Don't Look Back (36 page)

“I don’t know . . . I . . . it could be nothing.”

“We’ll take it. What is it?”

With the back of her sleeve-covered hand, she wiped a stray tear from her face. “Um . . . he might go to our childhood home. Maybe.” She shuddered. “I wouldn’t ever go back there, but he . . . ,” another deep breath, “he said he sometimes goes to . . . think. To remember.”

“Remember what?”

A shrug. “I really don’t know. Maybe he feels guilty for killing our mother and goes back to think about it.” She ran a hand down her face.

“Where’s your childhood home?”

“About fifteen minutes from here. It’s in Cowpens on a little farm area.” She gave directions.

Nerves humming with the knowledge that they might actually know where Jamie was being held, Dakota called and gave the address to the backup that would meet them out there and looked at Connor and Kit. “Let’s go.” He looked at Beth. “You’ll face charges.”

She nodded. “I know.” Then fear flashed in her eyes. “You realize when you get there, he’s going to know it was me that sent you. If you don’t get him, he’ll kill me.”

Dakota felt his jaw become granite. “We’ll get him.”

Jamie felt the sweat break out across her forehead. Her shirt stuck to her back. All good signs that her fever had broken. She felt better, but weak, and that worried her. Would she have the strength to do what she needed to do?

She had to. It wasn’t exactly like she had a choice. Not if she wanted to live.

Rolling to her side, she looked at her lab coat. She stood, stumbled slightly, then caught herself. The nausea she’d felt earlier returned full force and she made a dash to the bathroom.

The door opened just as she lost the contents of what little she’d had in her stomach.

“Still not feeling well, I see.”

Jamie didn’t even have the strength to flinch. Resting her forehead on the side of the tub, she ignored him and closed her eyes.

A cool cloth touched her head and she opened her eyes. Evil stared back. She swallowed. “Why are you being nice?” Her mouth tripped over the last word used in connection with this man. Wary, she watched him, waited for his next move, certain this was just another one of his psychological tortures.

He smiled, his lips parting in a way that sent a shiver through her. No, he wasn’t being nice. He said, “You’re no fun this way, Jamie, but that’s all right, I have time to wait on you to get better. And if you don’t get better soon, I’ll just do what I have to do.”

Her head lolled away from him. His hand shot out and grasped her chin in a bruising grip to turn her to face him. “You were so easy to take twelve years ago. So easy.”

She tried to jerk out of his grasp but only succeeded in causing him to squeeze harder. A cry formed on her lips and she bit it back. Satisfaction at her success in not making a sound almost overshadowed the pain in her jaw.

“Why did you take me?”

He let go of her and stood. She flexed her jaw, wincing at the shooting pain.

He shook his head. “Because you were living your life all wrong. Partying, sleeping around. You might have become pregnant, then what would you do with the child? Lock it in a closet all day? Smack it across the room when it asked to be fed? Come home drunk or high and beat it until it falls into unconsciousness? Break its arm for digging food from the trash can? And more?”

Shock held her still. “Is that what your mother did to you?”

Eyes narrowed, muscles along his throat pulsed. “It doesn’t matter now. What matters is the need to rid the world of girls and women like you.”

“But I would never do that to a child,” she protested.

Another hard, evil smile. “You’re right about that, my dear. You sure won’t.”

34

Dakota pulled the van into a small side road across the street from their intended target. Connor rode shotgun, Kit had one of the back seats. Technology surrounded her.

The SWAT team had already arrived and taken their places around the isolated property. Dakota looked at the house, his gaze probing, desperately searching for a sign that Jamie was here – and still alive.

Not much to look at now, the ranch-style brick building had seen better days, had probably been a pretty nice house once upon a time. Grass and weeds grew as tall as some of the windows. An abandoned car with no wheels sat off to the side, rusting and home to all kinds of critters he had no desire to get up close and personal with.

“Better watch your step in there, could be snakes.”

Connor lasered him with a look. “Thanks for the warning. You know how I feel about snakes.”

“About like I do, I’m sure.”

Kit’s gaze bounced back and forth between the two of them. “I don’t mind snakes. I’ll take care of them if you’ll take care of the spiders.” She shuddered. “I hate spiders more than anything.”

Connor offered a tight smile to his newly acquired sister-in-law. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

Dakota spoke into his microphone. “Everyone in place?”

“Copy that.”

Squinting his eyes against the sun, he asked, “You see any kind of warning system? Alarm?”

“Negative, sir,” came the response into his ear.

“Can we get some cameras in there? I need to see what’s going on.”

“Moving in now, sir. Blinds are covering all the windows. If I cut the glass, he might notice. I’ll have to thread the line through the air vents or go up under the house. May take me a little bit of time.” Two SWAT members crept forward, one would take the front of the house, the other the back.

“We don’t have time. I want a running commentary when and if you can talk.”

“Yes sir. Approaching the west end of the house now, sir.”

The man seated at the computer in the back of the van transcribed the dialogue.

“Camera one ready.” Dakota flipped the screen on. “I’ve got eyes.” What looked like a square cut into four pieces flashed on. Only one fourth of the screen was filled. The top left-hand corner showed a room that looked like a simple bedroom.

“Camera two ready. Easier than I thought, sir.” The right-hand corner flickered, then came on. The kitchen. Fastidiously neat.

“Camera three ready.” Left bottom corner. “Another bedroom. But look, what’s that in the corner there?”

Kit leaned in. “A chain. It’s hooked to the bed and is leading into the bathroom.” It jerked.

“Something’s on the end of that.”

“Camera four ready.” The last empty spot in the right-hand corner filled up with an image that made Dakota jerk.

Connor gasped. “Is that a . . . ? What is that?”

“It almost looks like a morgue, doesn’t it?”

“But what’s that machine?”

Dakota remembered Jamie’s whispered words about a week ago. “I bet that’s an x-ray machine.”

“You’re kidding. Wonder what this guy’s power bill is?”

“Does anyone see our victim or the suspect?”

“Negative.”

“Can we get a camera in that bathroom?”

“Negative. I tried. There aren’t any blinds, but I can’t get a good visual.”

“Try again. At least get me some audio.”

“Yes sir, trying again.”

The second screen, identical to the first, sat waiting for the images. A minute and a half later, a swiftly indrawn breath and low, whispered voice came through Dakota’s ear piece. “I have a visual on the victim. Stand by.”

“Standing by.”

A picture popped up and Dakota’s heart fell to his knees. “Oh my . . . Jesus, please,” a whispered prayer, not a curse. Jamie sat on the floor of the bathroom, hands cuffed in front of her, knees drawn up to her chest, eyes staring straight ahead. She looked like death. A black-shod foot stood near her.

“Dakota . . . ,” Connor breathed his name, his face stricken. “We have to get her out of there now.”

“I know.” He looked at Kit. She stared at the image of her sister, two tears silently streaking her cheeks. He squeezed her shoulder and she jumped.

“Who is this sicko?” she breathed.

“Someone whose reign of terror is coming to an end today.”

She palmed her cheeks to swipe the tears, then said, “Tell me what to do.”

He looked around and didn’t see the department negotiator. He was still working another case and hadn’t arrived yet. May not arrive in time. “Hone your negotiating skills, we may need them.”

Nodding, she turned back to the screen.

Just then, the booted foot disappeared – then came back to catch Jamie in the ribs.

Kit cried out and jumped to her feet. Connor whispered a word he hadn’t used in a very long time – and Dakota headed for the door.

A hand grabbed his arm. Connor’s voice low and soft penetrated the red haze of murderous fury that had overtaken him for a brief moment. “Don’t, Dakota. He’ll kill her before you get to her. Right now, she’s alive.”

His partner was right. Dakota closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Pray for her, Connor.”

“I have been.”

“For me too, because I want to kill this guy.” He made a conscious effort to uncurl his clenched fists.

“I know.”

Sanity settled back in. He pulled away from Connor to see Kit watching him, her eyes lit with an inner fire that reminded him of Jamie when she was determined to get something done. “She didn’t cry out.”

“What?”

“He kicked her and I don’t think she made a sound.”

Dakota moved to see the picture once more. Jamie had her eyes closed, her chest heaved, but her lips remained clamped together.

“As soon as he leaves the room, we’re through the window, got it?”

“Roger that, sir.”

Dakota passed the information on once more. “Wait on me.”

Receiving affirmatives from each SWAT member, Dakota checked his weapon and made sure he had the safety off.

Connor did the same.

“What’s this guy’s story?” Kit asked. “I need some background on him.”

Dakota told her of the man’s fascination with Jamie. The history of childhood abuse they’d gotten from the sister, Beth, and his need to be the Hero, to rescue his victims from their pain.

“So, he causes their pain so he can rescue them from it?”

“Something like that. He’s a sick, twisted son of a gun.”

“All right, that helps. Anything else?”

“You’ve already gathered he’s smart, maybe even genius-level IQ.”

“Which might make him even more dangerous. From your observations, is he cocky? Arrogant?”

Dakota looked at Connor, thought back to all of their meetings with George, his attitude as he’d laid out his profile of this guy. He’d been talking about himself. “Yeah, I would say he’s arrogant.” He leaned forward. “In fact, looking back, every time he gave us a ‘profile’ on the guy, he was smug, rubbing our noses in the fact that we couldn’t catch him. He even said something about the perfect crime one time.”

Connor nodded. “Yeah, arrogant. Absolutely. Thinks he’s smarter than any of us.”

Looking thoughtful, Kit nodded. A curl escaped her clip and bounced over one eye. A sucker punch to his gut would have affected him less. Dakota had to look away. He turned his gaze to the screen. The guy was still in there with her, but at least he hadn’t touched her again. And now he had audio.

“ – back, Jamie. I have something to take care of first, then it’ll be your turn.”

Then he was moving, his feet disappearing. Only then did Jamie open her eyes. She stayed on the floor unmoving for several seconds, then Dakota saw her jaw firm, watched her wince with the pain of it, then push herself to a standing position.

A hand went to her side where the guy had kicked her. She had a cut on her cheek and bruises along her jawline. She was beautiful. She was alive.

“Location of suspect?”

Just as he asked, George appeared in the kitchen. “Take him out, now.”

“No viable shot, sir,” came the response.

George shifted, checked his cell phone, and put it back down.

Not taking his eyes from the man, he asked Connor, “Did you get a look at his face?”

“Yeah, he had a bandage on it.”

Satisfaction tingled through Dakota. “Jamie got him pretty good. Can’t wait to ask her about that.”

“Let’s get her out of there and make sure we get to hear it,” Connor said.

George then strode from the room only to reappear on the screen in the room that held the suspected x-ray machine.

“Do you have a shot?”

“No sir, not yet. He keeps moving in front of objects, obscuring my view.”

“All right, guys, get ready to move.”

Then George disappeared from the screen once again.

Dakota looked back at Jamie. She’d moved into the bedroom, was rummaging with the lab coat on the back of the chair. Her desperation reached out and grabbed him by the throat.