by Karen Rose
Chapter Three
Mt Carmel, Ohio, Monday 3 November, 4.45 P.M.
Faith’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she exited the interstate, the blaring noise of traffic giving way to a restless kind of quiet. The bumper-to-bumper traffic and miles of golden arches were suddenly gone, and now there were only trees. As far as the eye could see.
After a day of constant activity – introductions, paperwork, greetings from new co-workers, calls to utilities and locksmiths and, importantly, the lunchtime purchase of a new, untraceable cell phone – the respite should have been welcome. But it wasn’t.
Because now, in the quiet, she could finally hear what her mind had been muttering all day. Twelve steps and a basement. The feeling of impending doom had hovered over her since she’d woken from the nightmare, but it was growing exponentially with every mile she drove, until it was all she could do to maintain her direction. Everything within her screamed for her to turn around and run.
Which was both ludicrous and humiliating. Twelve steps and an empty basement should not have the power to control her actions. She wouldn’t let it.
Besides, she had an appointment with the locksmith, and it would be rude to stand him up. The lawyer had told her that the key he’d given her was the only one he’d had, so she’d called a locksmith to come open the door and make her a new one. Soon she’d have a key. She’d go into that house and march straight down those basement stairs.
Or . . . Maybe I’ll save the basement for later. There was certainly more than enough to do on the first floor to make it livable. Or maybe she’d wait until the contractor came to check the foundations, pipes and wiring and let him go down there first. I like that idea much better.
Because she had self-delusion and denial down to art forms. And self-distraction, she thought, switching on the radio. Country music poured from the speakers, the Jeep’s stereo still connected to her iPod from the trip up from Miami. Her playlist had kept her awake on the long drive, giving her something to focus on besides what she was running from – and what she was running to.
She sighed when a new song started to play, a Tim McGraw tune she recognized from its intro, about all the things a man accomplished once he found out he was dying. The words hit far too close to home. She started to skip it, but made herself stop and listen.
Had her boss not been standing next to her that day, she’d have taken those bullets to her chest and head. And I’d be dead. Had Combs been successful any of the other times he’d tried to kill her, she’d be dead. If he managed to find her, she still might die.
She hadn’t told her father she loved him in too many weeks.
She hadn’t called him from the hotel the night before as she’d promised in her text. She’d put off dialing until it was too late to call, resorting to email instead. Just as she had every night for several weeks. Not because she didn’t want to talk to him, but because she did. Too much.
She needed the comfort of his voice, but was afraid he’d hear the fear in hers and know she was hiding something. Which of course she was. She’d been hiding all kinds of things from him, the least of which was that she’d quit her old job, found a new one, changed her name, sold her Prius, and driven fifteen hundred miles with her belongings in the back of her new Jeep.
She’d emailed him that she was going to Cincinnati as she’d packed up the Jeep. He’d assumed that her trip was to prepare the house for sale, not to get it ready to live in. She’d let him believe what he wanted, but now he needed to know the truth. At least as much of it as she could share without scaring him, quite literally, to death. His heart was not strong enough to know everything.
Steeling her spine, Faith instructed the Jeep’s voice-activated system to dial her father’s home, the song pausing itself mid chorus as the phone started to dial.
She slipped the hands-free earpiece over her ear, as was her habit. She’d survived one bad car accident because she’d been religious about keeping both hands on the wheel. Plus, the earpiece allowed her to keep her phone in her pocket, so that she always knew where it was.
At the moment, her new cell was in her right pocket, her gun in the left. She kept both on her person at all times, in the event she needed either quickly. The precious seconds it would take to find them in her purse could mean the difference between life and death.
This she’d learned the hard way, her boss paying the price.
‘Which we will not think about right now,’ she muttered as her dad’s phone began to ring.
‘Hello?’ Her stepmother answered warily, which was to be expected. The number on the caller ID would be a strange one.
‘Ya wanna buy some encyclopedias, lady?’ Faith teased, hoping to break any ice that had formed because she hadn’t called in so long.
‘Faith?’ Lily shuddered out a breath that sounded like a sob. ‘Oh God. Oh God. I’m so glad you finally called. I’ve been trying to call you for hours. What number is this?’
Panic grabbed Faith by the throat. ‘What’s wrong with Dad?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing. But only because I got to the phone before he could, every time it’s rung today.’ Her stepmother drew a deep breath. ‘First, are you all right?’
‘Yes. What’s happened, Lily?’
‘That’s what I want to know,’ Lily whispered fiercely. ‘What number are you calling from? Why haven’t you answered your cell phone all afternoon? Why is a detective trying to find you? I’ve been trying to reach you. For hours.’
Guilt swamped her. ‘I got a new phone on my lunch break. I was calling to give you my number. Who was asking for me?’
A beat of silence. ‘What happened to the old number, Faith?’ Lily asked, quietly now.
‘It didn’t transfer over.’ Because Faith hadn’t wanted it to. ‘Who’s been calling for me?’
‘A detective from Miami PD. I tried calling your home phone, but all I got was a recording saying the number was no longer in service. Your old cell kept going straight to voicemail. I must have left ten messages. I tried your hotel and the phone in your room just rang. Where are you? Why are the police looking for you? What the hell is going on here?’
‘I don’t know,’ Faith said truthfully. ‘What was the name of the detective?’
‘I have it written down . . . Vega. Detective Catalina Vega.’
‘Okay. I know her. Did she leave a message?’
‘Yeah, that you should call her. What is going on?’
That was a good question. Best case, Vega had called to make sure she was okay. Worst case, to tell her that the man who’d made her life a living hell was headed north. That Vega had found it urgent enough to call her stepmother did not bode well.
‘I’m still in Ohio. Didn’t Dad get the photo I texted? The one of my mother’s grave?’
‘Yes, he did, and don’t you try to distract me, Faith. Who is Detective Vega and why is she . . .’ A pause, then a whispered oath. ‘Your dad’s coming. We’ll finish this later.’
‘Lily?’ Faith could hear her father in the background, sounding slightly slurred and short of breath. ‘Is that Faith on the phone?’
‘Yes, it sure is,’ Lily said brightly. ‘I’ll put her on the speaker.’
‘Faith? How are you, darlin’?’ Her father’s voice had been shaky ever since his stroke, but his love came through as strong as ever.
Relief washed over her in a warm wave and her shoulders sagged in relief. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d needed to hear his voice. ‘I’m fine, Dad. How are you?’
‘Better now. I got your picture of your mama’s grave. Thank you, sweetheart.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Did you talk to the realtor?’
‘Well, not exactly. I changed my mind, Dad. I don’t know if I’ll sell the house after all.’
There was long pause, and Faith visualized her father and Lily frowning at each other. ‘Why not, honey?’ her father asked carefully.
‘Because I’m thinking of living in it.’ There. She’d
said it. ‘If it’s livable.’
Another pause, even longer. ‘But . . . I don’t understand,’ her father said.
‘Neither do I,’ Lily added, a tad more sharply. ‘What about your job, Faith?’
‘I quit. Wait, hear me out,’ she said over their startled protests. ‘The crisis center lost most of its funding.’ After its director was shot to death outside the center’s front door. ‘I’d been thinking of moving on anyway and, well, it seemed time, so I resigned.’ She’d quit because she didn’t want anyone else at the center to be hit by a bullet meant for her, but her dad didn’t need to know that. ‘I didn’t have any real ties to Miami.’
‘Because that snake of a husband of yours turned all your friends against you,’ her father growled. ‘If I could, I’d kick his ass up his throat and through his teeth.’
The thought nearly made her smile. But though her ex had committed a multitude of sins, that hadn’t been one of them. ‘They weren’t really my friends, Dad. They were Charlie’s friends from the force, from before we got married. He didn’t turn them against me. If they’d been my friends, they would have stuck with me.’
‘Well, I’d still like to kick his ass,’ her father grumbled. ‘For the things I know he did do.’
Like divorcing her to marry his pregnant girlfriend. But that was done and over now. Faith had moved on, mostly. Her father, not so much.
‘So, about this move to Ohio,’ Lily said, changing the subject before Faith’s father started in on a well-worn anti-Charlie rant. ‘What do you plan to do with yourself?’
‘I’ve got a new job, a really great one with HR at one of the banks up here. And I’ll fix up the house. Make some friends. What normal people do.’
‘Do you need money, Faith?’ her father asked. ‘We can spare a little.’
Faith swallowed hard. He and Lily were living on his GI pension. They had nothing to spare. But that he’d offer was no surprise. That was the kind of man he’d always been and just one of the reasons why she loved him.
‘No, Dad. I’m okay. My new job pays great. And I’ll probably sell most of the land. I don’t need fifty acres. Once that money comes in, I’ll be sittin’ pretty.’ She’d even be able to send some home to them, but she’d never say that to her father. Richard Sullivan had a huge heart – and a sense of pride to match. Faith would quietly address the checks to Lily, who’d bank them just as quietly. Her father would never know.
‘But . . .’ Her father’s voice trailed off. ‘You worked so hard to become a psychologist. And now you’re going to count money?’
‘No, Dad, I’m not a teller. I’m working in the HR department. That’s Human Resources.’
‘Doing what?’ Lily asked.
‘Evaluating the employees, especially those who are on the list for advancement to management. The bank wants to identify employees with sociopathic tendencies.’ Identifying sociopaths was one of Faith’s specialties. It was vaguely ironic that she’d be searching for them at the same time she was hiding from them. Or at least from one in particular. ‘It’s a new approach to preventing embezzlement.’
‘But honey . . .’ He sounded disappointed. ‘For as long as I can remember you wanted to help people. Make a difference.’
She’d prepared for his concern, not his disapproval, and it stung. She had made a difference. For years she’d made a difference and it had almost gotten her killed. It had gotten Gordon killed. Which he totally did not need to know. Faith opened her mouth, then closed it.
Lily intervened in a soft murmur. ‘Richard. She’s helped so many victims already.’
‘But—’
‘Richard,’ Lily said more firmly. ‘It’s her life. Let her live it.’
‘But a bank, Lily?’ he whispered, as though he’d forgotten Faith could hear them. ‘Since when has she been concerned with money?’
Ah. It was the money that bothered him the most. Her father had once studied for the priesthood and had been prepared to take a vow of poverty. Money had been one of the few things she could remember her parents arguing about. The O’Bannions had had wealth and Margaret O’Bannion Sullivan had wanted her share of it, but Faith’s father would have walked over hot coals before taking a dime.
Her father wasn’t upset that she’d moved to Ohio. He was upset that she was working for a bank. She wondered how he’d feel if he knew the truth – that the armed security guards in the lobby had made her feel safer about going to work than she’d felt in the entire ten years she’d counseled victims of sexual assault.
‘The job at the bank’s not forever, Dad,’ she said gently. ‘It’s just until I can figure out what to do with my life. I’m kind of at a crossroads. Looking for a change. But I need to pay the bills while I figure things out.’
‘Of course you do,’ he said firmly, his disapproval, if not gone, at least hidden for the time being. ‘But honey, if you’re at a crossroads, you should come home. You could live here, with me and Lily.’ His voice became wheedling. ‘We have a new neighbor who would be perfect for you. He’s handsome and I’ve told him all about you.’
Faith’s response was a strangled groan. ‘Dad.’
‘Richard!’ Lily exclaimed. ‘Leave her be. She’s got to find her own way.’
‘Her own way is too damn far away,’ he grumbled. ‘What if she meets some guy? How will I grill him? On Skype? Hell, I don’t look half as threatening on Skype.’
Faith smiled, the first time she’d done so in more than four weeks. ‘I’m not meeting any men, but if I do and it’s serious, I’ll bring him home so that you can give him the full treatment.’
‘Promise?’
Her smile faltered, her eyes stinging, and she was suddenly, fiercely glad they weren’t on Skype. She injected a bright note into her voice and hoped she’d pulled it off. ‘I promise.’
The long pause told her she had not. ‘You’ll call me if you need me?’ he asked.
‘I just did,’ she said softly. ‘I love you, Dad.’
‘I love you too, baby,’ he whispered. He cleared his throat. ‘Call me again, please. Soon. The sound of your voice is so much nicer than all those texts and emails.’
Faith swallowed hard. ‘I will, Dad. I promise. I have to hang up now. I’m at the curvy part of the road. I need to concentrate on driving.’
‘I don’t like you being all alone in that big house,’ he said, making one last-ditch effort to keep her on the line. ‘It’s in the middle of nowhere and anybody could break in and hurt you.’
‘Maybe,’ Lily interjected quietly, ‘you’d feel better if Faith had an alarm system installed.’
‘It would cost too much,’ her father said. ‘She doesn’t have money to spend on an alarm.’
‘Actually, it already has one. Gran’s attorney said they put one in years ago because they’d had some squatters.’ Faith didn’t mention her gun. Her father didn’t like guns.
‘I’d feel better if you got a dog,’ he said. ‘A big dog. With big teeth.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ Faith said, surprised to realize how appealing the idea was. A dog would make coming home to an empty house a lot less lonely. ‘I really have to go now. I love you both.’ She tapped her earpiece to hang up before he could offer any new worries or before Lily could finish the interrogation she’d started.
Tim McGraw’s voice took over her speakers once again, but she turned the volume down a little so that she could think.
Calling Detective Vega would have to wait until she got to the house. She didn’t have the number for Miami PD programmed into her new phone, so she’d have to Google it.
A glance at the clock on her dash had her grimacing. Traffic had made her a few minutes late. The locksmith was probably there already, but she wasn’t about to speed on these curves. She hoped the man wouldn’t leave without—
The animal came out of nowhere, hurling itself into her path. A big animal. Faith slammed on the brakes and wrenched the wheel to the left to avoid it – just as the road
curved again.
Before she could adjust, her tires slipped off the edge of the road, propelling her down the embankment. Panic gripped her as trees flew by and she desperately pumped the brake.
And then what she’d glimpsed sank in. Long dark hair. An outstretched arm. Fingers. Flesh, covered with blood. Oh my God. Not an animal.
It had been a girl. Naked. In the middle of the road.
Mt Carmel, Ohio, Monday 3 November, 5.02 P.M.
There was a buzzing in his ears.
‘Hey. Hey, buddy. Are you okay?’
He blinked, growling when someone shook his shoulder. His head hurt and he was woozy. He was also lying on the ground outside. What the hell? Memory returned in a rush. The trespasser, the guy from the power company. Ken. The bastard who’d tranqed him. The dead bastard whose body was still lying in plain view around back.
And the girl. Arianna. She was gone.
Shit. She was gone. I have to find her. I have to get her back. She’ll tell. She’ll ruin everything. He tried to sit up, but someone pushed him back down.
‘Don’t move.’ A man. Older, by the sound of his voice. ‘You’ve been in an accident. I saw your truck crashed up the road. How’d you get all the way down here? Well, you’re lucky I came by. Nobody lives here yet. Name’s Tommy Dilman, by the way. I’ll call 911.’
The hell you will. Forcing his eyes open, he saw Dilman kneeling beside him, pulling a cell phone from the pocket of his coveralls. Fury poured through him, giving him the strength to grab the phone from Dilman’s hand and throw it as hard as he could.
‘Hey!’ Dilman protested. ‘What the hell is wrong with you, buddy?’
He waited until Dilman had turned to retrieve the phone, then lunged to his feet and leaped, bringing the older man down in a tangle of limbs. Stunned, Dilman lay on his back, staring up.
He didn’t know what the old man was doing here. All he knew was that he was not calling 911, nor was he leaving here alive. He drew his switchblade from his pocket, and plunged it into Dilman’s throat. Warm blood spurted all over his hands as the man struggled like a fish on a hook. A minute later, the guy wasn’t moving at all.