“Stop interrupting and listen. Something happened. Sophie, give me your phone. I can’t find mine, and I need to call the police.”
Her voice trembled as she related what had happened. Although it seemed odd to her, retelling was almost as frightening as the experience itself, because she now realized how close she might have come to fending off a madman.
Cordie was so shocked by what she was hearing that she grabbed Regan’s hand to comfort her.
“Thank God you got away from him,” she whispered.
Sophie wanted more details. “Could you identify him if you saw him?”
“I don’t know. Yes . . . maybe. I was so scared. I turned and there he was. He wore thick glasses.”
Cordie found her cell phone and handed it to Regan. “Call right now and tell them there’s a lunatic roaming around the conference center.”
“I’ll bet he’s long gone by now,” Sophie said.
“Are you saying she shouldn’t call?” Cordie asked, ready to argue.
“Of course she should call, but after you give the police the description, tell the officer we’re on our way to the police station. There’s one about two miles from here.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Cordie said. She put the car in drive and headed out while Regan made the call.
“We’ve got to get some ice on Regan’s knee,” Sophie said. “And the sooner the better.”
Regan motioned for her friends to be quiet when the phone was answered. She worried she would end up talking to another detective like Sweeney, but fortunately, the officer who took the call was efficient and polite. As soon as she explained what had happened, he dispatched policemen to the conference center to search for the man.
“I think he believed me, but I don’t know why,” Regan said after she had ended the call. “I rambled, didn’t I?”
“A little,” Cordie said.
“Turn left at the next corner,” Sophie directed. “There’s a QuikTrip where we can get her an ice pack, and a police station is just about a mile farther down that street.”
“How come you know where all the police stations are?” Regan asked.
“Not all of them, just some,” she corrected. “I’m going to be an investigative reporter, remember? It’s good to know these things.”
“I liked Officer Martinez,” Sophie said an hour later as the three left the police station.
Regan was replaying what she had said and shaking her head over her descriptions. “I sounded like an idiot. There was a man . . . dressed like a runner,” she quoted herself. “He appeared out of nowhere and I fell, and I think he might have been chasing me. But then again . . . maybe he wasn’t . . .”
“You were smart to run, Regan,” Sophie said. “That’s what Officer Martinez said. You went with your instincts.”
“He also said there hadn’t been any problems at the center in over a year.”
“You still did the right thing,” Cordie said. “You reported the incident, and if he’s some kind of wacko, which, by the way, I think he is, they’ll be on the lookout for him.”
“Could we not talk about this anymore?” Regan said. “How about eating in the hotel dining room? I’ll get you both settled at a table in the restaurant, run upstairs to change out of these wet clothes, and we’ll have a lovely dinner.”
“I don’t think you’re going to be able to run anywhere,” Cordie said. “And you need to keep ice on that knee.”
“Then come up to my suite, and we’ll order room service.”
They both agreed, and the rest of the evening was blessedly uneventful. As far as Regan was concerned, the matter was closed.
Chapter Thirteen
HE HAD BLOWN IT. AFTER ALL THE WORRYING AND THE PLANning and the practicing, he had let her get away. He’d worked so hard. It wasn’t fair. No, it wasn’t fair at all. It was his right to take her life, his duty.
She’d tricked him into feeling confused and sympathetic when she’d fallen. She’d blindsided him. Yes, that’s exactly what she had done.
He pulled the Jeep over to the curb, put it in park, and began to pound the dashboard with his fists. He knew he was behaving like a child having a full-blown tantrum, but he didn’t care. He had failed. He kept beating the console until the shaking subsided. By the time he was able to think clearly again, his knuckles were raw.
Panic didn’t set in until he’d reached the safety of his garage. He stayed in the car until the garage door was down and he was safe inside his frigid cocoon. And still he didn’t move. He leaned against the seat and closed his eyes while he thought about his situation, his mind jumping from one thought to another. He knew it was only a matter of time before the police found the accident he’d buried. Would they connect him to that crime? If they did, he’d be locked away for the rest of his life, and his Nina, his dear, sweet Nina . . . how could she exist without him?
Stay cool, he told himself. There would be other chances. He wouldn’t get caught. The beast wouldn’t let that happen. It was going to be okay.
He continued his internal monologue as he crept through the house and opened the bedroom door to check on Nina. She was sound asleep. He quietly closed the door and went into the laundry room just off the kitchen. He stripped out of his clothes, tossed them into the washer, and grabbed the box of Tide.
His mind wouldn’t quiet down. He analyzed his poor performance this evening, and he was appalled and disgusted. He had to do better next time. Had to.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He kept picturing her, his beautiful angel with the broken wing, falling, so gracefully tumbling down. Had he heard her cry out, or had he only imagined she had? His chosen one, his perfect angel, was innocent, as innocent as his beloved Nina.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head. He had seen her weep, and his heart ached for her. He was so confused, torn between worrying about her and raging because she had gotten away.
“Can’t have it both ways,” he whispered. And he knew, in his heart he knew, that he had to appease the demon.
Stark naked, he went back into the garage. His chest and arms were covered in goose bumps. There was a small mirror propped on a shelf near the door. He paused to admire himself. His body was that of a Greek god, he thought with a great deal of pride. He’d worked hard to get it that way. Flexing his muscles, he smiled at his reflection.
He stood there a full minute before he turned away. He had the sudden urge, no, need, to look at her things, just to make sure they were where he’d hidden them in the small wooden crate with a stack of rags on top. The crate was tucked in the corner. It wasn’t a very clever hiding place, and tomorrow he planned to move the box.
The hammer, the girl’s driver’s license, and her pepper spray were just where he’d put them. He still wasn’t sure why he’d taken them, but he couldn’t make himself get rid of them just yet. He picked up the license and read her name. Haley Cross. In the photo, she was smiling. The picture he had of her in his mind was a face contorted in terror. He dropped the license on top of the spray and picked up the hammer.
The sound of a phone ringing close by jarred him. He whirled around with the hammer upraised in his hand. It took him a second to realize the noise was coming from his Jeep. Of course. Her phone. Someone was calling her. He waited, frozen, with the hammer in midair, until the ringing stopped. He found the phone and her folder on the backseat.
Shivering from the night chill, he hurried into his kitchen. He placed the phone and the folder on the table, went to the sink to wash his hands and clean the cuts on his knuckles, and then made himself a drink.
He dropped into a chair and opened the folder. He spread the contents across the table and began to read.
Chapter Fourteen
ALEC BUCHANAN WAS ONE OF THE LAST PASSENGERS TO LEAVE the plane. A flight attendant had to wake him. He’d fallen asleep about ten seconds after he had clipped on his seat belt and stretched his long legs in a poor attempt to get comfortable.
Alec
could sleep anywhere, anytime, much to his brother Nick’s consternation. Nick was afraid to fly and went to great lengths to avoid it, which, of course, made him the brunt of many family jokes. Alec didn’t mind flying at all, though he thought the flight from Boston to Chicago was too short. Since he’d stayed up most of the night with his five brothers and two sisters catching up on all the news, he would have liked a much longer nap.
He knew he looked like hell. He hadn’t shaved since his interview with the FBI Thursday morning. He was pretty sure the job was his if he wanted it. Ward Dayborough, the head of the special crimes division, had been actively recruiting him for over a year and had all but guaranteed that he’d be based out of Boston.
That was just one of the many incentives for taking the job, but even if he didn’t make this move, he still needed to find the time to go home more often. He missed his family.
Over the weekend, the entire Buchanan clan had gathered at their parents’ sprawling island home on Nathan’s Bay to celebrate their father’s birthday. Nick and his wife, Laurant, had brought their baby girl to the island for the first time.
While he was there, Nick, along with the oldest brother, Theo, worked on Alec to accept the offer from the FBI. They tried to convince him that it was a family obligation. Theo was an attorney with the Justice Department, and Nick had been an agent for a special branch of the FBI for many years. Alec did love Boston, and Nick, now that he had a family and needed a bigger place, was offering him a great deal on his town house.
It was time for a change, and Alec had a lot to think about. Being back home had been wonderful, even though he’d taken quite a beating playing football with all of his brothers. Ironically, the bruised shoulder that hurt the most had actually been inflicted by one of his younger sisters, Jordan. He smiled when he thought about her. Jordan was brilliant, no argument there, and had made them all a fortune when they invested in her design for a computer chip that revolutionized the industry, but as smart as she was, she had absolutely no common sense. She was also a klutz. She hadn’t meant to tackle him; she’d simply tripped over her own feet. Fortunately for her, his shoulder took the brunt of her fall, and he’d caught her before she broke any bones.
It was raining when he drove away from O’Hare. Traffic was a bitch, but it still wasn’t as bad as Boston’s rush hour. He took shortcuts back to his apartment, unpacked, and put on his favorite pair of worn-out jeans. He was about to check his messages when his old partner, Gil Hutton, called. Gil had recently retired but still kept his fingers in the gossip pie. Alec swore Gil was clairvoyant. He knew things before they happened.
Gil didn’t waste words on pleasantries. “I got the lowdown on Lewis.”
“Yeah?” Alec laughed as he opened the refrigerator and took out a beer. He popped the tab, and took a long swallow. He could just picture Gil rubbing his head—a habit that used to drive Alec nuts—and gloating. The man loved to gloat when he had hot news.
Alec was feeling a little guilty because he hadn’t confided in his friend about leaving the department. He had good reason. Alec knew Gil wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about his interview with the FBI.
“Lewis was real pissed you fought him about firing that rookie. Know how he’s getting even?”
Alec was suddenly weary. He dropped down on the sofa and closed his eyes. God, how he hated politics. “How?”
“If you try to get a transfer out, he’s gonna block it.”
“I didn’t put in for a transfer.”
“Yeah? Why not? I just assumed . . .”
Gil’s radar was up. It wouldn’t take him long to put two and two together and figure out that Alec was leaving.
“I haven’t had time to do the paperwork,” he said. That much was true, he thought. He hadn’t had time.
“Well, Lewis will block it. I just thought you should know.”
Alec didn’t ask him where he got his information, but he thought Gil must spend most of his day on the phone, gathering little tidbits.
“You need to get a life.”
His ex-partner ignored the comment. “Lewis is a real prick.”
“Yes,” Alec agreed. “And a game player.”
Worse, he thought, the lieutenant didn’t back up his men the way he should. He hung anyone in trouble out to dry, like the young policeman who really hadn’t done anything wrong except have the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“He’s lost the respect of his detectives,” Gil remarked.
“He never earned our respect. So tell me. Did he block the kid’s transfer?”
“That kid is only four years younger than you are.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t have my experience or cynicism.”
“Lewis wasn’t able to block that one. Hey, you want to grab a beer down at Finnegan’s?”
“Not tonight.”
“Maybe tomorrow night then? I want to hear your theories about Detective Sweeney.”
“What about Sweeney?”
“You didn’t hear?”
Alec was losing patience. “Hear what?”
“Oh, man, I thought you knew, but of course you couldn’t have heard since you’ve been in Boston. Don’t you check your messages?”
“I was about to when you called. So tell me. What about him?”
“He was murdered last night.”
Chapter Fifteen
REGAN HAD REALLY MADE A MESS OF HER KNEE. AS MUCH AS SHE wanted to, she knew she couldn’t put off the surgery any longer. She called the orthopedic surgeon’s office Monday morning, fully expecting that, because of his busy schedule, he wouldn’t be able to get to her for at least a month or two. That would give her sufficient time to get ready mentally and physically. As it turned out, he had a last-minute cancellation Tuesday morning. She didn’t tell anyone except Henry, her assistant, because she didn’t want her brothers or her friends worrying about her.
The doctor was able to do arthroscopic surgery, which meant a much shorter recovery time. She only had to use crutches for two days, and after two additional days of taking it easy, she began rehab.
She had just finished a workout to strengthen her knee when Sophie and Cordie stopped by her suite in the hotel.
“I’m still angry with you, Regan,” Sophie said. “We had to find out you had surgery after the fact.”
Cordie agreed. “You’d be furious if Sophie or I did that to you.”
“You’re right. I was wrong,” she said. “I just didn’t want you to worry, and it was no big deal.”
“I don’t care if it was a big deal or not. You should have told us,” Sophie argued.
“I don’t know what irritates me more. That you had surgery without us, or that you bailed on that godawful seminar where we had to listen to that quack doctor do one stupid exercise after another. It was the most miserable weekend of my life.”
“It was pretty awful,” Sophie agreed. “After the seminar, I talked to Shields’s people about refunding your fee, but they refused. I told them you had hurt your knee, but they weren’t at all sympathetic. The woman told us Shields has a strict policy. No refunds. How come I’m not surprised?”
“I demanded to talk to the doctor himself,” Cordie said. She had spotted a candy dish on the credenza and was sorting through the hard candies looking for peppermints.
“And that’s when we found out Shields has gone to his vacation home. Debbie said he needs his alone-time to rejuvenate. I translated that to mean he needs time to come up with more idiotic exercises.”
Regan nodded. “I don’t think he can top the people-I-want-dead list.”
Sophie grinned. “That one was really kind of fun.”
“Who did you put on your list?” Regan asked. “Anyone I know?”
Sophie’s eyes widened. “Of course not. That would have been . . . barbaric. I made up names. And they all rhymed.”
“What about you, Cordie?”
“The Seven Dwarfs,” she said.
Regan’s face w
as turning red. Cordie noticed. “You wrote real names, didn’t you?”
She didn’t have to answer. They both knew she had. She waited until they’d stopped laughing and said, “Okay, it’s official. I’m a complete idiot. It just never occurred to me to make up names. I guess I was feeling stressed at the time.”
“Which brings me to my proposition,” Sophie said. She gave her friend a sly grin and continued. “I think we should take a vacation. I’ve rented a condo, and it’s right on the beach. It would do us all good to get away. You could use a rest, Regan.”
“Where is this beach?”
“The Caymans,” she answered. “So, what do you say? I’ve called the airline, and we can leave this evening.”
Regan glanced at Cordie, who was looking sheepish, and then turned back to Sophie. She recognized that look in her eye.
“So, what’s the real reason, Sophie?” Regan asked. “Something’s up. I can tell.”
Sophie confessed. “Well . . . I did some digging. And guess where Dr. Shields’s vacation home is?”
Regan caught on quickly. “The Caymans,” she answered. She turned to Cordie. “And you’re in on this?”
Cordie nodded. “I know. I can’t believe I’m just dropping everything and running off to the Cayman Islands.”
“Daddy says that lots of people use the Cayman banks to hide their money from their spouses or creditors—”
“Or the IRS?” Regan asked.
“Definitely the IRS,” Sophie said.
“And you’re sure that Shields is in the Caymans now?” Regan asked.
“He’s been spotted on the beach behind his house,” Sophie answered confidently.
“What do you mean, ‘ he’s been spotted’? How would you know—”
“Daddy gave me the name of a guy to call, and he was happy to check. Shields is there, all right.”
“How long are you going to be gone?” Regan asked.
“We’ve got the condo for two weeks,” Sophie said. “It all depends.”
“Can you take that much time?”
The Murder List Page 11