?” Allison asked. “Shelly and Sam are on their first date tonight.”

  For a moment, Jesse couldn’t speak. So great was his love for her. There she stood, bloodied and ragged, having suffered who knew what, but her first thought was for a young couple enjoying their first date.

  “I don’t think they’ll mind the interruption,” he replied. He made the call, then returned to where Allison had sank down to the ground. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his gaze on Vic, who sat with his head hanging down.

  She nodded. “He didn’t… I got away. I ran…then I fell—” She broke off, as if too exhausted to say more.

  “I wouldn’t have hurt her,” Vic said. He raised his head and looked at Jesse. “You’ve got to believe me. I wouldn’t have hurt her at all. I just wanted to make the legend come true. That’s all I ever wanted. I only kissed them beneath the tree, that’s all.”

  “What about Maggie?” Jesse asked.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Maggie,” Vic protested vehemently. “I never would do that to a woman. Somebody else hurt Maggie, somebody who wanted everyone to believe it was Casanova. I only kissed them, Jesse, that’s all I did.”

  For some reason, Jesse believed him. Sadness swept through him. How had a charming legend become so twisted in Vic’s mind? “Did you really believe if you kissed a girl beneath the tree, she’d love you forever?” Jesse asked Vic softly.

  Vic shrugged. “Nothing else was working. They say legends sometimes have their basis in fact. I hoped—” He broke off and hung his head forward once again.

  At that moment, the sounds of a siren could be heard in the distance. Jesse helped Allison to her feet. When Sam and Shelly pulled up, Jesse instructed Shelly to immediately take Allison to the hospital. “And tell them to keep her there until I get there,” he said.