Driven

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Nari swallowed. “Then what?”

  “Then he returned to chess, won for a while, and finally was killed by his brother as revenge.” Jethro looked up from his computer.

  Angus’s green gaze flicked to Nari. “So the logical conclusion is that Lassiter is in love with Nari and has to kill her to continue the game?”

  Jethro shrugged. “I just find the data. You analyze it.”

  Angus frowned. “It doesn’t feel right. Or at least not complete.”

  “Maybe he’s in love with you, Angus,” Pippa said, tossing hand mitts to the counter. “Maybe he can’t concentrate because he’s obsessed with you and knows that if he gets Nari, you’ll come to him.”

  Dana frowned from the other chair by the sofa. “So you think the person trying to shoot Angus is Lassiter?”

  Angus shook his head. “Lassiter would never work with a partner, and the night of the bombing there were two of them. Same with the first time that navy-blue truck chased me down and shot at me. I don’t know who that was, but it definitely wasn’t Lassiter.”

  It was impressive how quickly Angus could put himself in the mind of a killer. Impressive and a little daunting. Nari smiled and he smiled back, relieving her. Okay. He was all right.

  Angus cleared his throat. “He failed twice to get Nari, and he’s going to become desperate. He’s already killed the doctor who pronounced him dead, so anybody he’s ever been associated with is in danger. We have to find him now, and the key to that is to find where he’s been since I shot him six years ago.”

  Brigid opened her laptop, her curly, red hair falling over her shoulders. “So far, nothing. I’ve looked everywhere. It’s like he just disappeared. I even searched hospitals and rehab places during that time period, figuring he would’ve needed a while to recuperate after being shot several times. Not only is there no record of him, there’s no record of anybody having that kind of injuries that I haven’t been able to track down and verify.”

  Nari patted her hand. Brigid was the best; if anybody could find the information, it’d be her.

  Angus looked at Jethro. “How about the last note? The one found with the deceased doctor?”

  Jethro typed in a couple of commands. “‘The night grows tired, the energy unleashed upon this moment in time that cannot last. A vision of the abyss, drawing me in, only her face halting the time that must occur in the game of the gods.’”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Wolfe grumbled.

  Jethro dug his fingers into the back of his neck. “It’s a passage from a set of ramblings by a patient in the Canterbury Mental Hospital in the early nineteen hundreds. His name was Morgan Trowcrow, he was in his early thirties, and he’d murdered his mother before going on to kill seven more women who looked like her.”

  “So, his mom stopped the time that had to occur? Until he killed her?” Raider asked.

  Jethro lifted a shoulder. “He wrote the passage several years after being admitted, and supposedly he was in love with one of the nurses, who he tried to kill several times. There were notes in a doctor’s journal that the nurse might be the woman to whom he referred, and it’s possible she symbolized the institution that kept him from killing.” He looked at Angus. “Or not. Who knows?”

  Malcolm leaned against the counter, stress lines by the sides of his mouth. “How the hell does this help us catch this wacko? I say we just hunt him down and end him.”

  Wolfe nodded. “I like that plan.”

  “So do I,” Angus mused. “Brigid? Any luck with facial rec and CCTVs around town?”

  “No. I haven’t spotted him once,” Brigid said. “He’s good at hiding, and he manages to blend in when he needs to. I’ll keep looking, though.”

  Dana reached for a homemade bagel from the tray on the coffee table. “I’ve been trying to track down financial records but haven’t found anything. Lassiter obviously had a lot of money stashed away or he wouldn’t have been able to survive these last few years. So far, nothing. He really is smart.”

  Angus nodded. “Madness and genius are often flip sides of the same coin.” He focused on Raider. “Any news on who has been trying to kill me?”

  Malcolm stepped forward. “We’ve narrowed it down to a couple of the cult members we busted a year ago; we can’t find one of them. He disappeared off the grid when he was released from prison, so we’re calling in more favors to locate him. He’s our best bet right now.”

  “Sounds good,” Angus said. “Is there any connection between him and the guy who shot my lawyer?”

  “Not yet,” Brigid answered. “I haven’t found anything. Also, the dead guy who bombed your cabin? There’s nothing in our records, and HDD has reached out to Interpol, but nothing so far. I’ll keep on it.”

  Nari ate another croissant. Why not? They were stuck in the middle of no-answer-land. Carbs didn’t count there. “We need a plan.”

  Angus nodded. “I’d make myself bait, but I don’t think those passages from Lassiter refer to me.”

  Nari perked up.

  “No,” Angus said before she could offer. “Using you for bait is a nonstarter.” He shook his head. “The only option is to continue to track him down via medical, financial, or physical evidence from cameras. At some point, probably soon, we will get a line on him. Then we’re at go.”

  Seeing Angus in full control streamed awareness through her body, and she ducked her head to sip her mimosa, memories of the night before ticking through her mind like an old film.

  “Roscoe,” Angus warned.

  Nari looked up to see the dog edging her way, his brown gaze on her drink. “None for you, puppy,” she said softly, reaching out to pat his head. “The wine you had the other night is going to have to do it.”

  “The very good wine,” Jethro interjected with a look at the dog.

  Kat dug his claws into Nari’s shoulder for balance and leaned over to swat the dog on the ear.

  Nari winced. “Kat. Take it easy.” She gingerly lifted the kitten to the floor, where he could play with Roscoe. She wanted to relax, but they had too much to do. “What’s the next step in the case against you, Angus?”

  He watched the dog and kitten goof off. “I should probably find another lawyer, considering mine is in a coma.” Worry fanned out from his eyes, where guilt glowed. “Although I agreed to a lie detector test, I think I should wait until I have an attorney. I’ll put in a call to Scott’s partner tomorrow.”

  Nari nodded, her heart hurting for him. And for Scott. The lawyer had to wake up, and not just to provide a witness account that Angus hadn’t shot him. Apparently he was a good guy, according to everyone who knew him. “He’s strong, from what I understand. He’ll be okay, Angus.” Nari’s phone buzzed and she lifted it. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Nari. It’s Opal.” The woman sounded much stronger today.

  Nari smiled. “How are you doing?”

  “Good, if they’d hurry up and release me. Apparently paperwork trumps all else, even when one has been shot in the line. Well, kind of in the line of duty.” Opal chuckled. “I just wanted to make sure you understood that the job offer I made while passing out was intended. You’re made for this position.”

  But she’d be working for Quan again. “I appreciate the offer and will definitely think about it. Please stay healthy.”

  “I’ll try. Call me in a couple of days.” Opal clicked off.

  “What offer?” Dana asked.

  Nari told her the details.

  “Sounds perfect for you,” Wolfe said.

  A year ago it would have been. Now, Nari wasn’t sure. Her gaze moved toward Angus, who hadn’t said anything. Come to think of it, he hadn’t said much the night before when she’d told him about the offer. What did that mean?

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Another quiet morning failed to bring peace. Angus drank orange juice and looked out the industrial windows as Nari slept in the other room. The day before with the team had felt right, but now he was on his own again. Oh
, they were there for backup, but their time of working for the HDD in their dismal offices was over.

  A year ago he would’ve been shocked at how much that bothered him. After a spectacular dinner of chicken Parmesan cooked by Wolfe, of all people, he and Nari had returned and spent the night rolling around and destroying Jethro’s guest room. The mattress might never be the same. He grinned.

  The door opened and Jethro jogged in with Roscoe panting behind. “We went for a nice run. I have to shower and get to class, but I thought we could go over all the notes from Lassiter again tonight. I feel like we’re missing something.”

  “Agreed,” Angus said, scrubbing both hands down his face. “There’s a clue in there, a kernel of truth that I just haven’t caught.” It was driving him crazy.

  Jethro disappeared into his room while Roscoe padded to his water bowl and went to town.

  Angus’s laptop dinged and he lumbered over, bare-chested but wearing old jeans. He turned on the screen and opened a browser for his email. Hopefully Brigid had found something for him.

  A picture appeared, upside down. He frowned and clicked twice to turn it, taking a step back. “Shit.” The blonde from the other day, the one who’d hit him with a shovel, lay on weeds surrounded by trees. She was naked with burn marks across her pale skin, her feet were tied, her hands were palms up, and her chest gaped wide open, shards of ribs poking out. Her heart was gone. A shovel lay next to her, covered in blood.

  He grew still, anger billowing inside him. Then he scrolled down.

  Dearest Angus,

  I hope you do not mind that I took care of this little problem for you. She was much harder to find than one would’ve thought, thus making this side errand for my friend much more pleasurable for me. To be truthful, she was a fighter. Young, but with a lot of spirit. You know how much I like spirit. Her heart even tasted like it had more energy. Someday I hope we can enjoy such a meal together, but I know that is unlikely. For now, I shall take care of all the problems plaguing you, my very good friend. It is the least I can do.

  Yours,

  Henry

  Angus launched himself into motion, grabbing his phone and dialing quickly.

  “Tate Bianchi,” Tate answered.

  “It’s Angus. I’m sending you an email I just received with a picture of a new victim. She’s the woman who hit me in the head trying to save the guy who shot my lawyer. The shovel is right next to her.” He leaned over and typed quickly, forwarding the email. “I know this looks bad for me, but you have to find her. She’s in the forest somewhere. Also, there’s a letter from Lassiter—it’s coming with the picture, and there’s no quotation at the end. I don’t know what that means.”

  Tate’s voice became muffled, no doubt because his phone was resting on his neck. “Just a second.” He waited and then swore. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know. Get it to a tech or a lab or something and find her.” Angus next forwarded the email to Brigid, asking her to try to trace the IP address. “This is the first time Lassiter has reached out via email, so we might be able to trace him. He’s off his game and he’s getting desperate. This might be a chance, Tate. Don’t screw it up.”

  Typing came over the line. “I’ve sent it on. For now, you know I have to bring you in. This looks bad, but my gut is on your side. Come in and talk to me about this.”

  Angus swallowed. “Find me and I’ll come in.” He clicked off and then destroyed the burner phone. If he was in interrogation all day, he wouldn’t be ready to go the second Brigid traced the IP address.

  His email dinged again.

  Dearest Angus,

  I hit Send too quickly. Doesn’t that happen to everybody? Anyway, I wanted to say how much I’ve enjoyed being back in your life again. I have no doubt you’ve missed me as much as I you. For now, I’m going to leave you another present. In a time of life and of love, only maternal energy prolongs the journey.

  Yours,

  Henry

  “Jethro?” Angus bellowed. “Get out here.”

  Jethro loped out, freshly showered and dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt with his backpack over one arm. “What are you yelling about?”

  Angus rattled off the last line. “Do you recognize it?”

  Jethro paused and reached for a bottle of water to put in his pack. “Yes. It’s a phrase from a short story written by Frederick Litmuslion about fifty years ago. He lost his mother at a young age and it affected the rest of his life, to the point that he murdered four women who were nothing but kind to him.”

  Angus stilled. “What do you mean?”

  Jethro shrugged. “They were motherly figures, powerful women who were in charge, and he slaughtered them mercilessly. Why?”

  “It’s definitely Lassiter.” Angus went through the last week. “Shit.” He dialed HDD and was told that the administrator was on leave. “Nari?” He ran into the bedroom. “Call Quan. I need to know where Opal is.”

  Nari sat up, blinking sleepily. She reached for her phone and dialed. “Quan? Where are you?”

  Angus grabbed the phone. “Quan? Are you with the administrator? Where are you? She’s in danger.”

  The next moment Opal came on the line. “Nari? Hello?”

  “Ma’am, this is Angus Force, and you’re in danger. Do you have a detail with you?” he asked.

  Opal chuckled. “I’m always in danger, young man. I can assure you that Quan and I are more than safe at my place. You attended the holiday party here, remember? The security is superb.” She chuckled again. “Um, have to go. ’Bye.” She hung up.

  “Shit.” Angus looked at Nari. “Stay here with Roscoe. I’ll call it in to HDD, but I need to get to Opal. She’s Lassiter’s next target.” The bastard somehow knew where she was. He ran out of the room, dialing HDD for backup.

  “You need me?” Jethro asked.

  “No,” Angus said tersely. “All of HDD will descend there before I can even have Brigid trace her location. Protect Nari.” He yanked on a shirt and ran out the door, grabbing his jacket and weapon on the way. He had to get to the woman before Lassiter did. The head of HDD was in danger from a serial killer because of her connection to him.

  This was all his fault.

  * * *

  He’d made the drive in less than an hour.

  Angus kept his back to the perfectly manicured hedges, his gun out and his aim steady. The administrator was correct that her security was excellent. It was just unfortunate that it had been turned off—or cut. He had easily scaled the gate and now ran up the long drive toward the luxurious house. Where was everybody?

  The place should be crawling with HDD agents. Yet only silence, thick and heavy, surrounded the place, along with the rain. He blinked water out of his eyes and kept running, reaching the side of the house. If Lassiter was around, it’d be better to go in the back.

  Angus crouched low and ran along the side of the home, ducking beneath the various windows. It was a gorgeous, Victorian-style house, white with a wide porch in back. He stepped gingerly onto the porch and angled to the first sliding glass door to peer inside. The room appeared to be a guest room, with floral patterns, and appeared untouched. When he looked through the next slider he saw a prone figure on the ground, facedown.

  Rain pummeled him, and he had to wipe his eyes to see better. Was that Quan? Angus could make out dark hair. He forced himself to breathe evenly while reaching for the handle. The door, high quality and heavy, slid open easily.

  Keeping low, he pushed inside and shut out the rain. The room appeared to be a kitchen nook, with a round table and high chairs, flanked by twin hutches holding pale pink and blue dishes. He listened and could only hear the rain. So he moved forward, dropped to his haunches, and leaned over to see better in the semidarkness of the cloudy day. It was Quan; his eyes were closed and blood flowed from his forehead.

  Angus felt for a pulse. It was steady and weak. The man was alive.

  Where the hell was HDD? The agents should already be ther
e.

  Angus reached for his phone to call for an ambulance. Dead. He shook it. Jammed? Had somebody jammed all electronics? That would explain the malfunctioning gate.

  He shoved his phone back in place and leaned over in case Quan could hear him. “I’ll be back. Just hold on. Also, sorry I suspected you of being tied to Lassiter.” He stood and walked silently out of the breakfast nook, through a sparkling-clean kitchen to a living room that looked out to the rainy porch.

  Silence ticked around him, heavy with warning. He followed a hallway to the left and cleared a spacious office, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Nothing.

  Yet instinct propelled him to stay silent and not call out for Opal. He turned back the other way and cleared another bathroom, an exercise room, and a laundry. That left the closed French doors of what must be the master bedroom. He took a deep breath, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t find Opal Clemonte dead in there.

  Then he opened the door and walked inside. The bedroom was wide, with white furniture and a king-size bed covered with a purple bedspread. Perfectly made. His shoulders relaxed and he cleared the closet and bathroom before walking back out. All right. Was there a panic room? If so, how the hell would he find it? For now, he had to get Quan medical attention.

  He returned to the living room, where Opal now stood near the fireplace, a gun in her hand and a bandage around her injured arm. She was facing out the windows, tracking something with her eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low and looking for the threat.

  “No.” She turned to face him. Fire lanced from her eyes and she looked every inch the powerful operative she was, even in her light-green linen pants and matching sweater.

  He shook his head. “Where’s the threat?” he whispered, edging toward the sliding glass door.