Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel)

by Danielle Girard

  "We're at Highway 1," Jordan interrupted. "Where do we go from here?"

  A male voice Casey didn't recognize read out directions. When he finished, Jordan said, "We'll be there in ten minutes."

  "What do you propose to do, Franklin?" Casey asked.

  "I've been through hostage negotiations before, Ms. McKinley. I think I'm prepared to deal here."

  Under other circumstances, Casey would have laughed. This wasn't funny. "What are you going to deal with? This isn't a negotiation. He doesn't want anything from you—any of you. He wants my daughter. He wants to take her apart piece by piece and to hear her screaming while he does it."

  "Ms. McKinley, it's my job—"

  "Hush, Franklin," Mueller interrupted. "How close are you, McKinley?"

  "I'll be there in less than ten minutes."

  "Franklin, no one acts until McKinley arrives. When she does, you're under her direction."

  "Sir, I think—"

  "Franklin, right now, I don't care what you think."

  Jordan sped up, taking the corners with screeching tires.

  Everyone was silent as they approached the scene. Casey tried to clear her mind and imagine how Leonardo was reacting. He might be pleased that he was gathering so much attention. She was confident he knew who was there. He would have surveillance. She imagined that was how he caught Swain, if that's what happened.

  "There's a white Mustang up ahead," Jordan said.

  "Turn right at the Mustang. We're positioned about a hundred yards down the driveway," Franklin said.

  Jordan turned down the gravel drive, and Casey was out of the car before he had come to a complete stop. Michael was right behind her.

  "Franklin?"

  A petite black woman stepped forward. "I'm Franklin."

  Casey nodded. "Any sign from inside?"

  "None so far. We'd like to send some agents to move in closer, but we were waiting for your okay."

  Casey shook her head. "No way. The last thing I want to do is to make him feel pressured. If anything, I want you to pull back."

  "You think he can see us?" Michael asked.

  She met his gaze. "I'd bet on it."

  Jordan moved up next to her. "What do you want to do?"

  Casey surveyed their surroundings for signs of cameras or microphones. She hated to say too much for fear he might be listening. "I think I need to go in."

  There was a rush of negative responses, and Casey could even hear Mueller on the speakerphone, voicing his disapproval.

  Michael stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. "No, Casey. That's our daughter in there. We need to let the police handle it. I couldn't lose both of you."

  "It's not smart, Casey," Jordan echoed. "You're too involved. Let the Bureau handle it. They've got hostage training."

  "This isn't a hostage situation," Casey argued.

  "Yes, it is," Franklin said. "Please let us handle it."

  Casey shook her head. "I'm going in there alone."

  "Casey," Michael and Jordan said at once.

  "Stop," she commanded. She had to go in. If she offered herself, at least Amy wouldn't be alone. She wondered whether Swain was still alive. Leonardo would have no purpose for him. Casey pictured Amy having to watch Swain die. She couldn't stay out there and wait. Turning to Jordan, she motioned him to the side. "You have a pocketknife?" she asked in a hushed voice.

  "On my key chain."

  "I need it."

  Jordan watched her. "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going in there."

  "With a pocketknife?" Jordan asked.

  "That's insane!" Michael said.

  "I've got no other choice. You remember the look on Ryan's face when he came back wearing that hat?"

  Cringing, Jordan nodded.

  "Would you go in after him?"

  He paused, then said, "Hell, yes, but I didn't have backup."

  "This isn't about backup. Give me your pocket-knife."

  Jordan took the knife off his key chain.

  "Open it up," she said.

  Jordan opened the knife. "What are you going to do with a little pocketknife? You need a gun."

  "I can't shoot a gun."

  "Then, let someone else go in."

  She shook her head. "If anyone else gets close, he'll kill Amy."

  Everyone was silent.

  "It's true. If I go in, there's a chance I can keep Amy safe." Even if it meant getting herself killed.

  Jordan seemed to sink into the ground.

  Michael clasped his hands together and stared at the building where his daughter was captive. "Oh, God," he whispered.

  "Are you sure?" Jordan said.

  Without replying, she nodded.

  Jordan handed her the knife.

  She pulled her belt out from her pants. "Tuck it flat against my pants under the belt."

  "It could stab you," he warned.

  "I'll be careful."

  Jordan took the knife and placed it flat under the length of her belt, the blade out to the left. "Can you get it?"

  She reached in and felt the blade against her finger. "I'll manage."

  "I wish you wouldn't do this," Jordan said.

  "I can't let him hurt her."

  Michael approached them and took Casey's hands. "For God's sake, Casey. Won't you let them try another way?"

  Casey shook her head. "You don't know what he can do."

  "Please be careful," Michael said.

  Unable to speak, she nodded, wrapping her arms around her husband.

  Forcing herself away, Casey turned and headed for the house.

  Agent Franklin stepped in her path. "Ms. McKinley, I have to strongly urge that you not go in there. You may jeopardize any ability we have to negotiate for both your daughter and Agent Swain."

  Impatient, Casey stepped around Franklin. She remembered being a young agent, too. It was normal to believe there was a chance for negotiation. Only after working with serial offenders did Casey realize that negotiation was not part of the game. "Agent Franklin, consider your advice heard. Thank you."

  She turned to Jordan. "If I'm not out in five minutes, send someone in."

  He took her shoulder and nodded. "Be careful."

  "Ms. McKinley, please."

  Casey took a step toward the house, but Franklin caught her arm.

  "Do you really think you can do better than a team of hostage negotiators?"

  Jordan stepped forward and removed Franklin's arm. "Let her go."

  "I just think—"

  Casey turned back and stepped into Franklin's face. Trying to stay tough, the young agent didn't step back, though she did appear shocked. "If we waste any more time, it's going to be too late for both of them."

  Just then, the sound of a gunshot echoed from inside the house. It was followed by a young girl's scream.

  Chapter 39

  Amy screamed as the FBI agent staggered back and then dropped to the ground. The blood looked like what she'd seen on TV, but Amy knew it wasn't fake. The gun the man had fired was real. The blood that had splattered from the FBI agent's chest was real. She could feel it, sticky and warm on her arms. Oh, God, she couldn't look. She was going to throw up. Someone help her, please.

  Amy closed her eyes, trying to fight off her panic. She shifted, struggling against the tape that held her arms to the chair.

  "Don't worry," the crazy man said. "You'll be moving soon enough."

  The expression on his face made her shiver. She looked at the man groaning on the floor. She was next. He was going to kill her next. "Oh, God." She fought to loosen the tape.

  "I'll be moving you to the operating table in just a minute."

  Amy fought back her tears, but it was too much. She was so afraid. All the stories her mother had told her about what happened to innocent kids. She didn't want to die. Fight, her mother would have told her. Scream and kick and fight.

  The crazy man started to walk toward her, and she was ready to kick him when he was clos
e enough. Just out of her reach, he stopped at the sound of a soft alarm.

  "Looks like our company's coming in for a closer look." He moved away and flipped on what looked like an ancient computer monitor. Amy saw her mother on the screen. "Mom!" she screamed. "He can see you!"

  The crazy man whipped around. "Silence!"

  Amy kicked hard, hitting his knee and knocking him backward. She thought he might fall, but instead he lunged back at her, hitting her hard across the mouth.

  Stunned, Amy felt the warm blood drip into her mouth, the copper taste familiar on her tongue. "Please, Mom," she whispered. "Please help me."

  "Leonardo," her mother's voice called from outside. "Or is it George Allister, or Roy McAllister?"

  Amy started to sob at the sound of her mother's voice. Thank God. Thank God she was there to save her. "Mom," she choked. "Mom, hurry."

  Leonardo smiled, and Amy prayed he wouldn't shoot her mother. Her heart racing, she closed her mouth and prayed.

  Taking his gun off the table, he pointed it at her head.

  Amy whimpered.

  "Tell your mom what I'm doing."

  Amy shook her head.

  Leonardo brought the gun around the back of her head and hit her with it. Knocked forward, Amy felt a rush of heat and then suddenly she was light-headed.

  "Do it," he repeated.

  "Mom," she said.

  "Amy, honey, is that you?"

  Nodding, Amy started to cry harder.

  "Talk to her," he demanded.

  "Mom! Help me."

  "Leonardo, why don't you let me in?" her mom called.

  "How do I know you're alone, Mac?"

  Amy prayed her mother wasn't alone. She wouldn't have come alone. Amy hoped there were a hundred people outside, all waiting to shoot the crazy man.

  "You've got Amy, Leonardo. How stupid do you think I am?"

  He smiled. "I've got my gun pressed to her head right now. I really don't have time to chat, though. Amy and I have some plans."

  Tears ran down Amy's cheeks. She could feel the barrel of the gun press against the spot where he'd hit her. It hurt, and she wanted to rub it.

  "Why don't you let her go, and I'll come join you?"

  "I don't think so, Mac. This is all about Amy."

  "I thought it was about me. You don't want me instead? I'm too big for you? I guess you're not as good as I remember. Getting tired?"

  He flashed an angry smile. "You're predictable, Agent McKinley—or should I say ex-Agent. Our last meeting really changed your life, didn't it? You can join us if you like. I always intended to share this final masterpiece with you."

  Unable to turn in her chair, Amy could hear the doorknob turn, and a ray of light shone across the room.

  "Good to see you. You look surprisingly well. Please stay where you are."

  The gun butted up against the bruise on Amy's head, and she winced in pain.

  "Close the door behind you and move this way slowly. Move too fast, and I'll have to leave you with your other FBI friend."

  Amy struggled to see her mother, but tied to the chair, she couldn't turn around. "Mom."

  "I'm here, baby."

  Her mom came into her view, and Amy began to sob again.

  Casey stood beside her and, hands in the air, gave Amy a kiss on the cheek. "Trust Mommy," she whispered. "You're going to be okay."

  Amy sucked in her breath and nodded.

  "That's Mommy's girl." Turning back to the man, Casey kept her arms up and walked to the FBI agent.

  She knelt beside him.

  "McKinley," he whispered, and Amy was surprised he wasn't dead. Maybe he could still help them. "I'm so sorry," he gasped. "I did everything right in Cincy. Purcell told me it wasn't my fault."

  "I believe you, Rick," Casey answered, shaken. "I'm sorry, too."

  Amy didn't understand what they were talking about.

  Swain whispered something else, and then he was quiet.

  Casey stood and wiped blood on her pants.

  Amy gasped and started to cry again.

  Casey gave her a look as if to tell her it was okay, but Amy didn't think it was. It didn't feel okay.

  "Where would you like me to sit?" Casey asked.

  Stopping her, the man patted down her back and chest, and down her legs.

  "No gun, no wires," she said.

  He nodded quickly. "So it seems."

  Amy didn't understand who was going to save them if her mom didn't even have a gun. Shaking, she just tried to stop crying like a baby.

  The man motioned to another chair, and Casey sat. "So, Kevin—shall I call you that? Or is it still the Butcher?"

  "It's always been Leonardo, Mac. We both know I'm that good."

  Casey shrugged. "Did you arrange to have Billy killed, Leonardo?"

  He smiled. "No. That opportunistic infection was convenient, though, wasn't it?" Holding the gun in one hand, he started to tape her down. "I am surprised you found me," he said. "Pleasantly surprised, though. Amy's going to be so good, it would be a shame not to share her."

  Amy shivered.

  Casey looked at her and gave her the okay sign. Then she turned back to Leonardo. "What about Kevin Wrigley? I ran a background check, and he checked out."

  Leonardo smiled. "He would. He's a real person, someone who worked in the building where I did. We looked a bit alike. I just got hold of some of his business cards."

  "Did you watch the cops come to the scenes?" Casey asked.

  The man laughed. "No, I didn't need to. I could imagine the little circles I had the police running in. But I read the papers and watched the news. It's all very entertaining."

  "You thought you'd be allowed to continue, that we wouldn't catch you?"

  "I've got you and Amy, don't I? I'm not worried about your troops out there because it doesn't matter to me if this is the end." He laughed. "This will make every newspaper in the country. Everyone will realize my talent. This may be my last work of art, but it will also be my masterpiece."

  Amy closed her eyes and tried to block out the sound.

  "As long as you feel that way, Leonardo. 'Cause you're not getting out of here alive."

  He finished taping Casey's legs. Standing, he winked at Amy. "That's okay—neither are the two of you."

  Amy panicked. If her mom was taped down, how would they get away? Why didn't her mother look worried? Was she crazy now, too?

  "You didn't tape her legs, I notice," her mom said, motioning to Amy. "Getting sloppy."

  Leonardo looked back at Amy, and she gasped, struggling to stay calm. Why did her mom say that? Amy saw her mother's hands move, but she couldn't tell what she was doing.

  "She's got quite a kick, doesn't she?" Casey said, smiling at Amy.

  Amy tried to smile back, but she was too scared.

  Leonardo taped down Casey's arms without saying anything. Then, turning his attention back to Amy, he set his gun down and brought the tape over. Starting from behind her, he taped her legs to the chair.

  Amy watched Casey, trying to understand what was going on. Her mother wasn't acting normally. Maybe she wanted to die. She'd come with no gun, and now he was going to kill them both. Amy struggled against the tape, trying to free a leg so that she could kick. Where was her dad?

  Leonardo stood up and faced her, looking pleased with his work. He picked up a thin knife from the table. It was the kind doctors worked with, but she couldn't remember the name. He touched the blade to his thumb and drew blood, lapping it up with a long, disgusting tongue.

  Amy closed her eyes and screamed.

  He took hold of her face and shook it. "You have to pay attention now. This is important."

  She watched, terrified as he brought the knife toward her and then gave her a terrible, scary smile. "This will only hurt a lot."

  Amy screamed again. "Mom!"

  Her mother cried out.

  But the man didn't look at her mother. Instead, he brought the knife down beside her eye, and she could
feel the knife pressed to her skin.

  Amy pulled away, struggling to work free, to escape.

  "We're going to work on your eye today," he explained, sounding calm and reassuring like a normal doctor. "Something new for both of us, I'm sure. There are a series of muscles connecting the eye to the surrounding tissue—rectus muscles above and below the eye. Once we detach those, if you're still with us, we'll hit the optic nerve. We're going to have to be careful, though, lest we hit the central artery of the retina. So, be sure to sit still."

  The blade came into Amy's view and approached her eye. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt the stabbing pain as the knife struck the skin at her eyelid. "Mom! Help me!"

  Chapter 39

  Tears streaming through her line of vision, Casey struggled with the pocketknife she had stashed under her hand when Leonardo looked away. She needed to cut through the tape and then get to Leonardo's gun. She'd known Leonardo used tape from the other crime scenes. Had he switched to rope or something heavier, her plan would have failed. The little knife was her only shot.

  She was almost through half of the tape on the first arm, but he was hurting Amy. Her fingers shook as she struggled to push the knife through the tape. The knife slipped and started to fall from her fingers, but she caught it, the blade stabbing into her palm. Ignoring the blood coming from the small wound, she turned the knife back to the tape.

  Her mind raced across the events of the past weeks. Why hadn't she recognized Kevin's voice? It was as though the drugs that night had somehow warped her brain and his voice became a deep, haunting whisper. But it was real enough now. And now he was hurting Amy. Her own pain came rushing back at her. People always think you can eventually block it out, but you can't. It was there as clearly as the moment he'd cut open her hand. Focus, she told herself, as she carved through the tape.

  * * *

  Her hands shaking, adrenaline began to take over and she broke her way through the first tie. With one arm free, she maneuvered the knife more easily, working desperately, praying that Leonardo wouldn't turn around.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw red soaking into Amy's shirt. Her daughter's blood being spilled by this monster. Amy's screams echoed again and again in her mind. Hadn't five minutes passed? Where the hell was Jordan?