The Collector

by Cameron

  David reminded himself that Rocket was a professional. Trained by Ollie North himself.

  He started walking faster, thinking maybe Rocket had found something, something David missed…something that would tell him who had taken the Eye.

  When he walked into the office, Rocket was nowhere in sight, but he could hear the soft whirr of the DVD still spinning in the drive.

  David stopped in the middle of the room, catching scent of a strange metallic smell.

  The first thing he noticed was his computer screen playing the surveillance tape. And the door to his private collection, the vault room behind the mirrored entrance—Rocket had left it open?

  He stepped over to the computer first, wondering why Rocket would be so careless, leaving both doors open like this. David had been desperate enough to give the access code in a message on Rocket’s cell phone, hoping his man would start the cleanup process before Sam sent the cops over with a warrant. Shit, and now it wasn’t just the police. Now he had the FBI on his ass. With a warrant, those parasites would have his office inside out within the hour.

  David sensed that something was very wrong. The computer seemed to be programmed on some sort of loop, playing the same section from the surveillance tape over and over.

  Suddenly, he understood why.

  He dropped into the leather swivel chair in front of the enormous computer screen, his mouth gaping open.

  On the thirty-two-inch screen he could clearly see the security men he’d hired. They had just finished installing the new cameras and were inspecting the system, making sure they’d covered every inch within the room and vault.

  David had watched this tape before. Only now, he noticed something he’d missed.

  His wife, Meredith.

  She was inside the vault room; the security guys had it open while they were checking out camera angles. He could clearly see her reaching into the velvet-lined drawer, pocketing the Eye.

  He watched the same three minutes of tape loop over and over. Meredith punching in the code, reaching into the drawer…

  He realized Rocket must have seen the same thing. He would have sat here, just like David, wondering how it could be possible. Maybe he’d even programmed the computer to loop over and over—he was great with computers.

  Behind him, he heard a woman’s voice say, “That which is invisible is always the most dangerous.”

  He turned around. “Meredith?”

  “Very good, David.” She started clapping, applauding his revelation. “Little invisible Meredith. Abracadabra, at last you see her.”

  He couldn’t believe it. “You took the Eye?”

  He tried to remember how many times he’d watched this very piece of tape. And yet he’d never even noticed her.

  Because it was Meredith. Who would give a shit if she was in his vault? Certainly not the security guys setting up the system.

  He’d never even thought to discuss her with his security team. Keep my wife out of my collection…. Meredith was never much of a consideration to David. Jack and his men would just assume she was in the know, hanging around to make sure they did a proper job.

  Just as Mimi predicted, Meredith was invisible, to him and anyone who might question her actions.

  “What have you done, Meredith?” he asked with growing horror.

  She walked toward him. “Rocket called me.” She spoke in a strange monotone, sounding as if she were in some sort of trance. “He wanted to show me something.”

  David remained seated in front of the computer. Meredith pointed to the screen.

  “That’s what he wanted to show me.”

  “It’s all right, Meredith,” he said, trying to stay calm. He had no idea what was going on, but he kept hearing Mimi’s warning in his head.

  That which is invisible…

  To David, there was no one more invisible than his wife.

  “I’m not mad, honey,” he said, smiling now, trying to sound reassuring. “Really. Just tell me where the Eye is, and we’ll forget all about it.”

  But Meredith was shaking her head. “Too late.”

  She had her hands buried in the pockets of her enormous dress. Now, she slipped one free.

  She was holding a gun. His Beretta. She had the damn thing pointed right at him.

  “Meredith? What are you doing!”

  “Too late,” she repeated.

  Suddenly, David realized why the door to the vault was open. He focused there, following the legs encased in black pants inside to his secret vault room. He stood in disbelief.

  Inside the chamber, Rocket lay on the floor, his legs peeking out just beyond the door to the office. Next to him was Owen, his arm stretched out over Rocket’s chest, as if he’d fallen there.

  They were both dead. Shot through the back of the head by the looks of it.

  David felt as if his heart would burst in his chest. “Jesus Christ, Meredith.”

  She kept her eyes on him, the gun pointed at his chest. “I used the Beretta you keep in the nightstand. You showed me how to load and shoot. Remember?”

  His head was spinning. Meredith shot Rocket? And Owen? That boy was her heart—her reason for being. No way she could kill Owen. No fucking way!

  And still, there they were. Dead.

  David hadn’t noticed the blood when he’d walked into his office. The room was too big. He wouldn’t have seen the blood splatters on the far side on his way to the computer and his desk.

  “You never would have noticed me on the tape,” she said. She gave a tired shake of her head. “But Rocket, he saw me. Always. When you asked him to review the tapes, he couldn’t believe I’d taken anything from your collection. He came here to talk to me. He showed me, on the computer. He wanted to help me.”

  “And so you killed him?”

  She stared at David as if he’d asked a stupid question. “Of course I did. I had to. I lured Rocket into the vault. I begged him to help me put everything back. He wanted to help me, but I had to kill him. Then Owen arrived. I said to him, ‘Look what I’ve done.’ He was standing right over Rocket’s body when I shot him in the back of the head.”

  Suddenly, it clicked. She’s crazy—and she will kill me. He took a step toward the door.

  Meredith followed him with the Beretta.

  “Sit down, David.”

  He dropped back into his chair.

  “You killed Owen?”

  He regretted the words immediately. He was waving a red flag in front of a bull. If David was obsessed with his collection, Meredith had put her life’s energy into their child. She never would have hurt, much less killed, him if she was in her right mind.

  She said in a soft, disjointed voice, “There must always be a sacrifice.”

  He could feel himself hyperventilating. “We’ll talk to Rose,” he said, trying to get control of the situation. “She can help you.” He glanced nervously at the two bodies in the vault. “Meredith, honey. You’re obviously not feeling well. Rocket was right. I haven’t been attentive.” Jesus! “But I can be better. Give me a chance to help you, sweetheart. Here, I’ll just call Rose.”

  He reached for the phone…only to have Meredith shoot the damn thing right off the desk.

  “He was our child, David. We brought him into this world. We raised him, no one else. We are responsible.”

  Oh, shit. David Gospel did not like the sound of that.

  But the sound of the Beretta going off after she pressed the barrel to his forehead…that sound, he never heard.

  Seven watched Stella pace back and forth in front of her mother’s painting. Every once in a while, the kid would glance over at him…for reassurance or with suspicion, he couldn’t say.

  She’d arrived in a squad car with Morgan Tyrell, her famous grandfather. The two of them were brought here from the helicopter pad at the request of Carin Barnes.

  But while Tyrell had agreed to bring Stella, he was clearly not on board with Carin’s plan to use his granddaughter’s “gift.” As he�
��d told Carin and Seven both, Stella wasn’t ready for this.

  Seven couldn’t say he disagreed. If it was the killer who had taken Gia—and they’d found plenty of evidence that he had—if they couldn’t find Gia in time, that tragedy would haunt Stella for the rest of her life.

  Adding to the drama was Gia’s last session with Tyrell, witnessed by Barnes, who had been analyzing the data ever since. Gia had believed all along that Thomas Crane, Stella’s father, was behind the killings. She just couldn’t prove it. And given the fact that he’d dodged the noose for her mother’s murder, she wasn’t taking any chances pointing the finger until she had undeniable evidence of his guilt.

  “What do you think?” Erika asked.

  Seven shook his head. “I’m trying not to. Logic seems to get in the way in this case.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” His partner cocked her head, thinking about it. She nodded toward Stella, still pacing in front of the painting.

  “Go talk to her.”

  If only it could be that easy. “What am I supposed to say? I can’t fix this.”

  “Come on, it’s just like you were saying…logic doesn’t work here. So why not turn logic on its head? Do the opposite of what makes sense? Tyrell and Agent Barnes, they’re the experts, right? They’re saying the kid can’t handle this, so hands off. But you know her, right?”

  Seven’s gaze followed Stella. He couldn’t imagine what the kid was thinking or feeling right now.

  “I’ve met her, yeah.”

  “So, do you think she’s pacing in front of that painting, waiting for us to tell her what to do? If it were my mother and I thought I could help, no way I’d be waiting for the adults to figure it out, you know?” Erika followed Seven’s gaze. “Come on. The kid looks like a pistol to me. But she’s only a kid, right? So help her get through this. Go talk to her.”

  He couldn’t explain the resistance he felt. He tried to imagine himself as the dispassionate observer, making excuses about how this wasn’t his area of expertise. That maybe Tyrell and Barnes were right. Maybe he was just scared. If it all goes to shit and Gia dies…

  He glanced over at Erika. She mouthed the word, Go!

  He didn’t know much about this sort of thing, just what Gia had told him and what he’d read on the Internet. He didn’t even know if he believed in the paranormal. But he knew what he’d seen the night Gia stopped breathing beside him in bed, and he’d seen her paintings and their eerie similarities to the actual crime scenes. If Stella had a touch of what her mother had…

  He took a deep breath and walked over to the kid.

  “So,” he said, falling in step with her as she paced, “how’s it going?”

  “How’s it going?” Stella stopped dead, looking up at him. “Are you for real? Some psycho killer just took my mom and you want to know how it’s going?”

  But behind the bravado, he could see that hint of relief. Someone had engaged her; she wasn’t in this alone.

  He nodded. “You’re right. That was pretty lame. Come on.” He tipped his head toward the studio door. “Let’s go to the kitchen. You got any soda here?”

  She frowned, not making a move. “How old are you?”

  “Pretty damn old, I’d say. I think you know that I care about your mom. I want to help, okay?”

  She kept that stern expression, her arms crossed over her chest. But her hands were shaking. “I’m supposed to figure this thing out,” she said. “That’s not going to happen drinking a Coke.”

  “You never know,” he said. Time to turn logic on its head. “Maybe you need a break.”

  He headed to the door. When she didn’t follow, he stopped and turned around.

  “I’m a Pepsi man myself, but Coke will do in a pinch.”

  She stood there, all four feet eleven inches of her, staring him down. She couldn’t weigh more than eighty-five pounds. Everyone else in the room watched, frozen in place.

  After a few seconds, she shook her head and walked for the door. She gave him one of those you’re-such-a-moron looks only a teenager could pull off, then said, “Suit yourself,” and led the way to the kitchen.

  Once there, Seven sat down at the small table, acting as if this were no big thing. At the same time, he could feel his heart hammering in the vicinity of his throat, wondering if he was doing the right thing.

  Like her mother, Stella was a take-charge sort of girl. She grabbed a Coke and a Dr. Pepper out of the refrigerator. “Glass or can?” she asked.

  “Can will do just fine.”

  She handed him the Coke and popped open her Dr. Pepper. “I’ve never seen my mom kiss a guy.” She took a drink. “But I saw her kiss you.”

  He knew what she was thinking. He was special…maybe even someone she could trust. If only I shared your youthful optimism, he thought.

  “Guilty as charged,” he said, putting down the Coke. “You know, I’m the one who thought there was a clue in the painting. But I could be wrong.”

  “No. You’re not. She did that a lot, painted to interpret her visions. I was usually pretty good at seeing stuff in her paintings.” Stella looked up, an exact replica of her mother’s blue eyes meeting his. “I never told her, but I think she guessed I could see stuff in her art.”

  “Why didn’t you tell her?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t want to be like her.”

  “Really?” He took a casual drink from the can. “She seems pretty cool to me.”

  She frowned. “My mom is a freak. She, like, lives her life obsessed with these dreams and her paintings. Ever since I can remember, people have come here, crying, begging my mom to somehow fix this big hole in their hearts.”

  “And did she?”

  Stella looked away. “Sometimes. Yeah, she could do it. She would make these magic paintings that somehow…healed.”

  “But her talent didn’t help you very much? Is that it?”

  “I was okay with it.” But she still wasn’t looking at him. “I just saw what it did to her. I always sleep with her, you know? She thinks it’s because I’m scared. That’s what I always told her.”

  “So if you weren’t scared, why do it?”

  He could see that she didn’t want to tell him. But she didn’t have anyone else to trust.

  “Sometimes she stops breathing.” She took a quick drink of the soda. “But you probably know that already. You stayed here that one night.” She glanced up at him. “I know it happened then.”

  “That’s right,” he said.

  Gia did stop breathing the night they’d slept together. But the door to the guest room had been locked. The last thing Gia wanted was Stella walking in on them.

  Which meant Stella knew what happened behind locked doors.

  He took a quick gulp of the Coke, trying not to choke on it. “So you have a real connection with your mom.”

  “Yup.”

  “Does it piss you off that I like her?” He stumbled over the question, not exactly used to this. “I mean, are you mad that I stayed over that night?”

  She shook her head. “I just want my mom to be happy.”

  He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. When he thought he could speak without emotion, he looked her straight in the eyes. “That makes two of us, Stella.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder. He tried with everything he had to convey confidence. Stella just needed to buck up a little, be the brave soldier for her mother. He’d be right there at her side, the guy who kissed her mom.

  “You know,” he said, “the first time I saw Gia, I thought she was crazy. All that stuff she was saying about demons and her visions. But then, I looked at her again, and it was like pow! Honest to God, I didn’t know what hit me. I just knew I wanted to be close to her.” He gave Stella’s shoulder a squeeze and let go. “If you have even a touch of that inside you, I think that if you look at that painting again, and try not to be scared…I think you can help your mom.”

  She put down her soda. He wasn’t sure what she would say or do, bu
t he wanted to give her some space, so he waited. She turned the can on the glass table, round and round. And then, she put the soda can aside and let out a deep sigh.

  “Come on,” she said.

  She grabbed his hand and walked back to the studio.

  They were all waiting there, standing almost exactly where they’d left them, like toy soldiers. Seven wondered if Tyrell and Agent Barnes had this all figured out. They knew how to manipulate a little girl into digging deep inside. He was just part of the equation. She’ll connect with Detective Bushard….

  Stella didn’t seem to notice. Still holding his hand, she walked right to the painting.

  The girl stared up at the black holes where the eyes should have been. Seven had no idea how much the kid knew about her past, but he squeezed her hand tightly.

  “That’s my grandmother,” she said.

  She kept staring at the painting. After a minute, he noticed her eyes blinking rapidly.

  “Stella?” he asked.

  “Detective,” Tyrell warned.

  Stella’s eyes rolled back in her head; she was clearly having a seizure. Seven grabbed her shoulders, holding on to her, hoping that once again this wasn’t some sort of betrayal.

  Stella collapsed to the floor.

  Seven immediately picked her up, taking her to a chaise lounge set in the far corner. The kid was still breathing, but she was completely limp, like maybe she’d passed out.

  Once he put her on the chaise, he knelt down beside her. Both Tyrell and Agent Barnes came to stand over her. Stella’s eyes opened.

  “One-eight-nine-five-one,” she said. “One-eight-nine-five-one.”

  He looked at Barnes and Tyrell. Agent Barnes immediately had out her BlackBerry. But Tyrell shook his head.

  “It could mean anything.”

  Seven looked back at Stella. She was staring straight up at the ceiling, unblinking, repeating the same set of numbers over and over.

  “One-eight-nine-five-one, one-eight-nine-five-one…”

  50

  Gia woke up inside the trunk of a car, every muscle in her body aching. Especially her shoulders. Thomas had tied her hands together behind her back. Probably with the same duct tape he’d used to seal her mouth.