Bone Cold (14 page)

“I'm glad to know you do. I would have hated having to write you off as not only a creep, but a bumbling creep as well.”

“So I take it your answer would have been no?”

She ignored his question, as much in an effort at coquetry as because she didn't know herself. “Perhaps we should get back to this ulterior motive of yours?”

“Look at me, I've put it off all night and here we are, saying good-night and I'm still fumbling around.”

“Just tell me. I'll bet I can take it.”

“All right.” He let out a long breath, a cloud of steam following on the frigid night air. “Remember when I said that I just happened to tune into E! that Saturday the Hollywood mysteries show aired?”

She nodded, a chill sensation starting at the back of her neck and spreading outward from there.

“That wasn't true. And it wasn't true that I was already a fan of your novels. I'd never even heard of Anna North until the day before the show aired.”

Her lips were numb, she realized. Not from the cold, from apprehension. From what she knew was coming next. “So, how…when did you—”

“The evening before the E! special, I found a package in my waiting room. It contained a copy of—”

“My last book and a note telling you to tune into E! the next day. Dear God.” She brought a hand to her mouth.
How far-reaching was her tormentor's campaign of terror? What was he after? And why had Ben been included?

“That's…yes.” He swore under his breath. “I see how upset you are, and I'm sorry. I'm certain one of my
patients left the package for me, but I don't know which one or why. I called the six patients I saw that Friday, all six denied having left it.”

One of his patients. The videographer.
She sucked in a deep breath, excited. “Do you have a patient named Peter Peters?”

He repeated the name, then shook his head. “No.”

“You're certain? No one named anything even remotely like Peter Peters?”

“I'm certain.” He frowned, concerned. “Why?”

“Because you weren't the only one who received that package. In fact, everyone of importance in my life received one. My parents, best friends, agent and editor…my little sister, Jaye.”

She hugged herself and stomped her feet to keep warm, strangely grateful for the cold, for the diversion it provided. “You weren't the only E! viewer who was able to put two and two together and figure out that Anna North is none other than Harlow Grail.”

This time it was he who searched her gaze, his filled with regret. “Before then, who knew?”

“Just my parents. I'd worked hard to put my past behind me. To disassociate myself from the kidnapped Hollywood princess.”

He let out a long breath. “I'm sorry, Anna. To have been exposed that way must have been very upsetting for you.”

Suddenly, she was angry. Furious. “It was worse than
upsetting,
Dr. Walker. It was a shock. I was terrified.” She hiked up her chin. “Why didn't you tell me the truth up front?”

“Because I figured you'd be spooked. That you would erroneously believe you were in danger from some nut
case patient of mine. No way would you have talked to me then.”

“Considerate, Ben. Thank you.”

“Please.” He caught her hands again. “I never thought you in any danger, you have to believe me. Therapy can elicit obsessive and sometimes bizarre behavior in patients. The process can bring out anger, bitterness and even rage. These emotions are often turned onto the therapist. That's why I believed the focus of this was me.”

She eased her hands from his and hugged herself. “Why are you telling me now? We could have gone on forever without me knowing the truth.”

“Because I'm neither a liar nor one of those people who can bend the truth and go righteously on their way.” He paused. “And because I like you.”

The last took a little of the blow out of her anger and she pulled her coat closely around her. “Why you?” she asked. “There's a twisted kind of logic in my friends receiving the package, but how do you fit in?”

“I don't know. It still makes sense that it's one of my patients doing this. I'll help you find out who, Anna. And why.” For the second time that night he reached out and lightly touched her cheek. His fingers were as cold as ice. “Together, we can figure this out. I promise we will.”

Saturday, January 20
2:00 a.m.

J
aye awakened from a deep sleep. Frightened, she lay stone still, listening. For what had awakened her. For the quiet whoosh of the pet door swinging shut or the creak of a floorboard outside her prison door. Those things had awakened her before.

Her captor came to her in the dead of night. He passed provisions through the pet door—food and drink for the day, fresh towels—never speaking. She had learned after the first day that if she left her garbage and any remnants of her meal just inside the pet door, he would take them away.

His silent presence frightened her. She had heard him on the floors below, moving about, coming and going. She had heard him breathing on the other side of the door. As if listening. And waiting.

For what? Jaye wondered, hugging herself. What did he want with her? He hadn't touched her. Yet, anyway. But he would. And then what would she do?

Fear choked her, and she struggled to breathe past it.
Jaye dragged the single blanket to her chin. Her hands screamed protest at the small movement—they were cut and torn from her daily clawing and tugging at the boards on the windows, black and blue from pounding against the door.

She wanted to go home. She wanted to see Anna, her foster parents and her friends. She wanted to wake up in her own bed, surrounded by her own things.

She didn't want to be scared anymore.

A sound slipped from her lips, small and helpless. Then another and another. Jaye strangled the fourth back, not wanting him to hear her. Not wanting him to know how frightened—how vulnerable—she really was.

But he knew. He knew everything.

No! He couldn't see inside her head or her heart. She wouldn't let him.

Jaye swallowed hard and sat up, focusing her thoughts on what
she knew.
On the things she could control. Unless she had somehow lost track of time, she had been held in this room for three days. She had deduced that her prison was some sort of attic room, several stories above the street. At times she heard the distant sounds of jazz, at others the rhythmic sound of taps striking the sidewalk. On several occasions she'd thought she caught a whiff of frying seafood and shrimp boil.

The combination of those things had led her to believe that she was being held in the French Quarter, in a building located away from the busy hub of Bourbon Street or Jackson Square. Perhaps on the fringe between the commercial and residential areas of the Quarter.

That was good news. She hadn't been taken far from home or the people who were searching for her.
Surely by now the police were involved. Social Services. Anna.

A lump formed in Jaye's throat at the thought of her friend. She regretted their fight. She wished with all her heart that she could take back the things she had said. She wished she could have one more day with her.

The thought brought fear and helplessness rushing back, and Jaye fought them, refocusing herself on what she had to do to survive. The way Anna must have, all those years ago. If Anna had given in to her fear back then, she would have died. Like that little boy.

After her and Anna's fight, Jaye had done some research on Anna's kidnapping. It hadn't been difficult, even in New Orleans the story had been front-page news. Jaye had been horrified by the recounting of the boy's murder, the description of how the kidnapper had held Harlow down and snapped off her finger.

Jaye could hardly fathom the terror and pain Anna must have overcome to escape with her life. She had been in awe of her. But unforgiving.

She forgave now. Now she understood.

Jaye closed her eyes. She breathed deeply, drawing strength from thoughts of her friend. What did she know about her captor? Jaye asked herself. She had seen his hands. They were strong-looking, though not overly large. The dusting of hair on their backs and on his forearms was dark. She deduced he was a dark-haired man of medium height, somewhere between the ages of thirty and fifty.

He had planned well for this, that was obvious. The pet door had been recently installed, the window freshly boarded. He had considered her every need ahead of time—toilet and facial tissue, soap and other toiletries, a change of clothes, though she hadn't touched them.

That meant he was careful, that he thought things through. That, most probably, he had preselected her. No doubt it had been he who had been following her, the old pervert as she had called him. Following and watching, learning her schedule and when she was most vulnerable, waiting for the right moment to snatch her. But why
her?
What about her fulfilled his twisted needs? She wasn't wealthy, so ransom wasn't his motive. So, he must want her for something else. Something…awful. And sick. Jaye swallowed hard. She wasn't naive. She knew what happened to kids who were abducted. She wished to God she didn't.

Suddenly, Jaye became aware of a rustling from the other side of the door. The sound was small, somehow hesitant. Different from the ones she had heard before. A lump in her throat, Jaye turned her gaze toward the locked door.

“Hello? Are you there?”

The voice, though slightly raspy, belonged to a girl.
Jaye froze. She looked toward the door.
Another girl? Could it really be?

She climbed off the cot and crept toward the door, heart thundering. It could be some sort of trick. It could be her helpless imagination playing with her.

The child spoke again. Her voice shook. “Are you…I don't have much time. If he…finds out, he'll be angry with me.”

“I'm here,” Jaye said, eyes flooding with tears. She had never been so grateful for anything as she was to hear this girl's voice. “Open the door. Let me out.”

“I can't. It's locked. He has the key.”

Jaye swallowed the despair that rushed up inside her. “Can you get it? Please, you have to help me.”

“I can't…I—” The girl whimpered, obviously
frightened. “I just came to… He wants you to be quiet. He's getting angry with you. And when he gets that way he…scares me. He—”

Jaye grabbed the doorknob and shook it. “Help me. Let me out!”

The child on the other side of the door whimpered again and Jaye sensed her backing away from the door. “You have to be quiet,” she whispered. “You don't understand. You don't know.”

“Who are you?” Jaye shook the knob again, voice rising in terror and frustration. “Where am I? Why is he doing this to me?”

“I shouldn't have come! He'll know…he'll…find…”

The girl's voice faded away and Jaye pounded on the door, desperate. “Don't go! Please don't… Don't leave me.”

Silence answered her. She was alone again.

Saturday, January 20
8:15 a.m.

A
nna awakened groggy from another night of tossing and turning. She had been exhausted and should have slept well, but instead had found her dreams plagued by images of children playing a dangerous game of hide-and-seek with an unseen monster, one who always lurked just beyond Anna's field of vision.

She climbed out of bed and slipped into her old chenille robe and fuzzy slippers. She crossed to the French doors that led to her narrow balcony. The day was bright and crisp-looking, the sky a brilliant, cloudless blue.

Huddled in their coats, Dalton and Bill sat at a table in the courtyard below. Steam rose from their mugs of coffee; between them sat a plate of what looked to be croissants and fruit. Smiling to herself, Anna cracked open the door and poked her head out.

“Morning, boys,” she called. “Have you lost your minds? It's freezing out there!”

Dalton twisted to look up at her, patting his mouth
with a napkin as he did. “The weather guy promised a warming trend. It's supposed to reach fifty today.”

“A regular heat wave,” Anna said, shivering. “Don't forget the cocoa butter.”

“It's all mind over matter.” Bill motioned her. “Come join us. We have an extra croissant and plenty of fruit.”

“As much as I love you guys, I value warmth more. In other words, no way and get a grip.”

Dalton pouted. “But we want to hear about your date.”

“Then come up. I'll make café au lait.”

She ducked back inside, not bothering to latch the French door. She hurried to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, then went to the kitchen to get the coffee started.

Just as the she dropped the frozen coffee cubes into the mugs, she heard her friends at the door.

She let them in and they tripped over one another in their rush to get inside, shedding their coats and rubbing their hands together.

“Mother of God, it's cold out there!”

“I've lost feeling in my hands.”

Anna arched an eyebrow, taking their coats. “What happened to mind over matter?”

“It froze its ass,” Bill replied, irritated. “I'm sick of this weather. This is New Orleans, for God's sake. Southern Louisiana. Practically the tropics.”

Dalton gave his partner a brief, conciliatory hug. “Forgive him, Anna. He's on a tear. You know how much he loves dining al fresco.”

“And wearing short-shorts. What's the point of having Buns of Steel if I can't show them off?” Bill handed her the plate of fruit and pastries. “Think about it. We live
through July and August so we can avoid this freeze-ours-butts-off crapola. How fair is that?”

Dalton agreed. “It could almost bring one to violence.”

“Exactly.” Bill rubbed his hands together. “A killer who only strikes when it's cold.”

Dalton flapped his hands, all but dancing with excitement. “It starts out as a game. Or out of boredom. It escalates until people are dropping left and right.”

“Like flies.” Bill clapped his hands together. “You should use this, Anna. It's good.”

Anna poured the steaming milk into the mugs, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Inspired stuff, guys. Keep those ideas coming. I need all the help I can get these days.”

They carried their coffees to her kitchen table and sat. For a moment, they sipped their drinks in silence.

“How was the date?” Dalton asked, curving his hands around the mug.

“It wasn't a da—” She bit the words back, because it most certainly had been a date. So why had her immediate response been a denial?

Because it hadn't felt like a date.

She shook her head, picking at the croissant. “It was fine. Really good.”

Bill and Dalton looked at one another, then returned their gazes to her, expressions expectant. “Tell us every juicy detail.”

She told them instead about the surprise revelation Ben had sprung on her when he'd driven her home.

Dalton let out a long breath. “Damnation and blueberries.”

“No joke.” She pushed away the plate and what was
left of the croissant. “He's certain one of his patients is behind it. But he hasn't a clue which one or why.”

“Did you give him the name your mother—”

“Yes. He doesn't have a patient named anything remotely similar to Peter Peters.” She let out her breath in a frustrated huff. “He promised to find out who had left the package.”

“A regular hero.” Dalton brought the mug to his lips. “I enjoy that in a man.”

“Thank you.” Bill blew his partner a kiss, then turned back to Anna. “Do you like him?”

She didn't hesitate. “I do. He's nice.”

Her friends groaned and she frowned at them. “Nice is good. It's fine.”

“Hot's better.”

“Much better.”

She laughed and shook her head; silence fell between them. From the corners of her eyes, Anna saw Bill nudge Dalton. The man shot him a dirty look and mouthed something that she guessed to be a warning.

Anna frowned. “You two look like a couple of cats who swallowed canaries. What's up?”

The men exchanged glances.

“We didn't want to upset you.”

“We know how distressed you've been about Jaye.”

“The last thing you needed was another one of those letters—”

“From your little fan.”

Anna's stomach clenched. “When did it come?”

“Just yesterday afternoon,” Dalton said. “I could have brought it after work—”

“But you had that date last night and—”

“We didn't want to ruin it.”

“I appreciate your concern, boys, but I'm not made of whipped cream. Hand it over.”

“I think Dalton left it at The Perfect Rose,” Bill offered, not meeting her gaze. “In fact, I'm certain of it.”

“Nice try, but I know better.” She held a hand out. “Give it to me. Now, please.”

Dalton looked sheepish as he dug the letter out of his back pocket. He handed it to her. “You're not mad, are you?”

“Not if you and your cohort in crime promise to stop trying to protect me. Otherwise, I'm furious.” She moved her gaze between the two men. “Agreed?”

They did, though she didn't really believe they would stick to their promise. She figured she would cross that bridge when she came to it. For this moment she had another, much more distressing bridge to cross.

Anna opened the envelope, a knot of apprehension in the pit of her stomach. Her hands shook, and she wished she could scrawl
Return To Sender
across the front and put Minnie and her disturbing letters out of her mind forever.

She couldn't do that. Minnie needed her, and although Anna didn't know how she was going to help the child, she couldn't stop trying. She couldn't abandon her.

Anna drew the single sheet of lined paper from the envelope and began to read:

As she always did, Minnie decorated the envelope with hearts and daisies and the letters S.W.A.K.

“My God, Anna,” Bill murmured, laying a hand on her arm. “You look like you've seen a ghost. What did she say?”

Silently, Anna handed the letter over. Both her friends read it, then met her gaze.

“Do you think this is for real?” Dalton asked her.

“Well, sure. I mean…don't you?”

“At first I did, but now…I don't know.” Dalton looked at Bill. “That detective could be right, Anna. This could be a sick prank. It's a little over the top.”

“I agree,” Bill murmured. “If this mysterious ‘He' of the letters knows you've been corresponding and is angry about it, why let it continue? And if this child really is a prisoner, how is she able to write and send letters anyway?”

“And why would
you
be in danger, Anna?” Dalton shook his head, a frown marring his handsome face. “That's just too much for me to swallow.”

Bill concurred. “And if this man recently kidnapped a child from this area, why haven't we heard anything about it?”

“Right,” Dalton concurred. “Kids don't go missing without an alarm being sounded. It's just not making sense anymore.” He gentled his voice. “I'm sorry, Anna.”

Anna looked from one to the other of them, consid
ering their argument, realizing they were right. It
was
over the top now—just too much.

Someone had deliberately set out to try to terrify her. And she had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.

Just the way he—or she—had wanted her to. Just the way they had known she would. Because of her past.

She crumpled the letter and tossed it onto the table. “I feel like an idiot. A total patsy. My God, I went to the police about this.”

“Don't do this to yourself, Anna! Bill and I fell for it, too.”

“But you weren't the target. You weren't a victim. Again.”

Dalton stood, came around the table and gave her a hug. “At least it's over, Anna. You can put it out of your mind and focus on other things.”

“Like Jaye and my nonexistent writing career. Gee whiz, I'm thrilled.”

“Please don't be upset,” they said in unison. “We hate it when you're upset.”

“That's why we want you to come out with us tonight.”

“We're going to Tipitina's.”

“Tonight's zydeco night.”

“The Zydeco Kings—”

“Straight from Thibodaux—”

“Are playing. And it's Saturday night. So, why not?”

“I don't know, guys.” She shook her head. “I'm really not in the mood—”

“That's exactly why you must come! It'll lift your spirits.” Dalton grabbed her hands. “You're a stabilizing influence on us, Anna. If you're with us we won't drink or eat as much. We'll get home before dawn.”

“You can invite your doctor friend. And if you do, I solemnly swear not to grab his butt.”

Anna laughed, she couldn't help herself. “I love you guys.”

“Does that mean you'll come? Please.”

She capitulated. “Yes, that means I'll come.”