Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Carol Ericson

  No answer.

  His pulse slammed wildly at the base of his neck as he stepped over the threshold into the galley kitchen. Builder’s grade wood cabinets, a large white fridge, stainless-steel stove. Not much clutter on the counters. Peeling linoleum threatened to trip him up from nearly every angle. A small round table with four chairs took up space on his other side. Three large arches led into the living room at the front of the house and the front door, a hallway off to his left. Presumably to the bedrooms. No stairs as far as he could tell.

  “Ms. Ross?” He freed his weapon, his finger stilled on the trigger. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find, but the compulsion that’d pushed him to finish what he’d started with the New Castle Killer directed him down the hallway. Something wasn’t right here. He nudged open the first door with the toe of his boot. A bathroom. Clear. He turned the knob of the door across the hallway and hit the lights. A single twin-size bed sat in the center of the room. No other furniture. Dread pooled at the base of his spine as he caught hints of a foul odor. He moved forward to the last bedroom. Hand on the doorknob, Dylan braced himself against the hollow wood.

  Decomposition.

  Covering his nose and mouth with his gun hand, he forced his way inside and turned on the lights. Wide brown eyes stared at him from Annabell’s upside-down position over the edge of the bed. Discolored bruising and angry inflammation circled her neck, her skin ashen white compared to the last time he’d seen her. “Son of a bitch.”

  The hiking partner. Henry Sallow. He’d used her as an alibi that day near Del Howe’s cabin, pretended he’d found the body instead of being the one responsible for the New Castle Killer’s death, and discarded Annabell when he was finished with her. Dylan hadn’t been fast enough.

  Damn it. He had to call it in, had to let Remi know. He holstered his weapon. Unpocketing his phone, he hit the speed dial for her cell and hoped to hell she’d answer. This wasn’t about what’d happened between them. This was another murder in the wake of twenty-six others. The line rang once. Twice.

  Dylan turned back toward the hallway, but a bolt of pain shot through his chest, along his arms and into his legs. The phone fell from his grasp and bounced off the carpet. The outline of the attacker blurred in his vision as two electric nodes forced high doses of amps through his body. His hands automatically fisted as he swung out, but he met nothing but air just before he hit the floor.

  Unending pain coursed through him as his attacker stepped into the light, Dylan’s arms and legs jerking without his permission. Remi had been right. His throat convulsed around the only word he could get out of his mouth. “You.”

  “Hello, Cove.” His attacker reached down and ended the call on Dylan’s phone. “I told I wouldn’t forget about you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Cove!” Remi pressed the phone to her ear, but there wasn’t any response. No, no, no, no. Glancing at the screen, she realized the call had ended. Hello, Cove. She’d recognized that voice, the one that’d embedded in her head the moment she’d heard it in the caves. The killer had found him.

  She slapped her hand over Dylan’s badge and weapon to collect them from where he’d set them on the table and charged for the front door. After disarming the alarm, she fisted her keys and ran for her vehicle. The killer was trying to finish what he’d started. She hauled herself in behind the steering wheel and stored Dylan’s weapon in the center console. Fishtailing away from the safe house, Remi pushed her hair out of her face and dialed the first number that came to mind.

  Ringing filled the SUV’s cabin through the speaker system. “Foster.”

  “Cove is in trouble. I need you to find him.” Emotional rawness in her voice revealed the personal nature between her and the deputy she’d fallen for, but Remi didn’t have time to consider the consequences of that right now. Dylan wasn’t an active member of her team any longer, but she wasn’t going to let him become the next victim.

  “Last known location?” Deputy Beckett Foster retained the highest fugitive recovery rate in the country. With a former conman for a father and a falsely accused fugitive who’d mothered his child, the marshal dedicated every instinct and resource he had to finding the people he’d been assigned. No matter the situation.

  Now she needed him to use those same skills in her favor. Hesitation tightened the cords in her throat. The team had known she’d been working out of the Gresham safe house, but they hadn’t known Dylan had been staying there with her. She licked her lips, glancing into the rearview mirror as desperation tore through her chest. “The safe house outside of Gresham.”

  “How long ago?” Foster hadn’t missed a beat. If he’d suspected an interpersonal relationship between his chief deputy and another marshal, his voice hadn’t revealed it.

  Leather groaned under her fingers as she wedged her grip around the steering wheel. “He called me seven minutes ago, but the line cut off. I recognized the killer’s voice on the other end. It’s the same man who took me from the Gresham PD parking lot. I’m sure of it.”

  “Tracking Cove’s phone now.” Clicks from a keyboard filtered through the line, keeping in time with her pulse. “The phone has either been turned off or the SIM card removed to keep me from tracking it, but his last call came from a house on the east side of the city belonging to an Annabell Ross.”

  She knew that name. “That’s the witness from Del Howe’s crime scene. Gresham PD has been trying to get in touch with her for follow-up questions after she and her hiking partner discovered the body.” Realization struck, and Remi pressed the back of her skull into the seat. “Cove said preliminary reports showed traces of volcanic rock in the footprints that led up to the cabin window, right?”

  “According to Reed, that’s how Cove was able to narrow your location after you’d been abducted. He added the male witness...a guy named—” papers rustled in the background “—Henry Sallow—as a possible suspect, but police haven’t been able to find anything on him, either.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t exist. Inform Gresham PD we have reason to believe Del Howe’s killer is at that address.” Damn it. She’d practically accused Dylan of being involved in Howe’s death, and he’d run straight to the only person who could prove someone else had been there that day. She’d suspended him, taken his weapon and destroyed every reason for him to back away from the case. “Forensic evidence placed Deputy Cove at the death scene prior to Howe’s murder. He must’ve gone there to dig up more information to prove he wasn’t the killer.”

  Foster’s doubt pierced through the line. “Chief...”

  “I already know what you’re going to say, Foster. Because I’ve told myself over and over that I have to keep my personal opinions and feelings out of this case, but no matter how many times I try to tell myself otherwise, this case is personal. It has been since I left Delaware.”

  Gresham city streets streaked in her peripheral vision as she pressed her toes into the accelerator. “Cove told me when Del Howe’s body was first discovered that he’d been in the house with permission from the owners, but the report... The report showed he’d confronted Howe, and Gresham PD can prove he’s been using USMS resources to continue the investigation into the New Castle Killer case. Cove’s DNA was found inside the lacerations on Howe’s knuckles, which most likely came from a struggle between them, as he claimed.”

  “You believe him?” Foster asked.

  The deputy’s question echoed inside her head until the words blurred together into incoherent nonsense and mixed with the events of the past three days. Dylan had lied by omission about confronting Del Howe and had been running a secret investigation behind her back to track the New Castle Killer’s movements. He’d used his position as a deputy—used her—as a means to an end. Not illegally, but the hurt from that choice almost outweighed the good he’d done. She’d trained herself to endure emotional loneliness since losing her family,
but for the first time in twenty years, someone had helped her feel more than the numbness she’d accepted as her future. He’d helped her.

  Remi forced herself to look past the pain, past the lies, past the intense need to separate herself from him, and considered the man. Not the private investigator who hadn’t given up on the four-year-old boy who’d gone missing. Not the marshal who’d backed up her and her team on countless assignments over the past six months. But the man she’d slowly fallen in love with over the course of this investigation.

  The man she knew. The one who’d followed her to the safe house when he’d learned she was a possible target of a killer. The one who’d made mouth-watering mac and cheese that’d magically taken the emptiness inside her away. The one who’d held her under the shower when she couldn’t stand on her own. That man would never resort to inflicting the kind of pain he despised on another human being.

  She swallowed around the dryness in her throat as the road ahead of her came into focus. “Yes, I believe him, and I’ll believe and stand up for any one of the marshals in my division who finds themselves in a similar situation.”

  “Then that’s good enough for me,” Foster said. “Reed, Watson and I are headed your way now.”

  The call ended, throwing her into an unsettling silence between her own thoughts and the hum of the tires against cement. The GPS on her phone pinged, signaling she was almost to Annabell Ross’s home, but she had to assume the woman herself had become another victim of the madman behind this game. Annabell would’ve been a loose end, a witness, and the killer would’ve gone out of his way to ensure she never talked. Remi only hoped she made it in time to keep Dylan from meeting a similar end. “Just be alive.”

  She pulled into the small, quiet neighborhood, and slammed on the brakes. The small blue house and bright yellow door did nothing to ease the racing panic threatening to tear her apart from the inside. Grabbing Dylan’s weapon and badge from the console, she hit the pavement and rounded the bumper of the SUV. Hauling the cargo door open, she quickly strapped into her Kevlar. She shoved his duty weapon down the back of her cargo pants before clipping his badge to her vest. Didn’t matter Dylan wasn’t a US marshal in her division anymore. She wasn’t going to lose him. Not again.

  The pounding of her boots against the driveway bounced off the overhang above the garage door as she sprinted for the front door. Testing the handle, Remi backed off a few feet. Locked. She shifted her weight onto her back leg and slammed her heel into the space beside the dead bolt. Wood splintered under the pressure, and the door swung back into the wall behind it. Weapon up, finger beside the trigger, she breached. “US Marshals! Is anybody here?”

  No answer.

  She swung her attention to her left, clearing the living room as she crossed the small entryway toward the dining room and kitchen behind three large archways carved into the wall.

  A wall of odor slammed into her. She stepped under the main arch into the kitchen. Nothing looked disturbed or out of place, but she couldn’t ignore the sickeningly-sweet smell of death in the air. Remi stepped into the hallway, fighting the urge to cover her mouth and nose with her hands. She couldn’t afford to compromise her position. No matter the situation.

  Her boots dragged against old carpeting that silenced her approach toward the back bedroom where the odor seemed to originate. Ignoring her reflection in the mirror in the bathroom to her left, she nudged the door open. Empty. Same for the second bedroom, which contained nothing more than a single twin-size bed.

  Dylan had called her less than twenty minutes ago. Even if he’d been killed, he woudn’t have decomposed this quickly. Remi braced herself for the worst as she pushed open the door.

  Annabell Ross stared back at her. Nausea churned in Remi’s gut as she took in signs of strangulation. Dylan had been right. The hiker who’d left traces of volcanic rock in his footprints outside Del Howe’s cabin had been their killer all along. He’d used Annabell as an alibi then killed her when she wasn’t of any use.

  The faces of the New Castle Killer’s victims had been engrained into her head, over and over. She would’ve recognized him at the scene. She was sure of it. Remi lowered her weapon. But now that she thought about it, the male witness had put his back to her when she’d left the cabin with Captain Paulson and Sergeant Nguyen. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time the hiker had been giving his statement, but it’s possible he’d avoided facing her on purpose.

  She took a single step forward, and the crunch of metal and glass tore her gaze from the young woman sprawled across the bed. Thickness coated the edges of her throat as she realized what she’d stepped on. A phone.

  Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall from the main living space. “Chief, you in here?”

  Watson’s voice penetrated the ringing in her ears. She crouched down and collected Dylan’s phone. He’d been here. Backup had arrived, and now she had to find him. “Back here! Inform Gresham PD we need a crime scene unit.”

  Three deputies crowded into the room one at a time. Finnick Reed, Jonah Watson and Beckett Foster all covered their noses and mouths in one move. Her team.

  “Where’s Cove?” Foster asked.

  A deep-throated scream answered in response.

  * * *

  BLOOD TRICKLED DOWN his inner thigh as his attacker retracted the blade.

  Dylan struggled against the ropes keeping him tied to the chair and pressed his toes into the ground. The muscles in his jaw ached from the pressure of holding in his screams. In vain. Four lacerations, all of varying lengths and depths. Just as the New Castle Killer had done to his victims. Sweat built on his upper lip as the pain receded, and he dropped his head back.

  “Don’t give up on me now, Cove. We still have so much to talk about.” A lean, muscular frame escaped from the shadows cast by the trees surrounding them from every side. Tad Marrow, the New Castle Killer’s third and last victim, stepped into the beam of moonlight coming through the trees. Miles of forest expanded in each direction, ensuring no matter where Dylan ran, he couldn’t escape.

  At six-three, Marrow carried himself well for a dead man. Dark green eyes, almost black, cut through his pain. Sharp cheekbones, thin lips and a prominent widow’s peak aged the man Dylan knew to be in his early twenties. Dozens of white, puckered lines of scar tissue interrupted the skin along his face, neck and hands. He switched off the blade between both hands then set the tip against Dylan’s cheek. “I came to you for help. I believed you when you said you’d look into my case as soon as you could. I waited weeks for you to contact me, but your call never came.”

  The blade dropped down and sliced into his arm. This time deeper. Dylan bit back the growl clawing up his throat. That was what his attacker wanted, to know he was causing the same pain as the New Castle Killer had caused him. But Dylan wasn’t going to play along.

  Tad Marrow had killed twenty-seven people, including the killer who’d abducted him. The former veterinarian’s assistant had started his career with helping the sick and afflicted, but now he was nothing more than a serial killer who fed off his victims’ agony.

  “You’re right, Tad, and I’m sorry. I should’ve connected the dots sooner. I should’ve been there for you instead of believing your case had nothing to do with Del Howe, but killing me isn’t going to make that pain go away,” he said.

  “I don’t need your apology, Cove. It’s too late for that. What I need is for you to know what it feels like to lose every last bit of hope you’ve ever had. I need you to know that when I’m through with you, I’m going to find Remington Barton. I’m going to make her scream, and there will be nothing you can do about it.” Tad pressed the blade’s edge against Dylan’s inner arm. “But don’t worry, you’ll still be alive for that part. You’d be surprised how much pain and blood loss the human body can take.”

  “You won’t have the chance.” He braced against the oncoming pain, pull
ing at the length of rope around his wrists and ankles. He held his breath as Marrow swept the blade over his skin. He wrenched from side to side to escape.

  Tad Marrow took a step back, his face half hidden in shadow, and fanned his hands out in front of him. “I never lost count, you know. I could still tell you the exact order Howe cut into me. I’d always believed the brain automatically blocked that kind of trauma to keep from having to experience it over and over, but I remember everything. Every detail, every scream.”

  Dylan tried to breathe through the remnants of fire burning up his arm. His shirt stuck to his skin, the waistband of his jeans soaked with blood. His heart rate spiked into dangerous territory. He had to get some control. The more he panicked, the faster he’d bleed out. He needed to keep Marrow distracted, give Remi and the team enough time to find him. Because she was coming. He had to believe that. He had to believe what they’d had these past few days was more important than the lies he’d told her and himself. “You escaped, Tad. You could’ve started over, could’ve gotten help. Instead, you went out of your way to kill every investigator, dispatcher and emergency tech who’d been involved in the New Castle case.”

  “They failed us!” Marrow struck out with the knife and another gut-wrenching shot of pain ripped through Dylan’s leg. “You connected Del Howe to the New Castle Killer case, but do you even know how long he kept us? How long he tortured us? Do you know we were drugged and kept in a cargo van with tinted windows so we could see people passing us on the street? Close enough to help, but too far away to hear us scream.”

  Dylan hadn’t known any of that. He worked his wrists inside the rope, focusing on the sting of his other wounds to detract from the awareness of the strands cutting into him. “No. I don’t know, and I understand why you might not have wanted to come forward to testify. There were no guarantees Del Howe wouldn’t come for you again or come for a family member to hurt you more. You escaped your captor, but you’re still a prisoner. Killing me—killing Remi—won’t change that, Tad. I can help you. I made a mistake not listening to you in Delaware, but what you’re doing only ends with more blood on your hands. Let me help you now.”