by Karen Rose
‘No,’ he said. ‘You do whatever it takes to stay alive. And if you need help, call me. How well do you shoot?’
Pride glinted in her eyes. ‘I hit where I aim. Always.’
‘Good,’ he said again, still hard as a rock. Focus, Novak. The clock’s ticking. Corinne is still out there. The young woman’s dire situation was the cold bucket of reality he’d needed.
This . . . infatuation was unacceptable. It was a distraction he could not afford. It wasn’t Faith’s fault. It was his. All his. So he’d do now what he should have done back at her grandmother’s house. He’d hand her over to Bishop.
He stood up while he could, tugging his coat around him. ‘I need to get back to the precinct now. I’ll drop you off at your hotel. Let you get some sleep.’
‘Thank you. Did I give you anything useful?’
‘I don’t know. If Combs followed you here, you’ve given me a helluva lot. If it’s someone else, you’ve given me enough to get started.’ He gave a nonchalant half-shrug. ‘At least I can cross you off my list.’ He held the door open for her, drawing a breath as she passed. Allowing himself to tuck away the memory of the scent of her hair, because it would be the last time he let himself get this close to her. He pulled the door closed behind them, forced his voice to be impersonal. Brusque, even. ‘I’ll need the name of the MPD detective who worked your case.’
She abruptly stopped in the middle of the hall. ‘Oh shit. Detective Vega.’
‘Vega worked your case?’
‘No. She worked Gordon’s murder. But she was also the only one who listened when I realized that I was the target and not Gordon. I need to use your phone, like now.’
He fell back into his slightly mocking tone, but it was far more difficult than it had ever been. ‘Why do you need to talk to her, like now?’
Her brows crunched in confusion as she searched his face, no doubt looking for the reason for his sudden mood change. ‘Because she called my stepmother this afternoon looking for me.’
He tilted his head. ‘And you’re just remembering this now?’
Her cheeks darkened. ‘I’ve been a little distracted,’ she said, clearly irritated.
Good. She was too tempting when she trusted him. Hell, she was tempting when irritated, too, and that made him irritated. He pulled his phone from his pocket. ‘What’s the number?’
‘I don’t know. I was going to search for Miami PD’s number online.’
‘No need. I called their main desk earlier, so it’s in my call log.’ He placed the call, then put it on speaker, holding it between them. ‘I need to hear what she has to say.’
‘Fine. She’s not going to be there anyway. It’s too late,’ Faith said as the phone rang.
‘Leave her a message then. Give her my cell number.’
Faith rolled her eyes. ‘I could give her my own number if you’d give me back my ph—’
‘Miami PD,’ the operator said. ‘How can I direct your call?’
Giving Deacon an annoyed look, Faith leaned closer to his phone. ‘The homicide division, please. Detective Vega.’ She sighed when she got Vega’s voicemail. ‘Hi, this is Faith Frye. If you’re calling about the fire, I’m all right and you don’t need to call back. If you’re calling because you found Combs or know where he is, please call me back at this number and not at my father’s house.’ She looked up at Deacon. ‘Tell her your number.’
Deacon started to recite his own number, then remembered the resolution he’d so quickly forgotten and gave Bishop’s number instead.
And that was that. He walked her to his SUV and touched her only long enough to help her up into the seat. ‘I’ll return your jacket tomorrow,’ she said quietly.
‘It’s okay. I have others.’
His step heavy, he walked around the SUV and climbed behind the wheel. He sat there a moment, the silence between them thick and heavy. She wasn’t stupid. She’d detected the change in his demeanor.
But she said nothing, looking straight ahead. ‘I’m ready when you are, Agent Novak.’
He started the engine without a word, welcoming the sudden buzzing of his phone. ‘Novak,’ he answered.
‘It’s Isenberg. I just got a call from a Detective Vega.’
Deacon blinked. ‘That was fast. Dr Corcoran just called her.’
Beside him, Faith turned to stare, questions in her eyes.
‘She was returning your call, Novak,’ Isenberg said. ‘You called the Miami desk looking for anyone who’d worked Faith Frye’s stalking complaints. She’s been looking for Corcoran all day, although she still knows her as Frye. I told her to call back, that you could be here in ten minutes. She wanted you to bring Dr Corcoran with you.’
‘I’m on my way.’ He hung up, then turned to Faith. ‘Slight change of plan.’
Chapter Eleven
Eastern Kentucky, Tuesday 4 November, 12.25 A.M.
Corinne couldn’t move. So tired. She’d finally freed herself from the ropes that had bound her ankles. Just want to sleep. Just a little while. But she knew the temperature had continued to drop, despite the fact that she was covered in sweat. If she fell asleep, she’d die. Because even if the cold didn’t kill her, he would. Sleeping would waste valuable time she should use to get away.
She and the girl. There was no way she was leaving without the girl. Assuming he hadn’t taken her with him. And assuming that she’s still alive.
Corinne crawled up the stairs, giving one of the doors an experimental shove. It moved relatively easily – until the chain caught. So at least it wasn’t pinned shut with a block of wood. Better than I hoped. Still sucks.
She pushed the door again, peeking through the opening, which was too small for anyone to slip through. She could see the chain and the handle on the other door, both rusted metal. She reached through and gave the chain a yank. Sturdy, dammit.
But the tug had brought the lock itself into view. It was a simple little lock that took a key. The kind she’d used on her locker back in high school, a million years ago now.
She thought of the old man in the van. His shirt had said ‘Dilman’s Lock & Key’. He’d probably had very specific tools with him, but all she’d found was his knife. She took it from her pocket, examining it in the thin beam of moonlight that shone through the opening. She let out a careful breath, daring to hope. It was one of those Swiss army jobs.
‘Corinne, your luck might finally be about to change,’ she murmured, pulling out all the tools. Corkscrew, bottle opener. Good if she wanted to get drunk. But for now, not useful.
She pulled out the scissors, tweezers, and . . . a toothpick. Yes.
The toothpick might just work. I can do this. I have to.
Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 12.55 A.M.
It was like he’d flipped some internal switch, Faith thought, watching Novak sign her in at the Cincinnati PD’s front desk. He’d been interested, back at the hospital. When he’d leaned forward to check her eyes for contacts, he’d been close enough . . . to kiss. And that was exactly what she’d considered doing, which had been – and still was – insane. She didn’t know him.
But I want to. He’d cared. She’d seen it. He’d cared about the victims. About Arianna and Corinne and about a twelve-year-old victim of child molestation he’d never even met.
And me. He cares about me. About her terror and pain. And he believed her about Combs, about why she’d done what she’d done, which meant even more.
But for a moment he’d more than cared. For that one moment when he’d leaned forward, looked in her eyes . . . he’d wanted. And in that one, ill-timed moment, so had she. She’d wanted to reach out and touch his face. To find out if it was as warm as it looked. If the goatee that framed that mouth was soft or rough.
It had taken every ounce of control she possessed to stay in her chair, to keep her hands folded and on the table. But it looked like she wouldn’t have to worry about that from here on out. Novak had decided to back off, and that was fine with Fai
th. Really.
‘Why are we here?’ she asked, pushing that supercharged memory from her mind.
He glanced up from the ledger in which he was writing her name. ‘Because my LT said to.’
‘No, I mean why are we here in Cincinnati PD’s headquarters? You’re FBI. Why aren’t we in a field office? And why are we meeting your LT. Don’t you guys have agents-in-charge?’
‘I’m part of a joint task force,’ he said lightly, handing her a visitor’s badge. ‘MCES. Major Crimes Enforcement Squad. I’m the token Fed.’
She clipped the badge to the FBI jacket he’d loaned her. ‘What am I?’
He pointed to her badge. ‘Visitor.’ He started walking, clearly expecting her to follow.
She didn’t move. ‘Novak.’ He kept walking. ‘Agent Novak? Deacon. Please.’
He stopped but didn’t look back. ‘Yes, Dr Corcoran?’
Call me Faith again. Please. ‘Did I have a choice in coming here tonight?’
His back stiffened, then he turned to meet her eyes. His were serious, all mockery gone. ‘Yes. Do you want to leave? I’ll take you to your hotel.’
‘No. I want to talk to Vega. I just wanted to be sure I’d be allowed to leave once I have.’
He approached her slowly, as if his feet weighed a ton. When his shiny wingtips were less than an inch from her beat-up sneakers, he hunched his broad shoulders, bending his knees until his eyes were level with hers.
‘Have you done anything else that I should know about?’ he murmured.
For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Nor could she look away. He’d flipped the switch again, his expression utterly compelling. Cedar filled her senses as she slowly wagged her head, wondering if the scent came from his coat or his skin. ‘No.’
‘Then you should be fine.’ He straightened, back to being cocky Novak. ‘I haven’t worked for Lieutenant Isenberg long, but I do know she is a stickler for punctuality. Let’s go.’
Faith followed him into the elevator. ‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said when the doors had closed and they were alone. ‘Not with me.’
He fixed his gaze on the number display. ‘What don’t I have to do, Dr Corcoran?’
‘Act. If you want distance, that’s fine.’ No. No it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. ‘But you don’t need this . . . veneer. Not with me.’
He tossed her an amused look. ‘How do you know this is the veneer?’
‘Because your sister said that you’re a good man, and she had no veneer.’
He shrugged dismissively. ‘Dani sees the good in everyone.’
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’
‘It can be.’ The doors opened and he gestured her forward. ‘This is our floor.’
He led her to an interview room where a woman already sat at the table, waiting for them with obvious impatience. She didn’t rise when they entered, just pointed to two empty chairs. Faith sat, noting the two-way mirror to her left, returning the woman’s assessing stare.
‘Dr Corcoran,’ Novak said, ‘this is my boss, Lieutenant Isenberg.’
The lieutenant was in her forties. Maybe fifty. Her faded tan was wrinkle free – not a laugh line in sight. Her short iron-gray hair stood on end like she’d shoved her fingers through it.
Just like Novak’s did, although Faith hadn’t seen him touch it since she’d met him.
Isenberg sat back in her chair. ‘You’re the infamous Dr Corcoran. You’ve had a busy day.’
‘Yeah. I guess I have. Do you know why Vega wants to talk to me, Lieutenant?’
‘Yep. She’s been calling you all day. What’s wrong with your phone?’
Faith sighed. Another cop ignoring her perfectly reasonable question and flinging her own. ‘Are you asking why didn’t I answer her calls?’
‘No, I’m asking why they don’t show up on your phone to begin with.’ Isenberg leaned forward, placing a plastic evidence bag on the edge of her desk where Faith could see it. It contained her new pre-paid cell. ‘No calls from Vega in the log. It’s not even the same number.’
‘It’s a new phone. I just got it today. That’s not a crime,’ Faith added, pissed off that they’d checked her call log without a warrant. ‘Nor am I a suspect. Or so I’m told.’
‘You get a pre-paid, untraceable phone,’ Isenberg said, ‘on the same day you just happen to discover a woman lying in the road who escaped from the basement of your house, where she’d been tortured. Where her friend – who is still missing – had been shackled to the wall.’
Faith beat back the panic that had become a reflexive response to any mention of that damn basement. ‘Is there a question in there, Lieutenant?’
‘Yes. Why the new phone, Doctor?’
‘I didn’t want anyone to be able to track me. I removed the SIM card from my old one.’
‘Who does “anyone” include?’ Isenberg asked.
‘My stalker, Peter Combs. And the MPD cops. I haven’t had the best of relationships with any of them except for Detective Vega. Should we call her?’
‘Let’s do that.’ The lieutenant dialed the phone on the table, hitting the speaker button. ‘It’s Isenberg,’ she said when Vega answered. ‘With me are Special Agent Novak, FBI, and Faith Corcoran.’
‘Faith Corcoran?’ Vega asked, confusion in her voice. ‘You mean Frye.’
‘I’m here, Detective,’ Faith said. ‘Alive but far from well.’
Vega sighed her relief. ‘Alive is better than I’ve been imagining all day. You are a hard woman to track down, Dr Frye.’
At least I did something right, Faith thought. ‘Why are you calling me?’
‘Why are you in Ohio?’ Vega asked.
Just answer my goddamned question, Faith wanted to snap, but controlled herself. ‘Why are you calling me, Vega?’ she repeated more forcefully. ‘What’s happened?’
A beat of silence. ‘Did you try to run away, Faith?’
Faith’s shoulders sagged wearily. ‘Can you blame me?’
‘No, I don’t suppose I can. I hear you’ve had an eventful day, so I’ll cut to the chase. Your old Prius was in a major accident. It’s now a heap of twisted metal.’
Faith stared at the speakerphone, trying to make sense of Vega’s words. Why was she telling her this? It’s not even my car anymore, and—
And then she understood. Her breath came out in a shocked rush. ‘Are you saying it was tampered with?’ she whispered, not wanting the answer.
‘Unquestionably. Both the brake and steering lines were cut. We need your help.’
Faith pressed her fingertips to her temples. He keeps trying. He won’t stop.
She looked up to see Isenberg watching her, eyes narrowed in speculation.
‘What happened? When?’ She forced the image of her burned-out apartment building out of her mind as she forced the next question out of her throat. ‘Was anyone hurt?’
‘When did you sell the car, Faith?’ Vega asked.
Fury hit her hard, stealing all reason. ‘Answer my question, dammit!’ She started to pound her fist on the table, but Novak caught her arm, his grip gentle but firm.
‘Don’t hurt yourself,’ he murmured, then released her. ‘Detective Vega, was anyone hurt?’
A long, long pause had Faith’s gut turning inside out. Finally Vega sighed. ‘Yes. The driver was killed. Several more were critically injured, including some children.’ Another pause, another sigh. ‘And one of the children died. Later. At the hospital.’
The room began to spin, bile rising to burn Faith’s throat. ‘No,’ she whispered. Hugging herself, she fought the need to rock where she sat. ‘That can’t be true. I tried to make it stop.’
‘I know you did, Faith,’ Vega said softly. ‘I need you to stay calm for me. Strong, okay?’
The tears were coming. She couldn’t make them stop. It didn’t matter what Isenberg thought. Or even Novak. ‘How old, Detective?’ she asked, her voice hoarse and unfamiliar.
‘Faith, you don’t need—’
<
br /> ‘Goddammit!’ Faith shouted. ‘Don’t you dare tell me I don’t need to know. How old was the child, Vega?’ She felt a warm palm on her back. Novak. He didn’t pat. Didn’t rub. Just applied a soft pressure. A human connection. Suddenly overwhelmed, she choked back a sob. ‘Please. I do need to know.’
‘Tell her, Detective,’ Novak said quietly.
Vega cleared her throat. ‘Thirteen. The two children in the backseat received only minor injuries and they’ll be fine.’
Faith closed her eyes. They’ll be fine? No, they won’t. Their mother is dead. They will not be fine. This can’t be happening. But it was. A mother and her child were dead. Because of me.
She didn’t recognize the keening whimper as her own until Novak began to stroke her hair. Still he said nothing, allowing her to gather her thoughts. But they would not be gathered. She gave in to the need to rock herself, hunching over as the sobs broke free. Still he stroked her hair, silent as she cried. Finally the wave ebbed and she struggled to breathe.
Novak’s hand disappeared and she wanted to beg him to come back, but she did not. Not while Isenberg watched with an eagle eye. A few seconds later, a box of tissues was placed on the table in front of her. She looked up, way up, and found Novak watching her too. But it was entirely different. Isenberg’s gaze was like a hatchet. Novak’s was like a blanket.
‘It should have been me,’ she said, and his eyes flashed, blue and brown growing almost black.
‘No,’ he said. ‘But pull yourself together so that we can make sure no one else is hurt.’
She nodded, mopping her face with a tissue. ‘What do you need from me, Detective Vega?’
‘For starters, I need to know when you sold the car and to whom.’
‘I sold it on Saturday morning to a used-car dealer in Hialeah. Garcia Motors.’
‘One of the things on your how-to-disappear list?’ Novak asked.
Faith nodded miserably. ‘He’d been following my car. I never dreamed he’d so indiscriminately hurt whoever bought it, but I should have. He’d done it already with the fire.’