Serial Escape

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  “That’s the house there,” she said, pointing again. “Juanita told me about the fountain in the front.”

  It was distinct. All metal, shaped like a bird in flight, a perpetual cascade of water spewing up around it.

  “And definitely no cop car sitting in front of it,” Lucien replied.

  He slowed even more, then came to an idling stop a few houses back from their target. His fingers strummed the steering wheel for a few seconds before he pulled ahead and cut the engine.

  “This is the part where you try to make me stay in the car, isn’t it?” Raven asked.

  He shook his head, just once. “No.”

  For a moment, she was hopeful. “Oh. Good.”

  But as soon as she’d spoken, she caught the grim look on his face.

  “There’s no ‘trying’ in this case. You’re staying in the car.”

  “What happened to me being the boss?”

  He shook his head. “There’re far too many unknowns here.”

  “Are the unknowns lessened when I’m stuck in the car?” she countered.

  He didn’t budge. “The SUV is equipped with bullet-resistant glass. I’m equipped with bullet-resistant training. You, on the other hand, are going to be equipped with a phone set to dial for help.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Shouldn’t that part come first?”

  “What?”

  “Calling for help. For backup. You promised not to ignore my good ideas, remember?”

  “I—” He cut himself off, grumbled something she couldn’t hear, then yanked his phone from his pocket and clicked a speed-dial number while narrowing his eyes in Raven’s general direction.

  On the other end, a woman’s voice became audible. “This is Dispatch.”

  “Geraldine,” Lucien greeted, his tone at odds with his scowl. “It’s always a pleasure when I get you on the line.”

  “Likewise, Detective,” came the reply. “Making headway in the Hanes case?”

  “Actually, yes. Which is why I need your help.”

  “Whatever I can do.”

  “First off, can you tell me if a couple of uniforms were stationed at an address on Diver Avenue?”

  “Sure can.”

  Raven uncrossed her arms and leaned closer to Lucien as he reeled off the house number. She was eager to hear the response, and didn’t want to miss it. But she was also unsure if she wanted an affirmative or a negative. Had the police been there and left? Or had they never come at all? The former made her worried. The latter filled her with deep unease.

  “Detective?” said Geraldine after another few seconds.

  “Yep. I’m still here,” Lucien replied.

  “Is this the same address that Sergeant Gray attended earlier?”

  “That’s the one,” Lucien confirmed. “Should be a car here now, too.”

  “I’m sorry,” said the other woman, “but I don’t see anything listed for that address at this point in the day. At last check, forensics finished up and sealed the house.”

  Lucien dropped a low curse, then met Raven’s eyes, and when he spoke into the phone again, he sounded like he didn’t want to be asking the question that came out of his mouth. “Geraldine...did you give my number to Sally Rickson’s boyfriend?”

  “Sally Rickson? She’s the homeowner?”

  “Correct.”

  A sick feeling was building in Raven’s gut.

  “I’m sorry,” Geraldine repeated. “I didn’t give your number to anyone today, Detective. Is something wrong?”

  “I need you to send a unit to the Diver Avenue address.” He paused. “Make it two units, actually.”

  The dispatcher’s voice immediately took on a more professional tone. “Yes, sir. I’ll advise that you’re requesting backup immediately.”

  “Thank you.” He clicked off the phone, then tossed it hard into the console.

  He brought his eyes to hers, and the twisting in Raven’s stomach became a tornado. She suddenly didn’t want him to speak. She didn’t want to hear the words that were undoubtedly coming. But she couldn’t think of a way to stop him, and her breath cut away as he made the announcement she was anticipating.

  “It was Hanes,” he stated, somehow managing to sound both toneless and coldly furious at the same time. “He set us up.”

  Raven tried to form a reply, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Hanes.

  It couldn’t have been him on the phone, could it? Surely, one of them would’ve recognized his voice. The nuance of his speech. The perpetually smug undertone. Something. Anything. But would they have, over the crackling line? The man would definitely have known just what to say to get them to come. To conform to his plans.

  A wave of dizziness tried to take her, and she clutched at Lucien’s arm, using his solidity to anchor herself.

  “He must’ve hired someone,” he muttered, voicing her own thoughts aloud. “We would’ve known it was him.”

  She attempted again to answer, but this time, she was interrupted by a scream, emanating from somewhere near Sally Rickson’s house. The sound froze Raven, and she felt Lucien stiffen beside her, too. She followed his gaze to the inch-wide crack of the passenger-side window, and she knew what he had to be thinking. The scream had been shrill enough to carry in, and that was saying something. It’d also been full of terror. Possibly pain. And Raven was 99.9 percent certain that it belonged to a woman.

  Sally.

  “Lucien,” she whispered, breaking momentary stillness. “We need to go in there.”

  “Not we,” he corrected quietly.

  She pulled away and shook her head. “I can’t stay here.”

  “You can. And you will.”

  “Lucien.”

  “No. I’m sorry, Raven. Either I go now, or we both sit here and wait for backup.”

  “That’s...” She trailed off and swallowed, trying to keep her face from betraying the inner battle she was fighting.

  You promised him that you wouldn’t stop him from doing his job. You told yourself you wouldn’t let it happen. And yet here you are, at the first sign of trouble...

  She exhaled. “How long?”

  “Give me ten minutes,” he said without asking what she meant. “It shouldn’t take me more than that to figure out what’s going on, and backup should be here by then anyway.”

  “Please be careful.”

  “I will.” He leaned over to give her a quick, firm kiss, then closed the window completely and added, “Bulletproof glass, sweetheart.”

  Then he was gone, and Raven was pretty damn sure he’d left with her heart in his pocket.

  Chapter 17

  Lucien fought to keep his attention on moving forward rather than looking back. The scream had stoked his ingrained need to act. To use his skills and training. But even as he made his stealthy trek from the SUV to the house—quick but not haphazard enough to draw unwanted attention—a voice in his head asked him if it was the right choice.

  You could still turn around, it said. Waiting for backup isn’t the worst idea in the world.

  He gave the voice a mental shove as he hunkered down next to a car parked beside the driveway. Waiting might not be the worst idea in the world, but it could definitely be the difference between life and death.

  What about Raven? argued the voice. What about her life and death?

  That, he couldn’t really fight against. He didn’t like leaving her alone and potentially defenseless. Her life was more important to him than all others. But he knew that she wouldn’t forgive herself if they could’ve saved a life and didn’t. He would’ve liked to have left his weapon with her, but abandoning it would’ve then left him futilely unarmed, too. Raven would never have agreed to it. Might’ve literally held him down until he agreed to take the gun with him. It was almost—but no
t quite—enough to make him smile as he slid his back along the row of bushes on the edge of the yard.

  Ten minutes, he told himself. That’s not so bad.

  He refused to give in to thoughts of all the things that could go wrong, even in that short time frame. He couldn’t entertain a single one, or his plan to stay focused might fall out from under him.

  Lucien reached the end of the row of bushes, and he eyed the front door. It was closed. From where he stood, he could see a single strip of police tape over the top of it, apparently unbroken. That didn’t mean much, though. There were windows and back doors, and Hanes was smart enough not to leave overt evidence of his presence.

  Except in the form of a scream.

  The reminder made Lucien move faster. With a quick, visual sweep of everything in range—and not letting his gaze hang on the SUV for a second too long—he made a run. Bushes to the unusual fountain on the grass. Fountain to the archway in front of the back gate. There, he paused again and did another quick glance around. There was no sign of movement, aside from the flick of a curtain across the street. He ignored the flick and kept going. The neighbor would undoubtedly call 911, but it wasn’t like that was something that concerned him.

  Bending his knees to keep his head below the window on the side of Sally’s house, he made his way through the gate to the backyard. At the edge of the exterior wall, he pressed his back to the wall, sneaked a fast look around the corner, found it clear then made the turn. It was quiet, the air still.

  Lucien’s gaze sought the two rear entryways. The first was a set of sliding glass doors that led into the house from a sunken concrete patio. The room on the other of the side of the glass was utterly dark. He moved his eyes to the second option—up a short flight of wooden steps and across a deck. It was dark up there, too, but not utter blackness like down below. He could clearly see a wind chime as well as a set of outdoor speakers, hanging from two posts near the country-kitchen door.

  Very quickly, he weighed the options and tried to account for Hanes’s general cleverness. Would he be using the darkness downstairs to stay hidden? Or would he be trying to lure Lucien into coming through the upstairs door? Either was plausible, and Hanes probably knew it.

  Just make the decision, Lucien ordered silently.

  He pushed off the wall, turned and took a step. He stopped, though, before he could actually go either up or down. A window above, just at the top of a vine-covered trellis, had caught his eye. It was cracked open, a bit of sheer drape moving softly behind the screen.

  Bingo.

  He holstered his weapon and moved toward the wall before he could reason a way out of making the dangerous play. Gripping the wood and ignoring the wobble his weight created, he climbed up, hand over hand. In moments, he reached the second-story window. Careful not to look down, he freed his fingers from the trellis, grabbed the cold, metal-edged glass and gave it a push. For a second, it didn’t budge. A curse built up in his throat. Before it could actually make its way out, though, the window gave way. There was a small squeak, and the whole thing opened.

  Lucien traded in his curse for a grateful prayer of thanks instead. He forced the screen off, then dragged his large frame into the room. He landed with a dull thump on a wide desk, where he continued to lie, hand on his weapon, breaths coming in shallowly, and eyes trained on the closed door. He listened for any indication that someone had heard his entry. The house remained quiet.

  Okay. Time for the next move.

  Taking extra care to maintain his own silence, he swung his body around and placed his feet on the floor. Everything stayed silent. Lucien didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad sign. His experience had taught him not to speculate. He kept moving. Slinking stealthily across the floor, hyperaware of the smallest creak. His reached the door, found the knob and gave it a slow turn. If someone was watching from the other side, they’d see it no matter how careful he was, but there was no sense in being incautious. When the handle had reached its full rotation, he gave it a slight push. Hard enough to open it, not hard enough for an unnecessary slam. As it swung, he stepped back. Out of gun range, out of surprise attack range. Neither came his way.

  He drew a breath and stepped out of the room. The hallway was near dark, the only light coming from the space he’d just stepped out of. Something pricked at him. Unease. He paused and swung his gaze up and down. In addition to the one he’d exited, there were three more doors, each closed.

  Two bedrooms and a bathroom, he decided absently.

  There was no sign of disturbance coming from behind any of them. The unease grew. Lucien reminded himself that there was a whole other floor—plus the basement—to factor into his search. Time was still of the essence, too. He focused on the stairs, moving quickly and silently toward them, then heading down, pausing at every third step to listen. He was met with the same silence each time. And it continued to bother him. By the time he hit the bottom, his teeth were gritted with nerves, his shoulders were stiff with worry and his mind was probing for an explanation.

  Because it’s too quiet, he thought.

  There should’ve been some sign of life. Either from the screamer, or the person who’d caused it. Or at least a hint of disturbance. An overturned pot. A dropped item. Instead, the house was eerily, emptily quiet.

  Lucien very nearly turned around to go back out the way he’d come in. At last, though, something caught his eye. Just the barest flicker of light, emanating from somewhere on the main floor. It gave him a bit of renewed purpose, and he continued with his exploration of the home, following the glow to a partially open door.

  Easy, he cautioned himself silently.

  He placed a hand on the slightly cool wood and pushed. The door opened the rest of the way to reveal a small, windowless room. The entire space was dominated by a wraparound desk, and the flickering glow was coming from the computer that sat atop it.

  Lucien’s mouth went inexplicably dry.

  There was nothing on the screen except a rectangular box with the familiar Pause, Play, Rewind and Fast-forward icons showing. It was as though someone had stopped a song midway through, then walked away.

  Lucien took a very, very cautious step closer. He eyed the mouse, sitting innocuously on its pad. Did he press it, or not? Did he wait for backup now? A forensics team to swab the space for fingerprints? Or was he just being paranoid, and letting his cop instincts have a free ride?

  He took another step. Then paused. Sitting in front of the keyboard was a piece of paper. It was printed with a series of boxes, each box containing a name and line going to yet another box. Only a heartbeat passed before Lucien realized what it all represented.

  A family tree. The DNA test results.

  Forgetting his thoughts on fingerprinting the area, he reached for the paper. Even in the dim light, he could still make out the names. Eager anticipation hit, and he scanned the paper in search of Jim and Juanita and Sally. Before he could find them, though, the computer screen flickered, drawing his attention away from the page. He looked up just in time to see a remotely controlled arrow move to the Play button, then click. Immediately, a muted scream filled the air. His mind connected the dots at lightning speed.

  The scream was another ploy. A fake. Probably filtered from the computer to those outside speakers he’d noted earlier.

  But in spite of the quickness of his realization, it was still too late. He didn’t even get a chance to lift his gun before a searing pain hit his temple, and the world snapped into blackness.

  * * *

  The second scream came at the eleven-minute mark—a full sixty seconds past Lucien’s promised return time. Raven knew, because she was staring at the clock on Lucien’s phone when it carried through the air. And it sent a burst of fear into her heart. Her hand came to the door handle automatically, and it took all of her willpower to keep from simply shoving it open and running toward the hou
se.

  Stop. Wait. Think. The silent commands only worked because they came in sounding awfully close to Lucien’s voice.

  She breathed in, then out, and tried to come up with some reasonable course of action. A quick and reasonable course of action.

  Her eyes left the house and scanned the street. Where was the backup? The howl of police sirens and the flashing lights?

  Her gaze darted back to the house. Why was the scream another solitary one? Where was the reaction?

  It doesn’t make sense.

  She was sure of the thought. She just wasn’t sure why.

  Her hand tightened on the phone.

  The phone.

  She inhaled and exhaled again, typed in Lucien’s four-digit password without bothering to be thankful that she knew it, then hit Redial. It rang once, and a masculine voice filled the line.

  “This is Dispatch,” he said.

  She worked to keep a steady voice as she replied, but couldn’t quite manage to keep the words from tumbling out on top of one another. “Oh. Hi. This is Raven Elliot. I’m at a...er...scene with Detective Lucien Match. He was waiting for backup. He talked to Geraldine? But no one has come, and I think something is wrong. He’s in the house.”

  In spite of the babble, the dispatcher responded patiently. “Ms. Elliot, you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re on Diver Avenue?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I show that a request was put in, then ninety seconds later was rescinded.”

  Raven’s heart tried to stop. “Rescinded? Who rescinded it?”

  “Detective Match,” said the man on the other end.

  Her brain tried to work out a way for it to be true. Maybe he’d found nothing inside. Maybe he’d used a landline to make the call. Maybe the scream—maybe both of them—were unrelated to anything about Hanes at all. But it only took a second to know that they were just things she wished might be true.

  “He didn’t rescind the request,” she told the dispatcher, her voice calmer than her heart or mind. “Detective Match exited the vehicle twelve minutes ago. He headed to Sally Rickson’s residence, and he hasn’t come back. I’m a-hundred-percent sure he didn’t place a call in that time.”