by Karen Rose
‘You’ll get your phone back, but I have a few questions first. When was the last time you were in the house?’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Why?’
‘Please, Miss Corcoran, just answer my question.’
She regarded him with the same suspicion with which he regarded her. ‘I was at the house yesterday. I haven’t been in it in twenty-three years.’
‘You never entered it yesterday?’
She frowned. ‘I said the key didn’t fit. That’s why I called the locksmith. What’s going on here? What did you and that other agent find?’
‘You said you were meeting the locksmith,’ he said, once again ignoring her question. ‘Did you arrange for anyone else to go to the house?’
Realization dawned sharply. This isn’t about me at all. She’d been paranoid. Selfish, even. This is about the girl. ‘What does my grandmother’s house have to do with the girl? Do you think she was in there?’
He bent his knees until his eyes met hers. ‘Please. Did you call anyone else?’
‘Yes. I called a lot of people. My to-do list is stored in my phone, but let me think. I called a septic service, a realtor, and the trash collection service. And a contractor, too.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the house has been unoccupied for twenty-three years. I need to be sure it’s still even livable.’
‘Sensible. Anyone else?’
She thought hard, ticking off her list in her mind. ‘The locksmith, which I already said, and . . . Oh, of course. I called the power company to turn on the electricity. They said they’d send someone today.’ A flicker in his eyes told her that was the answer he’d wanted. ‘Why are you asking me these questions, Agent Novak?’
‘Who was scheduled to be there today?’
‘Just the power company and the locksmith. Why?’
‘I need to look inside the house. Do I have your permission?’
Her eyes widened. ‘You do think the girl was there!’
‘It’s possible,’ he admitted. ‘So, we can search?’
‘What does this have to do with the power company?’
His jaw tightened impatiently. ‘I’m wasting time here. Do I have your permission or not? Because if I don’t, I’ll get a warrant.’
‘I know you’re looking for who hurt the girl, so yes, you can search. But only if I’m present when you do.’
‘No. Not possible.’
His immediate, intractable reply raised the hackles on the back of her neck. Searching the house was about the girl. But keeping Faith away . . . that was personal. As personal as all those questions about her gun. When a cop got personal, it never ended well.
‘If you want my permission, take me with you. Otherwise, get a warrant.’
His eyes narrowed, making him appear menacing. ‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t trust cops,’ she said flatly, more than a little unnerved. ‘Call me jaded, call me a bitch, call me anything you want. That’s the condition. The sooner you agree, the sooner you’re in the house and not standing here wasting time arguing with me.’
He gave a single sharp nod. ‘Come with me, then.’ He straightened and looked over at the EMT. ‘I’ll see that she gets to the hospital for any additional care she requires. You can go.’
‘Are you all right with this, Miss Corcoran?’ Jefferies asked cautiously.
‘I am. It’s okay. Help me down if you would.’
Jefferies helped Faith out of the ambulance, shaking his head when she tried to give him the blanket. ‘Keep it for now,’ he said. ‘It’s cold out here.’
Novak took her arm as the ambulance pulled away from the scene. ‘I may have a jacket in my vehicle,’ he said, his tone less aggressive. ‘I should have looked when I first got here. I’m sorry.’ He frowned at the thick wool socks on her feet. ‘Where are your shoes?’
‘The sheriff found them down there.’ She pointed down the embankment. ‘But they’re trashed. I had a pair of sneakers in the gym bag on the front seat of the Jeep, but that side is so crushed I doubt you’ll find them without cutting off the door. I’m okay to walk like this. It’s not that far.’
He was staring in that bug-in-a-jar way again. ‘You climbed the embankment barefoot?’
She shrugged. ‘Adrenaline, I guess. I didn’t realize I’d lost my shoes until after I’d called 911 and my feet started to get cold and my stockings were ripped up. The sheriff gave me these socks. He swore they were clean,’ she added wryly, because he was looking at her too intensely. ‘Are we going to stand here and talk about footwear or go to the house?’
He gave her a final searching look before guiding her to his SUV, one hand spread lightly on her back, steadying her when her knees threatened to buckle. His body threw off heat like a furnace, tempting her once more to lean into him.
It would be so nice to lean on someone, for just a little while. But that someone would never be a cop. No matter how warm he was. Or how good he smelled. Holding her back straighter, she politely refused his offer to help her up into the seat.
Pride kept her going, giving her the energy to buckle up. But pride petered out under a wave of exhaustion as soon as she heard her seatbelt click. They’d walked less than fifty feet and she felt like she’d walked a mile.
‘Are you all right?’ Novak asked quietly. He was standing in her open door, crowding her.
‘Not really, but I’ll let you know if I feel like I’m going to throw up.’
‘I’d appreciate it.’ He closed her door gently, opening and closing the tailgate, then his own door, the same way. He handed her a flannel-lined windbreaker, one that screamed FBI in giant white letters across the back. ‘It’s clean,’ he said, then abruptly leaned over her lap to retrieve a bottle of pain relievers from the glove box. He pulled a bottle of water from the car’s cupholder. ‘Does your head still hurt?’
Like an army was marching through it, wearing spikes on their boots. ‘Yes.’
The sudden ringing of his phone made her flinch. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ll turn it down.’ He handed her the bottles, then answered his phone. ‘What do you have for me, Crandall?’
He cranked the engine, then froze, his fingers still holding the key. His jaw tightened. ‘Are you sure?’ He glanced over at Faith, held her gaze. She wanted to look away, but forced herself not to. Not breaking eye contact, he leaned back in his seat. If he’d studied her like a bug in a jar before, he was dissecting her now. And not approving of what he found inside.
Yep. He knows all right.
‘Well.’ He let out a long breath. ‘Not what I expected, but thanks for digging it up,’ he said. ‘Can you email me the files? Then call Detective Kimble and fill him in. I’m not able to do so at the moment.’ He dropped his phone in his pocket and tilted his head meaningfully, as if waiting for her to speak.
Faith said nothing. He’d come to his own conclusions, no matter what she said.
‘All right then,’ he said, ending the stand-off. ‘I’ll go first.’ A long pause. ‘Dr Frye.’
She sighed wearily. ‘I thought I’d changed everything. What did I miss?’
‘Your gun registration. It still lists you as Dr Faith Frye, PhD.’
She glared at him. ‘Dammit. I changed that too.’
‘You may have submitted the paperwork, but the computer hadn’t caught up.’
‘Goddamn computers,’ she muttered.
‘Speaking of computers, our data guru could find no record of you changing your name. We know you changed your driver’s license and credit cards within the last week, but there’s no official record in the system of a name change.’
‘That’s something, at least,’ she said grimly.
His brows crunched, making him appear very threatening. ‘Do you think this is a joke?’
Faith laughed at the very notion. ‘No, I don’t. I truly don’t.’
‘You listed your profession on your gun registration as mental health therapist. Is that true?’
&nbs
p; ‘Yes.’
‘So you really are a therapist to sex offenders?’ he asked, sounding so very disappointed.
Don’t you dare look down, girl. You have nothing to be ashamed of. She forced herself to meet his disappointed gaze. ‘I was. I’m not anymore.’
‘Why not?’
None of your damn business. ‘I needed a change.’
‘You seem to have changed quite a lot in a short time.’
‘Is there a question in there anywhere, Agent Novak, or are you just wasting time?’
He clenched his teeth so hard that a muscle in his cheek twitched. ‘Since we couldn’t find a record of your name change, should I assume the court record was sealed?’
‘Yes, you should,’ she snapped, at the end of her patience. ‘Which should indicate that I proved my need for privacy to a judge.’
‘Why?’
She smiled at him, feeling no mirth of any kind. ‘You mean your internet guru didn’t find any of the thirty complaints I filed with Miami PD? How good can he be?’
He frowned. ‘Thirty complaints? Against whom?’
Part of her wanted to tell him to fuck himself. But a bigger, more exhausted part just wanted this day to be over. ‘Tell your guru to look up Peter Combs.’
‘I will, but in the interests of my time, which really belongs to the girl you found, tell me what he’ll find.’
‘Combs is a sex offender who attacked me with a knife.’
There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, followed by that expression of grave disappointment again. ‘Our guru found an article on Combs’s trial. He summarized it for me.’
Her lips twisted bitterly. She knew which article he meant. ‘I’ll bet he did.’
‘Peter Combs was found guilty. He got prison time.’
Not enough. Forever wouldn’t have been enough. ‘He got out early.’ She’d tried for a nonchalant tone, but her voice trembled. Dammit.
Novak blinked. That obviously hadn’t been in his guru’s report. ‘And he stalked you? You asked for help thirty times?’
I’m not doing this again. I can’t. She turned to look out the window. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be searching my grandmother’s house?’
‘Dr Frye, why did Peter Combs attack you with a knife?’
Hot, rancid breath on her cheek, the bite of his knife against her throat. The rasp of his voice against her ear. You ruined my life, bitch, so I’m taking yours. But first I’ll make you sorry you ever crossed me. Before I’m through with you, you’ll wish you’d never been born.
She swallowed back the bile that burned her throat, then turned to face Novak, for no other reason than to reassure herself that it was him sitting beside her and not the man whose voice she would never forget.
From his expression, his internet guru had been very thorough. Novak knew what Peter Combs had claimed in court. Under oath. What every cop she’d known was all too willing to believe. Make that every cop plus one FBI special agent. Because Novak’s wish that she deny it was written all over his oddly compelling face.
‘You know,’ she said with a calm she did not feel, ‘I went to a lot of trouble to change my name, so I’d appreciate it if you’d use it. Now, do you want to see my grandmother’s house or not? If yes, then drive. If no, then let me go and get a damn warrant.’
He regarded her in stony silence as the seconds ticked by. Then threw her a curve ball. ‘Dr Corcoran, where were you on Friday evening, between the hours of ten and midnight?’
Faith blinked. ‘Am I a suspect?’ she demanded, appalled that she was on the verge of tears.
He leaned over the center console until his face was inches from hers. Close enough that she could once again feel the warmth of his body, smell the tang of his aftershave.
Don’t you let him see you cry. Focus. All she could see was his eyes. They weren’t truly split down the middle. His left eye was more blue than brown, his right more brown than blue.
‘I don’t know who or what you are yet,’ he admitted quietly. ‘But at least I’ll know what you aren’t if you can tell me where you were on Friday night. So please, Faith. Just tell me.’
The supplication in his tone convinced her to answer. ‘I was in a hotel room in Miami.’ Her voice trembled again, but at least she’d willed the tears away. ‘Packing. To come here.’
He exhaled on a relieved sigh. ‘Do you have anybody who can confirm that?’
She wasn’t sure if his relief was genuine or if he was playing her, trying to lull her into a false sense of security. But for what purpose?
Hell if she knew. Who knew what went on in cops’ minds anyway? After nine years of being married to Charlie, Faith still hadn’t a clue. She’d been trained to analyze human behavior, but most cops didn’t behave remotely like humans.
‘I have a receipt from a gas station near South Beach,’ she said. ‘It should still be in my purse. I bought gas around 10.30 Friday night at a well-lit station with good security. I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to provide you with video proof.’
‘Thank you,’ he said simply. He returned to his seat and put the car in drive. They hadn’t gone ten feet before his cell phone rang again. ‘What do you have?’ he said without greeting. He listened, whispered a vicious curse, then punched the accelerator. ‘She’s with me. Wouldn’t allow the search without her being present . . . Yes, I talked to Crandall and yes, he gave me the information . . . She says she was in Miami. She has a receipt from a gas station . . . We’ll get the store’s video to verify.’ Then he sighed. ‘True enough. We’re on our way.’
‘What’s true enough?’ she asked when he’d ended the call.
‘That your presence in Miami doesn’t mean you aren’t somehow involved.’
Involved in what? Faith opened her mouth to protest, but the road curved, revealing a flash of white in Novak’s headlights. It was a truck with a coat of arms painted on its side, its front end crashed into a tree. Then the road curved again and it was gone.
‘That truck,’ she said slowly. ‘It wasn’t there yesterday.’
‘No, I don’t suppose it was,’ Novak said evenly. ‘Arianna Escobar’s blood all over the driver’s seat was still wet.’
‘Arianna Escobar?’
‘The girl you found on the road. That’s her name.’
Faith stared at him. ‘How did her blood get on the truck’s seat?’ Her brain finally clicked into gear. ‘Are you saying that she was in that truck? That she was driving that truck?’
‘In the absence of DNA analysis of the blood, I can only say that it’s likely.’
‘Oh my God,’ Faith whispered as the pieces fell into place. The coat of arms . . . it was the logo of Earl Power and Light, the company she’d called to turn on her electricity. ‘That truck was at my house today. Where’s the driver? What happened to the driver?’
Novak just looked at her, waiting, and her horror doubled.
‘You think I know?’ Still he said nothing, and her heart began to pound in her chest, in her head, until it was all she could hear. ‘I called them to turn on my electricity. That’s all, I swear.’
She looked away, breathed through her nose. Tried to calm herself. They think I know. They think I’m involved in whatever happened to the electric guy.
And in whatever had happened to Arianna Escobar. She looked up, saw that Novak’s odd eyes were filled with concern. And apprehension.
‘Oh my God.’ It was a hoarse whisper that she couldn’t have held back had she tried. She lifted her hands to her mouth, the bandages rough against her lips. ‘I tried to save her. I didn’t hurt her. I couldn’t hurt her.’
Novak rubbed his forehead. ‘Dammit. I really want to believe you. Let’s see what the house has to say.’
Trembling, Faith lowered her hands to her lap, focused her gaze on the darkness of the trees that lined the road. The house had always had a great deal to say, she thought. And for the past twenty-three years, none of it had been good.
Chapter Six
Just in time. He dragged one last limb across the entrance to the dirt road, then straightened with a grimace. No one driving down this stretch of highway would notice the entrance unless they were looking for it. The other end of the road emerged in the woods, a fair distance from the house in the opposite direction to the road that led to the interstate. He’d already hidden that entrance, but he didn’t think it would stay hidden. Not for long.
Because of Faith. That motherfucking little bitch. She’d ruined everything. Brought the cops to my door. I wish I’d killed her when I had the chance.
But he hadn’t, and now through the trees he caught strobing flashes of blue – a cruiser had pulled up in front of his house. My house. That the bitch’s name was on the deed didn’t matter. He’d fixed it up. He’d called it home.
He hadn’t been able to clean it all up – inside or outside. Hadn’t been able to get rid of the power tech’s blood. Or the locksmith’s.
And he hadn’t been able to move all his treasures out of the house. He’d only had time to rescue a small portion of his collection. He’d hidden the rest where no one would ever think to look. Now he needed to make himself scarce.
The only consolation was that he’d left nothing of himself behind. No DNA. No prints. He always wore gloves, and Roza cleaned religiously.
Looking both ways to be sure no one was coming, he walked back to the van he’d left idling on the shoulder, curbing the urge to check the cargo in the back. They’d still be there, either too drugged or too dead to run away. He briefly considered tossing them all in the river, but decided against it. Not here, anyway. With nothing to weigh them down, they’d float and be discovered.
Headlights off, he pulled out on to Kellogg Avenue heading east, the river now only a stone’s throw away. Kellogg ran parallel to and below the steep embankment where all the cruisers had gathered. He could take the river road east all the way to West Virginia if he wanted, but he had a different destination in mind. He crept along without his lights, waiting until he’d rounded the bend and was out of sight of the cruisers above before turning his headlights on.