by Tee O'Fallon
“Bitch.” He yanked the mask back into place then pulled something from his belt.
Light glinted off the pointed weapon in his hand. A knife. Her heart began racing so fast her chest hurt. She sucked in quick breaths and began backing away. Time seemed to slow. Bloody images of that sharp blade cutting into her soft flesh flashed through her mind.
Kickboxing classes in her private gym were one thing, but it didn’t prepare her for a knife-wielding lunatic. Long before she could get away, he’d ram it in her back.
I’m going to die.
…
Dayne parked next to Kat’s car. It was after nine p.m. He’d figured on driving up to the castle to deliver the puppy kibble and more toys Becca’s husband had given him for Angus. Remy pinned him with intense chocolate-brown eyes. “Suits me fine,” he muttered, not relishing going back to Kat’s “house” again.
“Back in a minute, girl.” Outside, rain pelted him, quickly soaking his shirt and dripping down his face like tears. Like Ted Garman’s tears.
When he’d stopped by Becca’s house, he’d felt helpless seeing the man’s grief and unable to do anything except pay his respects.
He hefted the sack of food over his shoulder, grabbed the bag of toys, then kicked the door shut. As he started toward the Haven, wind howled through the trees, sounding exactly like—
A woman’s scream.
Kat.
He dropped the bags and bolted toward the door, punching the door popper on his belt to release Remy. Before he’d gotten halfway up the sidewalk, she darted past him.
Dayne drew his Glock and yanked open the glass door. As a team, he and Remy entered the vestibule. The overhead light was off, but a glow from the corridor behind the reception desk lit the space enough to see. With his gun extended, he “sliced the pie,” scanning in incremental wedges.
“Kat!” he shouted. A thump came from somewhere down the corridor.
Remy pranced, her nails clicking on the floor as she waited for his command. “Revier!” His K-9 took off, her feet scrambling as she rounded the desk and disappeared.
Dayne raced after his dog. Warning prickles lit up his nerve endings.
As he edged around the desk, a door slammed. Remy barked. Leading with his gun, he peered down the hallway. His dog stood on her hind legs, clawing at the door. Kat lay slumped against the wall, breathing raggedly and clutching her hand to her neck.
His breath froze in his throat like a solid ball of ice.
Light came from the room opposite where she lay. He took a quick scan through the open door. No one visible. He trusted his partner. If anyone inside that room posed a threat, Remy would have alerted him. Instead, his K-9 continued barking at the exit door.
“Bleiben.” Remy lowered and stilled. As much as he wanted to let her out to run the asshole down, he couldn’t leave Kat alone, and he wouldn’t risk sending his partner out there in the dark without knowing what she’d be up against. This fucker could have a gun or a knife, or a four-foot-long samurai sword.
He holstered his gun then tugged out his cell phone, dialing 911 as he knelt in front of Kat. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing had evened out. While he waited for the operator, he scanned her body for injuries. None that he could see. No visible blood, anyway.
When the 911 operator answered, he ID’d himself then quickly described the situation, requesting police backup and an ambulance. Then he issued a warning to all responding units to be on the lookout for anyone in the vicinity who didn’t look like they belonged there.
Kat moaned then leaned her head back against the wall, dropping her hand from her throat. Pale red marks in the shape of fingers encircled her neck.
Dayne clamped his jaw together. Jesus. He cued up another number. “Paulson,” he said when the detective answered. “Get over to the Canine Haven. Someone just attacked Katrina Vandenburg. I already called 911.”
Swearing came through loud and clear. “On my way.”
Remy remained by the door as ordered, her body vibrating with tension.
Kat reached up again to touch her throat, but he caught her wrist, gently pulling it away. “Try not to touch your neck. We might be able to pull some DNA off skin cells left by whoever did this.” It was a stretch, but it might be possible. When she didn’t respond, a shaft of worry crept up his spine. “Talk to me. You okay?” Other than the obvious.
“Yes,” she whispered, and he let out a huge breath. Judging by the fact that her eyes weren’t bloodshot and her voice wasn’t raspy, he’d guess the asshole hadn’t had his hands wrapped around her neck for very long. “But”—she coughed several times—“he wore gloves. And a ski mask.”
Damn. So much for DNA or prints.
Kat shifted, trying to get up, when she winced.
With one hand on her shoulder, he urged her to stay put. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” She shook her head, wincing again.
“Be straight with me. Did he hurt you?”
She let out a resigned breath. “He threw me against the wall. My shoulder hit the fire extinguisher box.”
He glanced up at the metal and glass case housing a large red extinguisher and was doubly glad he’d called for an ambulance. “You said ‘he.’ Was there just the one guy?” She nodded. “Can you describe him? Height, weight, eyes, hair?”
“He was taller than I am, and strong. Really strong.” She took a deep breath, drawing Dayne’s gaze back to the ligature marks on her throat. “I’m five-five, so I’d guess he was about five-ten.”
“Was he skinny? Fat?”
“He was…average. Not skinny, not fat.”
“What do you remember about the clothes he wore and what color they were?” He wanted to get a more detailed description out over the radio ASAP.
“The mask was black. His eyes were brown. He had a beard and mustache. I don’t remember what else he was wearing.”
“Wait. If he was wearing a mask, how do you know he had a beard and mustache?”
“Because when we were struggling, my fingers caught on the mask and it pulled partially up. Then I—” Her eyes went wide. “Oh god. Amy. Help her, please!” She tried pushing off the floor.
He admired her game but held her down. “Where is she?” Kat pointed to the open door on the other side of the corridor. “Stay here.” With his hand on his gun, he got to his feet.
“Remy, such.” His dog bolted inside the storage room. Rows and rows of tall metal shelving loaded with supplies crammed every bit of space.
Remy barked once. He followed the sound and rounded the end of the last row. A woman lay face up on the floor. Red ligature marks ringed her throat. The woman’s eyes were open and sightless.
He dropped to her side, touching his fingers to her carotid. Nada. Her skin was still warm. Training kicked in and he positioned her head and neck to start mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and CPR. He whipped out a tiny red packet from his thigh pocket—a breathing barrier—then placed it over her mouth. After pinching her nostrils closed, he administered two rescue breaths. He hadn’t gotten in two rounds of chest compressions when sirens screamed outside. A soft sob came from the doorway.
“Please, no,” Kat whispered. “Is she dead?”
“Not if I can help it,” he managed between compressions.
“Police, call out!” someone shouted.
“In here!” He gave two more rescue breaths, switching back to compressions. “Go get the EMTs.”
She ran from the room. Seconds later, two EMTs hustled in, followed by several cops.
“We’ll take over,” one of the EMTs said.
Dayne backed off to give them room to work. “See anyone on the way up here?” he asked.
“Negative.” The first cop shook his head. “We’ve got units patrolling the area. We could use a little more description.”
Kat’s
brow wrinkled, and her eyes shimmered with tears as she watched the EMTs tend to her friend.
“Let’s talk somewhere else.” He placed his hand at the small of her back and urged her to the vestibule. Along the way, he tipped his head to his K-9. “Remy.” She trotted behind them with her head down, disappointed at not being green-lighted to give chase.
At the reception desk, he pulled out a chair. “You’d better sit down.” He eyed Kat closely for other aftereffects of the attack. The woman had had one hell of a day. It was a miracle she was still upright.
Paulson came through the front door, frowning as he took in the pink marks on her neck. “Are you all right, Miss Vandenburg?”
“I’m fine, Detective.” She peered around Paulson’s shoulder in the direction of where the other woman was being worked on.
Dayne didn’t say so, but his gut told him the EMTs’ efforts would be futile. Kat’s eyes met his, then her chin dropped, and she let out a heavy sigh. She knew it, too.
Remy nudged her muzzle beneath Kat’s hand, forcing her to pet the top of his dog’s head. Remy’s maternal instinct didn’t surprise him, but his next move did. He cupped Kat’s face. “As soon as they know something, they’ll tell us. I promise.” Her glistening eyes reminded him of purple gemstones. “Okay?” She nodded, blinking rapidly and stemming the tears with admirable guts and determination. “Walk us through everything from the moment you got here.”
“I came here to get food for Angus,” she said in a steady voice. “I noticed Amy’s—the Haven’s manager, Amy Thorpe—car was still parked outside.”
“What time was that?” Paulson tugged a pad and pen from his jacket’s breast pocket.
“About nine. The lights were off. I came in, then called out for Amy. When she didn’t answer, I went to the storage room. The lights were on. Then they went out. I turned them back on and found Amy on the floor. That’s when he attacked me. He threw me against the shelves and I ran. Then he grabbed me and started choking me. When he heard you coming, he shoved me against the fire extinguisher box and ran out the back door.”
“Did he say anything?” Dayne asked.
Her smooth brow wrinkled. “He asked me where it was.”
“It?” Paulson looked up. “It what?”
“I don’t know. I told him we don’t keep cash here, but he said he didn’t want cash.”
“Is there anything else here of value?” Dayne asked. “A safe?”
“No, nothing. We don’t even require a fee to adopt any of the dogs here, so there’s no need for one. The only things we keep here are dog food, bowls, leashes, collars, toys, and other supplies.”
“What about drugs?” Paulson asked. “Do you keep any painkillers on site? Injectable or pills?”
“Yes, but not in this building.” She pointed to the other side of the vestibule. “We have an infirmary attached to the main kennel. Everything stronger than over-the-counter meds is kept in a locked cabinet. I can show it to you.”
Paulson nodded, making a few more notes. “Could be the guy was looking to score some prescription meds.”
“Could be.” But Dayne didn’t think so. Two women murdered on the same day and less than five miles apart… This area wasn’t exactly the homicide capital of the county.
“I’ll need the names of everyone who works here,” Paulson said, and Kat gave him six names, two that worked full time, the others part time.
“Where are the recordings for your security cameras maintained?” Dayne tipped his head to a camera on the ceiling.
“In a closet next to the storage room.” She pointed to the corridor then turned her hand over, looking oddly at it.
Dayne watched her, curious. “What?”
“I forgot. I hit him in the nose with a palm strike. I may have broken his nose. He was bleeding. Not much, just a little trickle from one of his nostrils. I was looking to see if there was any blood on my hand that you could get DNA from.”
“You hit him?”
“I told you Emily and I did kickboxing together.”
He had forgotten about that.
“I’ll make sure the CSU guys check her hands and under her fingernails for blood.” Paulson made another notation. “Meantime, don’t touch anything.”
“While you’re at it,” Dayne said, “I don’t see any blood on Remy’s muzzle, but I can swab her in case she got a piece of the guy.”
A team of CSU officers came through the door, each carrying a large duffel and a black hard-sided plastic case.
Paulson motioned them over to Kat. “Swab her hands and take nail scrapings. Then swab that K-9’s mouth.”
“You got it.” The older of the two CSU techs perched his duffel on the desk and took out gloves, Q-Tips, and plastic evidence bags, handing one set to his partner for Remy while he got to work on Kat’s fingers. The younger technician didn’t get the swab within two feet of Remy when she lowered her head and growled. The tech jumped back.
“Better let me do that.” Dayne dug out another pair of gloves from the tech’s bag and slipped them on. He held out his hand for the swab, which the other man gratefully turned over.
Dayne knelt in front of Remy. “Smile.”
Remy pulled back her lips, exposing her teeth and looking exactly like she was grinning.
The tech shook his head. “That’s some trick.”
“Makes this a lot easier.” He made quick work of swabbing Remy’s teeth and gums. After depositing the swab in the evidence baggie, he tugged off the gloves and tossed them in a nearby garbage can.
The other tech still worked on Kat’s fingers and nails. They looked clean, but maybe she scraped some DNA off the guy’s face after all. “How much of a look did you get of him?”
“A few seconds, maybe.”
He and Paulson exchanged knowing looks. They might not get any DNA, but maybe Kat could ID the guy.
One of the EMT’s emerged from the corridor. The man’s expression was grim. He gave a subtle shake of his head.
“No,” Kat whispered. “Nooo.” She stood and took a step toward the corridor.
He caught her gently, being careful not to squeeze her injured shoulder. “Kat, don’t. I know you want to go to her, but there’s nothing you can do. The crime scene unit needs to catalogue everything. We’ll only make it harder for them to do their job.”
When her body shook with sobs, something inside him broke and he took her in his arms, holding her while she cried. Over her shoulder, he and Paulson again exchanged looks. He and the detective weren’t necessarily in sync on everything, but on this, they agreed. Both murders had one common denominator.
Katrina Vandenburg.
Not only had she been the one to discover both bodies, but now someone had tried to kill her.
And she’d seen the guy’s face.
Chapter Five
Dayne pushed a button on his wristwatch, backlighting the dial in a fluorescent green hue. It was nearly midnight. He and Remy had been searching the woods surrounding the Haven and the castle for nearly two hours.
Remy shook, sending water droplets flying. Rain dripped from Dayne’s hair and he wiped it from his forehead before it ran into his eyes. His K-9 was one of the best trackers in the Tri-state area, but with the constant deluge, finding a lasting scent was impossible. She’d picked up a trail outside the exit door, lost it, only to find it again an hour later and track it to the road where it disappeared. Chances were Kat’s attacker had a car parked somewhere and was long gone by now. The uniforms patrolling the nearby streets had also come up empty.
He cursed under his breath. “Let’s go, girl. We’re done for the night.”
They headed back to the Haven, stomping through puddle after puddle. A few police cars still sat out front, including Paulson’s Charger. Inside the Haven, the tech guys were packing up their cases. Paulson sat on a corner o
f the reception desk, reviewing his notes.
“Anything?” Dayne hitched his head to the tech guys.
Paulson flipped a page on his pad. “No obvious traces of blood on the floor or on Miss Vandenburg’s clothing. We took photos of her neck and swabbed her skin for DNA. The camera outside the rear exit door was covered with a cloth. No drugs are missing from the infirmary, but maybe he just hadn’t found them yet. That could have been what he meant when he asked her where ‘it’ was.”
“Maybe.” He still didn’t buy that theory. His gut told him the two homicides were connected, and drugs weren’t the connection. “Or maybe we’re just not seeing it yet.”
“Seeing what?”
He wasn’t sure. “The killer came here for something, and I don’t think it was to kill the manager. Kat is the connection between Becca Garman and the Haven, not Amy Thorpe.”
“But all she did was find the body,” Paulson countered. “She said she didn’t see anyone else.”
“We’re still missing something.” Speaking of which… “Who’s with Kat at the hospital?”
Paulson arched a brow. “Miss Vandenburg refused to go to the hospital.”
The detective’s intentional dig at Dayne’s familiar use of Kat’s nickname was as subtle as a nuclear bomb.
“Also,” Paulson continued, “she got on the phone with my chief and made him swear not to do a press conference about the attack. Said she was afraid they’d put some kind of crazy spin on it that would have a negative impact on the charities she supports.”
That it might. The media would put whatever spin on things they wanted. That was how they made their living. He took a quick scan of the vestibule, then the corridor. “Where is she?”
“Home.”
“Great,” he muttered, not liking the idea that a doctor hadn’t checked out her throat and shoulder. “Who’s with her?”
“I assigned a couple of uniforms for the overnight, but she wasn’t happy about it. Said she’d hire a security company with armed guards first thing tomorrow.”
Just what they didn’t need. A bunch of yahoo cop-wannabes with Rambo delusions roaming the property.