FATAL FORTY-EIGHT: A Kate Huntington Mystery (The Kate Huntington Mysteries Book 7) (29 page)

Then she remembered the sheet on the wall, with its rusty slashes and burn holes. He wasn’t just going to kill her. He was going to torture her first.

And he’d done this before. He would do it again, and again. Other women would go through this, suffer and die.

Sally straightened her back. She would stop him. Or die trying, which beat the hell out of being tortured, and then dying.

She turned, spotted a rectangle of deeper darkness on the opposite wall. A hallway?

She crossed the living room. The dark area was indeed a hallway. Feeling her way along the wall, she went into the first room she came to. Could she get away with turning on the lights? No, if he was outside, about to come into the building he might see the lights and know she had freed herself. The element of surprise was her greatest advantage.

Across the room was a square of dim gray light–a window. She moved toward it, holding her hands out in front of her, touching the objects that loomed out of the darkness at her. A bedpost, a dresser. Cold sweat trickled down her sides. She shivered in her skimpy slip. Teeth gritted against the thought that this was probably
his
bedroom, she continued to feel her way to the window.

She pushed aside the curtains, hoping against hope. Her fingers rasped across another metal grill.

Shit!

She stepped closer to the window and looked through the bars. The nearest streetlight was half a block away but lights in the windows of other houses, plus a couple porch lights, made the street look downright festive compared to the dark gloom of the room around her.

The street was lined with single-family houses of modest proportions. Mature trees in their yards said it was an older neighborhood. She was in a house, not an apartment building as she had assumed and he had implied.

She leaned her head against the window grill and tried to think. Should she look for a hiding place in the house, then try to get out the door while he was in the hidden room? No, he would probably lock the outer door behind him when he came in, and he’d find her hiding place eventually.

The beginnings of a better plan formed in her mind.

She pivoted around and moved back through the bedroom and along the hallway as fast as she dared in the dark. In the living room, she looked for the kitchen. There it was–a white doorframe in the dim light.

She bolted for it, then froze in the doorway. The digital readout on the stove shone brightly in the dark room. Neon green numbers–6:22.

More mind games! The son-of-a-bitch set the clock an hour ahead.

“I’m going to kill him,” she whispered in the dark kitchen.

There was a door across the room, with a window in it. She checked it to be sure but was not surprised when it too was barred and deadbolted. She yanked out drawers, found the one with the knives and grabbed two of them.

Then she raced back into her prison cell and shoved the lamp.

Whir, click.

For a moment, her mind panicked. The walls closed in.

No. Get a grip. I know how to get out now.

Whirling, she ran into the bathroom and scrambled back up on her perch on the sides of the tub. She looked down at the two knives in her right hand, chose the longer, thinner one and leaned over to place the spare one in the soap dish.

She maneuvered her body around for several seconds until she found the best position, her back wedged securely against the wall, her left hand wound around the shower curtain rod, weight braced on her left leg, her right ready to kick out.

She nudged the door partway closed with her foot, so he wouldn’t be able to see the toilet from the bedroom. Hopefully, he’d assume she was using it.

As soon as he started to open the door, she’d kick it into him. With any luck, she’d knock him out, but at least he should be stunned enough to give her a momentary advantage. Then she’d jump down and stab him.

He might get a shot off. He might even mortally wound her. But damn it, she was going to take him out with her!

~~~~~~~~

Kate blew out air as she watched Tim on the porch, arguing with the homeowner. The man was short and painfully thin, with stringy gray hair, two days worth of stubble and an uncooperative attitude.

Not that Kate could totally blame him. She doubted she’d be all that happy if police and FBI agents showed up on her doorstep on a Sunday evening, demanding that she let them search her house.

Movement in her peripheral vision. Adrenaline shot through her, then she realized it was the uniformed officer coming toward her along the side of the house.

“Ma’am,” he said in a low voice when he was next to her, “Got a call on the radio from my partner. He thought he saw some dim light in one of the windows of that house, and maybe someone moving near another window. Then the light went out again.”

“Did he see anybody go into the house?”

“No, ma’am. He’s pretty sure no one entered, but of course he can only cover one side of the house at a time.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll–”

Tim’s raised voice interrupted her. “Look, sir, here are your options. Either you willingly let us search your house or we arrest you for suspicion of kidnapping. You’ll spend your evening in a holding cell while we get a search warrant.”

Kate knew he was bluffing. No way could they get a search warrant just because a single male had bought a house with cash.

The bluff worked. The guy begrudgingly let them in.

The uniform stayed in the living room with the homeowner while Tim and Kate quickly searched the rooms of the small house. They all had windows on their outside walls. No strangely shaped rooms or unexplained corners.

“Come on, Tim,” Kate was saying as they entered the last of the upstairs bedrooms, “this guy’s probably too thin to be our perp. We need to get back to that other house.” She had already filled him in on the officer’s report of a light and possible movement behind the windows.

Tim didn’t answer. He moved to the closet door, opened it and stuck his head inside. Then he stepped back and twisted around to look at her. “Isn’t there a bathroom on the other side of this wall?” He pointed to his left.

“I think so. Let me check.” She hurried out into the hall. Sure enough the hallway ended at a bathroom door.

She stuck her head back into the bedroom, which was empty except for a couple pieces of dusty exercise equipment. “Yeah, bathroom’s at the end.”

“Knock on the wall right next to the bathroom.”

She hurried down the hall and rapped her knuckles against the wall, then went back into the bedroom.

Tim was inside the small closet, tapping on the back wall. “This closet should be deeper. Ah, what have we here?” He backed out of the closet and turned with a square of plywood in his hands, about three feet by three feet.

He pulled out a penlight and shone it into the closet. Kate could barely make out a dark cavity in the back wall.

“Seems like Mr. Stringy Hair is a drug dealer.”

Kate stepped closer and bent down to peer into the cavity. It was half full of plastic bags containing white powder. “Either that or he has one hell of a cocaine habit himself.”

They descended the stairs to the first floor. “We can’t ignore this,” Tim said.

“I know that, but we could leave the uniform here and call it in. We have at most a half hour left, less depending on when the bastard started counting.”

“We’re not going into these houses without backup.”

“Okay,” Kate said, “then cuff him and leave him sitting on his own couch until another patrol car can get here.”

They entered the living room. “We’re done, Mr. Barton,” Tim said.

The guy stood up, rubbing his palms down the thighs of his dirty jeans.

Tim nodded to the uniform. “Cuff this guy and read him his rights. Mr. Barton, you’re un–”

Barton bolted for the front door, but the uniform was on his toes. He tackled the guy before he could turn the doorknob.

Kate watched anxiously as Barton was cuffed and patted down. She glanced at her watch. Bile rose in her throat. “Come on, Tim!”

He took the list of addresses from his pocket. “Our last house is on this same street. Looks like it’s only a block or two from here. Let’s go.”

“We need to go back to that other house first, where the officer saw the light and movement.”

Tim had already walked past her, headed for the front door. She hurried after him.

As they strode down the sidewalk, he said, “It would be more efficient to quickly check out this other house first.”

Kate started to nod, then froze. Her stomach had twisted into a knot. “Tim, I think she’s in that other house.”

“And that’s based on what?” he said testily. “Woman’s intuition?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “No, gut instinct. A very highly trained gut, by the way.”

He held her gaze for a beat. “Okay, get in. We’ll go back to that house first.”

She jumped into the passenger seat.

Tim got in and started the car. “You do realize that we won’t have time to double back to that last house.”

She nodded, facing straight ahead and praying she was right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

6:30 p.m. Sunday

Sally strained to hear any sound from the bedroom. Her own blood pounding in her ears wasn’t helping.

She took a deep breath. It came out on a shudder.

Her left leg was starting to complain about having to hold all her weight. Her fingers tingled where they gripped the shower curtain rod. The blood was draining out of them.

She let go of the rod for a moment and flexed her hand several times, then gripped the rod again. Her right hand squeezed the knife handle.

She realized she needed to pee. No way was she getting down and using the toilet. That would be when the bastard arrived for sure.

Bracing her right leg on the other side of the tub, she willed her bladder muscles to relax. The sound of trickling water came from the tub. Heat rose in her cheeks. Of all the indignities she had suffered, somehow this one was the final straw. She had to pee standing up in a bathtub.

“Come on, you son of a bitch,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “Come and get me.”

~~~~~~~~

They pulled up in front of the house. Lights now shone from two windows. A large rectangle over the porch–the living room, most likely–and a smaller square to its right–the kitchen.

“Someone is definitely home now,” Tim said. “Let’s go.”

Kate reached over and grabbed his arm. “No.”

He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“Tim, please trust me on this. I’m sure this is the right place. We can’t go ring the bell. It’s too close to his deadline. He might just kill Sally while we’re waiting for him to answer the door.”

“Well then, what the hell do you suggest we do?”

She didn’t have an answer to that. The pressure grew in her chest. She couldn’t think. “I don’t know but we’ve got to get in there somehow without alerting him.”

Knuckles rapped on Kate’s window. She jumped, hitting her head on the roof of the car.

The uniformed officer’s face appeared on the other side of the glass.

Hand over her pounding heart, Kate lowered her window.

“I was about to call you. Guy just came home. Best I could tell in the dark, he fits the description of our perp.”

Kate shot Tim a told-you-so look.

Tim scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “Okay, we try to get in the back, as quietly as possible. Officer, radio for backup. Something tells me we’re gonna need it. But tell them no sirens.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

6:40 p.m. Sunday

Walking close behind Tim, Kate eased her way along the dark side of the house. She heard a soft purring.

Tim stopped and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. The screen shone brightly. He shielded it with his other hand, then held it to his ear. “We think this is the house,” he whispered and rattled off the address.

His head nodded once in the dim light, then he disconnected. “My partner and your husband are nearby,” he whispered over his shoulder to Kate as he started moving again. “They’ll be here in a minute.”

The uniform had reached the back corner of the house and was looking back at them. Tim motioned him forward. The young man drew his weapon and eased around the corner.

Tim pulled out his own pistol and followed him.

A low “Clear” floated around the corner a second later. Kate quickly moved to join the two men.

The uniform was studying the back door of the house. It appeared to be wood, with a glass window in the upper half and a shiny, new deadbolt keyhole above the knob.

“There’s a metal grill, sir.” The uniform’s low voice sounded confused. “But it’s on the inside of the glass.”

Kate sucked in her breath. “It’s to keep his victims in, not the world out.”

Tim nodded. Even in the dim light, Kate could make out the grim line of his mouth.

“I could break the glass, sir, and see if I can get my hand inside to unlock the door.”

“No!” Kate said. “He may hear you and–”

“The door will be dead-bolted from the inside as well,” Tim finished her sentence.

“Do you want me to try to kick the door in?” the officer asked in a hushed voice.

“No,” she said again.

“Yes,” Tim said at the same time. He ran his hand down his face, then looked at his watch. “We’re out of time, Kate. We don’t know exactly when he started the clock.”

Kate’s gut clenched. He could be killing Sally right now, while they dithered about how to get in. “Kick the door in, Officer.”

“Wait,” came from behind them. They all jumped.

Kate recognized Skip’s voice.

“I’ve got a quieter alternative.” He stepped forward. Julie Wallace and Manny Ortiz were right behind him.

The pale light from a thin slice of moon glinted on something metal in Skip’s raised hand.

His lock picks.

Tim nodded and Skip moved over to the door.

~~~~~~~~

Sally realized she was hyperventilating. She held her breath for a moment.

What was that?