Then she saw his eyes. Dark, evil, piercing orbs shining like two black pieces of coal suspended in a surreal world where a predator stalked his captive before the kill.
She refused to show him her fear.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He smiled, crooked teeth flashing in the night. “Don’t you know, Lisa?”
She squinted, but it was so dark all she could see was the faint outline of a man’s face. Smell the stench of a sour odor that probably existed only in her mind, it was so evil. His voice didn’t sound familiar, either.
“Tell me,” she said, at least wanting a name to use when she addressed him.
“William.”
She frowned, shaking her head. She had seen this man somewhere. At the crime scenes, maybe. “William is dead.”
“No… Your father gave him new life. And now he lives in me.” His voice sounded hollow, rough like sandpaper. He reached out, ran a blunt fingernail across her brow. She shuddered, recoiling as her stomach convulsed. “I was weak before, but he made me strong. And he wants me to have you.”
Swallowing back the bile in her throat, she licked her dry lips. It was so hot, a million degrees in the room. The air was stifling, sticky and filled with an acrid odor.
The shadow of his movements caught in a tiny stream of light. Sweat trickled along his jaw, and he wiped it away, then turned a bottle of water up and drank greedily. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he filled his mouth with more. Water leaked from the bottle, spilling from his lips and running down his neck.
Her mouth clenched, the dry insides sticking together.
Instead of offering her a drink, he wiped a tear from her cheek, then lifted his finger to her mouth. “Are you thirsty, Lisa?”
She bit down on her lip, refusing to lick his finger.
Maybe if she stalled, Brad would find her.
Only he had been bleeding so badly… What if he didn’t make it? Grief consumed her again, powerful and all-consuming. A sob escaped, from deep within her soul.
But his laughter brought it to a halt.
She had to hold on to hope, do something, find out why he was doing this. “I don’t understand,” she finally whispered.
He suddenly gripped his head, shaking it back and forth, then stood and moved across the dark room like an animal that had been caged. “Neither did I. Not at first. All I wanted was a chance to live, to be someone, to make it as a cop.”
His voice had changed, become lower, softer. More ominous.
“All my life, I dreamed of being a detective or an FBI agent.” He halted, ripped open his shirt. She stared at the long jagged scar, the puckered flesh where he’d had heart surgery, and horror dawned.
“But my heart was too damn weak before,” he said in a feeble voice.
“You couldn’t pass the physical,” Lisa whispered.
He shook his head again, a wild, strange look in his eyes as he approached her, his voice rising with agitation, “Don’t you see? They wouldn’t let me in the Bureau. It was all I ever wanted to do, and they refused me. But after the transplant I was stronger. White gave me life. I’m a new man.”
He had been at all of the crime scenes. And he’d probably found and hidden any trace evidence. No wonder they hadn’t been able to identify him.
And they probably never would.
Lisa squelched the panic that realization brought. She couldn’t give up. Maybe Gioni or Brad had figured out the truth. Maybe they were on their way to find her now. And this time they’d save her before he put her in the ground.
Oh, God, they had to. She couldn’t go there, not again….
He threw up his hands and waved them near his head, ranting and pacing just as William had.
“You received a second chance,” Lisa said. “So why hurt people?”
“White is in control now.” A flat tone replaced the feeble one.
“You’re not White.”
“I…didn’t know what was happening at first, didn’t understand. I’d wake up in a strange place, be somewhere I didn’t remember going to at all.” He paced again, his heels clicking on the floor as he picked up speed. “I’d have blood and dirt on my hands. My head would be spinning.” He raked his hand down his chest. “I’d have scratches on my body.”
“You were blacking out,” Lisa said.
“I thought I was crazy,” he said in a shrill tone. “I started hearing voices, dark whispers telling me what to do.”
“You don’t have to listen to them,” Lisa said, desperate to stall. “You’re stronger than William. Think about your career.”
A harsh laugh echoed in the air. “No,
he’s
stronger than me. The minute I discovered my donor’s identity, I realized what was happening. He was speaking to me, ordering me to get revenge on the people who’d carved him up.”
A shudder coursed through Lisa. This man honestly thought that having William’s heart had turned him into a killer.
“You don’t have to be like him,” she pleaded. “That’s not who you are.”
“But it is now.” His voice sounded crazed again. “I have memories, I see the faces of the women. Joann Worthy, Mindy Faulkner, Darcy Mae Richards—they all helped carve out my organs, and gave them away to someone else.”
“So you could have a better life….” Lisa cried, terrified at the look on his face.
The stench of his sweaty body odor sizzled in the still air around him. “You shouldn’t have told on William,” he murmured. “He loved you so much, Lisa.”
“He didn’t know anything about love,” she argued. “When you love someone, you don’t hurt them.”
“He did love you.” He stopped in front of her, his voice angry. “But you turned on him. Turned to that fucking agent Booker. And now you have to be punished.”
He jerked her head sideways so hard her neck cracked and she grunted in pain, more tears streaming down her face as he angled her head sideways.
Then she saw the box.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE NEXT TWENTY-FOUR hours were torture for Liam Langley. Booker hadn’t yet regained consciousness, but he’d survive. Gioni had faded in and out, but she’d been too weak to speak. When they’d arrived at the hospital, they’d discovered she had internal bleeding, so they’d rushed her to surgery to remove her spleen. He’d been out of his mind, afraid he’d lose her.
Afraid that it was all his fault.
They still had no leads as to where the Grave Digger had taken Lisa. Liam was ill, thinking about what she must be going through. The unbearable heat. The brutality. The knowledge that the man intended to bury her alive.
How would she survive a second time?
Shaking with fury and terror, he paced beside Gioni’s bed, praying she’d wake up. Maybe if she did, she could identify the killer. Liam had been on the phone constantly, badgering the police to hurry. They’d assured him they were doing everything they could, but they’d promised that before.
So, he had taken matters into his own hands. Had decided to pursue the possibility that he’d been contemplating all night.
That the organ transplant surgery he’d performed might have something to do with this copycat’s appearance.
He’d finally reached his friend at St. Jude’s. Darcy Mae Richards had been on the team that had performed two of the transplant surgeries at St. Jude’s.
His own lies haunted him.
Mindy Faulkner had been on duty the night White had died. In fact, Mindy had assisted him in the surgical procedure to remove White’s organs. Later, Liam had covered his tracks and hers by faking the paperwork and paying off a couple of nurses to lie for him. The other woman, Joann Worthy, had been more puzzling, but he’d finally discovered her connection. It hadn’t been the jury duty; instead, she had volunteered at the Buckhead hospital, had handled the paperwork with the transfer of organs.
Liam had confiscated all the medical files on the recipients—liver, kidney, corneas, lungs and heart—and was debating whether to tell the police. Would they believe such a ludicrous possibility, or think he was crazy?
Gioni moaned, and Liam darted back to her bedside, then clasped her hand in his, his chest tight. He’d been frantic with worry all night, for her and Lisa. “Gioni?”
Her eyelids fluttered open, then closed, and she whimpered.
He lowered his head against his hands, trying to compose himself. He hated to see her suffer. Wished he’d been better to her over the years. Had vowed a thousand times during the night that if she woke up and forgave him, he would.
Finally calmer, he said in a low voice, “I know you’re in pain, sweetheart, but please open your eyes. We have to find Lisa.”
“L…isa,” she whispered in a weak voice.
He stroked her hand gently, cognizant of the fact that she must be sore and tender. Her wrists and feet were raw from rope burns, her eyes and jaw swollen, her flesh discolored. This woman had done so much for him over the years, yet he’d held himself at a distance from her. Had been too afraid to love because he feared the pain of loss.
But last night as he’d waited during surgery, he’d realized he loved her, that he had for a long time. That he’d simply been denying his feelings. That he didn’t want her to die, either.
“So sorry,” she whispered. Her eyes fluttered open again, this time tears streaming down her battered cheeks. “Don’t…hate me, Liam. So scared…”
Emotions welled in his throat. She looked so pale, and she was suffering. And it was his fault. “I don’t hate you, Gioni, I never could.” He pressed a kiss to her hand, then laid it on his cheek. “I’m so sorry you were hurt. It’s my fault, Gioni. My fault. Every woman I’ve ever cared for gets hurt. Mindy argued with me about White, but I didn’t listen and she’s dead.”
“No…shh, Liam.” She shook her head, but guilt mushroomed in his chest. He hadn’t protected Lisa four years ago. And now two women he loved had been hurt again.
All because he had wanted revenge.
And oh, God, if what he suspected was true, other women had suffered and died because of him….
“Gioni, I’ve been thinking,” he choked out. “The night we performed surgery on White—”
Her eyes widened as if to protest, but he continued. “No, listen. We both know White hadn’t agreed to be an organ donor, that I falsified those papers because of my own need for revenge. I—” His voice broke. “I wanted to hurt him, to make him suffer the way Lisa had.”
Another tear dribbled down her cheek. “It’s okay, Liam, I understand.”
“You saw the man who attacked you, didn’t you?”
She nodded, her chin trembling.
“Do you know his name?”
“No.” She flinched as if remembering the beating. “He stuck a knife to my head and made me call Lisa. I…shouldn’t have done it. I should have just let him kill me…but I was s-scared….”
“Shh, it’s okay, we’ll find her.” Liam kissed her forehead tenderly, then grabbed the files he’d gathered. “But you have to help me, sweetheart. Look at these pictures, and tell me if you recognize any of these men.”
Two of the organ recipients had been women, so he held up the other photos. One, a black man named Clarence Walls, the next a white man in his mid-forties, named Teddy Lamar, and the last, a young man in his mid-twenties named Dale Dunbar.
Gioni gasped and began to wail in terror. “That’s him.”
Liam’s heart clenched. So he had been right. He had created a monster when he’d taken those organs without White’s permission.
“I have to tell the police.”
She grabbed his hand. “Liam, don’t tell them that you forged the papers. It’ll ruin your career.”
He hesitated, stroked her hair gently from her face. “My career means nothing without you and Lisa.”
He kissed her on the lips, then hurried to Booker’s room to see if he was awake.
THROUGH THE NIGHTMARISH fog of pain and drugs, Brad opened his eyes. His body felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds, his mind was a blur and his side and shoulder hurt like hell.
Captain Rosberg stood by the window, his hands jammed in his pockets.
The reality of what had happened crashed in on him. “Lisa?” He clutched his chest and tried to sit up, but Ethan coaxed him back down.
“We’re doing everything we can to find her,” Ethan said.
Which wouldn’t be enough. They had missed something….
“How long have I been here?” Brad asked in a husky voice.
“Since yesterday.”
God no. He nearly choked on the anguish knifing through him.
“Jesus.” Brad pushed at the covers. “I have to get out of here.”
“The doctors says you’re not going anywhere,” the captain stated. “We’ll take it from here.”
“Have you found Surges?”
Rosberg frowned. “He was dismissed from the department two days ago. No one’s seen him since, but we’re looking for him. And we’ve got a tail on Nettleton.”
“Good.”
“About the first victim volunteering at that small private hospital in Buckhead. We’re wondering if that’s the connection instead of the jury duty.”
Brad’s mind raced as he cut his eyes toward the captain. Three people associated with three different hospitals had been victims. Mindy had worked at the one where White died. White hadn’t faked his death, but still something bothered Brad about that night… The fact that White had been an organ donor.
The organ transplants…
“I want to speak with Dr. Langley,” Brad said.
Rosberg’s sympathetic look twisted the knife deeper in his chest. He knew Brad was weak. Knew he’d fallen for Lisa.
Knew that time was running out.
“Whoa, Booker. Let Manning handle it.”
“I need to find this killer and save Lisa.”
Liam Langley suddenly burst into the room. “It’s urgent I talk to you, Booker.”
Brad’s gaze met Langley’s, his earlier suspicions mounting.
“He’s through investigating this case, Dr. Langley,” Rosberg said. “You can talk to me.”
Langley moved toward the bed. “No, it’s Booker I want to speak to. Alone.”
Brad sat up, his chest heaving. “Leave us for a minute.”
The men traded curious looks but finally Rosberg stepped outside, fuming.
Brad braced himself for a confrontation. He deserved it. Langley could say or do whatever he wanted to him, and Brad wouldn’t blame him. If they didn’t find Lisa, he didn’t want to live himself.
Then again, he wanted to ask about those transplants… “Langley, Rosberg reminded me that Joann Worthy volunteered at a small private hospital in Buckhead. What’s going on? This case has something to do with the night White died, doesn’t it?”
“Listen, Booker, that’s why I’m here.” Langley hesitated, his breathing labored. “It has everything to do with that night, and it’s all my fault.”
“What?”
Langley jerked a photo from inside his jacket. “This is the man who kidnapped Lisa. Gioni identified him.”
“Dunbar.” Brad’s chest felt as if a cannon had exploded inside. “Where did you get this? How do you know he’s our perp?”
Langley’s voice trembled as he confessed about the night White had come into the E.R. “I thought White had taken so many lives that his organs should be used to save someone else. But I didn’t know the names of the recipients.” Langley rubbed his forehead. “But then I got a hunch, so I checked at St. Jude’s. Darcy Mae Richards was on the team that performed the heart transplant.”
“I didn’t think recipients knew the donor’s names,” Brad said.
“It’s not standard policy to tell them, no. But Dunbar must have found out…” Langley’s voice broke. “I…it’s all my fault. He must have adopted White’s MO to get revenge because White hadn’t agreed to be a donor.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Brad argued. “It seems he’d be glad you gave him the heart so he would live.”
“That’s just it,” Langley said. “Some research about heart transplant patients suggests their recipients are different after surgery. They have different personalities, suffer depression. And if White’s psychosis was in some way genetic, well…I gave this man the heart of a killer.”
The pieces fell together in Brad’s mind. “Dunbar was a CSI techie, so he could cover up evidence,” Brad said. “In fact, he was at each of the crime scenes.” Just as Surges had been.
He’d probably been laughing his ass off that the FBI hadn’t caught on.
Damn it! “You have to help me out of here,” Brad said. “And call my partner, Ethan. We’ll need his help.”
Brad yanked the IV from his arm and threw his legs over the side of the bed. Time was of the essence. He’d almost lost Lisa once.
He couldn’t lose her a second time.
HE HAD LOCKED HER in the box.
Lisa closed her eyes, the infernal drip, drip, drip of the faucet in the neighboring room a constant reminder that she was slowly becoming dehydrated. She had perspired so much she was sure her sweat glands were empty. Her throat was so dry that when she tried to scream, her voice came out a croak. And every muscle in her body was sore from where he’d beaten her.
Details of the case kept floating back as the minutes and seconds ticked by. The similarities between this killer and William. The differences. This latest copycat killer left a cross on the victims—because he believed he had risen from the dead.
He had also tried to sexually assault his victims. So far, he had spared her that hellish experience, but she had no idea what he would do next, or if that atrocity was still to come.
Determined not to spend her final hours agonizing over what horrors she faced, she closed her eyes and lapsed into a surreal state where she let her mind drift away. She’d done the same thing the first time she’d been abducted.
This time she would, too. And she wouldn’t give up hope.
At least, not until the very end.
An image of Brad floated through her mind. The blood…
No, she banished that image. Couldn’t stand the fear that knotted her chest at the thought. Brad was strong, tough. He’d somehow manage to pull through. And he’d lead the police to find her.
He
would.
She couldn’t allow herself to believe anything different.
Her breathing became more shallow. She’d rest. Conserve air. Save her energy so if he opened the box when he returned, she’d have the strength to fight.
She forced her mind back to the happy times.
When she was little and her mother was still alive, they’d both sit on the bed, Lisa tucked between her mom’s legs, and her mother would drag the brush through her hair, counting as she did. Later, she’d sing pretty songs while she turned out the light and tucked Lisa into bed. There were days when her parents would hold hands and walk beside her in the park. Rare days when her father would lift her up on his shoulders or take her for a piggyback ride across the yard. Nights when she’d sneak into the den late in the evening and see her parents dancing like two lovers in the twilight.
The day her mother had given her the amethyst. Lisa had held it up to the light and watched the shades of purple glitter.
Then her mother had died.
Lisa knotted her fists by her side. No, she wouldn’t think about that day or the life that came after. Only the happy times. The pony ride on her fourth birthday. The toys that magically appeared under the Christmas tree. Her father dressed as Santa Claus for the kids at the hospital.
Although she thought she’d cried all her tears, moisture pooled in her eyes. She wanted kids of her own, wanted to dance with her own lover in the twilight, wanted to have babies and play Santa for them.
Images of Brad’s face and the past few days flashed back.
Brad at her school in Ellijay. Eating dinner with her in the cabin. The anguish in his eyes that night by the lake when he’d been pounding the punching bag. The tender passionate way he’d held her and pressed his lips to hers.
The sight of him dripping wet with that towel around his waist. Water glistening off the dark hair on his chest. The look of rapture on his face when he’d risen above her and thrust inside.
The image of him holding a baby. Their baby. A son, maybe. Or a little girl with his whiskey-colored eyes.
The door in the room screeched open, and Lisa tensed, the images receding as the well of fear dragged her into its dark abyss. He was coming toward her, his footsteps thundering.