In Too Deep (Strike Force: An Iniquus Romantic Suspense Mystery Thriller Book 1)

by Fiona Quinn

  They do that? They sleep with people to achieve whatever ends they want? They lie about loving someone and make promises? That seemed so wrong. Setting someone up like that to be hurt so badly.

  Was she hurt? Hurt . . . She was angry. That was for sure. Would that work its way into pain? She didn’t really miss Steve. Didn’t really want to talk to him or check to make sure he was okay. And not just because of the revelation that he was playing both sides of some fence, either. From the moment he had stood her up at the bar, and she had to claw her way through the trash to safety, she was done with him. That was clear as a bell.

  If things had gone the way they should have: that she went home, called the police, and they had taken her statement, and then Steve had shown up at her door, Lacey was pretty certain she would have shut it in his face and moved on with her life. It wasn’t even the part where she found herself rolling in kitchen waste. It was at the bar, when she looked at her phone and there was no message. Any positive loving feelings she might have conjured up for Steve drained away as the minutes ticked by without a word from him. Somehow, that wait had been the turning point in their relationship. She was already done with that page in her book before Leo Bardman stepped into her personal space and mistook her for Danika.

  Did it make her sad that Steve was not who she thought he was – not intellectually, but in her heart? The hot water sluiced over her back and shoulders, taking with it the stress that rolled off her skin. No, to be honest, the transition was painless and much easier than she could ever have imagined it. To be honest that transition happened last November, when Deep first stood under the high-vaulted ceiling of the gallery and extended his hand to her. She had just been waiting for Steve’s health crises – first with his heart, then with his nephew, to pass so she could let him go without being heartless.

  Deep. The mere thought of him steadied her. They had met because of a crime. He had reentered her life because of a crime. Could a relationship forged in stress and crisis survive once life settled down to banalities? She sure wanted an opportunity to figure that out.

  Now, she asked herself, can I trust my feelings for Deep? Or am I simply jumping from one sinking life raft to another, thinking this one might buoy me through my storm?

  Lacey took her time drying her hair and dressing again. She had left Deep mid-story, and she owed him the rest of it. She did. She owed it to him. If he was going to help her for no obvious reason other than that he wanted to help her, then she was going to trust her very first reaction on that amazing November day when her hand was in his and her heart said, “You belong here.”

  She went down the stairs to find Deep sitting quietly on the sofa, exactly where she had left him. She curled up next to him and offered up the semblance of a smile. Lacey had told the easy part. This next part, though. . . She’d have to power through it.

  Deep pushed his computer out of the way as Lacey cleared her throat to launch herself forward in the story. “I was held in the hospital for a few days after the deer accident,” Lacey said, playing with the hem of her sweater. “The doctors were worried about my vital signs. When the ambulance brought me in, they said that my blood hadn’t been oxygenated properly for a long while. The doctors were worried about my heart and lungs, and were running tests to figure out why my bloodwork looked so poor. They thought I might have experienced some kind of systemic event that could have been the reason for my accident.”

  “You told them about the men in the house?”

  “I didn’t remember that. At that point, all I remembered was driving to Radovan’s to hang the painting, and then I woke up in the car.”

  “When was it that you started to remember the men at the house?”

  Lacey nodded, acknowledging the question. “I need to say this bit first. My uncle didn’t come and see me at the hospital, but he came to my apartment. That’s when he met Steve. Steve brought me home and took care of me, but you know that already. Now that I’m thinking back to that time, huh, that seems kind of off.”

  Deep tilted his head.

  “My uncle came to my apartment to tell me that Radovan had passed. To me, Uncle Bartholomew was, as one would expect, grief-stricken, but he was also really agitated. Uncle Bartholomew was preparing his eulogy for the funeral and asked me to look it over. It was during this visit that I learned that Radovan had died in his sleep and was discovered days after his death when the maid went in. And I know from what Uncle Bartholomew told me that Radovan must have been dead when I was there at the house. He asked me if I had noticed anything unusual. I still had post-traumatic amnesia. Everything was black from the point where I arrived at the house and was staring into the pot of stone soup until Steve was calling my name. I thought Uncle Bartholomew was wondering if I had smelled the body or something. So I told him I had no memories in the house at all.”

  Lacey saw questions churning in Deep’s mind, but he chose to start with, “Do you know how Radovan Krokov died?”

  “Yes, he had a heart attack. He was only in his sixties, but he had a pacemaker. I wasn’t surprised.”

  “Stone soup? What’s that all about?”

  “I told you—when I went into Radovan’s house, there was a pot on the stove.”

  Deep waited for her to continue.

  “Well it was a stew pot with a little bit of water simmering and a bunch of rocks.”

  “That’s kind of weird.” Deep said, his brow pulling together with concentration.

  “Only because we don’t know why they were being boiled.”

  Deep grinned. “Lacey, give me one good reason to boil rocks on the stove. Just one.”

  “Hot stone massages. And I know that Radovan got regular massages to help him with his circulation.”

  “But the man with the mask took them outside.”

  “Okay, maybe they were boiling them to get rid of weeds in the cracks or get them cleaned in some way. My gardener sometimes did that with the decorative stones in our rock garden when moss started growing on them. That would make sense, too.”

  “Still weird.”

  Lacey shrugged. “I can’t see how it would make a difference one way or another.”

  “So you’re in your apartment and your uncle came to tell you that his lover had died, and to ask you if you happened to smell him decaying upstairs while you were at the house hanging a picture of a nude man. And as nuts as that sentences is to say, that’s not the part that made you say, ‘Huh, that seems kind of off.”

  “That was about Steve’s reaction. He was standing at the cocktail table, pouring my uncle a tumbler of whiskey. He was very focused on our conversation. His whole body was rigid with concentration. And when he looked at me, I thought he looked frightened for me. I didn’t know Steve very well at the time, though, so I talked myself out of that thought.”

  “Did Steve bring any of this up later?”

  “He asked me questions—what was I doing at Radovan’s? Was I the only person there? How close was I to Radovan? Steve told me he was sorry for my loss. Conversational stuff.”

  “But you have more memories of that time now. Have they been filling in over time, or did they come back to you all at once?”

  Blood drained from Lacey’s face. “All at once,” she whispered.

  Deep came upright, leaned forward. “This is the number four. I know of three times they tried to kill you, but you said there were four. Someone came after you.”

  “It was my first day going back to work,” she whispered, staring at their entwined fingers. “I closed up the gallery. It’s a little creepy down there at night. There’s that park across the road and the church at the end of the cul-de-sac; the street gets very dark and desolate at night. But that was the night of a full moon, and the air was warm and comfortable. The security guard had started his rounds, and I didn’t feel like waiting around for him to walk me to my car. I went out by myself. I climbed into my car, no problem. I locked my doors and was clipping on my seat belt when someone rose up out
of the back seat.” Lacey breathed through an open mouth like a locomotive chugging up a mountainside. “He wrapped an arm around my neck.” She pulled her cowl neck up around her chin.

  “You’re okay. You’re safe.” He looked her square in the eye. “It’s okay to tell this story. No one knows you’re here. No one can hurt you.” He took both of her hands. “You’re okay, Lacey, I promise.”

  Lacey nodded. She only half-believing Deep’s words, though she tried. “I looked up and I saw the knife in the mirror. It was a big fighting knife like I’ve seen battlefield soldiers carry when they’re on the news. He pressed the blade against my throat.” She stopped to pant. “I shoved my head back into the headrest, trying to get away from it, and the man said, ‘You recognize me, don’t you?’

  “‘Yes,’” I whispered, “‘you’re the gardener.’”

  He laughed, it wasn’t a menacing laugh it was a true laugh like he’d heard a good joke. I remember that because, it gave me a little hope. “‘You see why you won’t be allowed to live.’” I didn’t see at all. He went on, “‘I was wondering why Danika would go into the house. It took us a few minutes to figure it out. But I called her, and she was nowhere near there. You thought you could fool me? You thought I was a dunce? Huh?’”

  Lacey had fallen right back into the moment, vividly recalling every word, every nuance. She remembered how the car had filled with the smell of her fear. Her body trembled. She forgot that Deep was there. She forgot she was in Lynx’s living room. In her mind, she was fully back in her car, smelling her fear.

  I said, “‘nobody cares. Let it be.’

  “He was laughing again. ‘Let it be. Hell no, I’m not going to let it be. Now turn on your car keys, put this thing in gear, and let’s go. I’ll tell you where to turn. No games. This knife stays at your throat. If you read any stupid women’s magazine articles about causing an accident to save yourself, remember the knife is there, so you won’t survive it.’”

  Lacey fluffed her sweater, trying to release some of the heat that poured off her chest, then she pulled the whole thing off and sat there in her bra. She balled the soft mohair together and hugged it to her like it was a child’s teddy bear. “I drove down the road. I couldn’t think. I tried to pray, to say the ‘Our Father,’ but all I could think over and over was ‘God is great. God is good. Let us thank him for this food.’ Which is ridiculous. I knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn’t get any other words out. Until suddenly, I heard myself talking. I said, ‘Yeah? Well I know who you are. And more than that? I have absolutely all of it on video. I had my phone out, and I recorded everything. And I mean everything. Then I sent it to a friend who put it in her cloud. Could you torture me and find out who that friend is? You don’t have to. I’ll happily tell you her name, it’s Claudia Schmidt. Why would I tell you? Because she’s on a sailboat, sailing around the world. What does that mean to you? If anything happens to me, then Claudia will release that video to the world. What happens if I’m just fine? Claudia does nothing. No one’s the wiser. Right now, everyone thinks Radovan died of natural causes. I’m fine with that. I never liked the man. I don’t care how he died. Let sleeping dogs lie.”

  Lacey looked up to find Deep watching her closely. “That’s when I realized they’d killed him. And I’d witnessed part of a murder.”

  “He let you go?”

  “He said, ‘Pull over.’ And I did. He started to get out of the car. He reached up and pulled my hair so I couldn’t move my head. ‘Here’s the deal,’ he said. ‘You tell anyone? And I assume you’ve told everyone. I start killing them, one after the other. One after the other. One after the other. And I can kill them in such a way that no one will ever figure out how.’”

  “Crap,” Deep muttered.

  Lacey nodded.

  Deep sniffed. “So things continue to get weirder and weirder.”

  Lacey nodded, again.

  “Did you actually make a video? Who’s Claudia Schmidt?”

  “No, I didn’t even have my phone with me at the house. I’d run out of battery, and it was recharging in my car. And I have no idea where that name came from. I don’t know anyone by either name.”

  “Lacey?”

  She slit her eyes at him. “I know that tone. Please don’t ask me to eat something right now. It’s not going to help.”

  Deep grinned. “You know me so well. Actually, I was going to ask you about the name Danika. It’s interesting to me that he thought you were Danika at the house and that it took him some time to figure out that it wasn’t Danika but you. That’s significant.”

  “At the bar, too,” Lacey said.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Leo Bardman or, what did you call him? Bogdan Zoric? At the bar, before he came up to me, he was staring at me as if he were trying to make a decision. Then when he approached, he said, ‘Danika, you’re in danger.’ I think we have the first name of the dead girl. Danika. I should have put it together — they were mistaking me for the woman who was standing in for me. It’s so obvious—a child’s puzzle. But I didn’t. The name and the person in the photos sat in two very different compartments in my mind.”

  “Don’t fall into the trap of blaming yourself for not seeing something that in hindsight is so obvious. You see and hear and feel and experience so much information moment by moment. And you don’t know what’s significant until it’s significant. Surely you made the connection between the men who killed Radovan and Leo being killed, right?”

  Lacey nodded.

  “And you put those together because of the name Danika. But you’ve had a huge amount of information thrown in your lap. There’s a lot to sort through. It takes time – and sometimes, someone from the outside who doesn’t have as much of an emotional involvement can piece things together more quickly. The brain is an incredible machine, but it also tries to protect you in weird ways that often are doing the exact opposite of keeping you safe. Now,” he said, patting her leg. “Are you cooling down again?”

  Lacey pulled her brow together.

  “Here. Put your sweater back on, and come in the kitchen and eat something.”

  Lacey hadn’t remembered she’d tugged it off. She shook it out to find the front, then pulled it over her head. As she pushed her hands through the arm holes, she said, “But Deep, I think—”

  He was already moving toward the kitchen. “I’m not listening to another word out of your mouth until you eat.”

  “I—”

  He held up a hand. “Nope. Not listening.”

  Lacey followed behind with a sigh of resignation.

  They decided on soup and sandwiches. Lacey pulled a can of chicken noodle from the cupboard and opened the lid. She was going through the motions of stirring the pot on the stove, but her thoughts were far away. “Stone soup,” she said, under her breath.

  “Huh?” Deep slid in beside her to reach for a cutting board, so he could make the sandwiches.

  “You’re absolutely right—the stone soup is really unusual. I remember thinking so at the time. I wish I knew what that was about.”

  “I’d like to go by and look at the rocks. Are you up for it?”

  Lacey wanted to say no. In her mind, Radovan’s house meant danger. But as her mouth opened to respond, the image of Deep’s face as he scrolled through the pictures of what her uncle had done to those teenage boys slid back into her consciousness, and Lacey said, “Let’s eat quickly. This soup is warm enough.” And she twisted off the element.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Lacey

  Wednesday

  Deep made a few passes around the estate. Lacey swung her head back and forth, looking everywhere for anything. Anything that would give them a few seconds’ warning and a chance to escape. The killer’s eyes in her car’s rearview mirror — in Lacey’s mind, she saw them staring at her, menacing her, reminding her of his promise that he would kill her and all those she knew, one after the other. One after the other.

  Deep maneuvered his
car up the drive and parked it at an odd angle in the parking circle in the back of the house. Lacey could see that if they needed to escape, Deep would be headed out over the fields, where few cars would be able to follow them. The killer’s pickup truck would be able to do that, no problem, she thought. But she also knew there was a road on the other side of that dip in the land. That direction was the quickest one toward freedom – well, toward the highway, at any rate. That gave her a little confidence as she dangled her foot and lowered herself to the ground. Before she could step all the way down, Deep caught her around the waist to help her.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Sure. In and out okay?”

  “Sounds fine. Which side of the house is it?” Deep pulled on a pair of leather gloves and took what looked like a brown paper bag from the back.

  With a point of her finger, Lacey moved around to the side of the house to just outside of the Florida room, where Radovan had a Zen garden. The center was comprised of a rectangle of tiny pea gravel that was raked into gentle curves around three massive rocks. It was pristine, which meant that the gardener was still attending things. Lacey was momentarily worried that, having found the odd-looking rocks, the gardener would have removed them. But there they lay, lined up in a soldier-like row in front of the bamboo. They looked natural there as if they had been artistically added to the scene, creating an interesting juxtaposition of the smooth height and graceful sway of bamboo and the craggy density of the rock. If she hadn’t seen them boiling in the pot, she would never think they were out of place here in this garden. As a matter of fact, they fit in so naturally that Lacey questioned herself. She walked around the interior of this walled area and searched for other rocks that could have been in the pot.

  Deep stood out of her way. She was staring at the line again, hoping she wasn’t making a stupid mistake, when suddenly he was at her side. He crouched but pushed on her elbows, forcing her to stand.