Nowhere to Run (Stephanie Carovella)

by Nina D'Angelo

  She cursed, sitting up straight in her chair. He must have been watching her. He’d known she knew Ana. He knew she’d known her during her university days. He’d killed Ana knowing it would cut her deeply. Was this why he’d chosen her? Who would he have killed if it hadn’t been her?

  Would it have been Stephanie? Or maybe it would have been Jesse or Ben. No, she shook her head. He didn’t kill males, or at least he hadn’t so far.

  She smiled bitterly. He’d studied them all. He had left Ana where he knew she’d be found. He had wanted Jase to find Ana, just as he’d known Jesse would find Angel, and he’d left Carolyn Mathers’ naked and battered body in a tourist hotspot.

  The bastard liked an audience. He liked drawing others into his perverse little games. He liked the attention. He wanted them to notice him. He wanted her to notice him. It explained why he’d dumped Ana at Cynthia’s apartment. He knew Cynthia would be missed, and the first place anyone would look for her was her apartment.

  She needed to get back to the crime scene. She needed to scour every inch of it. He would have left her something apart from the message; something to tell her why he’d killed Ana and had taken Cynthia. She was sure they were missing a vital clue. Something only she would recognize, like she had with the photo in the scrapbook and her graduation photo.

  As much as she would love to already be at the crime scene analyzing everything, she needed to wait. It was Delucci’s crime scene. She was loath to admit it, but right now he was calling all the shots.

  Taking a sip of her coffee, she opened her email. She was still waiting for Sandra to get back to her regarding what she’d found out about the Limousine service Callendor used to pick up their stars. Callendor’s President had stated that besides himself, only his secretary, Barbara Madden, had known Carolyn Mathers was coming back to the United States. Since David Collins had an alibi at the time of Carolyn Mather’s disappearance and estimated time of death, he’d been cleared of any involvement in her murder. Their interest was focused on the secretary. While Barbara Madden had disappeared without a trace, Gena still hoped they would be able to discover which limousine service she’d organized for Carolyn Mathers and speak to the driver.

  Sandra was currently delivering a warrant to Callendor Studios, one which gave them permission to seize Barbara Madden’s computer. They’d also pulled her phone records, bank transactions and credit card records. Gena was praying this would give them their first break. Knowing who picked Carolyn Mathers up from the airport could mean everything to the case. It would give them some kind of direction because right now, they were hitting their heads against the wall.

  She scowled, impatiently waiting for her email to download her messages. Lifting her coffee cup to her lips, she froze midway, staring at the messages loading. One of them was from Cynthia Mallory. Opening it, she studied it. It was blank. Looking closer, she realized there was a video clip attached. Clicking open the attachment, she sat back, unsure of what to expect. She clapped her hand over her mouth in horror, at what she saw unfolding in front of her eyes.

  Pressing pause on the video clip, she fought to control the bile rising within her throat. Her hand trembling, she reached for the telephone, dialing Frank Delucci’s number. “Frank, it’s Gena. You’re going to want to see the email I’ve just received.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Stephanie stood in front of the silver wrought iron gates, staring past them through to the house. If she closed her eyes, she’d be able to see it clearly in her mind. Designed with love, each piece of furniture and every painting was picked with so much care and thought. Everything had been selected precisely to suit their personalities.

  Dangling the keys between her fingers, she stood there, trying to convince herself it was time. It was time to move on. It was time to let go of the demons haunting her since that day. She took a deep breath, walking to the security pad. She quickly punched in the number she still knew off by heart, the numbers he had never bothered to change.

  1231. New Years Eve. It had also been their wedding anniversary. She smiled, recalling Dominic’s insistence that their security code had to be one they would never forget. She watched the gates opening, squeaking in protest at being used after such a long time. It had been six months since she’d stood here with Jesse, refusing to enter the house she’d once lived in, the house she’d shared with Dominic.

  Walking slowly up the driveway, she wrapped her arms around herself, preparing herself for the ghosts that would greet her once she opened the front door. Part of her wished she’d asked Ben or Jesse to come along, but she needed to do this alone. It was time to say goodbye to the demons holding her captive for more years than she cared to remember.

  Reaching the front door, she ran her hand lovingly over the oak door and rested her palm on it. It had been two and a half years since she’d walked out of this door, promising herself she’d never enter this house again. She’d kept her vow until now.

  Turning the key in the lock, she took another deep breath. Opening the door she stepped in, then closed it behind her. Placing her keys on the side table, she walked into the living room. She smiled sadly, taking in every inch of the house. It was exactly as it had been the day she’d walked away. Dominic had never made an effort to change the house, to make it solely his.

  She moved from the living room to the study, stopping at the sight of the empty coffee cup sitting solitarily, within the piles of papers. Her eyes welled up with tears. Moving to the desk, she sank into the plush office chair, reaching out to touch his cup. She smiled, tracing her fingers over the Trinity Tigers emblem, his beloved college ball team. He’d been so passionate in supporting his team, proud of his Texan Heritage.

  It was almost as if Dominic had just left the room, as if he had gone to run an errand, and, that’s exactly what had happened. He’d gone out to run an errand for Angel. He’d just never come back.

  She stood, walking quietly back into the living room, saddened by the deafening silence. When Dominic had been alive, music was always on in the background. It had soothed them, reassured them. Now there was nothing but dead silence, a reminder he was gone forever.

  She glanced at the answering machine, the light still flickering with messages unheard. She pressed the play button on the machine, sinking down onto the couch. Closing her eyes, she listened for the familiar voice with the slightly accented drawl she knew so well. Her eyes welled with tears when she heard him speak.

  Hi this is Dominic and Stephanie. We’re currently involved in only each other and unable to come to the phone. If you could leave a message, we’ll get back to you when we come up for air.

  Waiting for the message to end, she replayed it and smiled sadly. He’d never erased their message and recorded his own. He’d been so sure she would come back to him. He’d been so confident in their love for each other. He’d had so much more faith than she’d had. Once she’d shared the same faith, fervently believing they would grow old together, surrounded by their children and their grandchildren.

  Her hand dropped to her stomach, recalling the morning which changed her life forever; the day she lost Dominic’s child. She’d been alone in the house. Dominic had gone to his bar, Outlaws, and she’d been in their bedroom, planning the nursery. Wrapped up in her own thoughts, she’d been at the top of the stairs when she’d felt the hand on her back.

  Then she fell, tumbling head over feet down the stairs. She’d been lucky to survive the fall. Dully, she thought she might as well have died. That fall had changed her life forever.

  She’d felt the pain first, deep within her abdomen. The crippling cramps. Then she’d felt the rush of fluid between her legs and immediately knew she was losing her baby. As she lay there, losing Dominic’s child, a hooded stranger had stood over her, watching. She hadn’t seen his face, but she’d known it was the same stranger who’d stood over Carolyn. She’d known it was him. She could still remember his words.

  He’d leaned down and gripped he
r by the throat. She’d struggled for breath, reaching out to pull his hood off. She’d desperately wanted to see his face. His words had terrified her the most. Bending his mouth to her ear, he’d whispered harshly, “Leave your husband. Before I kill him too.”

  So she’d left Dominic; left him and everything they shared together. She’d left him because she was terrified of losing him. Scared whoever had pushed her down the stairs would kill him as he’d vowed.

  She’d lost him anyway.

  She’d never told Dominic why she was leaving. She’d never told him she’d been pushed down the stairs. She’d kept her mouth shut about the threats, and the phone hang-ups she’d received. She’d kept quiet about the little things scaring her.

  Instead she shut herself off from everyone, believing it would protect them. She’d kept quiet, believing it would protect Dominic. It hadn’t.

  Slowly she walked down the hallway and stopped at the foot of the stairs. Her heart constricted, pain crippling her at the memory of losing her child, the child she had desperately wanted. Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs. Her hand gripped the wooden railing as she made the ascent up to the bedroom they had shared.

  She stood in the doorway, remembering the love they had shared so passionately. They’d had a good marriage. A very good marriage, she conceded with a smile. Like all couples they’d fought; they’d fought as passionately as they had loved but they’d never gone to bed angry. They’d never strayed, never even looked at anyone else.

  Inside the bedroom, she automatically walked towards the wardrobe. Opening the door, she flicked on the light switch. She almost expected to see her clothes side by side with Dominic’s. Smiling wistfully, she touched the sleeve of one of his shirts absentmindedly, lifting it up to press it against her cheek. She could still smell traces of his aftershave, the scent clinging to the shirt.

  When Dominic died, she’d refused to let Jesse go through his clothing and possessions. She hadn’t been ready to accept he was gone. Instead, she’d locked up the house along with her pain and shut it out of her thoughts.

  Dropping the shirt, she stood on her tiptoes, reaching for the sealed box sitting on one of the wardrobe’s top shelves, her smile fading at what she’d kept inside. Dark secrets seeped right through her soul and kept her awake at night. Secrets she’d kept from everyone, hoping to protect them from the truth.

  She sighed heavily. Ana had been right about one thing. The problem with secrets was they eventually came out and, the longer they were kept, the worse the damage was.

  Tapping her fingers against the box lid, she frowned. After she’d left Ben’s bed this morning, she’d gone for a run, letting the fresh air rejuvenate her. She’d needed time alone to go over each murder in her mind. She always did her best thinking when she was on the move and this time was no different. She’d analyzed everything she knew about Carolyn and Angel’s murder – from the case files and crime scene photos to the autopsy reports and what Gena and Jesse had told her, determined to work out the connection between all three murders.

  The realization hit her mid-stride, and she’d stopped in a cold sweat. Dropping down into a squat, she’d taken gulping breaths, not expecting her past to hit her in such full force.

  She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed the similarities between the murders beforehand. She’d seen the signature before. She’d almost been a victim of his signature. The memories came flooding back like a rush of blood to the head. Swaying slightly, her grip on the box tightened. She shook her head, trying to shut out the memories before grief completely crippled her.

  Carrying the box, she placed it at the foot of the bed she’d once shared with Dominic. She sank down onto the bed, curling up to lie on Dominic’s side. Drawing his pillow close to her, she inhaled the masculine scent and closed her eyes wearily. She wished she was ready to say goodbye to Dominic, but coming here today had shown her she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to his memory. It just hurt too damn much. Her breathing grew steady, as she fell into a troubled sleep.

  ***

  Stephanie woke up to the sound of slow and steady footsteps on the stairs, her body stiffening with apprehension. She slowly rose from the bed, trying to remember if she had locked the front door. She froze when the footsteps stopped outside the bedroom door. Quickly looking around for a weapon to arm herself with, she grabbed the Inca statue sitting on the bedside table.

  Holding it tightly within her hands, she moved behind the door, waiting for it to open. Her heart pounding wildly, she held her breath, almost afraid to breathe. Not recognizing the man who entered the bedroom, she brought the figurine down upon his head, watching in satisfaction when he slumped to the ground.

  Stephanie dropped the figurine when someone grabbed her from behind. Taking a deep breath, she elbowed him hard in the stomach, smiling savagely when he grunted. She brought her boot’s stiletto heel down onto his foot, twisting it. She smirked in satisfaction at his yelp. Her attacker let her go and staggered backwards. Twirling around, she lifted her hand into a defensive palm position Dominic had once shown her, moved herself into an attack stance and prepared to break her attacker’s nose.

  “Damn it Stephanie, do you greet everyone like this?”

  Stephanie paused, the familiar voice bringing her to a halt inches from her attacker’s face. Her memory was teased by the accented drawl, and she drew her hands back, studying the man in front of her. “Jake?” she whispered in surprise.

  Jake Carlisle lifted his hands up in appeal, still trying to catch his breath. “Damn it Carovella, you sure know how to pack a punch. What are you trying to do to me?”

  He stood, slowly drawing himself to his full six foot five height, and opened his arms. Stephanie laughed in pleasure, launching herself at the man in front of her. Jake wrapped his arms around Stephanie, lifting her up into a bear hug.

  As he lowered her back to the ground, he glanced over his shoulder at the man who was slowly lifting himself off the ground. He grinned at the scowl darkening his friend’s face. “How’s the head, Rafe?” he asked in amusement, laughing at Rafe’s disgruntled expression.

  Stephanie looked from Jake Carlisle to the man she’d hit with the Inca statue. She lifted her hand to her mouth, trying hard not to smile. Seeing the man’s scowl deepen, she burst into laughter.

  Turning to the man beside her, she smiled widely at him. “I knew that ugly statue you bought Dominic and I for a wedding present would come in handy someday,” she said with a smirk. Putting her hands on her hips, she gave Jake a mock scowl. “Damn it Jake, did you have to scare the living daylights out of me?” she scolded, smiling at Jesse’s brother with unconcealed delight.

  “You’re lucky it was Rafe and I. Hell, you didn’t even lock the door, Stephanie. With a serial killer on the loose, anyone could have come in here and attacked you,” he scolded back lightly, not wanting to scare her with how concerned he really was.

  “Rafe?” she questioned, turning her head once more to stare at the man standing silently in front of them.

  Jake nodded, smiling at Stephanie. “Steph, this is my old marine buddy, Rafael. Rafe, the woman who struck you down like a vengeful angel is the ever, delightful Stephanie Carovella.”

  Stephanie gave him a brief apologetic nod, holding out her hand. He took it, almost cautiously, before gripping it firmly. “You’ve got quite an arm,” he drawled, slowly smiling at her.

  “Blame my husband. Dominic believed every woman should know how to defend herself in any situation. Jake’s lucky I didn’t break his nose.”

  With narrowing eyes, she glared at Jake. “Speaking of which, Jake do you want to explain the serial killer comment to me? One would think you know something about my situation, and while you’re at it you might want to explain how exactly you found me? I never told anyone where I was going.”

  Jake grimaced. “Now, Steph, honey, don’t get upset...”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Frank Delucci stood behind Jase Devlin, his fi
ngers digging into the black leather chair Jase sat in, his gaze never leaving the computer screen. They both watched the events unfolding before them. Gena, her face ghost-white, watched them from where she stood in front of her office window.

  Struggling to keep her composure, she turned to face the window, her attention focused on the street below. She gripped the metal window frame for support, knowing if she let go her legs would buckle out from beneath her. Even now, she could still feel her legs shaking, the shock of what she’d witnessed ravaging her body.

  She tried to block out the screams of agony coming from the video clip Jase and Delucci were playing. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she focused on blocking out the sounds of her friend being tortured, acutely aware that the silent room only amplified the sounds. The only other sounds she could hear were her own gasps for breath; she was about to lose it completely.

  Unable to hold it in any longer, she whispered brokenly, “Frank, Jase, I’m sorry. I can’t listen to this anymore. Not again.”

  Frank Delucci nodded curtly in her direction and Jase quickly pressed the pause button. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked quietly, watching her shake her head furiously. With a curt nod, he turned his inscrutable gaze back to the computer screen and pressed play again.

  Frank Delucci’s eyes briefly left the screen to glance at Gena’s broken expression, pity in his own eyes. When she turned away, he tore his gaze from her to return to the video clip. He could understand why she refused to watch and listen to the footage again, acknowledging it couldn’t be easy for her to stomach what they were watching. His own stomach twisted and churned at the sight of Ana Ferrier’s brutal murder unfolding onscreen. Leaning closer, he scanned the video clip for any sign of where Ana was held.

  Gena closed her eyes again, wishing she could erase the images burnt in her mind. Moving abruptly she raced to the door, not prepared to sit and listen to anymore of Ana’s screams and pleas for mercy while she was being savagely tortured.