Pitch Black

by Parrish, Leslie

  The returns were almost instantaneous, and they were numerous. He scanned down the first page, glancing at each snippet, not entirely sure what he was looking for.

  And then, he quite simply found it.

  “Here it is,” he murmured, his heart thudding in his chest.

  “What?” she asked, scooting her chair around so she could see.

  Alec clicked on the link, though he didn’t need to read the entire newspaper article that came up to know what it contained.

  “Oh, my God,” Sam whispered after she read the first few paragraphs.

  “The Darwin Awards,” he said. “They’re not only real; the expression is commonly used to describe people who survive after doing something stupid that should have killed them.”

  “Thereby cleaning up the gene pool.”

  Exactly. Before their unsub had begun bringing the stupid masses right to his door via the Internet, he’d had to go out and hunt for them. He’d found them by watching news feeds from up and down the East Coast, keying on that one expression, on the word Darwin. And had, over a period of a few years, found six people to slaughter.

  Alec reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Wyatt needed to know about this. If Alec’s hunch was right, and the other victims all had a similar Darwin Awards-type incident in their past—which a little more digging should confirm—they had another tool with which to view the psyche of the man they sought. But before he could even retrieve it, the thing rang.

  “Speak of the devil,” he said as he answered the phone.

  “Alec, are you near a computer?”

  He tensed, hearing the concerned tone of Wyatt’s voice. “Yes.”

  “Is Samantha Dalton with you?”

  Wary, he replied, “Yes. She is.”

  Sam looked up in curiosity, but Alec shrugged to tell her he did not yet know what the call was about.

  “You need to go to her blog.”

  Fuck. “Did he do it again?”

  “It appears so.”

  They hadn’t changed Sam’s passwords, actually hoping Darwin would hack in again, because every effort he made was another clue in finding him.

  “Keep her calm, question her thoroughly, and get back in touch with me. I’ve already got Taggert and Mulrooney heading in and will put them on the road to Baltimore as soon as they arrive. You need to get some information and get back to me with names and addresses.”

  “Why?” he asked, not asking specifics because he honestly didn’t want Sam to read anything into the one-sided conversation. What he really wanted to ask was, Why Baltimore? Whose names and addresses?

  “You’ll understand when you read it. Just remember, keep her calm; tell her we are on our way and we already have the Baltimore police on notice.”

  This was not good. “I’ll call you back in a couple of minutes.”

  “No more than that,” Wyatt cautioned.

  Cutting the call, Alec reached for the laptop and began typing. Sam’s gaze followed his fingers and she immediately realized what words he was typing.

  “Don’t tell me he hacked me again.”

  Alec didn’t respond; he simply waited, his fingers resting on the keys. As the page loaded, he realized he was holding his breath. He also realized Sam’s hand had moved over and dropped onto his leg, just above his knee. She was squeezing him, as if needing to physically grab something and hold on tight. He covered her hand with his. And the screen filled in.

  “What?” Sam mumbled, obviously not understanding the words, so stark and bold, just like the last hacked-in message from Darwin.

  It took Alec a split second less to figure it out. Something inside him died a little as he thought of what this meant for Sam, who seemed to have so few people in her life.

  Because it appeared one of those people might soon be out of her life.

  “ ‘ You’re too late to save her’?” Sam murmured. “What does he mean? I’m right here.”

  Alec scrolled the screen down with a flick of his finger on the touch pad, already knowing there was more. And he was right.

  So sorry, Samantha, dear, but it has to be done. Too bad she didn’t listen to you and learn a bit of caution—you did warn her about men like me, didn’t you? Do remember to avoid wearing mascara to the funeral . . . it won’t hold up under your tears, and you’re far too lovely to have dark smears beneath your eyes.

  Sam read the words and finally grasped them. “Oh, my God.”

  Alec nodded once.

  “He’s gone after someone I love.”

  She leaped to her feet, already racing toward the door before he even had time to stop her.

  “Sam, wait. I need to know who it could be. Wyatt and the others are ready to charge to the rescue; we just need to know who the target would most likely be.”

  Her expression terrified, her breaths merely short gasps, she said, “She had a date tonight with someone she met on the Internet. I did warn her, but she didn’t listen.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Alec, that psychopath has my mother.”

  Chapter 14

  Even though he’d needed to make some adjustments this evening after a highly unexpected development, the ambush had gone exactly as he had expected it to. As usual, his plan had been flawlessly designed and easy to carry out. Glancing at his watch, Darwin realized he was right on schedule. A few hours, at least, until he’d need to dump her, leaving him with sufficient time to get her ready for her night on the town, as it was.

  Once he’d had her in his hands and knew he’d gotten away clean, he had posted his message on Samantha’s Web site. She had probably already read it; the FBI almost certainly had. All of them were, right now, in a blind panic, racing to save the stupid cow behind him.

  That cow had been so stupid, she’d never even been the least bit suspicious. She hadn’t checked him out, had never questioned him. She had not even second-guessed the location for their get-together when he’d called her a couple of hours ago. She’d walked blindly into her fate, as so many had before her.

  But she wasn’t like all those who had gone before her. This one was special, if only because of how much losing her would hurt Samantha Dalton.

  “Silly, impulsive, reckless woman,” he murmured, though, of course, she was unconscious and couldn’t hear him. “You really don’t value yourself very highly, do you, my dear?”

  Fortunately, he had known this moment would come, so he’d been paving the way for weeks. Reaching out to her through e-mail, he’d let her get to know him, or think she did. He’d called himself Randolph Gertz, a wealthy widower dabbling in various investments. And her greedy little soul had been unable to resist him.

  His companion had entered their arranged meeting place right on schedule and had never even seen him come at her with the chloroform. Not being sure he would be able to get her to drink something right away, he’d had to resort to the slightly riskier means of taking her down.

  He’d kept her down with a few sharp blows to her face and head.

  Regrettable, his losing his temper like that; he so seldom did. But something about seeing her lying there, helpless and vulnerable, when she should have been Samantha, had enraged him.

  “A few hits won’t kill you,” he said, speaking casually over his shoulder to the woman sprawled in the back of the van. A trickle of blood from her nose smeared one cheek, her lip was swollen, and a bruise was forming beneath one eye. He imagined she would have a terrible headache if she ever woke up. Still, she didn’t look too much the worse for wear.

  In fact, she should fit right in where he intended to take her.

  “You’re lucky, you know. There’s a very good chance tonight’s ordeal won’t kill you, either. You could be lucky, or you could be unlucky. You could play it smart, or you could panic and get yourself killed.” He smiled, thinking about the way he most wanted it to turn out. “I rather hope you live through it.”

  Live through it enough to talk about it. To tell Saman
tha about it. To reveal her pain and her agony and ask why something so awful had happened.

  Because it would be awful. Of that he had no doubt.

  In fact, he might be able to assure it. Because as he’d beaten her, he’d been quite surprised to find himself growing erect. No, her prone body was not the one he wanted . . . but violating it was almost as good. Something to keep in mind, if he had the time.

  Reaching the storage facility where he’d rented a garage, he quickly got out and pulled the van inside, needing privacy. The stupid bitch probably wouldn’t wake up, but just in case she did, and made a fuss, he did not want to have to answer any questions. The facility would more than likely remain deserted at this time of the evening, but it didn’t pay to be careless.

  Once within, he quickly closed the rolling door and flipped on the portable lights he always left here. He positioned them toward the sliding panel door of the van, wanting plenty of illumination while he got her ready, then opened it.

  “In the spotlight,” he said. “Believe me—you’re soon going to look like someone who likes it that way.”

  Eyeing her—bloody and bruised, unconscious—without pity, he reached for his knife. And began to remove her clothes.

  Sam vacillated between terror and utter rage as she and Alec tore through the night, heading for Baltimore. At first, he’d told her he wouldn’t take her to her mother’s place. He’d wanted to stay in D.C., to let the others handle it.

  Yeah. Right.

  She’d told him she was going, and the only way he would stop her was if he threw her out the window, and then he’d better hope she broke both her legs.

  “Try her cell phone again,” Alec snapped, as if knowing she was on the verge of letting out a high, keening wail.

  She did as he asked, even though she’d been calling every minute since reading that awful message on her site. Just like with every other call, she got her mom’s voice mail on the second ring. “It’s still turned off.” She dialed the house number, got the answering machine again, and left what was probably her tenth message.

  “Do you have any idea where she was going, or who she was with?”

  Leaning forward in her seat, as if urging the car to go even faster, Sam shook her head. “She played it so close to the vest. I had really given her hell about even considering online dating, so she obviously wasn’t going to talk to me about it.”

  “But you’re certain she was planning to go out tonight with someone she had met online?”

  “Like I said, she wasn’t confiding in me, but I knew she had a date, and was being incredibly secretive about it.”

  “Because she knew you were against it.”

  “Exactly.” Tension making her quiver, she added, “Plus, if she is meeting with Darwin, do you think he might have told her to keep the details hush-hush?”

  “Yes, he probably would have.”

  She hadn’t really wanted the confirmation. “Damn it, Alec, why is this happening? Is it really possible one blog post brought the wrath of this monster down on my mother’s head?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, sounding frustrated and weary. “It seems so out of character for the Professor. He’s always been methodical and organized, cautious, taking weeks, months, once even a year between his crimes. For him to spin as wildly out of control as he seems to be this week—not only how frequently he’s attacking, but also taunting you the way he has—it seems like something else is at play here.”

  “Like what?”

  Alec didn’t say anything at first, merely staring out into the headlight-broken darkness, weaving the car in and out of traffic without ever slowing. She didn’t know if he was thinking about her question, or already knew the answer and didn’t want to say it out loud.

  “Sam,” he finally said, “have you met anyone who’s made you uncomfortable or shown you particular attention in the past few weeks or months?”

  She understood him immediately. “You think there’s more to this than Wednesday night’s rant. That he actually knows me.”

  His slight nod acknowledged her suspicion.

  Sam’s blood gushing hard in her veins, she still managed to keep her cool and think about his question, rather than come out with a quick, instinctive reply. “I’ve been a hermit,” she said, “as I think you already know. Honestly, Alec, I’ve met almost no new people since my divorce.”

  He didn’t give up. “Okay, what about before that? It’s possible the Professor has been watching you for a long time, since before he came out to you on your site.”

  That question was a whole lot easier to answer, though it certainly wouldn’t help them narrow things down. “My ex-husband and his family are socialites, running with the horse-breeding set up in Hunt Valley. I met hundreds of people in their circle, though I probably couldn’t recall the names of more than a dozen of them.”

  Not even thinking about it, Sam flipped her phone open. Dialed. Heard her mother’s chipper message. Hung up.

  “Rich, huh?”

  “Filthy,” she replied, knowing he was asking about Samuel. “And as spoiled and selfish as you’d expect someone raised that way to be.”

  He shrugged.

  “What?”

  “My family’s rich.”

  She stared at him from across the car. Somehow, she’d already known the man came from money; he carried himself like it, and wore clothes that one wouldn’t expect on a federal employee’s salary. But he was about as different from her ex as any man could be, and she knew better than to judge him based on that one bad experience. “Point taken.”

  Getting back to their conversation, he said, “So nobody stands out. Nobody condescending, for the most part, but a little too friendly toward you?”

  “Not that I can remember,” she said, shaking her head. “Okay, so let’s say he knows me, and has known me for a while; why would he suddenly become so murderous toward me and people I care about? Why this . . . what did you call it? Acceleration?”

  Even in the dimly lit car, she saw the way his hands tightened on the wheel. “We already assumed he was trying to scare you because he figured out you were working with us.”

  “Going from scaring to slaughtering is a pretty big leap.”

  “Not for someone like the Professor.”

  Sam let out a slow, shaky breath, leaning back in her seat. It seemed too crazy to be believed, that one person’s very normal reaction—trying to help the authorities solve a murder—could be construed as some sort of betrayal of someone she didn’t even know.

  But maybe you do know him. Alec’s idea wouldn’t leave her mind. As upsetting as it was to think she might have already had personal contact with a psychopath, it almost seemed better than thinking all of this had been caused by such a random thing, just some bastard cruising the Net, seeing her site, and getting angry about her blog.

  “Okay, tell me which way to go,” Alec said, which was when she realized they had already reached Baltimore and were close to her mother’s place.

  Sam gave him the directions, craning to see through the windshield. As they rounded the corner, her mother’s house became easy to spot. It was the one with all the cars parked outside. Including police vehicles with emergency lights spinning.

  “Oh, no.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Don’t. They’re here because Wyatt asked them to come check on her; it doesn’t mean anything.”

  She kept reminding herself of that as they reached the house. She jumped out of the car before Alec had even cut the engine. When a uniformed officer stepped in front of her, she snapped, “This is my mother’s house.”

  Alec, who had hurried after her, asked, “Anything?”

  The officer shook his head. “No signs of life. Place is locked up tight as a drum, no lights on. Everything looks pretty normal. Do you have a key, miss?”

  Sam nodded, waving her key ring at the man.

  “Let the officers check it out first, Sam,” Alec said. She saw by the firm set of his mouth tha
t this was non-negotiable.

  Handing him the keys, she stood outside with Alec for what seemed to be the longest several minutes of her life. Finally, the cops who had gone in stepped back onto the front porch of the house Sam had grown up in, and beckoned to her.

  “Nobody here, miss. Nothing appears out of place,” one of them said.

  Good on one hand—her mother wasn’t lying murdered in her own living room.

  Bad on the other—they had no idea where she was.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, telling herself no news was good news.

  Alec stepped in. “The rest of my team should be showing up any minute; in the meantime, I’m going to have Ms. Dalton check her mother’s computer records to see if we can find out where she might be.”

  Inside, Sam went straight to her old bedroom, now used as a small office. The desktop computer was turned off, and as she flipped the switch, she said, “Mom uses the same password, my dad’s middle name, for everything. She might have added a number on the beginning or the end, but it shouldn’t be hard to get into whatever dating program she’s gotten hooked up with.”

  Alec nodded and waved her on, then grabbed his phone and called his boss again. Sam barely listened to his side of the conversation, focused only on finding out anything she could that would help them find out whom her mother had been going out with tonight, and where they were headed.

  Pulling up the browser, she checked the cache and had no problem locating the dating Web site. And she didn’t even have to play a guessing game, varying her dad’s middle name with his birth date, because the ID and password were saved right on the screen.

  “I’m in,” she said, not five minutes after she’d sat down.

  Alec finished his call and stepped behind her, watching over her shoulder.

  Quickly figuring out how the site operated, Sam found all the private communications, the profile requests, the personal Q&As her mother had received and had sent. A few of the men sounded skeevy—and judging by her lack of response, Mom had thought so, too. A few others, though, seemed to have caught Christine Harrington—aka Missy Chrissy’s—interest.