by Irene Hannon
“This party is just getting started, honey.” He rattled the cage, and she groaned. “I’m not going to let you die on me. Yet. You catch your breath while I get ready for round two.”
The bed of the truck jiggled. He’d moved away. For now.
From her prone position, she examined the surrounding area. From what she could tell in the fading light, they were in the middle of nowhere. Tall, dense trees and shrubby brush lined the rutted, barely discernible road where he’d parked the truck. No light penetrated the gloom. There was no sign of human habitation.
It was just the two of them.
And he’d be back soon.
For round two.
In a macabre game that was destined to only get worse.
Bev turned into her apartment complex and drove slowly through the lot. With the dusk deepening, she should have no problem getting in and out undetected. There were no cop cars around, and even if the police were still looking for her, they thought she was a blonde. This would be a piece of cake.
Parking in a spot close to the entrance, Bev did one more scan, then slid out of the car and removed the latex gloves Daryl had insisted she wear, tucking them into her purse. He’d said her outside key worked, so she slipped it in the lock and let herself in.
As the familiar musty odor assailed her nostrils, she wrinkled her nose. She’d always hated that smell. But after spending the past few days in Chuck’s stinking trailer, it didn’t seem as bad. Not that she’d ever be moving back here. She’d have to start over again somewhere else, with nothing. So what else was new? She’d never had much to begin with. All she wanted to keep were a few personal items in the apartment.
And Stan could help her get them.
After making her way down the hall, she took the steps in the dank stairwell to his second floor corner apartment, where he spent most of his time planted in front of the boob tube. She’d been up there often enough, exchanging favors for a break on her rent, and knew his patterns. Right about now he’d be watching ESPN. Probably a boxing match, if he could find one.
As she approached his door, she heard what sounded like a sportscaster on TV. Stan never changed.
Smoothing her hair with one hand, she knocked with the other.
No response.
She knocked again.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m comin’.”
A few seconds later, Stan pulled the door open. As usual, he was wearing a white undershirt that accentuated his paunch.
He looked her up and down, making no attempt to hide the lascivious gleam in his eyes. “Can I help you?”
Bev tried to suppress her grin. Even Stan didn’t recognize her, thanks to her great costume. Patting her hair, she fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I came to inquire about an apartment.”
He cocked his head and squinted as he scrutinized her. “Bev?”
She chuckled. “It took you long enough.”
Leaning past her, he checked the hall. Then he grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind him.
“What are you doing here? The cops have been crawling all over this place.” He scuttled to the window that overlooked the parking lot and peered through one of the broken slats in the miniblinds.
“Chill out, Stan. You didn’t recognize me, did you? Why should they?” She sauntered into the living room. As usual, the place was a sty. Empty pizza boxes were stacked in one corner, a pile of newspapers covered the top of the dinette table, and the sink was full of dishes encrusted with dried food.
It reminded her of Chuck’s trailer.
He turned back to her. “They might not recognize you, but they’ll recognize your car. I don’t need any trouble around here.”
“I didn’t bring my car. I . . . borrowed someone else’s. You don’t think I’d be stupid enough to come back if I thought I was going to get caught, do you?”
His dubious expression irritated her.
“Look, I’ll get out of your hair in a minute. I just want a few personal things from my apartment, and my key doesn’t work.”
“The landlord changed the locks after the police and Social Services started nosing around.”
She sashayed over to him. “But you have a key, don’t you?”
“I might.” His gaze raked over her appraisingly. “What’s it worth to you to get it?”
That was the response Bev had expected. And she was willing to barter. Her mother’s locket was worth it.
Smiling, she ran a finger down his arm. “I think we could come up with a fair price, don’t you?”
He belched, and she tried not to cringe.
“Yeah, baby, I think we can. Come on. Let’s discuss it.” He grabbed her hand.
As he tugged her toward the back of the apartment, she peeked at her watch: 8:15.
In twenty minutes, tops, she’d be out of here.
Treasures in hand.
“Did you miss me?”
At bingo man’s question, Alison worked herself back into a sitting position, wincing as her left leg spasmed. She needed to stretch it out. But that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
The light had faded, and the man’s features were fuzzy. But as he sat on the tailgate and began whittling a sharp point on a long stick, the acrid taste in her mouth turned her stomach. Again.
She retched, and he shot her a disinterested look.
“Still feeling sick, huh? At least you’re done throwing up. Must have emptied your stomach on the last round.”
He swung his legs into the bed of the truck and stood. Pulling a strip of cloth out of his pocket, he unlatched the top of the cage and reached down.
“No.” The word came out raspy, and she tried to twist away.
Grabbing her hair in his fist, he pulled upward. Hard enough to lift her off the floor. The tender spot on the back of her scalp felt like it was splitting open, and bright lights strobed across her field of vision.
After dangling her for a moment, he let her fall. As she sagged sideways he whipped the cloth across her mouth and tied it in the back. Then he closed the top of the cage, relatched it, and once more sat with his back against the side panel of the truck. He picked up a beer can. Released the tab. Took a long swallow. All the while watching her.
At last he set the can down and went back to work on the stick, testing the point with his finger as he continued to sharpen it.
“I think it’s about time you and me had a talk, Alison.” He smiled at her. “It’s okay if I call you that, isn’t it? Nicole does.”
Nicole.
With that single word, all the pieces suddenly fell into place. Her stalker was Daryl Barnes, Nicole’s onetime boyfriend. A meth dealer. The man who had caused Nicole to lose her son for a year. A convicted criminal who’d gone to prison.
He was also the man she’d seen exiting Ellen Callahan’s apartment building the day she’d gone there to drop off some GED material.
“So you finally figured out who I am?” He grinned at her. “I knew you would. You’re a smart lady. Too bad you’re also a busybody.”
He scooted closer, his smile fading, his dark irises glittering with hate. Alison tried to ignore the point on the stick he was holding.
“Here’s the deal, Alison. Because of you, I spent four years behind bars. Locked up like an animal. I thought it was only fair for you to see firsthand what that felt like. It’s not a lot of fun, is it?”
When she ignored him, he stuck the stick through the bars and pressed the point against her thigh. “Is it, Alison?”
She tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. He pressed harder, twisting the point until it broke through the fabric and bit into her flesh.
Although she did her best to contain it, a tear escaped and trailed down her cheek.
“Oh.” He gave a mock sigh. “Did I make you cry? What a shame. Not.” He leered at her and jabbed harder, the malevolent gleam in his eyes sending a shaft of terror through her. “And that’s just the warm-up.”
He glanced at
her Capri pants, and a muscle twitched in his cheek. She followed his line of sight. A dark circle was spreading around the tip of the stick, staining the beige fabric.
The next instant he yanked it out of her leg. After tossing it aside he grabbed the knife and stood. She began to shake harder as he unlatched the cage and lifted the lid.
“You know, I tried to convince Nicole to give me another chance when I got out of prison. But I wasn’t good enough for her anymore. She said she had a new life now. One you helped her build. One that didn’t include me. She also said she owed you a lot. And you know what? So do I. Tonight I plan to repay that debt.”
Alison’s heart slammed against her rib cage, and she struggled to breathe.
God, please help me! I don’t want to die!
The silent cry came from the depths of her soul as she stared up at Daryl Barnes. A man who took no responsibility for the mess he’d made of his life. A man who was looking for someone to blame for all the misfortunes that had plagued him. A man who needed a scapegoat.
And he’d found one in her.
When he bent toward the cage, she shrank away, closed her eyes, and tried to prepare herself for the searing pain she would feel as the blade of the knife plunged into her.
Instead, he grabbed one of her feet. Startled, she opened her eyes and watched as he cut through the rope around her ankles, freeing her legs.
Locking gazes with her again, his face mere inches from hers, he brushed his hand up the outside of her leg. Fingered her hair. Touched her cheek.
“I think it’s payback time, don’t you, Alison?”
As his intent registered, icy fingers of dread clawed at her throat and she began to shake.
Maybe it would have been better if he’d killed her after all.
Police officer Sarah Kaufmann pulled into the apartment building parking lot and guided her patrol car down the row of cars, processing the latest report on the Alison Taylor situation that had just come over the radio. After ten years with the County PD, you got to know almost everyone on the force, and she’d run into Cole on a number of occasions. She’d met his sister too, when he’d brought her to a department-wide picnic a couple of years ago. Nice woman.
This whole thing that was happening to her stunk.
On the other side of the spectrum, you had people like Bev Parisi. A real loser. County had been patrolling this lot for days hoping to spot her, but she’d never shown up. Probably never would. She’d disappear into the woodwork and find somewhere else to nurse her meth habit.
That stunk too.
But a lot of things did, as she’d learned during her decade in law enforcement. Innocent people got hurt. Bad guys got away. Sometimes it was hard not to get discouraged.
Sarah turned up the next row. No sign of Bev’s car—though she’d most likely changed the plates by now, anyway. But a white Civic did catch her attention. It was parked close to the entrance, angled into the spot crooked, as if the driver had been in a hurry. Or drunk.
Since it was a slow night, she keyed in the license plate.
When a BOLO alert flashed up, her eyes widened.
No way.
She checked the license number again against the Civic, letter by letter, digit by digit.
Yes!
Reaching for her radio, she prepared to pass on the good news.
She’d just found Alison Taylor’s car.
“The lab got a positive ID on one set of prints from the car at the mall.” Cole slid his phone back into its holder. “A guy just released from Potosi, who served four years for dealing meth. Daryl Barnes.”
Cutting off his tire-tread question midsentence, Mitch jerked away from Hank and stared at Cole. His colleague must really be out of it if the connection had failed to register.
As he yanked his own phone off his belt and punched in the number he’d copied from Alison’s answering machine, he clued Cole in. “Nicole Larson said her boyfriend’s name was Daryl.”
A muscle in his colleague’s jaw clenched. “I can’t believe I missed that.”
“You shouldn’t even be on your feet, let alone working a case, after an injury like that.” Mitch motioned toward the sling.
The other man glared at him. “What do you expect me to do? Sit at home and twiddle my thumbs?”
Settling the phone against his ear, Mitch ignored the anger he knew was prompted by frustration and instead focused on the latest break. The only other new information they’d received had come from the K-9 unit, which had been able to follow Alison’s scent as far as Lindbergh Blvd. But that had been of little help.
This, however, could be big.
Nicole answered on the second ring, and Mitch gave her a cursory explanation of the situation.
“We’re pretty certain Daryl is our man, Ms. Larson,” he concluded. “Do you know where he’s staying?”
“No. I’m sorry. I wish I could help.” The distress in her voice was almost palpable. “But I think you’re right to suspect him. When he stopped by after his release, I mentioned how much Alison has done for me. I could see he wasn’t happy about that. I should have called her sooner, I guess, but I never expected him to resort to violence. Or kidnapping.”
“Do you have any idea where he might have taken her?”
“No. None.”
Mitch’s surge of hope waned. They might have a prime suspect, but they had no idea how to find him. “Let me give you my number. If you think of any information that might be useful, please call me. No matter the time.”
As Mitch recited his number, he saw Cole pull out his own phone. The sudden tense line of the other man’s shoulders after he answered put him on alert and he tuned in.
“Okay. We’re on our way. Tell the officer to stay out of sight until we get there. Our ETA is about twenty minutes. Have her watch for us at the entrance to the parking lot about then. And send enough patrol officers to cover all the exits. They should be watching for a woman about thirty with long blonde hair or short black hair. If anyone answering that description attempts to leave, they need to be stopped and held for questioning.”
Ending the call, Cole cradled the sling with his good arm and took off at a trot for the front of the building. “We’ve got Alison’s car.”
Mitch’s hope swelled again, and he fell in beside the other man. “Where?”
“The parking lot of Bev Parisi’s apartment building.”
His brain clicking into analytical mode, Mitch pulled out his keys and took the driver’s seat. “This isn’t a coincidence. Remember, that Neighborhood Watch coordinator on the street behind Alison spotted a car that matched the description of Bev’s. The next night, when Bert was killed, she saw a pickup truck in the same spot.”
Cole eased into the passenger seat as Mitch started the engine. “You know, when you suggested a connection between Bev and Alison’s stalker, I wasn’t convinced. Now I am.”
“It makes sense. Barnes served time for dealing meth. Bev is a user. So was Lon Samuels—where a blonde matching Bev’s description was also seen. Meth is the connection among all these players.”
As Mitch turned on the flashing light bars mounted on the front and back windows and sped out of the storage unit lot, Cole grabbed the dash to steady himself. “You think Bev was the one in the car with Barnes in the mall parking lot?”
“Yes.”
“But she has long blonde hair.”
“A wig can change that. So can dye and a haircut.”
Cole tucked his injured arm closer to his body as Mitch took a sharp corner. “Why would she go along with a scheme like this? Doing drugs is one thing; kidnapping is a whole different ball game.”
“We’ll have to ask her that when we find her.” Mitch hit the siren as they swung onto the main road, clearing the path for them as he floored the gas pedal.
“It’s possible she just dumped the car there.”
“True. But if she’s in disguise, she might have figured this was her chance to clear out her stuff withou
t being noticed.” Swerving around a car that didn’t get out of the way fast enough to suit him, Mitch pressed harder on the accelerator. Trying to eke a few more rpms out of his Taurus.
“That would be stupid.”
“No more stupid than participating in a kidnapping. Or using meth.”
“Good point. But even if she was involved, it doesn’t mean she knows where Barnes took Alison.”
That was also true.
But as they sped toward Bev Parisi’s apartment, Mitch was resolute on one point. If they did get their hands on the elusive blonde, he was going to pull out all the stops to persuade her to tell them every single thing she knew about Daryl Barnes and his plans for Alison.
21
A distant rumble of thunder shook the ground, and Daryl grinned as he popped another beer and watched Alison, cowered below him in the open cage, her eyes wide with terror. She’d been shaking like a leaf since he cut the rope around her ankles. Hard enough to rattle the cage.
That was what he’d been after.
Taking a swig of beer, he prowled around her like a stalking animal. Knowing she was thinking exactly what he wanted her to think gave him almost as much of a rush as the meth did. It made him feel powerful. In control. Invincible.
And very, very good.
The truth was, he had no intention of touching her in the way she feared. She repulsed him, with all that blood smeared across her face. But she didn’t know that. And he intended to keep it that way. Right up to the end.
In the meantime, though, he was going to have a lot of fun.
He set the beer on the bed of the truck and moved over to the cage. “Stand up.”
She burrowed deeper into the corner.
Leaning down, he grabbed her arm and yanked her up. She swayed, and he kept a firm grip on her until she steadied. Maybe she did have a bad leg. That scar had been for real. A smile twitched at his lips as he considered that nice bonus. Limited mobility would work to his advantage.
In one swift movement, he bent and slung her over his shoulder. She was a little thing. Couldn’t weigh much more than 110, 115. Kind of like Nicole. But she was a lot more feisty. Even trussed up and injured, she was wiggling like a worm on a hook.