Faceless

by Alexandra Ivy

  A cell phone.

  Noah’s breath was squeezed from his lungs as he snatched the phone out of the drawer and turned it toward the light that spilled from the living room. He didn’t need to turn it on to know it belonged to Wynter. He’d seen it hundreds of times over the years since she refused to upgrade to a newer model.

  “Gotcha.”

  Pulling his own phone from his pocket he raced out of the apartment. He pressed Chelle’s number, muttering a curse when it went straight to voice mail.

  “Chelle, I know who the killer is,” he said, taking the steps two at a time. “Don’t ask how, but I found Wynter’s phone in Oliver Wheeler’s bedroom. I’m going to pick Wynter up from the hospital. I’ll bring the phone to the station when I get back to Larkin.”

  * * *

  Wynter watched with a sick sense of anticipation as the back doors of the van were opened. Why had Ollie brought her here? Whatever his purpose, it couldn’t be good.

  Then again, she felt a surge of courage at the familiar surroundings. This was the one place she might actually have a chance to escape. Right?

  As if to squash any hope, Ollie pointed his gun at the center of her chest.

  “Be very, very careful, Wynter,” he warned. “We’re going to walk across the parking lot and enter your restaurant as if we’re two old friends enjoying the day. Any indication you’re going to try and run away or attract the attention of anyone, I’ll shoot you through the kidney. A very messy way to die.”

  Wynter nodded, careful to hold her hands together as if the tape was still binding them. Ollie studied her before giving a small gesture with the gun. Carefully, Wynter rose to her feet, bending low to inch her way forward.

  She flinched as Ollie reached out to grasp her by the upper arm, yanking her out of the van. Her feet hit hard pavement and she stumbled forward. Only Ollie’s ruthless grip kept her upright.

  Once she had her balance, Ollie wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed the gun against her side. Urging her forward, they crossed the lot that was bathed in bright sunlight. Wynter tilted back her head, gazing at the bright blue sky. It was a beautiful day. It seemed oddly ironic. She’d waited forever for spring. Now it might foreshadow her death.

  No, no, no. Wynter shoved aside the dark wave of doom, keeping her gaze locked on the building in front of them. She wasn’t going to give up. Especially when she caught sight of the window out of the corner of her eye. Noah was no doubt at the hardware store. Or even on his way back to the restaurant. All she had to do was stay alive until then.

  With her courage restored, Wynter asked the question that had been nagging at her. “What about Erika?”

  Ollie was scanning the nearby street, obviously worried they might be noticed. “Who?”

  “Dr. Tomalin.”

  “Oh. The shrink.”

  His dismissive tone ground against Wynter’s raw nerves. He sounded as if she was just trash that had stuck to the sole of his shoe. Something to be scraped off and discarded.

  “Why did you kill her?”

  Her voice was sharper than she intended, and Ollie’s fingers dug into her flesh with punishing force.

  “She left a message on your phone. She said she had information about the night your mother was killed.”

  Wynter glanced at him in surprise. Erika wasn’t connected to her family. Or the past. How could she know what happened the night her mom died? “What information?”

  “It didn’t matter. She was just another loose end.”

  Wynter didn’t dwell on her former therapist’s reason for calling. It was more than likely a mystery that would never be solved. Instead, she focused on the horrifying scene she’d discovered in her grandpa’s kitchen. It was going to give her nightmares for years to come.

  “How did you get her to the farm?”

  “After I heard the message I knew I had to take care of her before she could reveal whatever she’d discovered. I waited in her garage and knocked her over the head. Then I drove her out there.”

  Well, that cleared up the confusion of why Erika would go to the remote farmhouse. She didn’t.

  “You put her in the basement?”

  “Yes.” They reached the side door and Wynter frowned as he reached into his pocket to pull out a key. This was a new door; how had he gotten a copy? Then she remembered Tonya saying that the original had been left in the mailbox after Jeremy had finished with the installation. Had Ollie found it and made a copy before Tonya could bring it to Wynter at the hospital? Or more likely, Jeremy had left more than one key and Ollie had simply stolen it. He unlocked the door and shoved her inside. “She was supposed to stay there until I figured out how to get rid of her. There’d been too many bodies for me to risk another one showing up. There’s only so much luck before things go in the crapper.”

  “What happened?”

  “When I got back to the farm I discovered the bitch was awake and trying to get out of the basement. I hadn’t expected that. I’ll admit that I panicked.”

  He slammed the door shut behind them, as if annoyed by the memory of Erika’s refusal to remain unconscious. Or maybe it was his hasty killing.

  Wynter tried to look sympathetic, as if absorbed in his story. Her attention, however, had shifted to the kitchen she’d personally designed. There were dozens of obvious weapons in here. Knives, small blowtorches, skewers. But even as she judged the distance to the counter where she kept the meat mallets, Ollie was jerking her closer to his body.

  Time for another diversion.

  “So your father was never at the farmhouse?”

  “No.” He forced her across the tiled floor. “But I didn’t lie when I told you I’d caught the bastard trying to take off with my stuff. Miserable loser.” He shook his head, releasing his hold on her arm to grab a heavy bottle of oil she kept next to the deep fryer. “I told him that if I saw him in town again, I’d put a bullet between his eyes. He must have believed me because he took off. I should have known he’d find an easier mark. He’s nothing if not predictable.”

  She frowned in confusion. What was he doing with the oil?

  “Then how did his toothpick get there?”

  Ollie smiled with smug satisfaction. “Once I pulled the trigger, I realized it wasn’t a total loss. In fact, I decided I could turn it to my advantage. What better opportunity to point the finger of blame at someone else?” He shrugged. “My dad had left one of his toothpicks in my van when I drove him to the bar. It was a simple matter of dropping it next to the body and opening the safe. Problem solved.”

  Wynter stared at him in disbelief. “You framed your own father for murder?”

  “Why not? He’s a loser. He begs, lies, cheats, and steals.” Ollie shrugged. “If one of us had to go to jail, better him than me.”

  “I thought my family was screwed up,” Wynter muttered.

  “I knew from the time I was in second grade I would never be like my dad.” Ollie tilted his chin, his expression hard. “It didn’t matter what I had to do. I was going to succeed.”

  “Even if your climb to the top included killing people?”

  He smiled, as if proud of his homicidal success. “Business is business,” he informed her.

  “What happened to your father?”

  The smile faded, his eyes flat. He looked like a snake. “He’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “To hell. Where he belongs.”

  Wynter shivered. She and Noah had considered several possibilities about Jay Wheeler. That he was the killer. That he’d been framed. That he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  They’d never considered the possibility that he was dead.

  “Ollie—”

  She bit off her words as Ollie opened the bottle of oil and began splashing it over the tiles and then the heavy wooden island in the center of the room.

  “I love this place. I really do,” he murmured, moving to pour oil on the stacks of neatly folded tablecloths and napkins.
He turned back to offer a regretful smile. “And I love you, Wynter. It’s such a pity that it all has to be destroyed.”

  “Destroyed?” Wynter frantically shook her head as Ollie pulled a lighter from his pocket. “Please, don’t do this.”

  “You didn’t give me any choice.” He glared at her, as if he genuinely thought it was her fault. “Things didn’t have to change, but you couldn’t stop poking your nose into the past. Now you’re about to die in a terrible accident.”

  Holding her horrified gaze, Ollie flicked the lighter and held it toward the tablecloths. There was a spark, and then a flicker before blue flames swept over the pile. Wynter was frozen in place, watching in disbelief as the smoke filled the kitchen, stinging her eyes and clogging her throat.

  The cooking oil was spreading the fire at an alarming rate. Wynter Garden was going to burn to the ground ...

  Move, Wynter, move, a voice urgently screamed in the back of her mind.

  The restaurant could be repaired. She couldn’t.

  Stiffening her spine, she watched Ollie spreading the oil in a line toward the opening that led into the dining room. She coughed, waiting for Ollie to step out of the kitchen before she rushed forward, slamming the swinging doors behind him. Then, grabbing a wooden spoon, she slid it between the matching handles.

  It wouldn’t take much of a shove to break the spoon and open the doors, but it gave her a few seconds to try and make her escape.

  Ignoring his shouts of annoyance and the blinding smoke, Wynter dashed toward the door to her apartment. There was no way she could make it out of the kitchen and across the parking lot before he could see her out the window. He would just shoot her in the back. And she couldn’t lock herself in her apartment. Not when he had the key.

  Survival depended on cunning.

  Opening the door she ripped the clinging tape off her wrists and dropped it on the top step. There was the sound of wood cracking as Ollie kicked at the doors, and with a small whimper of fear, Wynter ran back across the kitchen. The heat was unexpectedly intense, but she refused to glance toward the flames that had spread over the oil on the tiled floor to reach the wooden island.

  She was cunning. Cunning as a . . . fox? Wolf?

  She swallowed a hysterical urge to laugh as she grabbed the handle of the walk-in freezer and pulled it open just a crack. Would he see it? She didn’t dare leave it open any farther.

  There was another snap and the spoon shattered. With a muffled curse, Wynter leaped toward the narrow janitorial closet beside the freezer and jammed herself next to the mops and brooms.

  Barely daring to breathe, she heard Ollie enter the kitchen. “Wynter,” he called out. “Why do you have to make this so difficult?”

  She bit her bottom lip. The heat from the flames was becoming oppressive and tears were running down her cheeks from the combination of smoke and terror. And worse, the urge to cough was nearly overwhelming.

  “Ah.”

  His footsteps headed toward the apartment door. Wynter braced herself, prepared to make a mad dash into the dining room if he headed upstairs. She could exit out the front door and scream for help.

  Not surprisingly, he didn’t fall for her ruse. She had, after all, made it fairly obvious.

  “Tut, tut, Wynter,” he called out in mocking tones. “Do you think I’m stupid?” The footsteps headed back to the center of the kitchen. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  Wynter shuddered, biting her lip so hard she could taste blood. Every instinct told her to run. Like a mouse cornered by a cat. What was it called? Flight or fight? She was definitely in flight mode. Poignantly, it was Erika’s training that kept her from doing something stupid. She’d given Wynter breathing techniques to overcome her occasional bouts of panic.

  Breathe in, hold it, and breathe out. Breathe in, hold it, and breathe out.

  She repeated the mantra in her head as the footsteps came closer. She pressed deeper into the mops, sending up a quick prayer. It was now or never.

  “Clever, Wynter,” Ollie murmured, so close that the hair rose on Wynter’s nape. “But not clever enough.”

  There was a soft squeak as Ollie pulled open the door to the freezer and peered inside. He was smart enough not to step in all the way, but it didn’t matter.

  Fueled by a combination of fear, fury, and adrenaline, Wynter leaped out of the closet and threw her entire weight against the door. It slammed shut with a satisfying thud, locking Ollie inside.

  “Bitch!” he shouted in anger. “I was going to make this as painless as possible for you. Now I intend to make you suffer.”

  There was the rattle as he jiggled the handle. Then there was a shocked pause before Ollie realized what she’d done.

  “No!” His scream was muffled by the thick door. “Let me out.”

  “You should have fixed the handle, you sick bastard.”

  Kicking the freezer to release a portion of her avalanche of emotions, she wiped the tears from her eyes. She’d done it. She’d survived. And now Ollie was trapped in the freezer until the cops could come and haul him to jail.

  She hoped they locked the cell and never, ever let him out.

  Wynter turned, intending to flee from the kitchen. She wanted to be far away from this place. But she never got to take a step.

  Directly in front of her was a wall of flames.

  Her heart sank in dismay. She was as trapped as Ollie.

  * * *

  Noah squealed away from Oliver’s shop, blowing through the stop signs and pretending the speed limit didn’t exist as he raced through the narrow streets. He wasn’t sure what was compelling his sense of urgency to get to the hospital. He was reasonably certain he’d uncovered the bad guy. Why else would Oliver have Wynter’s phone hidden in his dresser? And he was equally confident Chelle would be searching Larkin for the handyman. There was no need for him to be driving like a maniac.

  But telling himself that everything was okay and making himself believe it were two different things. In fact, it only made it worse. How many times had he been wrong in the past week? Although, in his defense, no one truly thought the quiet, hardworking man with the shy smile was a stone-cold killer, he wryly conceded.

  Still, he wasn’t going to ignore the heavy sense of dread that pulsed through him. He needed to be with Wynter. To have her wrapped in his arms so he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was safe.

  Tossing caution to the wind, Noah took the corner fast enough to nearly tip over his Jeep. There was a loud honk followed by a shout from the car he’d just cut off, but he didn’t care. He kept his gaze forward as he raced up Cedar Avenue. There were other streets that would have less traffic, but this was the fastest route to the nearby highway.

  He was a couple of blocks from Wynter Garden when he smelled smoke. At first it barely registered. There were always people who were burning leaves or trash despite the fact it was illegal in the city limits. But the closer he came to the restaurant, the thicker the smoke.

  Reluctantly slowing, Noah allowed his gaze to run over the three-story brick building. At first he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Then he caught sight of the dark plume of smoke escaping from the broken window. A second later, he noticed the van parked next to the restaurant.

  Shit. That was Oliver Wheeler’s van.

  Whipping the Jeep to the side, Noah jolted over the curb and into the empty lot. If he didn’t know the truth about Oliver he might have thought the man was there to try and put out the fire. Now, he was certain that the lunatic was responsible for the cloud of smoke.

  And worse, he had a mindless fear that Wynter might be inside.

  Barely remembering to put the vehicle in park, Noah was leaping out and racing toward the side of the building. A small crowd was beginning to form and in the distance Noah could hear the sound of sirens. His pace never slowed as he smashed his shoulder into the newly installed door.

  It flew open and a cloud of smoke billowed around him. There was a
cry from one of the onlookers. He thought they were urging him to wait for the fire trucks. Probably a smart idea, but there was no way in hell he was waiting.

  The sight of Oliver’s van set off all sorts of warning bells. He was going to make damned certain that Wynter wasn’t in danger.

  Entering the kitchen, he was instantly blasted by a wall of heat. He lifted his arm as if it might offer protection as he studied the flames swirling in the middle of the room. They appeared to be concentrated on the wooden island while small trails of fire danced over the tiled floor. Those, however, were starting to flicker and die. As if they were running out of fuel.

  Noah coughed, his eyes watering as he tried to peer through the smoke. At the same time, he reached out to search for the fire extinguisher that he’d seen hanging next to the door.

  He’d just managed to wrap his fingers around the steel cylinder when he heard a voice from the other side of the flames.

  “Is someone there? Help!”

  Wynter.

  His heart lodged in his throat, a surge of panic making his fingers clumsy as he pulled the pin from the handle of the extinguisher and raced toward the flames.

  “I’m coming, Wynter. Hang on.” He sprayed the tendrils of fire that were fading, determined to get through the fiery barrier.

  “Be careful,” she called back, her voice surprisingly steady.

  “Is Oliver here?” He continued spraying, creating a pathway.

  “Yes. I locked him in the freezer.”

  Noah laughed, belatedly realizing the source of the banging he could hear in the background. He didn’t know how Oliver had managed to get Wynter to this restaurant. Or exactly what he’d intended to do with her. But the maniac had been a fool to underestimate her.

  “You, my love, are a remarkable woman.”

  He sprayed the last of the foam, tossing aside the canister as he prepared to charge forward. Before he could take a step, Wynter was hurtling through the narrow gap and tossing herself directly into his arms.

  Noah held her close, reassuring his aching heart that she was alive.

  “Are you hurt?” Reluctantly he pulled back to run a searching gaze over her slender form.