“Rose, what do you say to me?”
“Hello, Father,” her croaky voice said.
He opened the cage door and set the bag and orange soda inside.
“Thank you, Father.”
Ah, she was getting it. They usually did by now. While most of their hope had drained away, they still thought there was a chance he’d let them go home if they were good. As though being good would spare anyone. His sister had always obeyed, but that hadn’t spared her.
But Rose, she had taken away something more precious than his sense of good and evil. Of righteousness. And justice. She had taken away so much more. Tomorrow night at midnight, she would die for it and release him.
She was gorging on the burger, but her gaze was on the door of the cage. He’d left it ajar. Hmm, how about that?
“I’m going now, Rose. You won’t do anything bad, will you?”
She shook her head, those big, brown eyes glued to him. But she would. Rose always disobeyed.
“I’ll be back with your dinner tonight.”
He’d disabled the main door’s locks from the inside so she couldn’t lock him out when she did gather the guts to leave that cage. No way could she get out of this place. But she would try. They always did. It was part of the plan.
“F-father?”
He turned around to her.
“Thank you for the food.”
Those simple words, spoken in true gratitude, stuck him in the gut like an ice pick. He couldn’t answer her, only nodded. He closed the heavy door and locked it. The torment grew inside him. He had to follow through, just as he always did. If he didn’t, he’d explode from the anguish and rage inside him.
She’d sounded so sincere.
He hoped she disobeyed him. He had to follow through with the plan. He had to.
CHAPTER 18
“All right, I deserve that,” Max said, walking beside Olivia back through the park toward her apartment. “I think your biggest problem is my seeing a tender side of you.”
She stopped, jerking poor Stasia to a halt with her. “Did it turn you on?”
He slapped his hand over his heart. “Ouch. Okay, I deserve that, too. Can we call it even now?”
“Not by a long shot.” She started walking again.
“Go ahead then, get it off your chest.”
“Unfortunately, I’m too much of a lady to use language like that.”
“Well, you did pretty good a few seconds ago.”
She narrowed her eyes at him but kept walking. There was a flush on her cheeks. “I hate you.”
His eyes widened at the vehemence of her statement. “You don’t know me well enough to hate me.”
She stopped again, talking to a spot about two inches to his right. “Yes, I do. That night at my apartment, you made me think…” She threw her hands up in frustration and started walking again.
He took hold of her arm. “I made you think what?”
Her chest was rising with her rapid breaths. “That you believed in me.”
“I had to find out the facts, Olivia. That’s what I do.”
“Well, you do it well. Do you handle all your suspects like this?”
“When I said I was handling you, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I was dealing with you.”
“You let that creep of a partner interrogate me. You didn’t even have the guts to question me yourself.”
“I didn’t know Sam was bringing you in. I found out when I returned from the station after talking to Dr. Bhatti.”
She tried to tug her arm free. “Excuse me, I need to get home.”
“I need your help, Olivia.” That stopped her struggle. “Not as a suspect, but as a witness.”
“What makes you believe me now?”
“I’m willing to explore the possibility—the probability that it’s real.” But she had to be wrong about it being the man who had taken her.
They both seemed to realize he was still holding her arm at the same time. Her pale skin contrasted his tan work-worn hand. He released her.
“Of course I’ll help,” she said at last. “But don’t ever eavesdrop on me again.”
He took in her face, once again taking advantage of her blindness. He could look all he wanted and she’d never know it. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“I hope that’s not supposed to be an apology.”
His mouth twisted into a smile. Damn, she was hard. “It was wrong, and I apologize.”
She nodded. “Thank you for that. Did you think I was going to confess something to my father?”
“No.”
“Give away my phony blindness?”
“No.”
He couldn’t easily explain why he’d been compelled to watch her. He didn’t want to see that side of her, didn’t want to be touched by her, but he’d stayed anyway.
“Then why?”
“I was waiting for you to finish your visit. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“So you just watched us.”
“Yes, I watched you.”
She started walking again, but slowly this time. Not to get away from him. They walked in a comfortable silence. The cheery holiday music coming from the overhead speakers was at odds with the turmoil inside him. They passed the Edgewater where people were catching a matinee or eating at one of the cafes, not a care in the world. He envied them, envied their ability to enjoy a perfect, warm Christmas Eve.
“Why come to me when you’re not sure if I’m crazy?” she asked at last.
This time he had to be honest. “Time is running out, and you’re all I have.”
“I’m not a suspect anymore?”
“Not to me.”
“You have nothing to go on?”
“Nothing.” Frustration laced his voice.
“I know you don’t believe your father is still alive, but did you at least confirm whether the remains had been verified as his?”
“I put another call into the sheriff’s department this morning. They promised to get back to me today.”
After a minute of silence, she said, “Do you think I want him to be alive?” She shook her head. “I’ve never wanted someone to be more dead. I don’t want to think that he’s been out there all this time. But we have to keep our minds open. Phaedra’s life depends on it.”
“I know, believe me, I know.”
She slowed again, and her hands tightened on the leash. “I connected with her last night. I’ve been trying to stay with her longer, but something always pulls me out. This time it was the people in the park.”
“People in the park?”
“I was sitting on a bench in the dog area when the connection hit. I guess they thought I was having a seizure.”
“You collapsed in the park?”
“Don’t make it sound like such a big deal. There were people around.”
He was feeling more and more uneasy about her, about her vulnerability.
She continued. “He did exactly what he did to me. Starved her all day, then brought her fried chicken and told her not to eat it. Left her alone with it so she’d be tempted and give in.”
“Did she?” he asked when Olivia seemed to drift off.
She nodded. “He made her eat hot sauce, and she threw everything up.” Her face tensed.
“Will he keep starving her?”
“No. Today will be a new game of punishment. He’ll leave the door of the cage open, and when she tries to escape…he’ll cut her.” Her fingers brushed across her upper chest.
He was glad she couldn’t see his shudder. “That’s what my father was doing when I found you.”
She could only nod as she faced the water. Max realized that if he believed her, he had to accept that Bobby Callahan was alive. He couldn’t accept that, though. He remembered her chopped hair and dirty face, the tear tracks down her face. Games of punishment. The thought of that little girl being punished, and how his father had been big on punishment and discipline...
He held back those th
oughts. “Have you connected with her today?”
“Just a sense of unease when he’s there but not threatening her. She’s used to a certain level of fear. It takes a higher level to bring me to her. With the other kids, all I got were flashes of what they saw. But with Phaedra, I’m able to stay longer. The connection is stronger because the same man took us. But when Stasia nuzzles up to me, because she’s afraid, she brings me out of the connection. I need to be alone when Phaedra tries to escape. I need to stay with her when he cuts her. I’m not sure she can feel my presence, but it makes me feel better to be there with her. And maybe I can see where she’s being held.”
A yacht motored past them, and the three children on the foredeck waved. Max lifted a hand halfheartedly. Right now, he had to assume that Olivia was indeed connected to Phaedra Burns. He felt that tug inside him, pulling him down. If he was close to sinking, Olivia was going to be the one to tip the balance and send him under. If he got too close to her. And if he was going to work with her—to believe her—he was going to have to get close to her.
He was leaning on the railing next to her and realized he’d involuntarily moved close enough that their arms touched. He had to remind himself that this wasn’t the Olivia he’d seen with her father. This was the Olivia who wouldn’t let him hold her hand when he’d given her the news about her conversion disorder. The Olivia who hated him.
“You’re not going to be alone the next time you connect with Phaedra. Not if I can help it. What if you fall and hit your head?”
“I have to be alone. I can’t afford to lose the connection again. Time is running out.”
“I won’t pull you out. And I’ll make sure Stasia doesn’t either.”
When he thought she would object, she surprised him by nodding. “All right. Anything to help. I should probably head back now, just in case…” They took three steps before she stopped and reached for his arm. “Did I tell you about the tub?”
“No.”
“There’s a tub in the bathroom. Water keeps dripping into it.”
“My father had a tub in the truck trailer with you. What did he intend to do with it?”
Her fingers tightened on his arm. “I don’t know.”
He had just slipped the lock pick into Olivia’s door when he heard the door across from her apartment open. He took a calming breath and turned around.
“Hey, who are you?” the man who came out asked, walking right up to him like he owned the place. Or maybe like he owned Olivia.
He recognized Terry Carlton, the hotshot football pro. He was decked out in a flowery silk shirt and tight jeans. “You know Olivia Howe?” he asked, nodding toward the door.
“Know her? She’s my girl.” Carlton glanced down at the hand he still had wrapped around Olivia’s doorknob, obscuring the pick.
“Then you’re just the person I need to talk to. Come on inside. We have a problem.” He walked in the apartment and waited for Carlton to follow. Like a concerned, curious boyfriend should, he did. “Close the door,” he told him and walked into the kitchen. He opened the cutlery drawer and removed one of the knives he’d turned upside down earlier.
Carlton closed the door behind him. “Is Olivia all right?”
He walked back into the living room, the knife held at his side. “Has she told you about the strange occurrences that have been going on in here? Someone turning her volume knobs up, moving her furniture around, rotating her steak knives so she’d cut herself when she took one out?”
Carlton’s face paled. “No. Someone’s been breaking in here and tampering with her stuff?” The muscles in his jaw flexed as anger flared in his eyes. “Who? Why?”
“We’re not sure yet. That’s why I’m here. I’m a private security analyst. She hired me to see how easy it was to get in here—well, you saw. Too easy. I’m supposed to take a look around and see what needs to be done to catch the bastard.”
“All she needs is me living here. I’ll take the son of a bitch out the second he steps inside.” Carlton started pacing. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”
“Maybe she didn’t want you overreacting.” He shrugged. “Well, while you’re here, you can help me. I need to figure out how many security cameras the place needs. Stand right there while I measure the angles.”
Carlton stood in the middle of the room by the chair. He scrubbed his fingers through gelled curls. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me. What is she thinking? I’ll bet it’s the building manager. I’ve seen him watching her. He looks like the kind of guy who’d get his jollies messing with a helpless woman.”
While Carlton continued to grumble, he pretended to sight the angle from the front door. “One to cover the foyer. So, is that how you met Olivia, living next door to her? Wish I had a nice looking single woman living near me.”
“Actually, we lived together for a while, but she needed space. So I bought the place across the way.”
He pretended to calculate some numbers in his head. “She’s the independent type, huh?”
“No, that’s the thing. She’s not. But she’ll come to her senses, hopefully by New Year’s Eve. I’ve got a special trip planned, flight to Vegas, honeymoon suite at Caesar’s, hopefully even the marriage to go with the suite.”
“I’m sure you’ll talk her into it.” He glanced at the French doors by the kitchen. “Let’s see what we need over there.”
As he passed Carlton, he swung his arm up and jammed the knife into his neck. Blood spurted out and ran down his chest, soaking his flowered shirt. Shock passed over his expression for a second, and then anger. But before he could act on it, he twitched. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the floor. The flow of blood dwindled to a trickle as his heart stopped pumping.
He went into the kitchen and grabbed a bunch of garbage bags from beneath the sink. After wrapping Carlton in them, he checked the hallway to make sure nobody was out there. He dragged the body to the door, listened for any sound, and then dragged him to the apartment across the hall. He dumped the body on the floor and returned to Olivia’s.
One large bloodstain marred the beige carpet, and some had splattered on the side of the beige leather chair. As he started pulling the chair over the stain, a deliciously evil thought came to mind. He leaned down to the stain and dipped his finger in the warm blood.
When they walked into her apartment, Olivia bumped into the chair Max had sat in while watching her paint. She set the cappuccino he’d bought for her on the end table. “He’s been here again. He moved the chair.”
Max drew his gun. “Stay right there. I’ll look around.” Olivia waited to release Stasia until he returned to the living room and said, “Nothing.” He glanced at the painting she’d been working on and stopped cold. “Uh…Olivia?”
She straightened, picking up the odd pitch in his voice. “What?”
“Are you into some kind of exploratory phase of your painting career?”
“What do you mean?”
“The painting on your easel. Did you write the word BITCH across it?”
Her hands went to her throat and her face paled. “No.”
The word was rendered in red paint that dripped all the way to the bottom edge of the painting.
“Dammit, Terry’s gone too far.” She grabbed the chair. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“I could have the place dusted for prints, but his prints could legitimately be here. I’ll ask around the building, see if anyone saw him.”
“I doubt anyone did. Not many people live full time in this building. The couple down the hall just left on vacation.”
“We could set up cameras.”
“Inside my apartment? And who’s going to watch them?”
“I’ll volunteer.” He raised his hand half-heartedly and then dropped it. All he was thinking about was catching the bastard, but it hadn’t come out right.
She lifted an eyebrow. “You really are a voyeur, aren’t you? I’ve never been into that sort of thing. That w
as a joke,” she added after a moment. “You know, using humor to deflect my lack of sight.”
“You realize you do that, huh? Here, let me get it.”
She knelt down to feel for the tape so she could line up the chair again. Before he could reach her, she let out a garbled scream and fell backward.
He nearly choked at the sight of blood covering her fingers. “What happened?” He dropped down next to her and took her hand in his.
“I’m not hurt,” she said in a strangled voice. “It’s blood, isn’t it? I can smell it.”
He still checked her hand over, running his fingers through the blood to make sure she hadn’t been cut. Nothing more than the scrapes she’d sustained from her fall. Only then did he shift his attention to the large stain on the carpet. “What the hell?”
“What’s happened?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“There’s a blood stain on the carpet. Someone moved the chair to cover it.” He helped her up, and they walked to the kitchen. Without even thinking about it, he held her hands beneath the water and rubbed off the blood. Soap bubbled on their skin and washed down the drain with red-tinged water. He realized he’d taken over, but she didn’t protest. She didn’t look as though she had the strength. He dried her hands and led her to a chair at the table. “I’m calling for backup.”
As he called, his gaze went to the painting again. Not red paint at all. That was blood.
After the crime scene investigators finished, Max joined Olivia at the kitchen table. She was sitting with her legs crossed and hands resting on her ankles. She’d been very quiet while the scene was being processed, remaining in the kitchen with her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Half a dozen times, he’d wanted to go over and just touch her. He wanted to touch her now.
Now, he sat across from her. “You all right?”
She nodded, but pressed her mouth in a tight line. “Do you think Terry did this?”
“Who else would have the motivation to do it?”
She shrugged. “I can’t believe he’d deface my painting. He knows what my artwork means to me. And why the blood?”
Blindsight [Now You See Me] (Romantic Suspense) Page 22