Ted Dekker

by The Bride Collector (v5)

  Quinton ducked behind a car and crouched, counting the seconds… six, seven, eight…

  Thump.

  He stood up and saw that Rain Man had fallen in a heap, still clutching his pistol. Tucking his own behind his belt, Quinton rushed forward.

  Rain Man was heavy. Deadweight was always heavy—he’d mounted each of the women on the wall without their help, but this… The man felt like he weighed five hundred pounds.

  Quinton heaved him up over his shoulder and ran back around the corner. Now his decision to turn the car around rewarded him. He shouldered the man into the trunk and, working quickly before another car drove into the garage, fastened handcuffs to Rain Man’s wrists. The drug would keep him down for half an hour, but he could take no chances.

  Having secured his man in the trunk, Quinton slid into the front seat, pulled the car out, and roared up the ramp into the dark night.

  Five minutes later he was on I-25 north. No flashing lights in his rearview mirror. No helicopters overhead. No sign of pursuit at all. With any luck, no one would even know their star was missing until the morning, when he failed to show up for work.

  One of the distinct disadvantages that came with a career in God’s service, like his own career, was all the bad press. No one cut the clergy enough slack; they got far too much negative attention.

  But there were some distinct advantages as well. Having God on your side, for instance, the smoothness of Rain Man’s abduction being a case in point. It was enough to reaffirm Quinton’s calling, not that he had any doubts.

  Still, having Rain Man in the trunk gave him a very good feeling.

  He turned right onto Interstate 70. From here the Kansas border waited, 171 miles distant. The small town called St. Francis slept through the night, ten miles past the border. The barn Quinton had prepared was nine miles south of St. Francis.

  Ordinarily, the trip would take at least three hours. In the dead of night, he could make it in just over two, thanks to a powerful Chrysler engine and a state-of-the-art radar detector slash laser diffuser.

  The search for him had primarily been confined to Colorado. But, to avoid all the attention, Quinton would unite the seventh and most beautiful favorite with God in Kansas.

  The thought made Quinton shiver.

  25

  FRANK CLOSKEY PUSHED open the door to the SAC’s office. “Nothing.”

  Temple spun from the window where he stood overlooking the street below, hands on hips. His tie was gaped, and the top two buttons on his shirt were undone. “His condo, his phone, his emergency pager? Nothing?”

  “Nothing since he left the office last night just before ten. We checked with his favorite restaurants, no luck.”

  “But he arrived at his condo…”

  “His car’s in the garage, yes. No indication that he actually entered the building. And get this, the cord to the garage camera was cut.”

  The SAC stared. “And no one was notified? When?”

  “Late yesterday afternoon. They put in a repair order, but the security company didn’t get out there till this morning.”

  Temple walked to his desk, lowered his hands for a moment, then put them back on his hips. “So, it’s the Bride Collector.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “As of this moment we assume we do. First Nikki, now Brad. What on earth happened to the detail?”

  “Brad called it off after we found Nikki. There was no reason to think the killer hadn’t satisfied his threat when he took her. He’s never taken a man.”

  Temple’s jaw flexed. “The assistant director’s going to…” He yanked out his chair and sat. “Okay, I want his photograph in every government car in this state. Check every known location he frequents. Get his cell records from the company and work through each call. I want to know every step he took in the last twenty-four hours. What about the sketch he brought in?”

  Frank still didn’t understand exactly how Brad could be sure the sketch he’d delivered late in the afternoon was of the killer. It was, after all, based on a ghost. He’d put the highest priority on linking it with any known offenders in the photo identification system. The sketch was rough and would require manual comparisons, but it was the first hard lead they’d had since Nikki’s murder, and the team had dropped everything else.

  “Nothing yet. We sent it out to the other agencies and every hospital in the state. We also have a forensic artist headed out to CWI this morning for another sketch.”

  “What do we know about this girl? Besides the hogwash about her ability to see ghosts?”

  “Not much. Brad was a little evasive.”

  “So you’re telling me Brad’s fate now rests in the hands of some mental case?”

  “He seemed to think she was pretty smart.”

  “This can’t be the best we’ve got.” Temple shook his head. “This really can’t.”

  IT WAS A beautiful day. The trees looked somehow greener, the birds chirped and darted as if they’d found a pot of coffee beans and eaten every one, the sun even seemed brighter. The eggs she was eating at this very minute tasted richer, sweeter, maybe the best food she’d ever tasted.

  But Paradise knew that neither the trees nor the birds nor the eggs nor the sun had changed. She, on the other hand, had.

  For starters, she’d become a bit of an overnight sensation. She might have imagined some of it, but nearly every eye had seemed to be on her when she’d walked into the dining room half an hour ago. There was no denying that many, if not most, of the residents knew she had become a very important person in the eyes of some very important people.

  Roudy went out of his way to take credit whenever he could. It was he, after all, who’d demanded they bring the evidence to his team. And in the end, they would still need him to connect all the clues.

  “Can’t you just be happy for her?” Andrea demanded.

  “Of course I can. But there’s a killer on the loose! Have you no heart for all those poor girls?”

  Hopeless.

  Either way, Paradise had changed. She had seen. And she had been seen. A cloud had been lifted from her heart. The wool had been pulled from her eyes. Every cliché in the book had happened to her, all at once. In her dark world, the sun had come out as if for the very first time.

  But only she and Allison knew why. It wasn’t because she’d become a sleuthing hero. It was because of Brad Raines. Or more precisely, because of what she and Brad had shared. Did share.

  Because Brad had shattered the fear that had kept her mind in the shadows. Because she trusted Brad more than she trusted any other living soul, except maybe Angel and Allison, but Angel was her sister and Allison was like her mother.

  Brad was a man.

  There was something special between them. She wouldn’t go so far to say that he loved her, it was far too early for that. She knew that nothing could become of whatever it was he felt. After all, she was here at CWI and he was out there, in the world with all of its demons.

  But she’d decided last night that she would do nothing to temper the way her heart felt in the wake of his departure. She’d gone to bed tossing and turning, with butterflies flying circles in her belly. And she’d woken with images of Brad whispering through her mind.

  She wasn’t in love with him. That would be going way too far. But if this was what being in love felt like, it was no wonder so many people risked so much for it.

  Andrea was staring at her, wearing a shy grin.

  “What?”

  Her friend nibbled at her toast. “I don’t know. Did you kiss him?”

  “Andrea!” Paradise set her fork down and blushed. “Just because you lift your skirt for the first thing that comes along doesn’t mean everyone does.”

  “I said kiss. You’ve never kissed a man, you said.”

  “And I still haven’t.” How embarrassing was this? But her mouth was fighting a smile.

  “You will, though.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! It’s not like t
hat. Please, Andrea, you’re going to ruin everything.”

  “You’re smiling!”

  Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Jonathan leaned over and spoke softly. “There’s someone on the phone for you, Paradise. I thought you might want to take it.”

  Normally they would take a message. Then she saw his smile and caught her breath. “A man?”

  “It is.”

  She jumped up. “I’ll… Send it to my room.”

  Paradise took off, then whirled back and pointed at Andrea. “Stay.”

  She sprinted down the hall, into the women’s wing, then up the stairs to her room just as the phone started to ring. She slammed the door and engaged the lock, approached the phone, heart pounding. Her hand was shaking when she lifted the receiver.

  “Hello.”

  A soft chuckle. “Hello, Paradise.”

  She was so tuned in to Brad’s voice that it took her a moment to wonder if this was someone else.

  “Brad?”

  “No, not Brad. Brad’s all tied up. I have him here with me.”

  Was this someone that Brad worked with? Something seemed odd about…

  “I’m the one who killed Nikki,” the voice said. “And now I have your lover all tied up. I’m going to make him squeal like a pig and then I’m going to gut him if you don’t do exactly as I say.”

  The phone was silent. She stood frozen in place, unable to breathe.

  “Are you there, dear?”

  She tried to say something but nothing was working.

  “Don’t be afraid, Paradise. I need you to think clearly. I need you to save Brad. Can you do that?”

  Her voice shook. “Yes.”

  “Good. The first thing you’re going to do is keep your mouth shut. I can see you, your every move. I can hear everything that happens in that prison of yours. If you tell anyone, including that old nun, that you spoke to me, I will kill Mr. Raines. Do you understand?”

  Her mind whirled with the worst possible scenarios. She was in the dark fog again and behind her came the monster, scrambling for her legs as she crawled. The bodies were on the ground, and she was crawling over them.

  “Do you understand?”

  It was real. She was on the phone talking to the man she’d seen. This was his voice; she recognized it now from when she’d touched the girl.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you listening? It’s important that you don’t panic. If you panic you’ll do something stupid and I’ll have to kill him. Okay?”

  His voice wasn’t angry or sinister. Just calm and direct. But that only made it more frightening.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes,” she managed.

  “In thirty minutes the gardener will climb into his red pickup truck and leave for an extended coffee break like he does every day. You will climb into the back of his truck, under the green tarp he uses to keep the rain off—”

  “I can’t leave!”

  The man paused patiently. “… off his tools,” he finished. “You don’t have to leave in the red truck, Paradise. But if you don’t, then Mr. Raines will be found dead, and it will be because you allowed him to die.”

  “I…” Paradise began to panic. The room spun and she managed to steady herself by putting her left hand on the wall. Her voice came in a hoarse whisper. “I can’t leave.”

  The man ignored her. “The red truck will drive into the city and stop at a Starbucks. When it does, you will get out without drawing attention, and you will walk due east one block until you see a shopping strip with a beauty salon. At the end there is a large green garbage bin. Under that bin you will find an envelope with money and a cell phone. Are you getting all of this?”

  “I can’t… I can’t leave…”

  “Repeat it back to me.”

  She hesitated, then stumbled through the instructions, but her mind was mostly on the fact that if she didn’t leave the man on the phone would kill Brad.

  “But I can’t…”

  “Listen, Paradise.” She heard his voice away from the phone, speaking to another man, demanding he speak.

  Then Brad’s familiar voice. “Tell Allison, Paradi…”

  Crack!

  The phone went silent and the killer came back on. “So you see, I do have him and I will kill him. Are you listening?”

  It was Brad, she was sure of it. His voice had sounded scratchy and breathy, but it was him!

  “Are you listening, Paradise?”

  “Yes… I’m listening.”

  “Take the money in the envelope, go into the beauty salon, and ask them to make you pretty. Like your sister, Angel. Can you do that for me?”

  What was he asking? She had to go into a beauty salon? What did this have to do with Brad?

  “Pay them all the money, there’s five hundred dollars there. Tell them to cancel their appointments if they don’t have space. When you’re done, take a picture of yourself and send it to me so that I know you’ve done exactly as I’ve asked. Then go across the road to the park and wait for me. I’ll call you and tell you what I want you to do next. Now repeat that back to me.”

  She did, haltingly.

  “Good. Don’t tell them, Paradise. Do not say a word. Once you’re gone they’ll start looking for you. Stay out of sight. If they pick you up it’s all over. Okay?”

  Her mind seemed to have shut down. She had to figure this out, but she didn’t know where to begin. It was a nightmare. How could she get out of a nightmare?

  “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He hesitated. “Thank you, Paradise. I’ve waited so long for this.” The line clicked dead.

  26

  LIGHT PEEKED THROUGH a dozen cracks in the barn’s high roof, but there was no other indication of what time it might be. Morning, Brad guessed, but it could be afternoon. A sack had been over his head when he’d climbed out of unconsciousness, and he’d been sedated at least twice since then.

  The picture, now clear, was one only his worst fears could have conjured up. He’d been taken, drugged, stuffed in a trunk. Now he faced his end as Nikki had faced hers. After spending so many hundreds of hours putting himself in the place of killers and their victims, he found himself actually in that position. In and of itself, it was more surreal than terrifying.

  But the killer had called Paradise, and the claws of dread were encasing him. He felt nauseated.

  They were in an old barn with graying planks for walls and dirty hay for a floor. The stale scent of grain and old horse manure hung in the air. Sagging eight-by-eight timbers spanned the sloping roof overhead, begging for an excuse to fold under the weight they supported. An old dilapidated relic.

  His wrists were tied together behind a splintering four-by-four post. He sat on the damp ground, facing the killer’s stage. Several large wool blankets with wide red and black stripes, the kind for sale at roadside stands that advertised Native American souvenirs, had been spread out and bordered by railroad ties. On one end the killer had constructed a makeshift planked wall against a large pile of hay bales.

  Two pegs stuck out of the boards three-quarters of the way up. On either side of his wall, the Bride Collector had placed candles on two wood barrels. It took little imagination to understand that he’d prepared the wall to drain his seventh victim.

  The details had filtered through as he woke. But the one piece of information that dominated his mind sat on an old folding chair ten feet from him, legs crossed and arms, studying him in silence.

  This was the Bride Collector, and he looked somewhat similar to the drawing Paradise had labored over as she’d excitedly pulled at her memory. But there were some key differences that might throw the team off, he thought. Small details that forensic artists would focus on, knowing how important they were.

  In person, the killer’s mouth was full but looked flatter than on the sketch. Paradise had drawn the distance between his eyebrows and hairline too narrow, giving him a more sinister appearance than he had in flesh and blood. And
his eyes were wider as well. But a forensic artist would be rendering a more accurate drawing today, maybe already had.

  He was a large-boned man who at first glance would inspire confidence. Nothing about him looked suspect. His dark hair was short and well groomed. His hands were manicured. His eyes were dark, but not deep-set or threatening. He was handsome, like so many serial killers.

  He wore gray slacks and a light blue short-sleeved button-down shirt, the kind that might pass for an auto mechanic’s shirt with a MIDAS or GOODYEAR logo on the pocket.

  Apart from the phone call to Paradise, the man hadn’t uttered a single word. But his intentions loomed in Brad’s mind like a shadow in a darkened doorway.

  “You should be feeling better now,” the man said. His voice was soft and low. Matter-of-fact. “You call me the Bride Collector, which is appropriate, all things considered. But you can call me Quinton now. My last name is Gauld.”

  Quinton Gauld. Brad cleared his parched throat. “You don’t care if I know your real name.”

  “Not now, no. My task on earth is nearly finished.”

  “You’re going to kill me.” A simple statement of fact.

  “I don’t know yet. Only if he tells me to.”

  It was a lie, Brad thought. Only a fool would leave him alive after this, and the killer had proven that he was anything but a fool. The real issue now was his final victim. God’s favorite.

  Then again, if the man was as psychotic as his notes suggested, gripped in the fist of an uncompromising delusion, he might not be lying.

  The phone call Quinton had made played through Brad’s mind again. The thought of this man even looking at Paradise knotted his gut with deep offense, and he had to swallow to hide it.

  The killer was luring her out. It was almost as if he’d orchestrated all the events of these past two weeks to this end. To lure Paradise out of the Center for Wellness and Intelligence. But why?

  He could still see the picture of the beautiful girl Paradise had shown him yesterday. Angel Founder. Angie, Paradise’s sister. They’d had the identity of the seventh victim in their sights the whole time. But it still made no sense to him.