“Yeah, I figured as much. Why don’t you go change and clean yourself up a little while we wait for them to leave? Can’t do much with them here.”
Steve would much rather be in Sam’s apartment looking for something that would tell him what had happened and where she had gone. There was no way Sam would have just up and left in the middle of baking like that without a damn good reason, not when she knew he was on his way.
If he thought for one moment Chief Petraski would actually listen, he would bring him up to speed, but the chief had already proven incapable of being objective when it came to Sam. Besides, while the Anthony Cavatelli theory made perfect sense, they had absolutely nothing in the way of supporting evidence. No, they were going to have to handle this themselves until they had viable proof.
By the time he took a quick shower, changed, and slapped some butterfly tape on his head wound, the last of the firemen were leaving. He and Doc waited until the hallway was quiet, then went next door. Ignoring the yellow tape across the door and the “By the Order of the Fire Marshall” post affixed to the door, they picked the lock and were inside in less than a minute.
Steve looked around, his chest tight. The acrid stench of smoke filled the small space, along with the chemical scent of whatever extinguisher they had employed. The door to the oven hung open, the twisted metal pan holding the charred, blackened remains of the muffins. Canisters of flour and sugar sat open on the counter, along with a jar of applesauce and a half-full carton of eggs.
He knew Sam wasn’t there, but he looked around, anyway, searching for some clue of what might have happened.
Sam’s lightweight jacket still hung on a hook by the door, her purse beneath it. A quick check showed her wallet was still there, as were her keys.
“Hey, Smoke, over here.” Doc was crouched down, reaching under the small breakfast bar that doubled as a table. “Recognize this?”
It was Sam’s phone. Steve took it from Doc and saw his two missed calls. A few swipes showed no texts or calls between the time she had talked to him and then.
“Where the hell are you, Sam?”
Chapter Twelve
Steve’s phone signaled an incoming call. He reached for it, hoping to hear Sam’s voice but getting Church’s instead.
“Heads-up, Smoke. The police chief is headed your way and he doesn’t look happy. Take the back way. We’ll meet up on the north side of the park in five. Cage called. You’re going to want to hear what he has to say.”
Less than five minutes later, Steve and Doc jogged silently up to the waiting SUV. They climbed in and took off.
Church drove them out to the resort where they gathered in Church’s trailer. Cage and Mad Dog were already there, their expressions serious. The small place looked even smaller with the six of them filling the small space.
Steve sucked down the suffocating sense of panic that tried to take hold, focusing on Sam to keep the worst of it at bay.
“Tell him,” Church said the moment they walked in.
Cage’s face was grim. “A couple months after his release from the psychiatric facility, Cavatelli popped up in Brenner’s Gap, a town about twenty miles from here. He got a job in some small-time community theater. The place closed up shortly afterward.”
“Let me guess,” Steve said. “A fire?”
“Ding, ding, ding! Give the man a cookie. The theater went up in flames after a performance. Luckily, no one was around.”
“So, what happened to Cavatelli?”
“No one knows. He just vanished.” Cage shrugged. “I have to call in to Tex about pulling his juvie records. Maybe he’ll be able to find something I missed.”
“Shit. Don’t you have any good news?”
“Well, I did manage to get a hit on that partial plate, but I’m not sure if you’ll consider it good news or not. The only vehicle with those numbers matching the make and model you saw is registered to an eighty-two-year-old woman named Constance Himmelwright, who just happens to live on the same floor as you and Sam.”
Steve scowled. He knew Mrs. Himmelwright. She scowled at him every time he saw her in the hallway. “That definitely wasn’t an eighty-two-year-old woman I saw pointing a cell phone my way.”
“You’re right about that,” Cage agreed, tapping a few buttons on his laptop. “And the security camera covering that section of the lot agrees with you.” He turned the laptop so the screen was facing them. “Male, Caucasian, looks about the right age to be our guy. The image isn’t crystal clear, but it should be enough to feed into a good facial recognition program and compare it with any photos Tex can dig up.”
“Will that work?”
“People age, but their bone structure doesn’t change. I mentioned the security cam footage to Tex, and he said he knows a guy with some kick-ass facial recognition software. Says if we can dig up a photo of Cavatelli, even an old one, they’ll be able to tell if it’s him.”
“But what’s the connection, if any, between Cavatelli and the old lady?”
“I don’t know, but maybe she does.”
“Smoke, it’s after midnight.”
Late or not, Steve wasn’t going to waste time waiting when every minute might count. Sam was missing, and there was no longer a question in his mind that Cavatelli had something to do with that.
“Midnight, seven p.m.—probably the same to her. She’s eighty-two.” In fact, Steve didn’t recall seeing her outside the apartment building with everyone else. It was entirely possible that she had slept right through all the excitement.
Things were quiet when they made it back to the apartment building. The fire and police vehicles were gone, and the residents were safely back inside.
Steve’s repeated knocks on Mrs. Himmelwright’s door went unanswered.
“Hey, bud, do you know what time it is?” The lady from down the hall stuck her head out of her door.
“Sorry, ma’am. Just checking on Mrs. Himmelwright. Have you seen her since the fire, by any chance?”
The woman looked at Steve, Doc, and Church. “You live in 7C,” she said, her eyes landing once again on Steve.
“Yes, ma’am. And I’m concerned because I didn’t see Mrs. Himmelwright outside with everyone else. I just want to make sure she’s all right.”
“Now that you mention it, neither did I. Hang on; let me call the building manager. He can bring up a key.”
Steve wasn’t happy about having to wait. He would have preferred to put his lock-picking skills to use once again and be done with it. But a warning look and nod from Church had him saying, “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Fifteen minutes later, the grumbling building manager stepped off the elevator. His knocks, too, went unanswered. When he suggested calling the police before barging in, Steve took the keys from him and opened the door himself.
And suddenly, he knew what the connection was.
* * *
Sam came to with a pounding headache. She tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness and nausea made her close her eyes until the feeling calmed enough that hurling was not a foregone conclusion.
Breathe in slowly. Breathe out slowly. Listen.
The cotton in her mouth seemed to be filling her ears as well, a slight buzzing hum that slowly faded to crackles and pops. Opening her eyes, her vision slowly cleared until she was able to take in her surroundings. It looked like someone’s living room, but an unfamiliar one. The only light came from the fireplace, bathing the space in a warm, flickering glow. It was enough to see the bouquets of wildflowers scattered around the room.
Where the hell was she?
“Here, take these. They’ll help.”
Sam started at the dark figure who suddenly appeared in the doorway, holding out a glass of water in one hand and a couple of pills in the other.
As he closed the distance between them, the evening’s events came back to her in a rush.
“Where’s Mrs. Himmelwright? What did you do to her?”
The corners of his lips
quirked. “Go on; it’s okay. Just water and ibuprofen.” What was her elderly neighbor’s voice doing coming out of his mouth?
The last moments in her apartment flashed back to her. Mrs. Himmelwright asking her to call the building manager, then strong arms grabbing her and shoving something over her mouth and nose. Arms that were far too strong to belong to an old woman.
Her head throbbed as she tried to connect the dots. Mrs. Himmelwright wasn’t actually an old woman, but a young man with glittering dark eyes? Could that be right?
“Who are you? What happened? Where are we?”
The man sighed, putting the water and pills down on the side table. “Don’t you remember me, Samantha?”
She blinked. The guy knew her name? And he looked hurt that she didn’t know his.
Her eyes scanned the room again, looking for something that might lend a clue, but she came up empty. This time, her awakening brain noted the boarded-up windows and old, outdated furnishings. Piles of dirt and debris hastily swept toward the corners. Graffiti, some legible, some not, spray painted on walls where framed paintings still hung.
A living room, yes, but one that hadn’t known human occupants for a decade or more.
She looked back at the man before her, knowing with sudden clarity that she was face-to-face with her stalker. A stalker who had quite convincingly pretended to be her elderly neighbor. Had he assumed other personas, as well? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but her brain overrode the words before she could say them.
Don’t antagonize him. Remain calm. Gather information.
“I’m sorry. My head’s a little fuzzy right now. Can you give me a hint?”
He seemed to relax a little and offered an indulgent smile. “Like a game! Of course. It has been a while, and I suppose I’ve changed a lot, as have you. I’m no longer that skinny, awkward boy who used to help you unload your grandparents’ bakery truck when you came to the resort, and you’ve grown even more beautiful.”
Her mind worked frantically against the lingering fog. The resort he mentioned … He could only be talking about Matt’s place. That was the only resort for miles that her grandparents had dealt with. Vague images of a young boy came to mind. Younger than her, he used to run out to meet them at the back entrance. He would stick to her like glue until it was time to leave. What the hell was his name?
“Anthony?”
His smile was brilliant. “You do remember!”
“Of course I do,” she said, managing a weak smile, even as her heart pounded and more memories rose to the surface.
Her grandparents hadn’t liked him, not at all. In a rare moment of concern, her grandfather had told her that the boy had “the crazy in his eyes,” and that she was not to go anywhere with him. At the time, she had thought her grandparents were just doing their usual best to squelch anything even remotely fun. Sure, there was something different about Anthony, but he had always been nice to her. Then, when she had seen how the staff and guests went out of their way to avoid him, she hadn’t had the heart to do the same. Now it seemed her subtle childhood rebellion and soft heart had come back to bite her in the backside.
Well, there was nothing she could do about that now. Clearly, he was delusional, but she had no idea how far gone he was or what he had in mind. The best thing she could do was learn as much as she could, including where they were, and stay alive until an opportunity presented itself or someone found them.
Steve! Steve had been on his way to see her when Mrs. Himmelwright—no, Anthony—had shown up. How much time had passed since then? Did Steve know she was missing, or did he think she had simply changed her mind?
No, Steve wouldn’t think that. He had said he wanted to talk, and she had told him she was making muffins.
The muffins! Had Anthony thought to turn off the oven, or had he left them baking? Had she unintentionally done exactly what the fire chief suspected her of doing and caused a fire that might have hurt people? Hurt Steve?
Sam reined in her panic. Steve was smart. Steve was strong. Steve believed in her. He would know something happened, that she wouldn’t just blow him off. If she couldn’t find a way out of this herself, he was her Plan B.
Now, though, it was time to put Plan A into action—make nice with the crazy guy and appeal to his sense of reason.
“It has been a long time. How have you been, Anthony?”
His expression darkened before clearing again. He shrugged. “None of that matters. Now that you and I are together again, things will be better. Do you like the flowers?”
“Yes, the flowers are lovely, thank you.”
“I wasn’t sure,” he said, his dark eyes glistening in the firelight. “You didn’t seem to appreciate the others I sent you.”
“I didn’t know they were from you. You never signed your name.”
His lips pursed together, and then he nodded. “Fair enough.”
“Anthony, I’d love to catch up with you, but could we do this another time? I don’t feel so good. I’d like to go home.” Sam didn’t think simply asking nicely would work, but it was worth a shot.
“You already are,” he said with another grin. “Welcome to your new home, Samantha.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Jesus.” Steve stared around the room, shocked by what he saw. Mirrors, costumes, and a huge eight-foot folding table piled high with makeup, Styrofoam heads with wigs, and an assortment of beards and mustaches.
“Looks like Jim Henson threw up in here,” Doc murmured, picking up a familiar blue-tinted, curly wig. “Well, I think it’s safe to say we found the connection. Gotta say, I didn’t see that one coming.”
“How do you want to play this, Smoke?”
Steve shot a glance at the building manager, who looked like he had just entered the Twilight Zone. That made four of them. “Why don’t you take care of calling the cops?” Steve suggested.
“Yeah, yeah. Good idea. Uh, what should I tell them?”
“Tell them the truth. You received a call from a concerned resident and came up to check on Mrs. Himmelwright.”
“Right.”
“Probably best to call from your office. Don’t want to touch anything that might be evidence.”
“Yeah, evidence. Good point. What about you guys?”
“No need to mention us. We were just here to provide backup in case you needed it.”
The building manager pulled his eyes away from the costumes and props to look at the three men surrounding him. Realization dawned in his eyes. “Hey, are you guys special ops or something?”
“Or something,” Church said vaguely.
“I knew it! Well, you can count on me.” Dave stood taller. “Private David Yocum, National Guard, at your service.”
“At ease, Private,” Church said, his voice commanding and authoritative. “Five minutes is all we need.”
“Understood, sir.”
Doc smiled after the building manager left. “Laid it on a bit thick there, didn’t you, sir?”
Church’s lips quirked. “Okay, let’s do a quick sweep and see what this crazy bastard left for us to find.”
Steve wasted no time. The layout was exactly the same as his apartment. He headed for the bedroom, his stomach roiling when he flipped on the light and saw the walls plastered in pictures of Sam. Sam at the coffee shop. Sam stepping out of the building. Sam on her balcony, sipping tea.
Forcing the panic down, he looked for something, anything that might provide a clue as to where he had taken her, but found nothing. Doc and Church hadn’t had much luck, either.
Church’s phone chimed, breaking the silence.
“It’s Cage.” He raised it up to his ear. “Church. Got it. On our way.”
“Tell me something good,” Steve said.
“Tex came through. He thinks he knows where we can find Cavatelli.”
Thank God.
Steve was certain that when they found Cavatelli, they would find Sam. Cavatelli’s future was bleak at best, but
if even one hair on Sam’s head had been harmed, Cavatelli was going to experience firsthand the extreme prejudice of a pissed off Navy SEAL.
“He’s mine.”
They made plans to meet up at Church’s in thirty minutes. After a brief stop at Steve’s apartment to pick up some of his favorite toys, they were on the road before the cops arrived.
He wasn’t the only one who had grabbed his toys. By the time they made it to the trailer, the others were already there, dressed in tactical gear, armed and ready.
“Sounds like little Anthony was even more fucked up than we thought,” Heff said after reading the reports Cage had forwarded to them. “Being a pyro is just the tip of the iceberg. He’s a delusional psychopath, too.”
“How the hell did they let this guy out?” Mad Dog mused.
“He’s a delusional psycho, but apparently, an accomplished actor, as well,” Doc told them. “You should have seen his place. The guy probably had two dozen different identities. Convincing a couple of overworked docs he had it under control was undoubtedly easy.”
“Add in an overcrowded, underfunded state facility, and they were probably only too happy to believe he’d changed and showed him the door.”
That was all great, but they could discuss this on the road. Steve’s skin felt tight, and his adrenaline was pumping. They needed to go.
“So, where is he now?” he asked impatiently.
“According to Tex, Cavatelli’s first couple of years were spent with his mom in a small mining town about a hundred miles northwest of here. The town’s abandoned now. Everyone was evacuated when they discovered the underground mines were on fire and there was no way to put them out. Tex turned a couple of satellites that way and says there are signs of possible activity up there.”
“Holy shit, the guy can control satellites? I thought you said he was a civilian.”
“I never said that,” Cage said. “I said he wasn’t an active duty SEAL.”
“Might just be kids or thrill seekers,” Heff interjected.
“Maybe, but it’s the best lead we have right now.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Anxious to get out of the cramped quarters and be on their way, Steve pushed open the door and pointed his boots in the direction of the vehicles.
Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Protecting Sam (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 10