Something Wicked: HarperImpulse Romantic Suspense

by Campbell, Angela

  Alexandra heard enough as she passed to speculate the men were brothers who didn’t get along. One wanted the other gone.

  Some families. Geez.

  She had her head tilted, trying to gather whether or not she should go help Graham, when she bumped into someone coming from the opposite direction. “Oh!”

  “Miss King. We need to stop running into each other like this.”

  Alexandra glanced up, slightly startled, and relaxed. It was that medical examiner. What was his name? Watkins, or something like that. The guy who’d seen her faceplant her first day here.

  “You aren’t kidding.” She smiled. “Were you here to see Reedus?”

  He nodded. “They’re releasing him. Wanted to wish him well before he left.” His face scrunched as he lifted a thumb and angled it down the hall. “You knew they moved him to a different room, right?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Truth was, she’d lied to Graham to get the other woman to stop by the hospital. Dylan would have a hissy fit if he knew they’d detoured from his orders. An ache at the back of her head caused her to wince. She got headaches a lot, usually after she’d opened herself up to the other side and chatted with a few ghosts for a while. Sickness was a nasty side effect she often had to deal with.

  A wave of nausea accompanied the sharp pain. Great. A migraine was coming on.

  She’d been pushing herself too hard.

  “Here. I’ll show you his room.” Watkins placed his hand on her back and directed her around the empty gurney sitting in the hall.

  Watkins was suddenly drinking a beer at the Southend Brewery. He was watching someone.

  He was watching her and Dylan. He wore a dark cap over his head. The old lady demon was standing right beside him. He pulled something out of his coat pocket and placed it on the bar. The grim reaper drawing on the napkin.

  As quickly as the scene flashed through her mind, it was gone.

  Alexandra gasped and glanced up at Watkins. He was watching her closely. His eyes behind his glasses were dark. Empty. Dangerous.

  This man was the killer.

  She opened her mouth to scream but he reacted too fast, grabbing her, lifting a white cloth to her mouth and crowding her against the wall. She inhaled the smell of something sweet. Her body betrayed her, immediately relaxing and going limp against him as she struggled to stay conscious. She tried to push the cloth away, but she was too weak. His hand held it firm against her mouth, forcing her to breathe in the scent.

  A few seconds later he maneuvered her onto the gurney, covered her with a sheet, and she sank into the quiet oblivion of sleep.

  ***

  Dylan looked through the window at the man seated alone in the interrogation room.

  Curly dark hair. Eyeglasses. Button-down shirt that was soaked from sweat at the underarms. This guy could have been anyone. Average Joe.

  His name was Bill Hardman. An accountant. Lived near the Battery.

  Their suspect shifted in his seat and kept looking at the watch on his wrist. Every now and then he took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

  Dylan flipped through the pages of the man’s original statement that had been hastily typed up by Officer Vinson. The guy sure knew a lot. Method of killing. What types of calling cards had been left at each murder scene. Where the victims had been taken from.

  Dylan shook his head. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

  Hands on his hips, Vinson grunted. “Had the same feeling. It’s too easy. Guy doesn’t strike me as a killer. Something’s got him rattled.”

  “Let’s go find out if we’re right.”

  Hardman’s eyes widened when Dylan opened the door and stepped into the room, Vinson behind him. “Mr. Hardman. We already have your confession. You understand you can have a lawyer present for questioning?”

  The man swallowed, hard. “No lawyer.”

  Dylan took the seat across from him. “Why ‘no lawyer’? Everyone always wants a lawyer.”

  Hardman blinked rapidly and glanced at his watch. “I don’t want one. Can we just get on with this?”

  Dylan leaned back, relaxed, in his chair. “You have somewhere you need to be? Hate to tell you, buddy, but you’re not going anywhere for a while.”

  Hardman’s right leg was bouncing, causing his entire body to shake. “I confessed. I’m the killer.”

  Dylan opened the file in front of him and removed two of the crime scene photos. He slid them across the table and watched Hardman closely for a reaction. Eyes widened, the man’s face turned at least three shades paler.

  “So you did this?” Dylan tapped the last photo. “Even this one?”

  “Yeah, I did them all.” He tore his gaze away from the second photo, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of it.

  Dylan glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Vinson. The other cop nodded. “Well, that’s funny.” He tapped the second photo. It was from a different crime scene, already solved, five years old. The woman in the picture had a small-caliber bullet wound to the chest. “I don’t think you killed anyone. That makes me wonder, how do you know so much? Are you an accomplice?”

  The man shot another quick look at his watch. “I told you. I’m the killer! Please, release my name to the press. That’s all I ask.”

  “Why should we release your name?” Dylan shrugged. “I see no reason to charge you.”

  The man’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears and something Dylan could only describe as panic.

  “Okay.” Dylan leaned forward. “What kind of car did you use when you killed these people?”

  Hardman’s gaze moved to where Vinson was standing, then back to Dylan. “A van. I used a van.” He paused. “I rented it.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  That was all it took for the accountant’s demeanor to crumble. Bursting out with a sob, he begged, “Please, just release my name to the press.”

  “Why?”

  Hardman shook his head. “He’ll kill my daughter if you don’t.”

  “Who’ll kill your daughter?”

  The man could hardly speak through his tears now. “A man…called me this morning. There was a package at my desk. Pictures of my little girl on the playground.” He sniffed and struggled for composure. “I’m a single father. My daughter, she’s only in first grade. He knew her name. Knew her teachers. Knew what she’d been wearing this morning. He told me what to say. Said he’d kill her if I didn’t confess. He wanted me to come in at three o’clock exactly.” His chin trembled. “He told me what he’d do to her if I didn’t.”

  Dylan swore. The sick sonofabitch had wanted a diversion. That was all this was. “Mr. Hardman, your daughter is going to be okay.” Standing and turning to Vinson, he ordered, “Get some officers to her school. I want his daughter found and in custody. Get someone in here to take this man’s statement. His real one this time.”

  Vinson nodded and hurried out of the room. Dylan wasn’t long after him.

  He pulled out his phone and dialed Alexandra’s number. It went straight to voicemail. Worry clawed at his chest as he called dispatch and asked to be connected with Graham.

  She responded promptly.

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re at the hospital. Alexandra said you wanted us to stop and pick up something from Detective Reedus.”

  “Is she with you?”

  There was a pause. “She’s just down the hall.”

  Dylan was already hurrying toward his cruiser. “Dammit! I told you not to let her out of your sight.”

  “It was just down the hall.” There was static for several seconds. “Collins, I don’t see her. She’s not where she’s supposed to be. Reedus hasn’t seen her either.”

  Dylan swore.

  “I’m on my way there. Find her.”

  How could he have been so stupid? This psychopath had already made it clear he enjoyed toying with the police. Dylan should have never left Alexandra at the deli.

  He was pushing through the doors to the parking
lot when a familiar face headed into the building jolted him back.

  What the—?

  He hadn’t seen his older brother in years, but not much had changed. Zach had filled out, was a little taller, but Dylan would know him anywhere.

  He held up a hand as his brother strode toward him with purpose. “I can’t deal with you right now.”

  Zach wouldn’t let him pass. “Something’s happened to Alexandra, hasn’t it?”

  Dylan hesitated. “What do you know? Did she call you? Where is she?”

  “I haven’t spoken to her in a couple of days.” Zach pushed a hand through his hair and glanced around. “I didn’t even know the real reason she was here until this morning.”

  He did not have time for this. “Look, man, I get it, but I have a bit of an emergency right now. Can we do this later?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. He had to find Alexandra.

  Zach hurried to match his pace. “Alexandra is in trouble. I’m responsible for this. I’m going with you.”

  Dylan grunted. “You’re accepting responsibility for something? That’s a first.” He opened the driver’s door of his cruiser. “I didn’t say my emergency involved Alexandra.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Zach opened the passenger side. “I know the woman.”

  What the hell? Maybe Zach could help him track her down. Right now he wasn’t adverse to any help he could get. “Get in.”

  He didn’t wait for his brother to buckle up. He gunned it out of the parking space and put his lights and siren on.

  Vinson’s voice chirped over the radio, addressing Dylan. He lifted the radio. “What’ve you got for me?”

  “Hardman’s daughter is safe. She doesn’t remember anything unusual. It was just a distraction.”

  “Copy that. I’m on my way to the hospital. Call McCormick in. Tell him to meet me there.”

  Neither he nor Zach said anything for several seconds. It was odd to be sitting in a car with a relative he hadn’t seen in, what?, close to fifteen years without fireworks, drama, something happening. The silence grated on his nerves. “Alexandra told me why you left home. That all true?”

  Zach’s expression gave nothing away. “I don’t know what she told you. Never talked to her about it.”

  Dylan didn’t want to have a heart to heart with his brother right now, but he couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. “Ray never laid a hand on me. I didn’t know.”

  He glanced at his brother. Zach was looking out the window, but Dylan heard the humor in Zach’s voice when he said, “Alexandra is good at what she does, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah, she is.”

  “Did you ask her to help with this case you’re working, or did she volunteer?”

  “What do you think?”

  Zach rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I think I’m gonna kill that woman when I see her.”

  “Why are you here, Zach? How did you know she’s in trouble?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Not too long ago, that would have been true. “Try me.”

  “Mom.”

  “What?”

  Zach blew out a deep breath. “Mom told my girlfriend’s cat everything. Begged me to get down here to help. She said things were going bad, fast.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Zach shook his head. “It’s not a con, Dylan. I really am psychic.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Dylan lifted his radio. “Graham, what’s your situation?”

  A few seconds later, the officer responded, “No sign of Miss King yet. A few patrols came to assist. We’re still searching.”

  Dylan swore and directed the car toward the hospital’s main entrance. “Zach, what the hell did your girlfriend’s cat tell you. What do you think you know?”

  He felt his brother’s piercing gaze summing him up. “There’s a serial killer. Calls himself the Grim Reaper. Alexandra is meant to be his last victim.”

  “What do you mean, last victim?”

  “There’s some evil stuff going down here. This guy isn’t making his own decisions. He plans to kill himself. Complete whatever sick plan that’s been put in his head. He’s being influenced by something…something evil.”

  “A cat told you all that?”

  “Some of it came from the dog.”

  Dylan shot his brother an incredulous look as he parked the car at the curb. “I think you’d better stop talking now.”

  “Agreed.” Zach pushed out the passenger side, but not before Dylan caught the half smirk on his older brother’s face.

  Zach had never been much of a practical joker, so what was he playing at? Did he really think he could suddenly talk to cats and dogs?

  Man, this whole situation was one for Jerry Springer.

  Dylan wiped a hand over his face as he hurried into the building. He spotted the medical examiner carrying a duffle bag, leaving. He stopped the guy.

  “Watkins, have you seen the blonde I was here with the other day?” Maybe Alexandra had wanted to ask him some questions. Maybe she’d had a vision or something.

  Watkins glanced between him and Zach. His eyes widened a fraction, just enough to be noticeable, but then he focused on Dylan again. “No. Sorry.” His keys clanged together as he dangled them from one hand. “I hate to be rude, but I have a body to transfer.” He gestured toward the medical examiner’s van sitting in the carport. “If I see Miss King, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

  Again, Watkins looked at Zach. So the medical examiner knew who Zach was. Interesting. He’d have never figured the man for a reality TV fan.

  Zach stepped closer, his eyes narrowed as he returned Watkins’ inquisitive gaze. Dylan almost shook his head. Watkins was giving off some serious gay vibes right now, and Zach was the object of his fascination. Zach was giving off some weird vibes, too.

  “I’ll catch you later.” Watkins nodded at Dylan and turned away.

  Dylan started to move, but Zach grabbed his bicep. He nodded toward the van. “Who was that guy?”

  “Medical examiner. Why? You interested?”

  Zach reeled back as if offended. “Don’t be an ass.”

  Dylan raised his eyebrows. “So?”

  Zach glanced back toward the van and frowned. “I don’t know.” He scratched his neck. “I don’t think he was telling you the truth.”

  “You can read minds now too?” Dylan shook his head. He really did not have time for this crap. He left Zach standing there as he hurried toward the front desk. He asked the volunteer on duty if she’d seen Alexandra. “Pretty blonde? Fairly tall. She was wearing a loud shirt with a pink flamingo on it. Hard to miss.”

  “Alexandra was?” Zach asked from beside him.

  Dylan sent him a scathing look. He wished Zach had waited in the car.

  The old woman at the desk shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember seeing her leave. She came in, with a police officer. That’s all I remember.”

  “Thanks.” Dylan tapped the desk, acknowledged the young security officer stationed beside it, and moved toward the elevator. He pulled out his mobile radio. “Graham, any sign of Miss King yet?”

  “No sign of her. If she’s still in this hospital, I have no idea where she’d be.”

  “She’s not here,” Zach proclaimed. “Gut feeling.”

  Dylan jabbed the up button on the elevator anyway. “Does your gut know where she is?”

  Zach glanced back toward the entrance. “That guy. Watkins. I think you should question him.”

  “Why?” The elevator dinged as the doors opened.

  “Call it a hunch.”

  Dylan shook his head as he stepped into the lift. “I work with facts, Zach, not hunches.” He held the door open. “You coming or not?”

  Zach said something low and menacing beneath his breath, but he stepped into the elevator. “I’ve been working with Alexandra on developing my senses. She’s been teaching how to…pick up on things. That guy is…” He shook his hea
d.

  “What?”

  “Dark.” He swallowed. “Got this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach just looking at him.”

  Dylan scoffed. “He works with dead bodies for a living. Can’t get much darker than that.”

  “This is different.”

  Dylan had heard all he could stand. Anger and fear and anxiety bubbled up inside of him so fast, his chest felt like it was imploding. He shoved his brother against the elevator wall. “Why are you here? I haven’t seen you in years, and you think you can just come in and make everything all right? Huh?” He shoved at Zack’s shoulder again.

  So quiet his voice was almost menacing, Zach murmured through clenched teeth, “I don’t want to do this now.”

  The elevator pinged seconds before the door slid open. Zach gave him a humorless look and pushed past him.

  He was right. There would be plenty of time for family drama later.

  Alexandra was in danger. Dylan felt it in his gut, too. If he had to take a leap of faith and put it all in Zach, he would do it. He would do whatever it took to find her.

  Heaven help him, he would find her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Alexandra had been missing for almost four hours.

  The longest four hours of Dylan’s life.

  He gripped the back of his neck and paced the conference room at the station. He had no clue where to start looking for her now that all of his ideas had been exhausted. Her cell phone wasn’t picking up a signal, which meant she either didn’t have it or it had been turned off. It was useless as a tracking device. There had been no sign of her at the hospital. Only one witness, an orderly, had seen her talking to a man a few minutes before Graham looked for her.

  “I only saw the back of him. Man was in scrubs. I thought it was a doctor,” the orderly said. “I didn’t think anything about it. They was just talkin’.”

  Something was gnawing away at Dylan about that statement. None of the doctors who’d been on Reedus’s floor that morning had owned up to talking to a woman fitting Alexandra’s description. Had the killer stolen scrubs to blend in?

  No. The killer was a hospital employee. It made sense. Watkins had indicated the chloroform used in each killing was a low-grade tincture mix, available online, but they’d never been able to find a seller. What if the chloroform wasn’t low-grade? What if Watkins had been wrong?