Chase had a supermodel girlfriend.
He was getting married.
For all she cared, the freaking bastard could rot in hell.
CHAPTER 30
The following day after showering, Larissa used a pair of tiny cuticle scissors to snip the two sutures in her still faintly swollen lip. With tweezers, she grasped the tiny knots and tugged them free, wincing as the threads slid through the sensitive tissue. The scar didn’t look as bad as she’d feared and, in time, would fade until hardly noticeable.
She opened her back door to Jarvis and Harris at precisely twelve o’clock noon. Nervousness at the prospect of yet another interrogation at least had the effect of submerging her depression somewhat. She’d bolstered her nerves with a shot of whiskey, but this time had put the bottle away out of Jarvis’ sight, and she was careful to keep her distance from him.
Discarding the bread from her sandwich, she picked desultorily at the fried fish and coleslaw, while Jarvis and Harris tried to pull her into their small talk. When they’d finished, she propped her elbows on the table and watched as the two men cleared the table, not caring that she was being a deplorable hostess.
Once they were reseated, she asked, “Agent Jarvis, was Sparrow acting out his rage against me? Is it my fault those women are dead?”
He appeared surprised by the question. “Is that what you think?”
She nodded and blinked back the tears scalding the backs of her eyes. “It didn’t escape my notice that the woman they identified bears a striking resemblance to me.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything until we knew for sure, but it appears Sparrow began his killing spree years before he met you. Once we entered the details from the murders in California into the VICAP database, we immediately spotted similarities to unsolved murders in two other states. Beginning approximately eight years ago and spanning the next three years, someone butchered four young women in Trenton, New Jersey. Coincidentally, Sparrow was living in Trenton at the time.
“He then moved to Cincinnati, Ohio where, over the following three years, five more women were butchered in a similar manner. All nine of the victims were brunettes and fit your general physical description. The Bureau is now involved in the investigations in both cities.
“Two years ago, he moved to Charleston where you, as his next intended victim, fortunately cut short his stay. With the three that we know of in California, that brings the total of presumed victims to an even dozen.”
Remembering the playroom, Larissa shivered as a sudden chill gripped her, and wrapped her arms around herself.
“Since nine of those murders occurred before you shot Sparrow in your apartment, you may rest assured that nothing you did led to anyone’s death. Sparrow was a serial killer, and you may be the only one of his intended victims to have survived him.”
“Then the only guilt I bear is that I failed to kill him two years ago.”
Before Jarvis could respond, Harris cut in. “Ms. Santos, I mentioned that you might suffer post-traumatic stress disorder, and a significant symptom of PTSD is survivor’s guilt. Sparrow was averaging one murder every eight months. Taking into account the fact that serial killers usually accelerate over time, how many women could he have conceivably killed in his lifetime?”
She shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”
“Another twelve? Twice that number?”
“Maybe.”
“Then, rather than dwelling on those who died, focus instead on all the lives you saved by killing Sparrow.”
All the lives Chase saved, she silently corrected, although Harris’ reasoning did make her feel marginally better.
Without missing a beat, Doctor Harris once again began discussing the dynamics of being a captive, while she concentrated on keeping her composure. Agent Jarvis then took over the discussion, making her repeatedly go over the most minute details of her trip across the country. “Are you afraid of O’Malley?”
She darted an irritated look at him. “Why would I be? I don’t even know the man.”
“Allow me to rephrase the question. Are you afraid of the man who abducted you? Are you’re refusing to identify him out of fear of retaliation?”
“Arrest the man who kidnapped me and I’ll gladly identify him and sit in a courtroom to testify against him.”
“But you’ve gone out of your way to emphasize that he treated you well.”
“I said that because it’s true. But the simple fact of the matter is that he delivered me to a man who intended to torture me to death.”
“In that case, why are you continuing to protect him?”
“I’m not protecting him!” she shouted. Clenching her fists, she clamped her teeth over her lower lip to keep from screaming profanities.
Jarvis raised his brows and regarded her thoughtfully. “Why are you getting so upset?”
Crap. She was getting upset. The two agents were deliberately trying to wear her down so she’d make a mistake and say the wrong thing. If she didn’t keep herself under tight control, they’d succeed. “I’m getting upset because, no matter how many times I answer your questions, you’re not listening.” Getting shakily to her feet, she said, “If you gentlemen will excuse me?” putting a sarcastic emphasis on the word gentlemen.
Locking the bathroom door behind her, she dropped wearily onto the toilet seat. She had to calm down and not let them rattle her. Inhaling, she counted slowly to six. She could hear Jarvis and Harris talking in the kitchen, their voices too soft to make out what they were saying. She exhaled, counting slowly to seven.
Was she really the moron they evidently believed her to be? Another long, slow inhale. Should she just give in and identify Chase? After all, he had kidnapped her. A long, slow exhale.
But he’d done those things only because Sparrow had conned him. And then — at great risk to himself — he’d returned and, finding that Sparrow was planning to kill her, had killed him instead. Another inhale. Despite everything, Chase was a decent guy.
Then, something Agent Harris had said echoed through her head once again: That captives believed their captors were showing them favor stemming from inherent kindness, when their actions were essentially self-serving. As she grappled with these uncomfortable thoughts, an image came, unbidden, into her mind — the image of Chase feeding the little calico cat and giving it affection.
No. No matter what Jarvis and Harris said, Chase was an inherently good guy. She took one last slow, deep inhale, stood, flushed the toilet for effect, and then opened a faucet and let the water run for a few moments. Taking one final deep breath as she gathered her composure, she unlocked the bathroom door and returned to the kitchen to face her two adversaries.
Jarvis immediately took up where he’d left off. “When we accidentally put you and O’Malley together in that interrogation room, you became very angry.”
She arched her brows at him. “We both know that was no accident, but my anger had nothing to do with Mr. O’Malley. At the time, I thought he was just another agent. I got angry when I realized how late it was. The past several days had been hellacious, I was exhausted, I wanted to go home, and you all kept jerking me around.”
Jarvis shook his head in negation. “No one was ‘jerking you around’. Our objectives have always coincided with what’s in your best interest.”
By the time the two FBI agents finally got up to leave, she was once again mentally exhausted. At the back door, Jarvis turned to her. “Ms. Santos, you have both Doctor Harris’ and my cards if you need to reach us. I’m returning to California.”
Heartened by this pronouncement, she said, “Well, Agent Jarvis, despite everything, it was nice knowing you.”
“Oh, I’ll be back,” he promised.
She made no attempt to disguise the frown that replaced her smile. “Well, please don’t hurry on my account.”
CHAPTER 31
The FBI had kept Chase in their holding facilities for forty-eight hours before moving him to the jail three days ago. For
ty-five minutes ago, a corrections officer had escorted him here to the jail’s interview room.
Bolted to the floor, the table was solid and sturdy, built to withstand abuse. Judging by the gouges and dents in its surface, it had already been subjected to a considerable amount. Dressed in jail-issued scrubs and slipper socks, he relished the quiet and solitude and was, therefore, grateful that Jarvis and Sengupta were late.
When Kavanaugh eventually learned that he’d agreed to meet with the agents without him present to field questions he’d tear him a new one. But his attorney was out of town for the next two days and, longing for news of Larissa, he’d chosen not to wait for his return.
The door opened upon a sharp rap, and the two agents strode into the room, each bearing a large cup of gourmet coffee. Jarvis was as usual impeccably dressed in suit and tie. Sengupta wore a tailored navy dress and matching low-heeled pumps.
“Well if it isn’t the redoubtable Agent Jarvis. Hello, Agent Sengupta.”
Sengupta’s face was a perfect picture of scornful contempt. “Mr. O’Malley.”
“I was beginning to think you two’d forgotten about me.”
Jarvis’ smile was feral. “No such luck, I’m afraid.”
Both agents took seats across from him and removed the plastic lids from their cups. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the small room, making his mouth water uncontrollably. Jarvis took several sips, clearly savoring it. Chase suspected it was a deliberate ploy to torment him since the sewage that passed for coffee in the jail was unfit for human consumption.
“I’ve just returned from Charleston,” Jarvis said finally. “Beautiful city, isn’t it?”
“Never been there.”
Jarvis’ smile flashed as bright as the midday sun on a knife blade. “Ms. Santos and I had many an enlightening conversation. Sending the vagrant into the pharmacy for the new inhaler was an astute strategy. Too bad it wasn’t successful.”
Chase’s heart made a sudden hard thump against his breastbone. Larissa had decided to incriminate him after all.
A second later, a surge of relief flooded through him as he recognized the statement for the prevarication it was. Larissa knew nothing about the wino. Still, a knot of fear clenched in his chest. If she hadn’t told Jarvis, how the fuck did he know?
Of course, Larissa only needed to tell him the reason they’d stopped in San Bernardino. From there they could’ve canvassed the surrounding pharmacies. Upon viewing a security tape of the wino buying the inhaler, it would’ve been a simple matter to determine the correlation between the two events.
If the wino identified him, he’d have no plausible excuse for needing an inhaler, much less for sending someone else in to make the purchase. In his favor, though, the wino would prove to be an even less-credible witness than the punks. Slouching back in his chair, he linked his hands behind his neck. “Jarvis, once again I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
Agent Sengupta casually crossed a pair of stocking-clad legs, the nylon whispering as one slim, muscular thigh slid over the other. “Have you talked to Cheyenne today?”
“I haven’t spoken to her in over a week.”
“Shame on you. We paid her a visit this morning. She was both shocked and horrified to learn you were in jail. You really shouldn’t keep secrets of such magnitude from your girlfriend.”
“Since I’d assumed I’d be out of here before now, I saw no reason to upset her.”
“I found her resolute belief in your innocence most touching.” A spark of cunning glinted in Sengupta’s eyes. “Of course, when we showed her a picture of Ms. Santos, her conviction did seem to falter a bit.”
Chase shrugged. “Like most models, Cheyenne’s extremely insecure.”
With Sengupta’s revelation having failed to provoke a reaction, Jarvis changed the subject. “Mr. O’Malley, why do you think Ms. Santos’s abductor did what he did.”
“I’ve never had reason to give the matter any thought.”
“I’ve given it quite a bit. I imagine her abductor as a man who’d become accustomed to living life on the edge, and by his own rules. When he returned to the tedium and monotony of everyday life, the change would have been a tough adjustment. He would have missed the adrenaline rush of missions, of battle. Since you were Special Forces, I know you understand what I’m saying.”
Chase concentrated on keeping his face expressionless, disconcerted by the FBI agent’s insight.
“I can understand how a fundamentally good man might be convinced to do something foolish like abducting a woman and driving her across country. When offered a chance to make some money, a man might think: Why not? Where would be the harm?”
Chase raised his hand in a deprecative gesture. “Only an idiot would think such a thing.” And he’d definitely been an idiot.
Jarvis made a minute adjustment to the shirt cuffs that extended a precise one-half inch beyond the sleeves of his navy pinstriped suit jacket. “It would be even easier for him to make an unsound decision if he believed he were merely returning a runaway wife to her husband and children. You have to admit the fake family portrait was convincing.”
He pasted on a puzzled expression. “Family portrait?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You made an unfortunate, but very serious mistake. In your favor, though, you made no ransom demands, and you never deliberately harmed Ms. Santos. Unlike Agent Sengupta, I’d hate to see you spend the rest of your life in prison. Ms. Santos might be willing to plead with the judge for leniency on your behalf, and I’m sure your attorney could plea bargain a sentence you could live with. With this being your first offence, and with time off for good behavior, you could end up doing as little as five years.”
“I’m not pleading guilty to something I didn’t do.”
“If you continue with this stubborn insistence of innocence, a jury will most certainly find you guilty. You’re only thirty-two years old—”
“Thirty-three,” Sengupta corrected.
“Ah, yes. Spending your birthday in jail must really suck. Imagine celebrating the next twenty-five while incarcerated.”
Refusing to be provoked, Chase gazed back placidly.
“You know, O’Malley, I have to admit to a grudging admiration for you. To kidnap a woman, and then have that very same woman to protect you. It boggles the mind.”
“I’ve never abducted anyone. At least, not in the United States, and not without a direct order to do so.”
Jarvis shrugged. “As you wish. We’ll soon see how much longer Ms. Santos is willing to spend in jail before coming to her senses.”
Chase abruptly straightened in his chair. “You had her arrested?”
“Three days ago.”
Oh, Jesus. “On what charge?”
“Obstruction of justice.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Jarvis?” he shouted. “Have you’re forgotten she’s the victim?”
“It was only with the greatest of reluctance that I did so.”
“I talked him into it.” Sengupta made the pronouncement as though it were something of which she was proud.
Chase leveled his outraged glare on her. “You fucking cold-hearted bitch.”
Although Sengupta appeared thoroughly pleased with herself, Jarvis straightened in his chair, his expression dire. “It would behoove you not to insult a federal agent.”
Sengupta’s lips curled into a smile of unmistakable contempt. “I’ve no idea what you did to persuade Ms. Santos to lie for you — and honestly I don’t want to know — but I doubt it’ll take her long to realize the absurdity of continuing to protect you. Some incarcerated women can be quite vicious, and I’m sure Ms. Santos is finding jail quite … bloodcurdling.”
Sengupta obviously didn’t know Larissa very well. Nevertheless, Chase took a deep breath and flexed his fingers under the table, until the urge to throttle both agents had passed. “Yet, that didn’t stop you two from sending her there.”
She sh
rugged. “Lying to federal agents is a crime.”
The idea of Larissa in jail was nearly more than he could bear. Three days! If only he’d known sooner. As soon as the agents left, he’d call Kavanaugh and have him arrange her bail.
When a cell phone rang, each agent looked expectantly at the other. Sengupta shook her head. “Mine’s set on vibe.” Jarvis produced a phone and glanced at the caller ID. “Agent Harris.” Flipping it open, he said simply, “Jarvis.”
Holding the phone to his ear, Jarvis’ sudden grin gave him the unsettling appearance of a grizzly inadvertently awakened from his midwinter hibernation. “And Ms. Santos has agreed to implicate him? Then get her full statement now, before she does an about-face. As soon as she’s signed it, go ahead and cut her free. And Harris? Thanks for making my day.”
He snapped the phone shut. “Mr. O’Malley, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, Ms. Santos has agreed to talk.” He paused dramatically, staring at Chase like a serpent hoping to mesmerize a rodent. “Agents from the Charleston field office are preparing to take her statement, so this is your last chance to make a plea and avoid spending the rest of your life in prison.”
“I’m not pleading to something I didn’t do.”
“You’re being very foolish. Once she signs her statement, it’ll be too late. I’m offering you a lifeline. Grab it.”
Steeling his face into impassivity, Chase leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest.
“Very well. I hope you won’t harbor any animosity toward Ms. Santos. She stuck to her story as long as she could, but apparently three nights in jail were enough to convince her of the folly of continuing to protect you.” He paused for a moment. “This is your last chance.”
Why the fuck had he agreed to meet with them without Kavanaugh beside him. He couldn’t seem to stop proving what an idiot he was.
“Mr. O’Malley?”
Chase scowled openly. “You have my answer.”
The Heart Has Reasons Page 31