The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 5

by Nora Roberts

  He dreamed of what he would do with Kati—bright, sharp Kati. He had the place for it, just waiting for him. The perfect spot—all the privacy he’d need. And the irony of it tasted sweet as candy.

  Then when he was finished with her—or maybe not quite—he would take Fiona. While they looked for one, he’d take Perry’s lost prize.

  Maybe he’d make her watch while he did things to Kati. Make her watch while he turned her from alive to dead. He’d have so little time with Fiona, wouldn’t that enhance the brevity?

  So he dreamed of two women, bruised and bleeding. Dreamed of their pleading eyes. Dreamed of them begging him, bargaining with him. Doing whatever he told them to do, saying whatever he told them to say. Listening to him as no one ever had.

  He’d be the single focus of their life. Until he killed them.

  He dreamed of a room shuttered from the light, a room washed with red, as if he looked through the thin silk of a red scarf. Dreamed of muffled moans and high, thin screams.

  And woke with a jerk, breath wheezing in, eyes wheeling.

  Someone at the door? His hand shot under the pillow for the .22, the gun he’d use to put a bullet in his own brain should there be no escape.

  He would never go to prison.

  He held his breath, listening. Only the rain, he thought. But it hadn’t been only the rain. A click, a click, like the turn of a knob, but . . .

  His breath eased out again.

  E-mail. He’d left the computer on while he charged it.

  He pulled the laptop back onto the bed, studied the unopened e-mail. The subject line read RSKII, and reading it sent a thrill over his skin.

  Cautious, he checked the sender’s address against Kati’s contact list.

  A new one.

  He sat studying the subject line, the sender’s name, while the thrill ebbed and flowed like a tide. And he opened it.

  Kati Starr:

  I’ve read your stories on RSKII. I think you’re pretty smart. I’m smart, too. I have some information on our mutual interest. Information I think you’ll want for your next article. I could go to the police, but they don’t pay. I want $10,000, and to be reported as an anonymous source. The girl’s already dead, so I can’t help her. I’ll help you and help myself. If you want what I have, let me know by noon tomorrow. After that, I’ll send my offer to someone else.

  EW (Eye Witness)

  “No. No.” He shook his head, jabbed the screen with his finger twice. “You’re lying. Lying. You didn’t see anything. Nobody sees me. Nobody.”

  Except them, he thought. Except the women he killed. They saw him.

  A trick, just a trick. He pushed off the bed to pace the room as the tide over his skin rose high and fast. People were liars. Tricksters.

  He told the truth, in the end he told them the truth, didn’t he? When he tightened the scarf around their neck, he looked them right in the eye and told them. He gave them his name, and told them who killed them and why.

  Simple truth. “My name is Francis Eckle, and I’m going to kill you now. Because I can. Because I like it.”

  So they died with his truth, like a gift.

  But this EW? He—or she—was a liar. Extorting his work for money.

  No one saw him.

  But he thought of the man in line at Starbucks. Of the pimply-faced clerk at the gas mart whose eyes had passed over him with boredom. Of the greasy-haired night clerk at the motel who’d smelled of pot and smirked at him as he handed over the key.

  Maybe.

  He sat again, studied the e-mail again. He could answer it, demand more information before any discussion of payment. That’s what she’d do.

  He poured himself a short glass of whiskey and thought it through.

  He composed a response, editing, deleting, refining as carefully as he might a thesis. When his finger hovered over send, he hesitated.

  It could be a trap. Maybe the FBI was poking a finger in, trying to trap Kati. Or him. He couldn’t see it clearly, so he rose and paced again, drank again, thought it through again.

  Just in case, he decided. Safety first.

  He took a shower, brushed his teeth, shaved the faint shadow over his skull, his face. He stowed all his things in his duffel.

  Moments after he hit send, he left the room. He bought a Coke at vending for the caffeine jolt, but realized he didn’t need it.

  The idea of being seen, the vague possibility of being tricked, energized him. Excited him.

  In some secret part of his heart he hoped he had been seen. It made it all the more worthwhile.

  He gave the trunk a little pat as he passed it. “Let’s take a drive, shall we, Kati?”

  “JESUS, HE ANSWERED IT.” Mantz leaped toward the tech. “He bit. Can you track it to the source?”

  “Give me a minute,” the tech told her, tapping keys.

  EW,

  she and Tawney read:

  I’m very interested in good information. However, I can’t negotiate any sort of payment without more data. Ten thousand is a lot of money, and the paper will require a show of good faith on your part. You claim to be an eyewitness. To what? You’ll have to give me some details, of your choosing, before we can go to the next step.

  I can meet you, in a public place—again of your choosing—if you don’t want to put those details in writing or on the record at this time.

  I’m eager to discuss this.

  Kati Starr

  “Smart enough to know she wouldn’t jump without having more,” Tawney commented. “But curious enough not to ignore it.”

  “And not mobile,” Mantz added. “He has to be holed up somewhere with Internet access. Awake but not moving. It took him less than an hour to answer, and he’d have thought about it first. He was on top of her computer when we sent it.”

  “Got him.” The tech gestured to the screen.

  They set it up on the move. Agents, snipers, hostage negotiators—all with orders to surround, to go in silent.

  “The agent who roused the night clerk said four single men have checked in tonight,” Mantz relayed as they raced through the night. “Two paid in cash. He’s got no holdovers from yesterday, or any day. He can’t make Eckle from the photo, didn’t see any of the cars and can’t say if any of them went into the rooms alone. Basically, he’s stoned and could give a rat’s ass.”

  “Let’s get a team in rooms next to the four check-ins. Hold positions. There’s always the chance he took her in with him.”

  They parked in the lot of the all-night diner next to the motel, donned their vests. As Tawney assessed the lay of the land, he nodded to an agent.

  “Cage, give me the word.”

  “We’ve got it down to two rooms. The other two have dual occupancy of the consenting kind. One’s got a couple banging like it’s the Fourth of July, and the other’s got a woman ragging on a guy about leaving his bitch of a wife. Teams said the walls are like paper. It’s like being there.”

  “The other two?”

  “One’s got somebody snoring loud enough to peel the paint off the walls.” He paused, held up a finger to his earpiece. “Just heard a woman’s voice saying, ‘Shut the fuck up, Harry.’ I’d say that leaves the one. Number four-fourteen. Corner room, back, east side. Team on that says it’s dead quiet. Not a sound.”

  “I want the other rooms covered, and the parking lot blocked off. He doesn’t slip through.”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Desk clerk have a problem with us taking down the door?”

  “He’s stoned to the eyeballs. Said do what we got to do—and probably went back to his bong and porn.”

  Tawney nodded as they walked. “I want to take it down fast. I want lights in there the second it goes down. Blind his ass. The team’s in there and on him like a wolf on a deer. How about the car?”

  “None matching the description or plates on the lot, or in the diner lot.”

  “Could’ve switched it,” Mantz put it. “She could be in one of thes
e. Any of them.”

  “She won’t be for long.”

  He had to hang back, let the take-down team move into position. He wanted to take the door, wanted it like he wanted breath. But he wanted it done clean and fast and safe just a little more.

  It went exactly as he’d ordered. With his weapon drawn, he moved forward as the sounds of Clear! Clear! rang out of the room. His stomach dropped. That wasn’t the response he’d wanted. He knew before he reached the door that Eckle had already slipped through their fingers.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Fiona slathered cream over her damp skin and hummed a tune that got stuck in her head in the shower. She couldn’t quite pin down the song, the lyrics, but the cheery melody suited her mood.

  She felt she’d turned a corner and closed a door. She liked the philosophy that by closing one she could—and maybe already had—opened another.

  Maybe it was naive, but she had every confidence the FBI would track down Francis Xavier Eckle, and quickly, with the new information. Information she’d helped generate.

  She’d kicked her way out of the trunk again, she decided.

  Still humming, she stepped into the bedroom. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise when she saw the bed empty. Usually she’d find Simon sprawled in it, pillow over his head as he clung to those last minutes of sleep—until she went down and made coffee.

  She liked the routine, she thought as she dressed. The easy give and take of it. Liked knowing the dogs were outside for their morning romp, and that Simon would stumble downstairs, with uncanny timing, when the coffee was ready so, in this lovely weather, they’d have it and whatever food came readily to hand on the back deck.

  She supposed the siren’s call of coffee had been too loud for him to resist that morning, or she’d taken too long to suit him in the shower.

  She pulled on her army green Chucks, then spent a few minutes on her hair, her makeup in anticipation of her morning classes. There was a window in the afternoon, she calculated, just wide enough for a trip to the nursery.

  If she couldn’t go alone—not yet—Simon would just have to go through the window with her. She wanted to plant her window boxes.

  She jogged downstairs, the tune in her head juggling with geraniums and petunias and the planned session of obstacle training.

  “I smell coffee!” Her voice danced into the kitchen a few steps ahead of her. “And I’ve got a yen for Toaster Strudels. Why don’t we—”

  She knew the moment she saw his face, and the shadow blocked her sun. “Oh God. Goddamn. Say it fast.”

  “He took the reporter. Kati Starr.”

  “But—”

  “I said it fast.” He pushed the coffee he’d poured into her hands. “Now take this. We’ll sit down and I’ll give you the rest.”

  She made herself sit. “Is she dead?”

  “I don’t know. They don’t know. Tawney called while you were in the shower. He’d hoped to get out here, tell you in person, but he can’t get away.”

  “Okay, that’s okay. They’re sure?” She shook her head before he could speak. “Stupid question. He wouldn’t have called if they weren’t sure. I’m trying to shut up, let you tell me, but words keep shoving into my throat. She’s not the right type. She’s five years out of the age group, at least. She’s not in college, not the right body type. She’s—”

  For the second time, she shook her head. “No, I’m wrong. She’s not Perry’s type. He’s already shown he wants to make his own mark, hasn’t he? He’s tired of doing it Perry’s way. Boy’s all grown up now and wants his own. And she—the reporter—she’s made him a star, she made him important. She gave him a name. She knows him, wouldn’t he think? That makes it more intimate and exciting. More his.”

  She took a breath. “Sorry.”

  “You’re the behavioral specialist, not me. But that’s how I see it.” He studied her face, judged her ready to hear the rest. “He grabbed her last night, from the parking lot where she works.”

  She bit back the urge to interrupt as he took her through it.

  “They nearly had him,” she murmured. “They were never that close with Perry, not so soon after an abduction. She’s still alive. She has to be. Do they think he knows?”

  “They’re going on the theory that he was just being careful, or he was planning to leave the motel before morning anyway. They sent another e-mail claiming they’d seen him burying the last victim while they were camped illegally in the park. He hasn’t responded. Yet.”

  “She’s still alive. The dogs are at the door, wondering what’s taking us so long. Let’s go out. I could use the air anyway.”

  She rose, left her untouched coffee where it was.

  Sensing her mood, the dogs whined, pushed against her legs, shoved noses in her hands.

  “I have such a violent dislike of her,” Fiona told him. “It’s still there, just as intense even though I’m sick knowing what she’s going through right now. It’s a weird tug-of-war.”

  “It’s natural. What she’s going through doesn’t change what she is.”

  “Oh, it will.” Briefly, she pressed her fingers to her eyes, then let them fall. “If she lives, it will. She’ll never be quite the same. He’ll hurt her more than the others because he’s got a taste for that now. Like a dog who bites and gets away with it. If he answers the e-mail, they’ll be able to track him again, even if he keeps moving. They’ll do that stuff they do. Analysis, triangulating, calculating. So she has a better chance than the others. She’ll need it.”

  “They have a little more. They interviewed everybody at the motel, and there was one guy who saw him. He was keeping an eye out for the woman he was meeting and looked out when he heard the car. Mostly he noticed because Eckle parked across the lot, and it was raining hard so it seemed weird.”

  “He saw Eckle? He saw his face?”

  “He didn’t really get a look at him. Eckle had an umbrella, had it angled so his face was behind it—and the guy only glanced out for a few seconds. But he’s sure the car was a dark color—black, dark blue, dark gray—too hard to tell in the rain.”

  “He changed cars, or the color anyway. More they know that he’s unaware of.”

  “The guy’s going to work with an FBI artist. He’s even agreed to try hypnosis. Apparently, he’s into it. They’re working the desk clerk, too. They’re pretty sure he’s ditched the beard.”

  “Okay, that’s as good as it gets.” She tried not to think about the miles of back roads and interstates a beardless man in a dark-colored car could travel or the acres and acres of parkland he could wander.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to go pull the covers over my head, brood and curse God. What I’m going to do is take my morning classes, then drag you to the nursery this afternoon so I can pick out flowers for the window boxes.”

  “Crap. If we’re doing that, I’m going to stop and pick up some lumber and drop some designs off at the Inlet Hotel.”

  “Fine. I have to be back by four.”

  “Then we’ll be back by four.”

  She worked up a smile for him. “Let’s go by and rent a movie while we’re at it. Something fun.”

  “Can it be porn?”

  “No. You have to buy porn movies off the Internet so they come in plain mailers and nobody on the island knows for sure you’re watching porn. Those are the rules.”

  “I’ll settle for nudity and adult language.”

  “Deal.” She laid a hand on his cheek. “I have to prep.”

  He covered her hand with his before she could step back. “We’re stuck now because you wheedled me into falling in love with you. So we get through whatever there is to get through.” He kissed her. “With or without porn.”

  “If I could needlepoint, I swear I’d make that into a sampler.” She kissed him back. “Come on, boys, it’s time for work.”

  ECKLE BOUGHT A COPY of the paper to read at his leisure on the ferry. He’d given Kati another dose that morning
before she’d fully come out from the first.

  He needed her nice and quiet and peaceful. That was one of the mistakes Perry made that he hadn’t—and wouldn’t. Perry had wanted them at least semi-aware while they were trapped—and that’s how Fiona had beaten him.

  Eckle liked the idea of Kati unconscious and helpless in the trunk, appreciated the fresh terror she’d experience when she woke in a different place entirely. As if by magic.

  But for now, he’d just enjoy the ride on the ferry busy with tourists and summer people. He might have preferred to sit in his car the entire way, but he understood that might rouse some suspicion if anyone paid attention. Besides, wandering, mingling, even speaking to people here and there was good practice, and better cover.

  He made a point of talking to a pair of hikers who’d boarded the ferry on foot. In preparation for his time on Orcas he’d studied the trails and parks and campgrounds, and had already visited several on previous trips. So he was able to speak knowledgeably—and gained their gratitude by buying them coffee.

  He waved it off. “I know what it’s like to be your age and hitting the trail. I’ve got a boy about your age. He’s coming out with his mother next week.”

  “You baching it till then?”

  Eckle smiled. The hiker’s name had nearly escaped him. He saw them both as tools to be used. “That’s right. Just me, some peace and quiet and a six-pack.”

  “I hear that. If you decide to hit the trail today, we’re going to start at Cascade Lake.”

  “I might. But I think I’m more inclined to . . .” He knew the expression. What was it? What was it? He felt the back of his neck start to burn as the boys looked at him oddly. “Drown some worms,” he said, imagining pushing both their heads underwater. “Listen, if you’re heading for the lake, I can give you a lift as far as Rosario. Save you the boot leather.”