“But you didn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter. There are some trust issues here. I’m flattered you’re interested, but I’m a mess right now. Christ, I just buried my fiancé. My career is probably over. And we’re chasing a psychopath who is sending me pictures of people she’s going to kill. This isn’t a good time to start a relationship.”
My opinion apparently didn’t matter much to Phin, because he tugged me close, his arms snaking around my waist and holding me so tight I could feel his heartbeat, and kissed me. For a few seconds everything wrong with the world vanished, and we existed only to feed our senses. The cold rain on my cheeks, Phin’s warm tongue on my lips, his strong hands pressing into the small of my back, the sounds of our breathing lost in a thunderclap overhead, the taste of the cinnamon gum he’d been chewing, the ache in my jaw from when I hit the bus and a much different kind of ache building up between my legs.
“We’ll take I-94,” he said, breaking the kiss.
I was a little weak in the knees, and a little out of breath, and I hated him for that but didn’t trust myself to say so. Like everything else that happened that day I’d have to file it away and figure it out later, when I had time.
I followed Phin to his Ford Bronco, climbed into the passenger seat, and didn’t look at him until we reached the expressway.
CHAPTER 24
“GOOD CALL ON THE FISH, CYNTHIA. The prime rib was too well done for my taste. Sure you don’t want any?”
Cynthia shakes her head, the napkin flapping in her mouth like a flag.
According to her driver’s license, her full name is Cynthia Paulino, and she lives in Illinois. After the movie—a cute romantic comedy with Matthew McConaughey—Alex searched the room while asking Cynthia questions about her life. She didn’t remove the gag, so the questions were all yes or no. But Alex was still able to determine that Cynthia was single, had a boyfriend who didn’t want to commit, worked for a company that sold polymers—which are plastics—and was in town to run a trade show booth. The booth gig was boring, and resulted in very few sales, but Cyn liked it because it got her out of the office and the company picked up expenses.
Alex shared as well, talking about what she had done to Lance, what her big plan was, and how she might be obsessing a tad about Jack Daniels.
“She killed the man I loved, I killed the man she loved, so we should be even. But I still can’t stop thinking about her, Cyn. Maybe part of the problem is that I like her. I mean, her sense of morality is really, really infantile. But she’s a good dresser, good with a gun, good with her fists. Kind of like an older sister. You know, before she figured out I was a serial killer, we got along pretty good. Do you have any enemies, Cyn?”
Cyn nods.
“Someone at work?”
Another nod.
“If you want to talk about it, I’ll take your gag out. But a warning first: If you start begging for your life, or try to scream for help, I’ll cut you from your crotch to your breastbone. Got it?”
Cyn bobs her head up and down, then spits out the napkin.
“Can I have some water?” she asks, voice horse.
“No. I like your voice that way. Kind of sexy. Now tell me about this enemy.”
“Her…her name is Gina. Works in Accounting. Has been a real bitch ever since I started there.”
Alex flips onto her stomach, gathering a pillow under her to keep her head propped up.
“What did she do to you?”
“Little things at first. Like asking me really rudely if this is my natural hair color. I mean, of course it isn’t. But she waits until there are people around to try to get a laugh.”
Alex nods. “I hate her already. What else?”
Cyn’s lower lip quivers, but she manages to work through it. “Every time I do one of these trade shows, she acts like a Nazi with the expense account. I mean, if I skip lunch and get a bigger dinner to compensate, she won’t allow it.”
“I bet she’s tough with booze too.”
“No liquor at all, even if I’m taking customers out. They want me to get sales, but they don’t want me to buy a round of beers first? That’s stupid.”
Alex agrees. “Bitch. What else?”
“I can’t be sure, but I think she started a rumor…a rumor…”
Alex reaches out, wipes a tear off Cyn’s face. “Don’t cry. It’s okay. Everywhere I go, people talk about me in whispers. Right in front of me, like I’m blind and deaf as well as scarred. Words can hurt, Cyn. Sometimes they can hurt worse than anything.”
“Please…oh God…please…I don’t want to die…”
Alex frowns, only half of her face responding to the command her brain sends to her mouth.
“Cynthia, we’re having a nice conversation here. Don’t ruin it.”
“Gina…G-Gina doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Nothing matters. It’s all…all bullshit. I still want to get married, have kids. I don’t wanna—”
Alex sighs, stuffs the napkin back into Cynthia’s mouth. She wonders if Jack’s ex-husband is in his room yet, and uses the phone to try him. It rings and rings. Earlier, Alex had called from the lobby phone and let it ring, so she should have gotten a busy signal. Does that mean Alan is in his room and answered the phone earlier? Or that someone in the lobby found a phone off the hook and hung up?
After five more rings, Alex hangs up. She yawns, exhaustion washing over her. A few hours of sleep would be a smart idea. Especially since she wants to tune in and watch Lance during his last moments, which will happen in less than five hours.
Alex looks at Cynthia.
“I’m bushed. How about you, Cyn? Must have been a long day for you. Want to get some shut-eye?”
Cyn looks uncertain, but she nods.
“You should probably go to the bathroom first. If I untie your legs will you walk to the bathroom without giving me trouble?”
A nod. Alex uses the steak knife to cut the nylons binding Cyn’s legs. Cynthia stumbles when she tries to stand, but Alex catches her under the arm and helps her keep her footing.
Cyn looks at the toilet, then looks at Alex. Alex laughs.
“No, I don’t want to watch, Cyn. I’m not a pervert. Let me help you with your pants.”
Alex reaches down and shoves Cyn backward, into the shower. Less mess there.
With her hands tied Cyn lands hard on her butt. As she starts to scream Alex forces the steak knife between her ribs, the blade twitching in her grip as Cyn’s heart tries to keep beating.
Alex checks her uniform, happy that she managed to keep it blood-free. As Cyn dies, feebly trying to remove the knife—impossible because suction is keeping it in—Alex drops her pants and urinates in the toilet.
“Now who’s the pervert?” she says, closing the shower curtain to block Cynthia’s staring. Then she wanders back to bed, undresses, orders a wake-up call for five a.m., and sends Jack the latest picture of Lance, along with another text message. She falls asleep to a pay-per-view slasher movie, amused because the writer got the violence all wrong.
CHAPTER 25
THE PHONE WOKE ME UP. In the darkness of the Bronco’s front seat, I fumbled around for my purse and located it by my feet. On the third ring I fished it out and flipped the top open, hearing several beeps.
Alex. Sending me another picture. Phin glanced over at me while I accessed it.
Lance appeared even worse than before, his face contorted with pain and blurred by motion. The lighting was a little better this time, the burn marks on his chest darker and more pronounced. I held it up for Phin, who divided his attention between the photo and the road.
“Are those letters?”
“Where?”
“His wounds,” Phin said. “Connect the dots.”
I traced my fingernail over the burns, and the letters seemed to pop out at me.
There was also a text message.
FOUR HOURS LEFT.
“What the hell is Zd?” I asked.
“One of t
he elements? Zirconium?”
“That’s Zr.”
“Maybe an abbreviation. Or initials.”
I closed my eyes, tried to think. Zd meant absolutely nothing to me. Maybe something in connection with Lance? Bomb squads? Some kind of explosives or equipment? Or something to do with Milwaukee?
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Just across the Wisconsin border. Got about forty minutes left.”
I wanted to call Herb, but I promised myself I wouldn’t bother him again. Harry was probably still occupied with the Feds. Hajek was almost certainly occupied with the authorities as well, and I had no delusions that a few strands of hair turned him from adversary into ally. That left Detective Tom Mankowski, still in Indiana. I fished out my personal cell and found his number.
“Lieutenant? I haven’t been able to get in my car yet. Did you talk to Hajek?”
“Yeah. Cop’s name is David Strang, out of Milwaukee. Look, Tom, things have gotten complicated, and I’m persona non grata with both the CPD and the Feds. Alex just sent me another picture. It’s Lance again, but this time the burns on his chest look like letters. Capital Z, small d. Mean anything to you?”
“Not a thing. You sure it’s a Z and not the number 2?”
“Could be a 2. Does 2d mean anything to you?”
“Two-dimensional, obviously, but I don’t see how that’s a clue. Alex did this as some kind of hint, right?”
“Probably.”
“I read her shrink report. She has a genius IQ.”
I sighed. Why did all the serial killers I chased have to be brilliant criminal masterminds? Where were all the psychos with average intelligence?
“I’m forwarding the photo and a text message to you. Pass it along. If the Milwaukee PD finds Lance, let us know. We’re going to keep searching until we hear news.”
Hopefully the news would be “he’s safe” instead of “he’s dead.”
“Happy hunting, Lieut.”
Mankowski hung up. I spent a few minutes fiddling with the cell phone, sending him the info.
“We’re also low on gas.”
I nodded, my mind attacking the Zd problem. What the hell was Alex trying to tell me? Zee dee. Two dee. Zee dee. Two dee…
“Wasn’t she one of the girls on The Facts of Life?” Phin said. “Tootie?”
“Did I say that out loud?”
“Six or ten times.”
I rubbed my eyes. “I’m pretty sure Alex isn’t pointing us to an old sitcom.”
“Apartment number?”
“Two dee. That works.”
“Something to do with the Marines? Squad 2d?”
“I’m drawing blanks.”
Alex’s phone rang. I steeled myself, answered.
“What do you want, Alex?”
“Not Alex. It’s Harry. I called on that phone because they’re tracing and tracking your other one. Stay off of it.”
Stupid. Now they knew Mankowski was helping me. How was I supposed to catch Alex when I was making rookie mistakes?
“Aren’t you in federal custody, McGlade?”
“Hell, no. I cut a deal.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of deal?”
“Jesus, Jack. Don’t be so paranoid. I’m not going to betray my own flesh and blood.”
“It’s Phin?” I asked. “I thought you two were friends.”
“It’s not like he’s an innocent bystander, Jackie. He robbed a bank. You do the crime, you do the time. Point is, now I’ve got some breathing room, and I’ve been looking at that photo of Lance.”
“His name is David Strang.” I gave Harry the blow-by-blow.
“Good. Send me the new pic and text. And don’t bother with residential. He’s in a hotel or motel, maybe a bed and breakfast.”
“How do you know?”
“In the upper right-hand corner of the picture, on the nightstand, under the pigstick. Looks like the edge a red piece of paper. I enhanced the detail.”
“What is it?”
“It’s when I use a computer program to tighten the pixel pattern by adjusting contrast and color.”
He did that on purpose. I kept my voice even.
“What did the enhancement show you, McGlade?”
“It’s part of a Do Not Disturb sign. So she’s holding him in a room somewhere.”
“How many hotels in Milwaukee?”
“Lemme check.” I heard fingers on a keyboard. “According to the Yellow Pages, only about six hundred. But that might include some overlaps.”
“Search for Zd and 2d.”
“Searching. A million hits on Zd. Wine. Digital cameras. Nothing pops out. For 2d, got two hundred million hits. Looks like a lot of computer tech stuff. Lemme try to cross-ref with Lance’s name, motels, Milwaukee, and so on. Maybe a combination of terms will give us something. I’ll call you back.”
Harry hung up. My stomach rumbled, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten anything. That made me remember the steaks I owed Herb. While waiting for Harry I put in a call to 1-800-MEATS4U and their twenty-four-hour customer ser vice representative suggested the Meat Lover’s Package, which included assorted steaks, burgers, chicken filets, and a Turduckinlux. I opted for the BBQ flavor over the savory garlic and rosemary.
Phin pulled into an oasis, up to the station. He parked, switched off the truck, and unbuckled his belt. But rather than get out and pump gas he sat there, staring straight ahead, fingers drumming the steering wheel.
“Harry going to turn me in?”
I nodded. “I’m surprised. I thought you guys had that macho code of honor thing. Death before betrayal and all that.”
“McGlade doesn’t owe me anything.”
“So you would betray him too?”
“If I had to.”
“Would you betray me?”
Phin stared at me, his blue eyes hard.
“No.”
Which made me feel even worse about almost shooting him. He opened his mouth to say something more, probably to explain himself, and I didn’t want to hear it so I put my finger over his lips to silence him. His mouth parted slightly, my fingertip brushing against the top of his teeth, and I pulled away and got out of the car before I gave in to all the dirty things I was thinking.
“Fill it up, I’ll pay inside.”
I walked into the mini-mart, and was assaulted by the cloying smell of hot dogs cooked way too long. It made my stomach rumble again. I’m proud to say that I’d never indulged in gas station cuisine, but I was almost hungry enough to start.
First things first, though. There was something weighing on my mind more than food. Something that had been troubling me for hours.
I wandered the short aisles, found the one with birth control. The store had the average assortment of jellies, foams, and condoms. I found what I needed and took it to the counter, breaking down and also getting a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa. I grabbed a twelve-pack of bottled water, a box of granola bars, and a handful of beef jerky as well.
“This and what ever is on pump five,” I told the attendant. He was young, scruffy, wearing a greasy baseball cap with an unnaturally curved rim that he must have spent some serious time shaping. He smirked at me when he saw my purchases, and then looked out the window at Phin and smirked again. I had an urge to slap him.
“Might want to check the expiration date,” he said. “Those things expire.”
He wasn’t referring to the chips. And embarrassing as it was, he had a point. I turned over the package, found the date on the side panel. Still good for another six months.
Phin was still pumping, so I asked Smirking Boy where the bathroom was, and took the box with me.
As expected, the bathroom looked like a swamp creature blew up in there while engaging in every possible bodily function. I triple-plied the toilet paper on the seat, dropped my sweatpants, and sat down, staring at the three letters on the box.
EPT.
Latham and I practice
d safe sex. I was in my late forties, but still a fertile Myrtle, and we weren’t sure having a kid in college while we zeroed in on seventy was the way we wanted to spend our golden years.
But condoms were only 98 percent effective, and by my math, that meant condom use resulted in pregnancy one out of fifty times.
Latham and I had sex more than fifty times.
Still, it was virtually impossible. There hadn’t been any breaks. Hadn’t been any oops. My late period was the result of stress, not pregnancy.
It had to be.
I put a hand to my belly, overwhelmed by feelings. Fear, anxiety, depression, anger, worry, and something else. Something I wasn’t expecting.
Hope.
Jesus, part of me was hoping I was pregnant.
I read the box.
Opened the package.
Peed on the stick.
Waited.
Waited.
Waited.
Looked.
Read the box again.
Cried. Cried so hard I couldn’t catch my breath.
I must have been in there too long, because someone began to knock on the bathroom door.
“I’ll be right out,” I said, but through the sobs it sounded more like “Abeeiooud.”
“Jack?”
Phin.
I unrolled some toilet paper, swabbed my face.
“Jack? You okay?”
I wrapped the pregnancy test in paper, held it over the toilet, and stopped. I realized I didn’t want to throw it away. Instead I stuffed it into my purse.
“Jack? I’m coming in.”
“I’m fine,” I said, more in control now. “I’ll be right out.”
I washed my hands, avoided looking in the mirror because it wouldn’t have improved my mood, and unlocked the door to Phin standing there, all sympathetic and concerned.
This annoyed me. I wondered if the real reason he’d never betray me was because I had two X chromosomes, and the little woman needed to be protected by the big strong man, which was BS because I’ve beaten up bigger guys than him.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, pushing past him.
I threw some money at Smirking Boy, who hadn’t bothered bagging anything. I tucked beef jerky into my pockets, and shoved the granola bars under my armpit.
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