No Darker Place--A Thriller

by Debra Webb

  Perry stood and moved to the table. His heart pounding, Tony twisted his head and tried to see what he was doing. He couldn’t see! Perry returned to stand between Tony and Adams, something small and shiny in his hand. A scalpel. Shit!

  Perry stared down at the nurse. “I must say, she was the perfect canvas for another of my masterpieces.” He shifted his cold, hard gaze to Tony. “This is going to hurt like a bitch, and it’s on you, Agent LeDoux.”

  Tony gritted his teeth together until they were ready to crack. He couldn’t do what Perry wanted. Goddamn it!

  Perry knelt and traced the scalpel’s edge across her buttocks and down her thigh. “Did you know that the skin of the inner thigh is some of the most sensitive flesh on the human body?”

  Tony’s body shook with the effort to keep his mouth shut as bright red blood bloomed along the path the bastard carved on her inner thigh. Adams’s low moans turned to wails. Her body stiffened and then shuddered.

  Son of a bitch. Tony hoped he got to put a bullet between his eyes.

  Perry smiled as her voice grew hoarse with her screams. “Perhaps it’s time for me to finish her story.” He leaned forward and grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back. Her eyes bulged, and fear contorted her face. Her screams dissolved into sobs.

  Tony’s gut clenched. The air mired in his lungs. Every nerve in his body was on fire.

  Perry pressed the scalpel to her throat just above the yellow nylon noose. “I usually strangle my victims.” He turned to Tony. “As you well know. Perhaps I’ll slit her throat for a change of pace.”

  “Stop! I’ll—” Tony swallowed back the bitter taste of defeat. “I’ll help you.”

  Perry released the woman and scooted closer to Tony. “I need a name, Agent. The name of someone I can use to genuinely hurt our dear Bobbie and get her full attention.”

  “Her partner,” Tony spit the words out. “Howard Newton.”

  God forgive him.

  Thirty

  Crestview Avenue,

  Wednesday, August 31, 7:10 a.m.

  Howard Newton pulled his tie into place and stared at his reflection. Good Lord when had he gotten so old? It seemed like just yesterday he’d dropped his daughters off at elementary school on his way to work. Now they were off living their own lives and he was just getting old.

  He opened a drawer and picked through all sorts of cosmetics until he found his wife’s eyebrow-tweezing mirror. He grimaced at his magnified image. Turning his head this way and that, he checked his nose and ears. Failing vision and hearing were among the many unfortunate benefits of getting old. Along with hair sprouting from places it was never intended to grow, he had what used to be charming laugh lines deepening into crevices that made shaving a hazardous endeavor.

  After carefully replacing the mirror, he checked the sink for whiskers. Satisfied he’d done all he could to look presentable, he went back into the bedroom and retrieved his weapon from the bedside table. He snugged it into the holster at his waist and removed his cell from the charger and clipped it on his belt.

  “Good to go,” he muttered.

  He turned off the bedroom light and headed for the kitchen. He and his wife had thoroughly enjoyed the house they’d bought thirty years ago. The secluded master bedroom was on the east side of the kitchen, while the kids’ rooms were on the other end of the house, beyond the living room. Recently the subject of downsizing had come up. Howard wasn’t sure he was ready for that just yet. This house was paid for. The taxes were cheap, and it was brick, so the upkeep was minimal. He had a landscaper who cut the grass every week. What was wrong with just spending their twilight years right here?

  In the kitchen he confirmed the coffeepot was off and rinsed his cup before putting it in the dishwasher. He reached for the keys he’d left on the counter and stilled.

  The rear slider leading onto the deck was open a few inches. Had his wife let the cats in or out and forgotten to close the door? She rarely forgot anything. In fact, he was the one who was more likely to forget. Only he was fairly certain he hadn’t opened the door. She had been in a hurry this morning and those darn cats were always under her feet every step she made.

  As if the cats had known he was trying to blame this on one of them, the long-haired Persian raced past him and out the door. “Scat on outta here, Puff!” he called with a smile.

  Damn animals. He’d always wanted a dog, but the wife and girls loved cats. There was no winning that contest.

  Where was the other one? If one was left out, the other one inevitably got into trouble. “Tigger! Come on, kitty, kitty.” The Siamese was far more persnickety. “Come on, boy.”

  A clatter in the living room made him cringe. He could just imagine one of Carlene’s fancy little statues falling from the table in front of the picture window. That damned Siamese loved lounging in that window. Carlene had insisted he widen the window stool so the furry creature could watch for her to come home. With a weary sigh, he headed into the living room to assess the damage.

  “You might be looking for another home, old boy, if you...” Howard’s voice trailed off.

  A little boy, blond hair, gray eyes, filthy as a little puppy who’d rolled in the mud stood in the middle of his living room.

  Recognition shook him. “Aaron?”

  The little boy’s gaze shot to his. His eyes widened.

  “Oh hell.” Howard rushed toward the child but the boy scrambled away and cowered in the corner. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll...” Howard stilled, his heart doing somersaults under his sternum. If the kid was here—

  He grabbed for his weapon. A strong arm looped around his throat from the left and pulled him back against a hard body. He felt a prick to his neck.

  Howard struggled, twisting with all his strength. The weapon came free of its holster. A wave of unsteadiness washed over him.

  Fight it! He jabbed hard with his right elbow. The bastard grunted. Howard jabbed him again, then twisted hard. He broke free and staggered forward. His finger squeezed the trigger. The blast echoed around him.

  Howard couldn’t be sure he’d hit the son of a bitch. He shook his head, tried to clear it. Damned drug.

  Wait! The bastard was coming at him again. Howard pulled off another shot as he dropped to his knees. A scream rent the air. The child? God, he hoped not...

  Howard’s shoulder hit the floor next. He called out the boy’s name. No response. Holding on to his weapon, he rolled onto his back and felt for his phone with his left hand. He tried to see the screen. Couldn’t bring it into focus. He slid his thumb over the screen until he felt the right spot. It took two tries but he pushed the one button he knew wouldn’t fail him.

  “Call nine-one-one,” he said, his voice faltering.

  “Calling nine-one-one.” The phone’s reply echoed in the room.

  Howard tried to get up but he couldn’t manage the feat.

  Where was the child?

  Where was Perry?

  His fingers tightened around the gun in his hand.

  He prayed help would get here fast.

  “Aaron?” He wasn’t sure he said the boy’s name out loud this time. Darkness was closing in on him.

  The dirty little face came into focus.

  “I’ll get your...mommy...”

  The lights went out.

  Thirty-One

  Baptist Medical Center, 8:50 a.m.

  Bobbie paced the ER lobby. When she got the call, she had been preparing for her meeting with the chief while Shade reviewed the map in preparation for a new grid search. She had urged him to get started while she came here. Gwen and LeDoux were running out of time.

  Her heart had hammered twice for every second of every minute during the drive across town to the hospital.

  About ten minutes ago
Newt’s wife had been allowed back to his room.

  “Bobbie, sit down, you’re only working yourself up. We’ll know more soon.”

  Her first impulse was to argue with the chief, but since the LT was seated next to him, she opted not to make a scene.

  “Sorry.” She dropped into a chair. Her head was pounding in time with her heart. She rubbed her forehead and wished she’d grabbed another cup of coffee or something for this damned headache.

  She’d managed maybe two or three hours of sleep. Her mind kept playing over and over the bloody shirt that belonged to LeDoux. His credentials...and the idea of what Perry might be doing to him. Then there was the photo of Perry’s dead mother. Bobbie was still reeling from that revelation.

  The reality that the Taggart child was safe made her weak all over again. His mother was back there in an exam room with him. So far, like the Rice child, he appeared physically unharmed other than being dirty and mildly dehydrated. When the first officers on the scene arrived at Newt’s home, the child had been sitting next to him on the living room floor. The syringe, still half-full of ketamine, had been hanging from Newt’s neck.

  Bobbie couldn’t help but feel some sense of triumph when she thought of the blood on the carpet. Since neither Newt nor the child had any bleeding injuries, the blood had to be Perry’s. Her partner had gotten off at least one shot that hit the target.

  Perry was wounded. She wanted to jump up in the air and do a fist pump. She hoped the son of a bitch bled to death...except then Gwen and LeDoux might starve to death chained in some remote location.

  Damn it all to hell.

  She’d half expected the chief to interrogate her about Shade again but he hadn’t. Between the Taggart reunion and worry about Newt, there had been little time for anything until now. If he asked, she intended to tell him as much of the truth about Shade as possible. She would not allow the enigmatic man to mar Newt’s record.

  The doors that led back to the ER opened and Carlene came into the lobby. Bobbie pushed to her feet and hurried to meet her. “How’s he doing?”

  She took a breath, her eyes red from crying. “He’s great. His heart rate is stable. BP is right where it should be. He’ll be groggy for a few more hours, but he’s good. Considering the issues with his heart, they’re going to admit him and keep him overnight for observation. Just in case.”

  Bobbie pressed her hands to her face and struggled to hold back the tears. “That is the best news.”

  The chief and Owens, who had come up behind her, echoed her sentiments.

  “He wants to see you, Bobbie. Room eight.”

  Bobbie glanced at the chief who nodded. She gave Carlene a hug and rushed back to the double doors. She showed her badge and the doors slowly opened. Holding back the urge to run, she walked to room eight. Her heart hurt when she saw Newt lying on that damned examination table looking so pale.

  “Hey, partner.”

  Newt looked over at her. “The kid’s okay? Carlene said he hadn’t been hurt.”

  “He’s fine. His mother is with him now.”

  Newt blew out a big breath. “That’s some good news.”

  The trembling started deep inside Bobbie and she couldn’t control it. “He could’ve killed you.” Her lips trembled and she tried to cover them with her hand.

  He took her free hand in his and squeezed. “I’m just glad he didn’t get a chance to use me to hurt you.”

  Bobbie swiped at the damned tears. “I have to stop him.”

  “We have to stop him,” he corrected.

  She nodded. “I know. We’re a team.” She would not let that son of a bitch take anyone else from her.

  “If we’re lucky he’s seriously injured,” Newt said. “If he goes for help, we’ll get him.”

  “We’ve got people reviewing camera feeds from all over the city,” Bobbie said, mostly to reassure herself. “We know he’s in the Prius. The Altima was found at the Walmart over on Highland this morning.” The bastard was running out of options. “We’ve got people out searching for his location right now. We will find him.”

  “They’re not gonna let me out of here until tomorrow,” Newt said, clearly not happy about his predicament. “I should be out there, too.”

  Bobbie raised an eyebrow. “Carlene tells me you’ve been keeping secrets.”

  Newt shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just need a little tweaking on the ticker that’s all.”

  She wanted to believe him. “Whatever it is, you get it fixed.”

  “Don’t worry.” He pretended to study her hand. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I’m counting on you,” Bobbie added for good measure. “For now, you just take it easy. You stay as long as the docs feel it’s necessary.”

  “I need you to promise me something, girlie.” His hold on her hand tightened.

  “I don’t know, Newt.” She knew what he was going to say. “I’m not very good with promises.” Mommy keeps the monsters away. Her husband’s voice echoed through her mind. Only mommy had failed.

  “Just promise me you’ll stay close to backup. Don’t let Perry get you cornered. He’s going to be desperate now. Judging by the way he howled I’d say he’s pissed. If he still wants to come after you, he’ll have to do it soon. He’s running out of time, Bobbie. Mark my word—he’ll make a move for you next. Keep your surveillance detail and Shade close.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Bobbie argued. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Bobbie.” He squeezed her hand again to get her full attention. “If he gets close enough this time, he may kill you immediately just to clean up his record. Don’t give him that chance.”

  “I won’t give him that chance,” she agreed. She hated lying to Newt, but he couldn’t expect her to hide from what she had to do. Taking Perry into custody was not good enough. She wanted him dead.

  The only way to make sure that happened was to do it herself.

  “The same way you’re counting on me,” Newt said, “I’m counting on you.”

  She gave up and produced a smile for him. “I promise to be extra careful.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  “Okay. I’m going out there and let your wife back in here. I’ll tell the chief you’re taking a vacation.”

  “You better not,” he warned with a grin.

  She kissed his cheek and backed toward the door, giving him a wave. “See you later today.”

  Smiling, he waved. “I’m holding you to it.”

  Before she turned away he rubbed at his chest and grimaced.

  Bobbie froze. “You okay?”

  The machine monitoring his heart rate suddenly screamed a warning. Newt made a gurgling sound. Bobbie yanked the door open and shouted, “We need help in here!” She rushed to his bedside and took his hand. “It’s okay, Newt. It’s okay. Help is coming.”

  The room filled with people in scrubs. Bobbie was ushered into the corridor. She heard the urgent sounds and bits of loud, hurried conversation that told the story that was going on beyond the door. None of it good. Newt had flatlined. They were trying to get his heart beating again. Long seconds...minutes ticked by. Nothing was working.

  Please, please, let him be okay.

  Then came the silence.

  Tears poured down her cheeks.

  Hospital personnel emerged one by one from the room. The doctor shook his head. He glanced around. “Where is Mrs. Newton?”

  The big double doors leading to the lobby opened and Carlene walked through as if she’d sensed something was wrong.

  Bobbie turned to her, and maybe it was the devastation on her face, but Carlene stopped. She shook her head even as the doctor walked toward her. He spoke quietly. Carlene wailed and ran toward Newt’s room.

  Whoever was left inside the room spoke
quiet reassurances. But there were no reassurances.

  Newt was dead.

  Perry had accomplished another goal.

  Bobbie turned and walked toward the double doors as they opened. The chief and Lieutenant Owens hurried toward her.

  She heard their questions but she couldn’t speak. She could only shake her head. They headed for the room where Newt’s wife grieved over him.

  Bobbie walked through the lobby and out the ER entrance doors. There were cops holding the media at bay. They spoke to her, but she couldn’t speak. She headed straight for the horde of reporters.

  “Detective Gentry, how is your partner?”

  Another pushed in front of the first and shouted, “Detective, is it true the Taggart child has been rescued?”

  Another voice shouted, “Detective Gentry, what about Gaylon Perry? Is he still out there?”

  Bobbie stared at the crowd. Cameras zeroed in on her face. “My partner...” She couldn’t make herself say the words.

  The reporters stared at her as if they understood what she had to say was too painful to speak aloud. And still they wanted something.

  Rage rushed through her veins. “Tell him...” Her voice failed her so she paused and started again. “Tell Gaylon Perry something for me, would you?”

  Voices shouted her name as microphones were shoved in her face.

  “Tell him I’m waiting for him. He knows the place. I’m ready to finish this now.”

  Questions were hurled at her but she didn’t look back. She walked to her car. She was grateful for the officers who held back the crowd so she could escape.

  As she left the parking lot, her surveillance detail right behind her, and merged into traffic her cell vibrated. She dragged it from her belt and checked the number. The lab.

  “Gentry.”

  “Hey, Bobbie, this is Andy. I got a hit on the only other set of prints on your steering wheel—besides yours, I mean.”

  Numb, Bobbie wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She’d completely forgotten about having Andy run the prints. “Yeah? What’d you find?”

  “They match the name Nicholas Weller.”