Beauty and the Chief (17 page)

Help − they had to have help, but she couldn’t leave Detective Crocker. The way he was bleeding, he wouldn’t survive long. She pulled off her jacket, wrapped the body of it to make a wad, and then worked it under his sport coat over the wound. She used the sleeves to tie it into to place. A weak gasp escaped him as she tightened it down.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Satisfied it was the best she could do, she was left with getting him somewhere safe. There was no doubt that if The Beast found him still alive, he would finish killing him. Jillian moved to the bookcase and ran her hand along the shelf to find the hidden lever. Touching it, she pushed and was rewarded with a faint click. Thank heavens for Ryan’s fascination with the secret doors. The first thing he did was to oil and get them working.

Detective Crocker was a solidly built man. It took all her strength just to drag him into the passageway. His body left a trail in the dust on the floor. Jillian only hoped The Beast wouldn’t know how to open the panel or would be more concerned in following her than going after the injured detective.

Jillian closed the panel firmly, shutting the detective in, and ran to the French doors. Flipping the latch, she gripped the handles, turned and pulled. The doors only shifted about a half-inch. That was when she saw the chain through the window. It was wrapped around the handles and locked in place. She knew then why the other doors wouldn’t open. He’d sealed her in.

She thought about smashing the glass, but then there were the chains. Besides, the first thing Mrs. Van Buren had wanted done was to have all the windows, broken and otherwise, replaced with triple pane, tempered glass so no one could break in and destroy things once the work had begun. It was a great idea, but she wasn’t likely to be able to put her hand through it.

Across the room, the door handle rattled. Jillian spun to face it, her hand going to her mouth to keep back the cry that tried to escape. “Beauty.” The name seeped through the door. “Come to me, Beauty. You are my one.”

“That’s what you think,” she said to herself in a hushed voice. Crossing the floor as silently as possible to the other wall, she opened another panel. This one had a flight of stairs going up.

Something slammed on the door. She jerked around just as a roar split the air from behind the door. She didn’t know how long it would hold, but another blow spurred her into the dark stairwell with a prayer that The Beast didn’t know about the secret passages. She closed the panel and plunged into inky darkness.

Her breath caught as she fought to steady her nerves. The passage was narrow. With her hands out on both sides touching the walls, Jillian climbed. The sounds of dulled thuds and another roar could barely be heard. One step in front of the other, she made her way up, wishing she had her flashlight, which like her cell-phone, it was in her tote.

Fear spiked again when she reached the top and couldn’t see to find the catch to open the exit. For a moment, she was tempted just to wait there until Mark came to find her. He would come looking for her. She had no doubt of that.

He’d said he was coming by after the press conference. How long ago was that? Maybe, forty minutes ago. She could hide here for that long. But what if the conference went longer? There was also the time for him to get to her studio and find out she was missing and get here. It could be hours. She could wait that long, but Detective Crocker couldn’t. He needed help, now.

Jillian tried to picture the location of the lock in her mind. She had been through this way several times. With her hand at about waist height, she ran her fingers over the wall until she found the barely discernible seam. Inching her hand slightly to the right, she traced it up and down until she felt the indentation.

With a deep intake of air, she held her breath and pressed. In the tomb-like silence, the click sounded thunderous. She glanced down the stairs. When there was no answering movement at the bottom, she pulled open the door and eased through.

***

“Mark,” Edward Samuelson’s voice reached out to him from the phone. “I think we may have something on the flowers.”

“Tell me.” His body shifted to full alert.

“We’ve been looking for the florists in the area that carry American Beauty roses. There are only a couple. And, since some people pay with cash, our list had quite a few holes in it, but I think I just got lucky. I talked to a lady who, when I asked about American Beauties specifically, she remembered something odd happened about three weeks ago. A man came in and requested a bouquet of American Beauty roses. He was very specific she said. She’d sold out and offered him another variety. He became irate. He insisted they had to be American Beauties.”

Mark felt his heart jump as Edward kept talking. “The man had her find out who else in the area handled them, then call to make sure they had them. When she asked for a name to have them held under, he refused to give it.”

“Did you get a description?” Mark had to know now.

“I got better than that. After the guy left, the woman kept thinking about him. She knew she’d seen him before. Later, she got a call from a friend, and it dawned on her where she’d seen him. Her friend works at the newspaper and she’d been there visiting her. It was Nigel Clark.”

The air caught in Mark’s chest, and he turned to scan the crowd of reporters. Clark wasn’t there. He hadn’t seen him the whole time, which was unusual because Clark was the one covering the killings. He was always there.

“Get an APB out on Clark. I want him brought in for questioning right now,” he growled out the last word. A wave of certainty burned in him. Clark was the killer. He looked over the reporters one more time. Why wasn’t he there? Where could he be?

Ice filled his insides. Disengaging the call, he scanned until he spied the reporter from the same paper. People parted out of his way as he strode through the crowd.

“Where’s Clark?”

His demand took the man by surprise, and he stumbled over the answer. “He … he called in sick today.”

Mark didn’t wait for anything else. He turned, moving away from the crowd. He broke into a run, pressing the dial to Jillian as his long stride ate up the ground to the parking lot. It rang and rang with no answer. He hung up and pressed another number. Nan’s voice answered, “Taylored Designs,” just as he slid into his car.

“Where’s Jillian?” He barked out, urgency to hear her voice pumped in him.

“She went out to the Van Buren mansion.” Nan’s voice quivered in response, obviously sensing something was wrong.

“When did she leave?” He flipped on his flashing lights.

“Right after she talked to you. She went with the officer.”

“If she calls, have her call me.”

“What’s wrong?”

He heard the woman asking as he cut the connection, punching another button, while pressing down on the accelerator.

“Dispatch.”

“This is Chief Richards, find out who’s escorting Jillian Taylor and connect me.” He forced himself to slow and gripped the wheel to make a turn.

The wait was unbearable before the voice came back on line. “Detective Crocker is attached to Jillian Taylor, but there’s no answer on either his unit or phone. Sir, one of the other dispatchers just had a call come in from Detective Crocker’s phone. The call was cut off. All we got was what sounded like a request to send back up before the line went dead. They’ve been trying to locate him.”

“Send units to the Van Buren mansion. You’ll have to look up the address. Also, have Andrew Hamilton and Edward Samuelson meet me there.”

He dropped the phone in his lap as he took another corner, praying his fears were all for nothing but knowing inside that Jillian was in danger.

***

Jillian’s heart pounded as she stood inside what had been the master bedroom. Relieved to be out of the darkness, she was uncertain what to do next. She strained to hear any sounds from below. There were none. Deathly quiet seemed to invade the building. She wished she knew where The Beast was or what she should do. Getting out was the simplest, most logical thing.

A floorboard creaked on the first step she took and she froze. Taking a deep breath she tried again, this time cautiously placing her weight down and was rewarded with silence. Reassured, she continued her way across the room toward the doors leading to the balcony. She froze with each sound, afraid that any minute The Beast would burst through the door.

Jillian was only a few feet from the doors when she saw the chains. She wanted to scream or cry. Instead, she shifted directions to the hall. With one hand on the handle, the other on the door in case she needed to slam it shut, she turned the knob and eased it open, praying it wouldn’t creak. There was only a slight sound, but it made her insides clinch.

Holding her breath, she peeked around the doorframe. The hall was empty. Still she waited before moving out, trying to come up with a plan. All the rooms on this side of the mansion had French doors that led out onto the balcony. She had no doubt they would all be chained.

On the other side, the rooms had windows that looked out over the front drive. She couldn’t think of a way he could seal them, unless he nailed them shut. The problem there was she’d be faced with a fifteen foot drop. If she clung to the sill and lowered herself down, it would only be about ten feet. She should be able to do that. She just hoped she didn’t sprain an ankle or break a leg. Still, it was better than facing The Beast.

Jillian had only taken three steps out into the hall when she heard a floorboard near the top of the massive circular staircase squeak. Terror pushed her forward. She’d just started for the door when he spoke.

“Beauty, why do you run from me? We are meant to be together. You will save me from the beast I’ve become.” The words were filled with madness. The haunting cadence was sickening.

She grabbed the handle and shoved at the door. Stumbling into the room, she slammed the door behind her. Jillian turned to lock it and cried out. The lock was broken. A quick scan showed there was nothing in the room she could use as a weapon so she dove for the window. It was doubtful she’d make it but she wasn’t going to give up without trying.

This time the lock turned in her hand, and the window slid open easily. Jillian sat on the sill and draped one leg over just as the door burst open. The blast of it bouncing off the wall echoed in the room. Jillian grabbed the edge to propel herself over as the figure leapt across the room, his cloak billowing out around him like massive black wings.

Jillian pushed off the sill just as the hand locked around her wrist. She swung down but her body slammed into the siding, knocking the breath from her. The muscles in her shoulder screamed, and the sound followed it out of her mouth.

Agony swept over her. She thought her arm would be ripped from its socket. Lights swirled in front of her eyes. Jillian wondered if she blacked out for a minute because, the next thing she knew, she was being dragged over the ledge.

“Beauty.”

The Beast was bending over her again, just like he had the first night and again in her nightmares.

A whimper escaped her.

He stroked back her hair. “I have you, Beauty.”

Jillian shook her head in the negative, unable to get words past her lips.

The roar that erupted from behind the mask was almost inhuman. “Love me, Beauty!” The words gnashed out.

Too many times the words had haunted her, and her soul rebelled at hearing them again. “No!” she screamed, throwing her hands up, clawing at the face behind the mask with her own animalistic instinct.

The arms holding her released their grip. Her hand locked on the mask pulling it with her as she dropped to the floor, not lessening her attack. She kicked out and hit, ignoring the pain in her shoulder.

A snarl, like some feral animal exploded from the figure. She looked up at the man. The face without the mask or wig was hardly less beastly. His scalp was covered with roughened, discolored skin, but it was the expression that frightened her. His lips were pulled back. In his madness, saliva seeped from the corners. His eyes were wild with the hatred that burned in them. The familiar features of the reporter were barely discernible in the twisted fury of The Beast.

Shock at realizing who it was faded under the reality that he was going to kill her.

***

Mark sped up the hill, taking the curve faster than was safe. The mansion came into view in front of him. He felt a wave of relief at seeing the building until he noticed movement at an upstairs window. He was close enough to make out Jillian. His stomach clenched as she put her leg over the ledge, and he realized she was going to jump.

He was hardly able to force his concentration back to the road long enough to make it through the gates, then it went right back to the window as Jillian’s body dropped. Instead of falling, she swung out, then slammed into the side of the building, and Mark saw the monstrous shape holding her.

His hand went to his gun as he skidded to a stop behind two other police cars. In one motion he was out of the car and had his gun up but halted, unable to take the shot with Jillian being pulled back through the window blocking his view of The Beast.

Mark ran for the mansion, joined by another officer.

“All the doors are chained and padlocked,” the officer informed him, holding up a pair of bolt cutters which he had just taken from his trunk.