Cuts Like a Knife: A Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 1) (48 page)

I think I’m close to finding Carter’s number when my phone chirps and I hit the green button immediately, hoping Klarissa is calling me back to say she is on her way home from talking with Warren or a quick trip to the grocery store or anything else that has nothing to do with the Cutter Shark.

“Conner,” I answer.

“Okay, what’s happened, what’s going on, KC?” Don asks.

“Do you have troops on the way to Klarissa’s house?”

“I’ve been on the phone with Zaworski and Konkade. We’ve got a couple patrol cars on the way. No one is in the immediate neighborhood but the first should arrive within ten minutes. They’re in the middle of a situation and are being told our deal takes precedence. Blackshear, Martinez, and Reynolds are all driving there, too. Reynolds is bringing his soldiers—not sure how many. I’m at least thirty minutes away. Not sure how far away the FBI guys and gals are. But we’re coming en masse. Are you riding with your security detail?”

“Not exactly,” I answer, looking in the rearview mirror for any sign of Carter.

“What’s that mean?”

“They’re following me over,” I quickly say.

“Okay, good. Zaworski reminded me to tell you that you do nothing solo.” I’ll have no problem obeying—unless my sister is in imminent danger. “What did you get? What do we have waiting for us?”

“Dell slid a note under my apartment door, Don. He’s picked up his brother’s trail and knows he’s been watching Klarissa.”

“And he’s known this how long?” Don asks in amazement.

“I’m not sure,” I answer, “but he’s either at Klarissa’s or on his way over. He thinks he’s going to protect her from his brother.”

“What a fool!” he yells. “You sure he’s on our side?”

“I think so,” I respond, “but honestly, I don’t know anything for sure, including the Cutter’s whereabouts.”

“And you think tonight is the night?”

“I don’t think anything for sure. But it makes sense in light of his message through the ChiTownVlogger that the next murder would be summer.”

“We need to bring in both of those boys tonight,” he says.

“We need to make sure my sister is okay.”

“It all goes together,” he says. “How far away are you from her place?”

“Less than five.” I am driving seventy-five and eighty on a road that has a speed limit of forty-five.

“Okay, you listen carefully, Kristen. I know it’s your sister. But I am going to repeat what Zaworski said. Stand down and wait for backup. No freelancing. We don’t need a double hostage situation.” How about having a little confidence in your partner, Don?

“I’ll call you back in about five—let me give Zaworski and Reynolds a heads-up on the additional information. But you stay in your car until we get there. Understood?”

“I hear you,” I say and hang up the phone. I’m getting close. I quickly thumb through the call log on my phone and find what I think is Carter’s number. I hit the call button and he answers on the first ring.

“Detective Conner, I’m sorry but we’ve lost you,” he says rapidly. “I just got off the phone with Sergeant Konkade and he gave us the address for your sister and we’re flying low. But he wanted me to tell you to wait for us
outside
your sister’s place until we arrive.”

“Thanks, Carter.”

My phone is already vibrating again. It’s Konkade. No time to answer. I’m on Klarissa’s street. I turn off my headlights and cruise slowly past her place. Lights are on downstairs. I try her cell again. She’s still not answering. I park a block away and walk back toward her house on foot, keeping to the shadows on the opposite side of the street as much as possible. I watch her windows for any sign of movement and look at each car as I slide by. I don’t know what kind of car Dell has now and there is no record of Dean picking up a rental in any of the names he uses. I don’t see anyone watching—and none of the cars have a rental company sticker on the back.

I look at my watch. Maybe five more minutes for the first patrol car to arrive. Too long, I decide. I sprint across the street to her house. I know where she keeps her spare house key and jump the wrought-iron fence on the left side of her tiny front yard and head down the narrow brick walkway that separates her home from her neighbor’s. I take a quick look at her garage. The door is closed, so I don’t know if her car is there or not. On tiptoes I look inside a row of high windows. She never leaves doors unlocked, much less open. That’s a big deal to her.

I freeze for just a second. I hear a voice tell me if I just walk away and go to my apartment and get in bed, everything will be fine; Klarissa will call me in the morning and say that she and Warren met up to talk about getting back together and argued until 4 a.m. We’ll laugh at how I was worried about her and meet for coffee. We’ll never argue again.

Move. Face whatever it is you have to face.

My heart is beating crazy fast. I force myself to breathe slowly. My fear is paralyzing me. It has grown in the pit of my stomach and is working its way up my chest and to my throat, threatening to suffocate me. I’m reminded of standing on a ledge, thirty feet above a Smokey Mountains lake. We were on a family vacation when I was about fifteen. I was frozen in place on a small rocky perch for almost five minutes before absolutely forcing myself to dive into the air and into the deep, cool waters below.

God, let Klarissa be
okay. And alone. Please. Kristen, move. Now!

On the back stoop, I push up the edge of the large, molded concrete flowerpot, feel around underneath, and find the key before letting the pot thud back to the ground.
Quietly!
I slip the key in the lock and turn the dead bolt silently, then wince as it makes a
thunk
sound. I open the back door and slip inside, thankful for no squeaky hinges.

I pull my Beretta from my pocket and hold it in front of me. Walking on the outside edges of my feet, I start looking around in the back two rooms on the first floor of her three-story town house, the kitchen and a small office. If she’s here alone, I’m going to give her a heart attack. She’s not in either room, and at quick glance, there’s nothing out of place.

I quietly tread up the hall to the front rooms. I poke my head in the dining room. Nothing. I look in the formal living room.

That’s where I find Dell.

77

June 20, 11:39
p.m.

I GUESS IF
someone outside sees us
on the way to the door
I’ll just smile and tell them she had a little too much to drink
tonight.

But I might not
see everyone who sees us from inside. And the
city is holding its breath. Change plans?

No chance.

I’ve changed plans enough
in Chicago to last a lifetime. If you want the
biscuit, you have to
risk it. Dell used to say that to me when we
were little. That makes me feel a little sad to
think of us as little boys and now I’ve hurt him. But he did ask for it, trying to get in my way. Nope. No
changes. It’s almost time and this is the place.

I
still wish I hadn’t
had to hurt Dell tonight. I think he might be
my only living relation.
He always tried to be nice to me. He visited
me when I was a prisoner of the state. He got me out of the red brick monster that tried to
devour me and into that
church home. I wouldn’t call it summer camp but
it was definitely better than being behind the barbed-wire fence of the Colorado Institute for Troubled Youth. If
you weren’t troubled before you got there, you sure would be after you had
stayed for a while. But not me. That’s where I
found myself, where I
was set free. That’s where I
learned I was a man
apart, a man of destiny.

Any desire I might
have had for a relationship that falls within the social constraints of the masses died the
day I was reborn. I knew I was beyond social constructs and traditions. But if I ever
was to desire the kind
of relationship others must settle for, it would be with her. She is my soulmate after all.

Maybe I
will call 911 and get some help for Dell. No. That wouldn’t be wise. Not
enough distance between the front doors. I’m sorry brother, you are going to have fight this one on your own. I’ll tell you what. You make it through this alive and I owe you one.

78

“HE’S LOST A LOT of blood but he’s alive,” I explain to Konkade. Don patched me through to him with call forward. Konkade makes things happen faster than anyone else on the CPD, and he has already arrived back at the Second to coordinate actions.

“The ambulance will be there in next to no time. I think your backup is about to arrive, too. I’m sorry there were some delays. The closest squad car was involved in a domestic violence situation. But they’ll be arriving any minute. So, Conner, I know it must be incredibly hard not knowing where your sister is, but don’t move. We need you there to figure next action steps. We’re going to find her with you.”

I realize Konkade is yammering away to keep me on the phone. Zaworski suspects I’ll bolt out the front door if I have any ideas on where Dean might have my sister. And he would be correct.

I hang up. Dell groans and tries to lift his head. I carefully cup a hand behind his neck and tell him to be still. His eyes are unfocused. “Help is on the way, Dell,” I say. He has a gaping knife wound that draws a jagged line from his shoulder across his chest. The flow of blood is steady—the knife got an artery. I’ve pulled off my Under Armour sweat top and tied it around his chest to put as much pressure on the wound as I can. The flow has slowed to a trickle, but that’s still enough to drain his life away.

I kneel over Dell and see his left temple is matted with blood, swollen and turning an angry purple shade. I look around and don’t see a likely blunt object. Either Dean took it with him or more likely, after he knifed Dell, he kicked his brother in the head.

Dell opens his eyes and seems to focus on me, even as he labors to breathe. There’s really only one question I need answered. “Where’d he take her, Dell?”

He clutches my hand and his eyes bore into me. His lips move, but no words come out. A red bubble pops from his lips. His eyes now seem to plead for me to understand something important.

“Hold on, Dell. Hear those sirens? They’re coming to help you. But please tell me, where is Klarissa?”

He gurgles in an effort to speak. But his eyes are confused and filled with fear. They say
I don’t know.

His eyes close from the exertion and his breathing slows way down. For a second I think he might be dying in my arms, but then he opens his eyes again. He swallows, and then in a raspy breath says, “Kristen.”

“Dell, you don’t have to tell me you didn’t know what your brother was doing. I know that already. Save your energy. Can you tell me where he’s taken Klarissa?”

“I didn’t know he was . . .”

Focus, Dell! I don’t care.

“Where does Dean have Klarissa, Dell?”

“I swear I didn’t know he was the . . .”

Dell’s eyes shut again. Is this the final fade? I know I can’t push him in this state, but every fiber in my being is screaming for him to shut up about his innocence and tell me something that will help. I want to shake him. I’ve got to get to my sister.

“Dell . . . Dell! You’ve
got
to help me. Do you have any idea where he has taken her?”

His eyes focus again and he battles to get words out, but they can’t escape his lips. One corner of his mouth is turned up. Has he had a stroke? He turns from me and looks at the ground. I’ve lost him. I’ve lost Klarissa.

But then he starts moving his forefinger through the thin puddle of blood at his side. I watch as he writes one letter:
h
. Then another:
o
. And another:
m
.

“Home?” I whisper to Dell. His eyes go up and down in assent. “What home, Dell?” I ask.

Dell gulps and gasps for breath. More blood is pulsing from his wound and I put pressure on his armpit to slow the flow. I’ve got to let him rest, but I also need whatever else he knows. I pause, holding my breath. His eyes flicker and I think he’s mouthing the word “my.”

My? That’s his. His home.