“Pick me up.”
The sound became muffled as Aidan talked briefly with Diaz. Cell phone clenched in his hand, Sean waited impatiently, trying not to think of Claire and a killer who called her “sweet prey.”
“He couldn’t help much,” Aidan said a few moments later. “He was out cold when the guy got away. He did say Claire was actively fighting the killer, and she almost managed to get away at least once. The only reason she got caught was she took the time to warn Diaz about the gun.”
Sean pinched the bridge of his nose, using pain to help himself focus.
“Olivia said the same thing,” Aidan continued, knowing what his partner was going through. “Claire was thinking and plotting from the moment they were captured. Olivia also said the guy was losing it at the end. He was screaming at her when she hid in the attic.”
“Good,” Sean said. “If Claire keeps her wits about her, it gives us an edge. Wilkes is shrewd, but he’s been off balance since the night he met Claire and she ruined the Mendes girl for him. That’s why he had to keep coming after her. She upset his sick little world.”
“Keep going,” Aidan said, getting into his car and starting it. “I like that line of thought.”
“What line of thought?” Sean asked, pacing Afton’s office.
“He’s off balance, has been since he met Claire and she turned his life upside down. He’s got to get back in control, and Claire is the key. Where would he take her to do that?”
“He loves his rituals, his routine. And with what we now know about his juvenile offense, I’m betting there has to be some symbolism in his choice of victims. Routine and symbols,” Sean said again, thinking out loud.
“When you say routine, what does that mean? He always does things in a certain sequence, or is the routine in the planning, or is it covering his tracks?”
“Keeley said the routine in some cases is quite elaborate, involving days of ritualistic activities. With other killers, the routine could be something as simple as completing the act according to plan.”
“Which Wilkes was unable to do in the Mendes case because of Claire,” Aidan pointed out.
“So the ritual could be the act itself, and the symbolism…” Sean muttered. Suddenly he stilled. “You don’t suppose he’d go back to the scene of one of the other crimes?”
Aidan considered it. “There’s no evidence that he fixated on the location in the past.”
“Wilkes was always successful in the past—until Claire stumbled over him at the wrong time. He never got closure with Mendes because he was interrupted. I think he might be taking Claire back to finish the job this time. He knows the location. He’s comfortable there, it’s his turf.”
Aidan shot through a light just as it went red, grateful that weeknight traffic was light in D.C. “I’ll pick you up in a few minutes.”
“Go straight to the school,” Sean said. “That’s where I’ll be.”
“No! Don’t go there without backup. He’s armed with a gun and a knife, and he has a hostage.”
“You want to back me up, get your ass over there.”
“At least leave the phone line open,” Aidan said quickly, “so I won’t head in blind.”
“It’s open.”
Sean shoved his phone on a belt clip and turned toAfton, who had been listening with wide eyes. “Go downstairs and sit with the security guard until a policeman comes for you.” As he spoke, Sean checked his weapon with a few swift motions.
Afton surprised Sean by standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. “For luck. It’s an Irish thing.” She kissed his other cheek. “That’s for Claire.”
“Thanks. We’ll both need it.”
Sean left the office and headed for the stairs, but the elevator was waiting with doors open. Within two minutes, he was running down the path Claire had taken the night of the Mendes murder.
“Where are you, Aidan?” he said on the cell phone.
“Less than three miles away.”
Sean acknowledged and kept running. With every step, he pushed back thoughts of what Claire must be going through and the anger he felt at himself for allowing it to happen in the first place.
I never should have let her out of my sight.
Once he had her back, he’d be damned sure she didn’t leave his side again. He couldn’t imagine his life without her, and he’d never even told her. He’d thought there would be plenty of opportunities once the case was closed. Now he was running out of time.
Hold on, Claire. Hold him off, fight, kick, bite, gouge—whatever you have to do. Just stay alive. Please, love. Stay alive.
Chapter 74
Washington, D.C.
Wednesday night
Wilkes looked in the rearview mirror, then in both side mirrors. Nobody was following him. He dug the gun into his prey’s ribs until she flinched. “I knew it would work this time,” he said, smiling. “Ah, Marie Claire, this will make up for everything.”
We’ll just have to see about that, you smug son of a bitch.
She turned toward him and spoke in the most casual voice she could manage. “So, do you have a name?”
He stared at her for an instant. She should be cringing and crying, but there she sat like he was her date instead of her killer. “Why should I tell you?”
“Okay, I’ll just keep using all the lovely, nasty words that run through my mind when I look at you.”
He laughed, his confidence unaffected by her insult. He knew her name and she didn’t know his, and that made him smarter than she was.
“What do you think my name is?” His voice was taunting as he jammed the gun against her ribs again.
Claire pretended to take the question seriously. “I’d have to say you look like a Jim to me. I almost married a guy named Jim once, so I should know.”
“Ah, so I remind you of an old flame, someone you loved.”
“Not really. The guy turned out to be a retrograde asshole. And to be frank, he was lousy in bed, though I didn’t realize it at the time.” Claire looked the killer up and down as if assessing his potential. “Yeah, you’re definitely a Jim.”
“And you’re a foulmouthed little whore, Marie Claire. I can see I’ve chosen well,” the man said, tightening his hand on the steering wheel.
She sat back in her seat and shut her mouth, figuring the points for round one had gone to her. When she looked out the window, she recognized where they were. Her heart began to beat a little faster.
She said nothing as they drove around Dupont Circle, then turned and headed in the direction of the middle school where Renata Mendes had been murdered. Claire was surprised when he slowed down and parked the car several blocks away from the school.
“Now what, Jim?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Then give me a better name,” she said.
“I’d prefer that you don’t address me at all.” Angrily he shut off the car and unlocked the doors.
Round two goes to me, Claire thought with grim satisfaction.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have long to savor her victory. Her captor reached across her, opened her door, and used the pressure of the gun against her ribs to force her out. She stood with the metal barrel digging into her as he got out of the car on her side, giving her no chance to get away.
She swallowed hard when he once again drew the knife from his pocket. It was stained with blood. Her stomach churned with the knowledge that the blood was hers. She held very still as he put his arm around her shoulders and rested the tip of the knife against her neck.
Then, to her utter astonishment, the killer leaned down and locked the pistol in the glove compartment of his car.
He met her blank look with a smirk. “Come along, sweet prey. The game wouldn’t last very long if I had all the advantages.”
The game.
She swallowed hard, feeling the knife shift with the motion. She reminded herself that for all her psychological digs at him, she was dealing with a dangerous man who
had no conscience. Time for her to put phase two of her plan in action—get the hell away from him.
“Let’s take a walk down memory lane,” he said with an odd, cruel smile.
He kept his arm around her neck in an embrace that would probably look affectionate if it weren’t for the knife in his hand. But no one was close enough to see that little detail. In fact, no one was around at all.
Claire walked slowly. She never stopped watching him out of the corner of her eye, waiting for any break in his concentration. She lagged slightly and gained some distance from the knife blade. He didn’t seem to notice, apparently lost in his own thoughts.
Or his ugly little fantasies, she thought. She didn’t like the glittery look in his eyes.
She stopped short when she saw they’d reached the place where Renata Mendes had been murdered. The killer bumped into Claire, and she cringed when she felt his hard-on against her hip. She didn’t need a psychology degree to figure out that he got off on murder.
“It’s time for me to make things right. You understand, don’t you? Run, Marie Claire. Run!”
She stood, frozen by the certainty that once she started running, he would chase after her just as he had done before. But this time he could catch her. This time he would kill her.
That was why he’d brought her here, to kill her the way he hadn’t done weeks ago. Ah, Marie Claire, this time will make up for everything.
“Is it the knife?” he asked when she remained motionless. “Here, I’ll give you a head start, just like you had before.” He lowered the knife from her neck and gave her a hard shove.
Claire realized he’d pushed her in the direction she’d run that night, toward the narrow path that ultimately led to Dupont Circle. Not this time, asshole. We do things my way tonight.
She shifted her weight and sprinted away from the direction he’d chosen for her.
“What are you doing? That isn’t the right way, Marie Claire!” the man shouted after her. “Come back here, you’re doing it all wrong!”
Claire didn’t waste her breath taunting him. She just ran as hard as she could toward the main building of the middle school. Footsteps behind her warned that he was following.
“You can’t cheat, you little whore! You’re doing it wrong!”
The rising edge of hysteria in his voice made her run faster toward the school. She cried out when her path was suddenly blocked by a tall chain-link fence that encircled the school. She hadn’t seen it in the darkness. She looked behind her and saw the killer approaching fast.
She jammed the toe of her shoes through the links and grabbed on with both hands. Panting, she climbed the fence like a ladder and heaved herself over the top. She staggered to her feet and began running again, glancing back only long enough to see the killer awkwardly making his way to the top of the fence. He hadn’t let go of his knife, which forced him to climb one-handed.
That’s an advantage, she told herself. You can climb faster, so go up.
Claire ran around the side of the old brick school, using her lead to briefly study the exterior of the building. An old metal fire escape went down the side of the three-story building and stopped just above the ground. She jumped but couldn’t quite reach the ladder to pull it down.
Looking around, she found a large metal trashcan the students used during recess. She ignored the smell and flipped the can over, then hopped onto it and reached for the ladder. This time she was able to pull it toward her and start climbing.
She heard a shout behind her, and kicked the trashcan away, figuring that would buy her a few seconds. There was a scraping sound below her, but she was on the first level of the building and moving up before the killer even managed to grab the ladder. The man stopped shouting and instead poured all his energy into pursuing her.
She turned a corner on the iron platform and began climbing the fire escape to the third floor. She was high enough to have a good view, but she didn’t see anyone who could help her.
“Fire!” Claire screamed, knowing better than to call for help in a city. “There’s a fire at the school. Fire!”
“Shut up, you bitch,” the man panted below her as he began to climb to the second story.
Claire made her way to the top floor, but didn’t go on the roof. She might get trapped there. Instead, she decided to take her chances inside the school building itself. Maybe there would be a phone or an alarm she could trigger. But first she had to get through the window, which seemed to be securely locked.
She took one step back and drove her foot through the glass, ignoring the burning when glass cut through her skin. Hurriedly she reached through the jagged opening and released the simple metal slide that secured the window, cutting herself again in the process. She opened the window, swung her leg over the side, and found herself inside at the end of the hallway. She slammed the window shut and locked it again. Let him cut himself getting in. Maybe the bastard would hit a vein and bleed to death.
Below her, the killer grunted as he climbed the third flight of stairs. He was winded and had finally been forced to put his knife away in order to haul himself hand over hand up the fire escape. He couldn’t believe Marie Claire was getting away from him again. His frustrated rage gave him the strength to surge up the last of the steps and break through the remnants of the window.
Claire heard the killer behind her as she frantically went down the hall.
Locked. All the doors are locked!
She ran from classroom to classroom, stopping only long enough to rattle the doorknobs before moving on. The only route that wasn’t locked from the inside was the interior stairwell, so she went through the metal door marked Exit and raced down to the second floor. The ventilation window between floors was open. She stuck her head out and screamed, “Fire! Fire at the school!”
She took a breath to scream again, but heard the metal door above her slam open, and bolted down the next flight of stairs instead.
Chapter 75
Washington, D.C.
Wednesday night
Sean forced himself to slow down as he neared the school where Renata Mendes had been murdered. It wouldn’t do Claire any good if he went storming blindly into the scene Wilkes had set up. At least, Sean was betting the killer had set something up at this location—betting Claire’s life, in fact.
He shut off his cell phone and crept forward. But when he approached the former crime scene, he didn’t see anyone or any sign that anyone had been there.
He melted into the shadows along the edges of the school’s parking lot, trying to calm his breathing enough to listen for signs of a struggle or some other indication Claire was nearby. Then he heard a car, didn’t see any headlights, and drew his gun just in case he’d gotten lucky and beaten the killer to the school.
A car approached and cruised the parking lot with its lights off. The driver cut the engine and coasted into the shadows beneath a large tree. Aidan stepped cautiously out of the car, looking around for his partner. He heard a signal from his childhood and moved swiftly toward the sound.
“Patrol unit found a red rental car with the partial plates Olivia identified parked about four blocks away,” Aidan reported in a nearly soundless whisper against his cousin’s ear. “I told them to secure the area, and that you were on the scene and I soon would be.”
Sean made a gesture with his hand to indicate understanding. He turned bleak eyes to his cousin in the shadows. “I’ve already been to the site of the Mendes murder. Nothing. Maybe he didn’t—”
The distant sound of a woman’s scream cut off Sean’s words. Even before the word fire registered, he was running in the direction of the scream with Aidan half a step behind him.
“It’s coming from the side of the building, probably one of the stairwells with a window,” Aidan said, running and assessing their entry points.
“Fire! Fire at the school!”
“That’s my girl,” Sean said fiercely.
He and Aidan came around the corner of th
e building near the trash Dumpsters and assaulted the old door. It took a few good kicks before the lock gave way.
“Which—” Aidan began.
Sean held up a hand for silence. A moment later they both heard the distant sound of running feet on the far side of the building.
“Fire!” Claire screamed, but Sean could barely hear it through the corridors.
“Hang on, Claire!” Sean shouted as he took off in the direction of the footsteps.
Aidan ran right behind him, wanting to urge a more cautious approach and knowing it was useless. Sean wasn’t going to stop until he had Claire back safely and the killer was either out cold or dead.
Chapter 76
Washington, D.C.
Wednesday night
Claire’s brilliant idea to go into the school didn’t seem quite so brilliant right now. She tugged on another knob, but all the doors she tried on the first floor were locked. As she ran from door to door, she tried to follow the faint arrows on the floor that appeared to be a secondary fire escape route. She figured regulations would prohibit the locking of any doors along such a path.
So far, that theory hadn’t panned out. And in the dark, it was hard to see anything, let alone find her way along unfamiliar hallways. She hadn’t even found a fire alarm to pull.
Claire paused for just a second to catch her breath, thinking at any minute she should hear the sirens from the fire department. But all she heard was the sound of pounding feet in the hallway behind her. She ran to the end of the hall and was faced with double doors that led into the gymnasium. Locked doors.
She squinted in the dim light and spotted a fire extinguisher on the wall nearby. She yanked down the metal canister and used its weight to break out the glass pane in one of the gym doors. She stuck her arm through and turned the lock. With one tug, she was inside the gymnasium, pulling the door shut behind her. She wrapped her hands around the long bar, leaned back to make a counter-weight out of her body, and looked over her shoulder.
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