The panic that streaked through her wouldn’t dissipate. It ate at her, chewed at her nerve endings relentlessly. The air felt stifling. How much more of it was there?
She closed her eyes, willed herself to drift away. To another place. To another time when life existed. When sounds meant something other than his sinister laugh or her own terrified cries.
The front door creaked open. The floor squeaked like cheap linoleum. A muttered curse reverberated through the room, and she knew he’d entered. Could smell the sweat and stench of his body. His boots scraped against the side of the bed as he sat down and kicked them off.
She froze, praying he would have mercy and release her. Or at least end the torture and kill her tonight.
The box springs protested as he stretched out on top of the bed. The mattress sagged, pressing into the box with his weight. Then he began to move. Slowly at first. The screech, screech of the bed was redundant, grew faster, the mattress sagged deeper and harder against her box. His breathing became erratic.
A sob caught in her throat as she realized what he was doing.
The mattress dipped and squeaked again, the noise intensifying, the movements more rapid as his breathing grew more and more excited. Finally a bellow. Pain? Pleasure? Rage?
Then he jumped off the bed, cursing loudly. She felt the box moving, being jerked, dragged from beneath the bed.
But instead of opening it, he was hammering it shut, tighter…pounding, pounding, pounding….
“LISA!”
It took her several seconds to realize that she had lapsed back into her nightmares. Even when she was awake they haunted her.
It took her another minute to realize the pounding was real. Someone was knocking at the door.
She hugged her arms around herself, panicking. Had the killer found her?
“Lisa! It’s Brad. Let me in, or I’m going to bust down this door.”
Jerking back to reality, she fidgeted with her hands, then finally willed her legs to be strong enough to stand. Brad’s voice broke through the haze again, and she rushed to the door, nearly stumbling over the braided rug on the floor and knocking a magazine off the end table in her haste. She’d phoned him only a few minutes ago, told him to come over. But then she’d sat down, started remembering….
“Lisa!”
“Just a minute.” She fumbled with the door lock, her hands shaking. Finally, she unfastened the lock and chain, then opened the door.
He stalked in, his dark eyes stormy. “For God’s sake, are you all right? You scared the hell out of me when you didn’t answer!”
Then his gaze met hers, and he must have read the truth in her eyes, because he reached out for her. She fell into his arms, clutched at his shirt and let him hold her.
TIME PASSED IN A BLUR of nonreality. He had lost time before. Had awakened with only a hazy memory of where he’d been or what he’d done. And it was happening again….
It had to be the medication.
He opened his eyes, his stomach convulsing as pain rifled through his temple. The dull throb became more incessant as it filtered through the rest of his body. He felt so damn weak. Just like before. But he’d been given a second chance at life.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way, though. Dark. Painful. Dreary.
He was supposed to be happy. Full of life. A strong, virile man. Able to do things he hadn’t done in a long time.
Fading sunlight fluttered through the blinds, slicing diagonal rays across the room. He rolled to his side to block it out, then stared in shock at his hands.
They were bruised. Dirty. Covered in blood.
Dried
blood. Dark. Crimson. Crusty.
Blood also stained his shirt and pants. Red clay caked his fingernails and his boots. Scratches marred his hands and arms, as if he’d been pawed by an animal. His shirt was torn, the rip revealing more deep gashes on his chest. And he was sweating profusely.
What the hell was happening to him?
His head reeling, he turned sideways, swung his legs over the side of the bed and swayed, dizzy. Grabbing the edge of the mattress to keep from falling, he held himself steady while the room settled. More sweat coated his body and ran down his neck and back. The stench of some foul odor assaulted him. Swamp water. A sewer maybe.
He scanned the room, questions ticking in his head as he read the hands of the clock: 6:00 p.m.
The last thing he remembered was walking out the door twenty-four hours ago.
With unsteady hands, he reached for his pills and choked one down. Were the dark images that had slipped into his dreams real, or had he’d imagined them?
The blood on his hands indicated that he hadn’t simply dreamt of vile acts, but that he’d performed them. That he had enjoyed them. That she had deserved it.
That tonight he would lose time again, that he would fade into the abyss of darkness where a monster’s soul stole his body, that he would continue to do so until someone stopped him.
But they would have to catch him first.
And that was not an option.
CHAPTER FOUR
BRAD TRIED TO STEADY his raging heart as he held Lisa, but the familiar fear that had gripped him four years ago returned with a vengeance. When she hadn’t immediately answered the door, he’d nearly gone out of his mind with worry. And now, feeling her in his arms again, her chest rising and falling as she gulped in air, her slender frame trembling against him, the scent of her feminine shampoo invading his senses, he was helpless to do anything but stroke her silky hair and mutter nonsensical words.
Damn it. He had to get a grip. His career depended on it. And so did Mindy’s life.
Slowly, forcing his brain back into professional mode, he eased away, studying her as he would a stranger.
Except Lisa wasn’t a stranger.
Her face had lost the rosy color and bright smile she’d worn at the day care when she’d danced with the children, the change a stark reminder that he’d resurrected the painful memories that she’d tried so hard to bury.
“Brad…I’m sorry. For a moment everything rushed back.”
Anger ripped through him. “You don’t have to apologize, Lisa. For God’s sake, I know I’m the last person you want to see.”
She dropped her hands from his shirt, backed away, hugging her arms around her waist as if he’d called it right, and she had no idea what she’d been doing. Long lashes fluttered over pale cheeks that now looked drawn with worry.
“Are you all right?” he asked, knowing good and well she wasn’t.
“Yes, I’m fine.” The same valiant look she’d managed to wear during the trial slid back on her face.
He shuffled, dragged a hand through the short strands of his hair. It was a mistake for him to have come here.
“Sit down,” she said quietly. “I’ll get some coffee.”
He gave her a clipped nod, forcing detachment into his expression as she hurried away from him to the adjoining kitchen. Figuring she needed time to assimilate, and he needed it to regain his bearings, he turned and surveyed her small cabin. He’d been here maybe a half-dozen times over the past four years, and the homey atmosphere never ceased to amaze him. Yet her new home felt more impersonal.
Lisa didn’t keep clutter or knickknacks, no small ceramic kitty cats or collections as she had in her other apartment. To break the awkwardness when he’d first visited her here, he’d asked about that, but she’d turned sheepish and merely shrugged. He’d finally decided that she didn’t want the space to feel cramped—a remnant of her traumatic days in the box where White had locked her. She needed open spaces, room to breathe….
After growing up in a foster home and sharing a room with other orphans, he understood about feeling crowded.
The den was a tasteful smattering of blue and yellow, with a soft plump denim couch, throw pillows and an oversize chair in yellow-and-blue plaid. A few magazines, mostly educational and arts and crafts ones, were stacked neatly on the pine coffee table. A photo of Lisa in her mother’s lap graced the end table, another five-by-seven of her and her father at her high school graduation beside it. Lisa looked so young and happy, full of dreams for the future. But her father…Brad had never quite gotten a good reading on Liam Langley. Not during the questioning when she was missing, or during the trial afterward. He wondered if the two of them stayed in contact.
He noticed a small clay cup on the bookshelf, misshapen and painted bright orange. It seemed out of place, until he realized one of Lisa’s students had crafted the cup. Beside it stood four framed photos, each one a group shot of the kindergarten classes she’d taught since moving to Ellijay. Several childlike drawings also decorated her refrigerator. Maybe adding these touches was a sign she had begun to heal, to let others into her life.
Even if they were children….
Lisa approached him, carrying a tray with two mugs, creamer and sugar, and a pot of coffee. The temptation to reach out and help her taunted him, but he sensed her skittishness and refrained, vowing to be patient. She filled a thick clay mug for him. So she remembered his preference for black. Was that all she remembered about him?
She dropped an ice cube in her own to cool it, and he almost smiled. He hadn’t forgotten her small habit. Just as he’d never forget anything else about her.
Her gaze finally shot upward and met his, and he grimaced at the wariness darkening her eyes. Yes, she obviously remembered more—his promise to her that he’d protect her. His failure to do so. That it was his fault she’d spent days being beaten and tormented by William White.
And when she looked away, a blinding clarity that he’d never wanted to face sank in—she would never forget that he was at fault, or forgive him.
LISA CRADLED HER MUG to her like a lifeline. “Tell me about this woman that’s missing, your girlfriend.”
Brad’s gaze shot down to the coffee in his cup, his jaw tight. “She’s thirty years old, a nurse at First Peachtree Hospital in Atlanta.”
“How did you meet her?” Lisa asked, then silently chastised herself. Hearing the details of Brad’s personal relationship was none of her business and would drive home the fact that she hadn’t had one in years. And that the last relationship had gone horribly wrong….
“At the hospital,” he said, seeming nonplussed by her question. “When I went to talk to the doctors after White died.”
Lisa gasped. “She knew William?”
He shook his head. “No, she wasn’t on duty the night he was hospitalized.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Lisa gasped again. “Are you sure the same man kidnapped her and that woman, Joann Worthy?”
Brad nodded. “He’s calling the reporter White used to deliver his messages, Wayne Nettleton.”
“Why him?” Lisa asked.
“He must have enjoyed the way Nettleton sensationalized the story about White. White admitted he chose Nettleton because of his propensity for printing gruesome details.”
His gaze met hers as if to study her reaction. Lisa sipped her coffee in an attempt not to reveal her surprise or disgust. Wayne Nettleton was a sleaze.
“We’ve questioned him just like before, but so far, he’s clean,” Brad said. “He has an alibi for the nights both women were reported missing, although it’s shaky.”
“Where was Mindy when she was abducted?” Lisa asked, trying desperately not to picture the scene in her mind.
“She left the hospital when her shift ended, around three. Caught the MARTA train. She doesn’t have a car. Never showed up at her apartment that night. Police have questioned neighbors and no one saw anything.”
“Does she have family?” Lisa asked softly.
“No.”
Lisa’s heart ached for her. If they found her, she’d need a support group to recover. Then again, Lisa’s own father hadn’t exactly been Mr. Mom after the attack. Not that he ever had been. After her mother’s death, he’d closed himself off, thrown himself into work. She’d tried to get his attention by being the perfect child.
But she hadn’t been perfect.
And he’d seen all those flaws at William’s trial.
“We found the first woman in the woods near Lake Lanier,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if you read the entire article, but he buried her in the woods surrounding the lake by my cabin.”
Lisa set her cup down with a clatter. “Brad…you think this is personal?”
He shrugged, but the bitterness that suddenly darkened his whiskey eyes to brown confirmed the answer. “He’s throwing it right in my face. How can it not be?”
“Don’t do that.” Lisa automatically reached for his hand, then drew back at Brad’s rigid posture. “This isn’t your fault, Brad.”
Just like it wasn’t when I got attacked.
He shot her a closed look, daring her to argue, then downed his coffee with one big gulp. “Let’s stick with the case. I’m running a check on everyone I’ve had contact with the past five years. Maybe something will turn up there.”
“And I suppose the police are questioning her friends and neighbors.”
“Yeah, just like they did Joann Worthy’s. But if this killer sticks to the same time frame as he did with Joann, Mindy has only a couple of days at best.”
Lisa moaned quietly. Was Mindy suffering now? Wishing her abductor would go ahead and kill her, as Lisa had wished with William? Or was Mindy holding on, clinging to life, praying Brad would find a way to save her?
“We’ve set up a stakeout in the wooded area where Joann’s body was found,” Brad continued. “But I don’t expect him to choose the same burial spot twice.”
Lisa shivered.
“I’m sorry, Lisa, I didn’t mean to resurrect the memory of your experience.”
“Forget it.” She quickly dismissed his apology, although the image of her own grave flashed in her head like a still photograph that had been framed in her memory forever. “Do you have any suspects in mind?”
“My partner’s gone to question White’s old cell mate. He was paroled a few days ago.”
Lisa’s hand tightened around her mug at the implications. William’s cell mate was free. Knew William’s secrets. Even where he might have held her and the other women.
He might be copying William’s crimes.
And if he did, would he choose her as one of his victims?
The appearance of her new neighbor suddenly resurfaced, and her suspicions mounted. “Brad, I’m sure I’m being paranoid, but this morning a strange man came to my door.”
Brad’s head jerked up. “What happened?”
Lisa explained about the visit. “He said his name was Aiden Henderson.”
Brad jotted that down. “I’ll definitely check him out.”
Lisa fidgeted. “Like I said, I’m probably being paranoid. But he brought me the paper and specifically mentioned the story about the missing woman.”
Brad frowned. “It could be a coincidence.”
Or maybe he’d known William, and he’d come here looking for her, only pretending to be a neighbor.
BRAD SAW THE WHEELS turning in Lisa’s mind. She knew that a copycat killer meant danger for her.
“Lisa—”
Her phone jangled, and she startled, hitting the table with her knee and sloshing coffee onto the tray. Her gaze flew to him, and he maintained a guarded expression, not yielding to the voices in his head urging him to reach out and calm her. She grabbed a napkin to blot up the mess, but the phone trilled again, and her fingers were trembling, so he took the napkin from her.
“Let me clean it up while you answer that.”
She swallowed, hesitating another second, then stood and checked the caller ID. With a pinched look between her brows, she retrieved the handset. “Hello, Dad.”
Brad poured himself another cup of coffee, stood and paced to the window in the kitchen to offer her privacy, although his body was wound as tight as a spring. He had a feeling he knew the reason Liam Langley had phoned.
And he would not be happy with Brad’s visit with his daughter.
Langley hadn’t held back his opinion of Brad or minced words to soften the blow four years ago.
Not that he’d blamed him.
In fact, Langley had discovered Brad’s checkered past, the man he’d almost killed as a teenager, and threatened to tell Lisa. Brad had had to walk away. He hadn’t wanted Lisa to remember him as a teenage killer.
“I’m fine, Dad,” he heard her say. “No, really.” She paused and twisted the phone cord in her hand. “Yes, I’ve heard about the copycat.” Another pause. “No, I’m not coming back to Atlanta right now. Dad…” Irritation laced her voice. “Listen, I have a visitor, let me call you back.”
Another long paused followed, and Brad imagined Dr. Langley grilling her over the identity of her guest. Finally she replied in a low whisper, “Yes, it’s Special Agent Booker.”
She glanced up at him in apology, and he shrugged, although his gut clenched. He didn’t know why the man’s opinion of him rattled him, but it did.
“Dad, no—”
Lisa sighed audibly, gave Brad a helpless look and held the phone away from her. “He wants to talk to you.”
Brad nodded, not surprised, then crossed the small kitchen-den combination in three strides and took the handset. “Dr. Langley, Booker here.”
“You son of a bitch, what the hell are you doing there?”
“I came to check on Lisa. I do that from time to time.”
“I warned you to stay away from my daughter,” Langley snapped. “You are not fit to be in the same room with her.”
Brad grimaced. He didn’t need reminding that he wasn’t good enough for Lisa.
“I had to see her,” he said in a low voice.
“I saw the story about that poor woman, Joann Worthy, in the paper,” Langley said. “For God’s sake, Mindy Faulkner works at the same hospital I do. The police have crawled all over the place asking questions. They even questioned
me.
”
Brad silently grimaced. “I’m sorry, sir, but they’re simply doing their jobs. I assume you realize we’re dealing with a copycat killer.”
“And my daughter is in danger again.” Langley’s voice rose a decibel. “That’s why you’re there, isn’t it?”
“Not exactly,” Brad said.
“What do you mean? You haven’t been seeing her, have you?” Langley hissed in distrust. “I thought we settled that issue four years ago.”
That issue?
Although Brad knew Langley was right, he still balked at his attitude. “No, this is not a personal visit.” But not because he didn’t want it to be.
“Then what is it? You think she might know something to help you now, so you want to dredge up the past. I won’t let you do that to her, Booker.”
“I don’t like upsetting her either, sir, but we have to do everything possible to stop this maniac.”
“But how could Lisa possibly help you? She told you everything at that blasted trial.”
“We think this man might have known White. Maybe he was a cell mate or buddy, someone who White confided in. He might know where White took his victims—”
“My daughter has a name, goddamn you,” Langley snarled. “Use it.”
Brad cleared his throat, his own patience teetering on a thin line. “You don’t need to remind me,” he said in a warning voice. “But if this copycat is taking his victims to the same place White used, it would help if we could find that building, and Lisa might know where it is.”
“Like I said, my daughter has been through enough, Booker. If she’s buried that memory, it’s for a good reason. Now I don’t want her involved in this at all.” He heaved a breath. “In fact, I tried to talk her into coming here to stay. If not, I’ll hire a bodyguard for her.”