Chasing Evil (Circle of Evil) (30 page)

“I’ll follow you to the Polk County Jail,” Cam told Jackson. The sheriff and his deputies led Vance away. The DCI agents headed back toward the house as Cam called for a crime team.

Only Franks stayed by Cam’s side, silently watching the sheriff’s Explorer turn and head out of town until its taillights were just pinpricks of red in the distance.

“That some Kung Fu shit you were doing with Vance?”

“Army Ranger combat training.” Cam didn’t trust himself to say more. An unfamiliar tide of emotion was still coursing through him. The urge to lay aside his weapon and join the man on the ground, using every ounce of deadly training he’d once received had been so strong, so overpowering that he still shook with the effort it had required to restrain it.

The feeling was unprofessional. Primitive. It had nothing to do with the oath he’d taken when he’d joined the agency, and everything to do with the six bodies in the morgue, and with the two women currently at the hospital.

It had everything to do with Sophie.

Franks clapped a hand on his shoulder. “All this backup is nice, but sometimes it feels like a shame to have witnesses, doesn’t it?”

“You must have a crystal ball in your pocket, Tommy.” Cam started for his car. “Because you just read my mind.”

Chapter 16

She could have taken the easy way out and done this with a phone call. An email. But that would have felt even more shameful than the knots she had in her stomach just contemplating the upcoming scene.

Sophia had chosen an outside corner table at Legend’s, hoping the shadows relieved only by the occasional torch light would give her some much needed bravery. So far it didn’t seem to be working. Her heart was rapping inside her chest, keeping time to her galloping pulse. The margarita in front of her wasn’t doing a thing to soothe a throat dry with nerves.

She wasn’t good at this. Hardly surprising. In the last several days she’d found any number of things she wasn’t adept at. No-strings sexual interludes, for one. Keeping her wits about her as she allowed herself—for the first time ever—to be led by her hormones.

And she wasn’t good at scenes. Something told her Cam wouldn’t be as civil and accommodating as Douglas had been when they’d discussed the dissolution of their marriage. But nothing about Cam was similar to her ex.

Which was very likely the reason she’d deviated from her usual safe choices in men in the first place.

She’d ordered for them and paid the tab, but had barely touched her drink. The beer she’d ordered for him had drops of condensation collecting on it in the warm air. One of them slowly rolled down the side of the bottle. Sophia’s gaze tracked its progress with an intensity that would have better served had it been turned inward. She could have benefited from that sort of focus twelve days ago. Or any one of the days since. She could have avoided this upcoming scene.

And missed out on every delicious and delectable moment she’d experienced with Cam Prescott.

Looking up then, she saw him approaching the wrought iron railing that separated the patio from the sidewalk. Her heart turned over in trepidation. He was wearing jeans with a white dress shirt, the sleeves half rolled to his elbows. And Sophia was reminded, quite vividly, of exactly what had made her throw her usual caution to the winds.

Summoning a smile when he stopped near her, she said, “Your beer’s getting warm.”

“Then I’d better drink it.” Rather than going around to the entrance, he stepped over the railing, earning himself a look of disapproval from a harried waitress rushing by. He slipped into the seat opposite Sophia’s and picked up the bottle. Took a drink. “Parking is getting ridiculous down here.” He propped a forearm on the table and scanned the area. “I like what they’ve done with this area. Hate the parking. There was no reason to bring two cars. Would have made more sense for me to pick you up.”

“I thought it would be easier this way. We need to talk.”

His arm stopped mid-way in the act of lifting the bottle to his lips. Slowly, deliberately, he set it on the table in front of him. Met her eyes. “I can’t think of one conversation I’ve ever enjoyed that started with those words.”

It was hard, so hard, to look at him as she stumbled through the speech she’d been practicing all afternoon. “I’m worried that our involvement could negatively impact our work the next time I consult with the agency.”

His gaze was watchful. “Nearly three dozen MCU agents in the state. You and I have only worked together a handful of times.”

“But still…we both work for the agency when I do consult…” Her argument sounded inane, even to her own ears. “It wouldn’t look good.”

“To who?”

He was making this difficult, she thought a bit wildly. Why was he making this difficult? “I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together.” She was fumbling this. Badly. “I just think it’s time we ended it.”

Cam said nothing. Just reached for the beer and took a long swallow. He set down the bottle. Remained silent.

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

His mouth quirked in a humorless smile. “You’re giving me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech? Honey, I invented that speech. You’re doing it all wrong.”

She felt her cheeks grow hot. Inexplicably, tears welled in her eyes. “I am. I’m sorry.” Rising, she fumbled for her purse. “You must think… I’m sorry.”

She hurried off, her vision blurred. Behind her she heard him murmur, “Goodbye, Sophie.”

And in that moment, she thought she regretted saying goodbye to
Sophie
almost as much as bidding farewell to her relationship with Cam.

It took a couple minutes for the door to be opened to Cam. “You changed the security codes. Good.” He stepped by Jenna into Sophie’s living room. The other agent closed and locked the door behind him. Reset the alarm.

“We also reset the key code on the garage. And Loring nailed shut the attic crawl space from the inside, at least until we can get the security company out here.” Jenna was showing the effects of a long day. Cam’s gaze went beyond her to the pile of throw pillows on the sofa. It looked like she’d crashed there for a while.

His gaze cut toward the master bedroom. “How’s she doing?” His voice was as hushed as Jenna’s. It was after three AM. He’d stayed at the jail until it became apparent that they weren’t going to get squat from Vance. The only words the man had uttered were to demand a doctor and a lawyer, in that order. His response to all questions had been a variation of one of those requests, made at escalating decibels. So Cam had gone back to Alleman to check on the crime team at Vance’s home. They would be working on the search for hours yet.

He hadn’t been able to wait hours before seeing Sophie again.

“I wasn’t sure the doctor would release her.” Because they felt suddenly useless, he jammed his hands into his trouser pockets. “Did he give you a report on her injuries?”

“She wouldn’t stay. And I’ll let Dr. Channing discuss her injuries with you. But I can tell you that Van Wheton still isn’t conscious. The doctors are worried about internal injuries and they’re checking for a brain bleed.” Jenna looked away, her expression strained. “The way she looks…I’m surprised she’s still alive.”

Cam walked over the couch. Sat heavily. He didn’t remember the last time he’d had a full night’s sleep. “I can’t believe she made it as far as she did once they got out of the barn.”

Jenna came to sit beside him. “Somehow Sophia managed to pull her using some sort of blanket carry. I just can’t believe it’s over.”

Leaning his head back on the couch, he let his eyes close. For just a minute. “Yeah. It’s over.” At least the urgent part of the case was finished. There would be no more victims, but now they started the painstaking methodical piecing together of evidence to build a case for trial that was so airtight, Vance would never wiggle free. “I’ve got another crime team at the barn,” he murmured. “I need to head over there.”

But for now he let himself take a moment to enjoy the fact that Sophie was free. Back home, in her own room, in her own bed.

He didn’t kid himself that this thing was over for her, though. He still didn’t know what Vance had subjected her to. The thought had his stomach clenching. She’d have healing to do. Physical and emotional. He knew from personal experience that sometimes the body healed much more quickly than the mind.

His cell vibrated in his pocket. Cam’s eyes snapped open, and when he recognized the number he surged to his feet to answer it. “Chief. I assume you got the voice mail I left.”

Edina’s Chief of Police Paul Boelin’s voice was jubilant. “I did. Damn good news that Mrs. Van Wheton was found alive, too.”

Pacing to the kitchen, Cam kept his voice pitched low. “She’s in rough shape, Paul. It’ll be touch and go.”

Some of the elation dissipated from the man’s voice. “I’m sorry to hear that. Her daughters are on their way to the hospital to see her now.”

“I don’t know the details…but she’s still alive at this point.” That was the fact to hang onto. With both Van Wheton and Sophie. Whatever they’d endured, they’d survived. They were safe.

“Caught a break up here that might help you nail the coffin on that bastard a little tighter.” A thread of satisfaction sounded in the chief’s words. “I figured since we didn’t catch a glimpse of the van used to abduct Van Wheton on any of the traffic cameras heading out of the Cities, he must have planned a route that would take back roads all the way to Des Moines.”

“That’s what I thought, too.” Cam had met with a similar lack of success when he’d checked all traffic cams on southbound roads from the Minnesota border to Des Moines.

“A trip that length, he would have had to gas up along the way. I struck out checking the security videos on the gas stations in town, so I started calling up local police to help me with stations in the towns on southbound blacktops.”

Interest flickered. “You’ve got an image of him at a gas station.”

“I did. An image without the damn mask he wore at the bank. The security footage clearly shows Courtney Van Wheton’s face at the back window of the vehicle when he was driving away.”

“I’ll be damned.” Puzzle pieces were clicking into place. And when all the pieces were found, the complete picture of Vance’s crimes would put him away for life. But Cam’s sense of grim satisfaction at the thought slipped away with Boelin’s next words.

“That agent of yours did a damn fine job on the sketch.”

A nasty pool of dread started to form at the pit of Cam’s stomach. “What’s that?”

“The sketch Agent Turner did up here with Carl Muller. To tell you the truth, I thought maybe Muller was just yanking our chain, but that sketch matches the image of the driver in the van almost exactly. Eerie, really.”

Jenna had come to the edge of the kitchen, frowning at him as she tried to discern the gist of the conversation. When he hung up several minutes later, they looked at each other. Her expression was pale.

“Vance has a partner?”

Cam swallowed around the hard ball of fury that had lodged in his throat. “He has a partner.”

Jenna leaned heavily against the counter, absorbing the news. “We shouldn’t tell Sophia. She doesn’t need to hear this right now.”

“I don’t need to hear what right now?”

Their heads swiveled at the sound of Sophia’s voice. She stepped out of the guest bedroom, tying a robe around her waist. She looked at their faces, and her movements stilled.

“I don’t need to hear what right now?”

Cam was the first to recover. He went to her, taking a quick visual inventory. She looked much too pale and much too brittle. As if she’d shatter at a single indiscreet word.

“You need some sleep.”

She stared at him with sober eyes. She could have been looking at a stranger. “I don’t want to sleep.”

Cam looked a little helplessly at Jenna. “Did the doctor write a prescription for a sedative?”

“I don’t want to sleep,” Sophia repeated plainly. “What I want is for you to tell me who you were talking to just then.”

“It was Chief Boelin.” When she waited, saying nothing, he supplied, “The Van Wheton girls are on their way to the hospital to be with their mom.”

A flicker of emotion chased over her face. “That’s good. Having them there…it might help.” She looked at the couch then, and said, “Jenna, you don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m too tired to drive now,” the agent said easily. “You don’t mind if I hang out for another few hours, do you?”

“Of course not. I’ll get you some sheets…”

“I’m fine. Really.” To accentuate her words, Jenna went back to the sofa and dropped down on it, stretching out. “But I can’t sleep if I know you’re still awake.”

“Maybe I am a little sleepy.” Sophie looked at Cam. Her blue eyes, usually so full of life, were opaque. “Would you mind coming with me for a few minutes?”

He followed her into the guest bedroom. Swung the door shut behind them. Although he’d poked his head in here a couple times, he’d never spent time in it before. Realizing why she had chosen the room to sleep in had his chest going tight.

There would be too many memories in her bedroom. In her bath. Nightmarish reminders of when she’d last been here. “Maybe you should have gone to a hotel tonight.”

She turned to face him, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, back straight. He was reminded for an instant of the evening she’d ever so delicately extricated herself from his life.

“I wasn’t raped.”

The pronouncement was uttered baldly. Unsure of how to respond, he said, “I’m grateful for your sake. But you were brutalized. Emotionally. Physically.” One of her wrists was encased in a soft splint. A bruise bloomed a brilliant shade of purple on her jaw and her bottom lip was split. Cam didn’t want to think about what other injuries the robe was hiding.

He was far more concerned about the ones on the inside.

She went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “I told you that so you’d know. I didn’t suffer. Not the way Courtney did. It was traumatic, yes. I was frightened…more than I’ve ever been in my life. But I’m not going to shatter with the delivery of bad news. I won’t fall apart at hearing a gruesome detail. Please tell me what Chief Boelin had to say that had you and Jenna so freaked out.”

He tried for a smile. “It’s been a freaked out sort of day, but I think we’ve got things under control for the…”

“I can tell when you’re lying.” The words, delivered in that too dispassionate tone stopped the rest of his statement. Her intense gaze was difficult to meet. “I wish I couldn’t. But I know you’re lying now, and it’s more upsetting to me than any truth you could tell me. And after you go, I’ll sit and worry about what you’re keeping from me. That won’t be good for my emotional health. So I think you need to tell me straight out.”

She sounded so like herself, so much the practical professional Dr. Channing that he almost smiled. But there was nothing amusing about this moment.

He went to sit beside her on the bed. Stared straight ahead. “You could have died.” A hot ball of emotion surged to his throat. “That’s difficult to forget.”