Authors: Marion Faith Carol J.; Laird Lenora; Post Worth
Tags: #Fluffer Nutter, #dpgroup.org
When she walked from the room, Greg followed. Within moments, he was next to her.
“Thanks for suggesting that I go along.”
She dipped her head. “And thanks for sticking up for me.”
“I hope Tomlinson reconsiders. But whoever talks to the girl, I'll be happy to chauffeur. In fact, give me the address, and I'll have it all programmed into my GPS.”
She made her way down the hall with a spring in her step. She couldn't help but feel the same excitement, regardless of who got to do the final interviews and eventually bring in the killer. After six long months, it was almost over.
“Follow me to my desk and I'll copy it down for you.”
He walked through her cubicle opening and waited while she retrieved a pen and paper. “I'm as anxious to see those pictures as you are. We're finally ready to bring this guy to justice.” He flashed her an easy smile. “After all, that's what this job is all about, isn't it? Justice.”
* * *
Lexi slouched against the back of the couch, feet propped on the coffee table and a distorted image frozen on the television screen. She had been half through her movie when Alan phoned. If he had a reason for calling, he hadn't told her yet what it was. So far, it had all been small talk.
“I miss you.”
The lost-puppy-dog tone made her smile. “We were just together yesterday.”
“That was yesterday. This is today. After three straight days of seeing you, I think I'm going through withdrawal.”
“You know, you're getting dangerously close to pathetic territory.”
“Hey, I can't help it if I'm crazy about you.”
“You know what? I'm glad...even if you are pathetic.” As much as she teased him, she had been pretty pathetic all day herself.
“So what are you up to other than watching a movie, which I so rudely interrupted?”
“Tonight, that's it. Then tomorrow night, there's a slim chance that I'll be going to see Ashley Rittman.”
“A slim chance?”
“More like microscopic. Greg is trying to talk Tomlinson into letting me go talk to her. I suggested that, whoever does it, Tomlinson let Greg go along. He seems like he wants to solve this thing as badly as I do.” She sighed and switched the phone to her other ear. “He was so convinced the killer was Wendell Moorehead that he was ready to go after him full-bore. His enthusiasm and determination are definitely there. He just needs a little direction.”
“Well, if anyone can give it to him, you can.”
The doorbell rang, cutting off her response. A hollow coldness spread throughout her body, holding her frozen in the chair as surely as if she had been bound. Despite the presence of all three of her cats, her solitude was more pronounced than ever.
“Was that the doorbell I just heard?” The fear in Alan's voice reflected her own.
“Yeah.”
“Don't open the door. Call 9-1-1. I'll be there as fast as I can. Whatever you do, don't open the door.”
She swallowed hard and pushed her body into gear. It could be a neighbor needing to borrow something. She glanced at her watch. At ten o'clock at night? Not likely.
“I need to at least look through the peephole before I get the police out here.”
“Just call 9-1-1.” His tone was filled with urgency. “In view of the threats you've gotten, you shouldn't go anywhere near that door.”
“If it's the killer, he's not going to shoot me through the door. That's not his M.O.” She stepped into the entry and moved slowly toward the door, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “Stay on the phone with me.”
She moved closer. Six feet to go. He was just on the other side of the door. But he wouldn't know she was there. The porch light was on and the entry light was off.
Four feet. Shooting through the door wasn't his M.O. But she wasn't just another potential victim. She had been warned. Would he shoot her just to get her out of the way?
Two feet. The bell rang again and she stifled a startled shriek. Her hand went to her chest and she willed her heart rate to slow.
She took another step and leaned in toward the door. Peepholes were one way. And with the light off inside, there wouldn't even be a shadow. She pressed her face to the door.
No police uniform.
Relief washed over her and her gaze swept upward to his face.
“Oh, it's just Greg.” The last of the tension fled her body.
“Why would Greg show up on your doorstep at ten o'clock at night?” Her relief obviously didn't transfer to Alan. Suspicion was heavy in his tone.
“Maybe Tomlinson gave in.”
“He could call to tell you that.”
“Maybe he wanted to tell me in person. I mean, I wouldn't think anything of
you
showing up at ten at night.”
“That's different.”
“Trust me. If he has anything in mind other than the case, he'll find out really fast that I'm taken.” The possibility that he was there for any kind of romantic purpose was highly unlikely. He had made it clear that he was quite happy just him and his dog. Alan had nothing to worry about.
“I'll call you back.” She disconnected the call before he could protest further and slid the phone into her back pocket. Alan would just have to stew for a few minutes. Whatever Greg's reason for coming, he wouldn't be there long.
She opened the door about twelve inches. Greg stood on her porch, a Jeep in the driveway behind him.
“You
are
here.” The smile he gave her didn't quite reach his eyes. “I was beginning to wonder if you were home. Can I come in?”
A wave of uneasiness swept over her and she wasn't sure why. She should probably have grabbed her weapon. No, that was ridiculous. He was a fellow detective.
“It's pretty late. What did you need?”
“I had some things to talk to you about, things related to the case.”
Her gaze swept over him and her uneasiness intensified. He was turned just enough so she couldn't see his right hand.
“How about if we discuss this tomorrow?”
“I was really hoping to talk to you tonight.”
He took a step closer and she tried to slam the door. Just shy of closing, it suddenly exploded inward. A scream rose in her throat but never made it to her mouth. With lightning speed, Greg burst through the opening, spun her against him and pressed something over her face.
A sweet-smelling white cloth.
Panic careened through her system and her pulse jumped to double time, pounding out its erratic rhythm.
Greg was the killer.
How could she have missed that?
She clasped her hands and thrust her arms out and up, breaking his hold. In one smooth motion she spun and kneed him in the groin.
She didn't wait to assess the damage. A grunt and a muttered curse followed her as she flew into the living room. He should have known better than to accost a woman trained in self-defense. His other victims would have panicked and pulled on his hands, struggling unsuccessfully to loosen bands of steel. But she knew better. She wouldn't try to use sheer strength against someone eight inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier.
Now if she could just reach the back door.
The vase in the entry crashed to the tile floor and heavy footsteps pounded behind her. The next second, rough hands against her shoulder blades sent her hurtling forward, facedown on the carpet. Before she knew what had happened, he had flipped her onto her back and straddled her, arms pinned beneath his knees. The cloth once again came down across her face, and no matter how she bucked and twisted, she couldn't break free.
She held her breath, still fighting with every ounce of strength she had left. If she could just throw him off her, she would stand a chance. Not a big one, but more than she would pinned to the floor. But he was too strong and too heavy.
Her lungs burned, the urge to inhale overshadowing all else, until she finally gulped in those coveted breaths of air. But they were tainted. Sickeningly sweet. The room seemed to stretch and blur, shifting slowly to one side, then the other, as Greg's face came in and out of focus.
Suki watched from the end of the hall. Lexi couldn't see her, but she could hear her, yowling in the low, plaintive cry of the Siamese. Midnight and Itsy were probably hiding. What would happen to them when she was gone? Her mother was too selfish to care for anyone but herself. Maybe Alan would take them.
She should have listened to him. All the times he'd pleaded with her to stay somewhere else and she'd stubbornly refused. Now what he feared most was coming to pass. He would be devastated.
I'm sorry, sweetheart. I love you.
The grogginess intensified and the cat's cries grew farther and farther away. Nausea swept over her, wave after wave, until she would almost welcome the sweet comfort of oblivion.
Her eyes no longer wanted to stay open. The room faded into the distance. And so did Greg. He was wearing a grimace. Or maybe it was a smile. She wasn't sure.
Her eyes drifted shut and refused to open.
SIXTEEN
A
lan sat in his recliner clicking through the channels. The thought of Greg being with Lexi shouldn't bother him. But it did. What business did he have showing up at her house at ten o'clock at night? Sure, they worked together. But something about it just didn't sit right with him.
Maybe if he knew the guy, it would be different. But he had never met him. He was just a name, a faceless man in a uniform.
And he was alone with Lexi. At her house. Late at night.
He laid down the remote and picked up his phone. After staring at the screen for several moments, he put it back on the end table.
No, she'd said she would call as soon as Greg left. It had only been ten minutes. If he called her back now, he would come across as a jealous boyfriend.
But he couldn't shake the dread that had blanketed him the moment he'd heard the ring of her doorbell through the phone.
Lord, please protect her. Help me to put her in Your hands and leave her there.
He tipped back his head and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. When that didn't work, he once again picked up the remote. If nothing sparked his interest during ten minutes of channel surfing, it probably wouldn't now, either. But at least it gave him something to do.
But it wasn't enough. He pushed himself up from the chair and started to pace. She should have called by now, if to say nothing more than that everything was fine and she and Greg were having a powwow. She knew how concerned he was. The least she could do was call.
He looked at his watch for the hundredth time. Twenty minutes. Plenty of time for Greg to say whatever he'd needed to say.
Unless he was hitting on her. Refusing to take no for an answer.
He snatched up the phone and redialed her number. So she would think he was acting like a jealous boyfriend. And Greg would, too. So be it. He had to make sure she wasn't in some kind of trouble.
The phone rang once, twice. “Come on, Lexi, pick up.” A third ring. He clutched the phone more tightly. She often left it on vibrate, forgetting to turn the ring volume back up after a meeting. If she'd laid it down somewhere and it was still on vibrate, she might not hear it.
After the fourth ring her message came on and he disconnected the call.
He laid down the phone and resumed his pacing. Greg was a cop. As much as he didn't like the idea of her alone with him late at night, she was as safe with him as she would be with anybody.
So why the sense of dread? Why the persistent feeling that something was horribly wrong?
He froze midstep, his blood turning to ice in his veins.
What if the killer isn't someone impersonating a cop? What if he is a cop?
What if the killer was Greg?
He grabbed his keys, pistol and Bluetooth and ran for the door, dialing Tomlinson as he went. Judging from the slurred “Hello?” the sergeant had been sleeping. Hopefully the man would wake up fast, because Alan didn't have the time or patience to ease into the conversation. He backed from the driveway and sped away, leaving a long path of rubber and probably several annoyed neighbors.
“What kind of car does Greg drive?”
“Greg who?” Tomlinson's words were still laced with the remnants of sleep.
“The detective who's been working with Lexi. What does he drive?”
“A Jeep.”
“Does he have a second vehicle?”
“I don't know. I've only known him to drive the Jeep. Why? What's going on?” Tomlinson sounded fully awake now.
“I'm on my way to Lexi's. I think the killer might be Greg.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Finally Tomlinson spoke. “Are you sure?”
“Not a hundred percent. But I was on the phone with her and Greg showed up at her house. She was going to call me as soon as he left. That was almost a half hour ago.”
“Have you tried to call her?”
“She's not answering.”
“I'll put out an APB on the Jeep and the white Camry. And I'll send units to Lexi's. I'm also going to see what vehicles are registered to Greg. Call me as soon as you get there.”
“I will. And call me as soon as you learn anything.”
By the time he pulled onto Lexi's street, sirens sounded in the distance, screaming ever closer. Moments later, two Auburndale P.D. cruisers followed him into her drive, sirens silenced but lights still flashing.
Alan jumped from the car and ran toward the house.
“Freeze!”
The command stopped him in his tracks and he turned slowly, hands raised. Two pistols were trained on him.
“Alan White, Harmony Grove P.D. I initiated the call.”
Both guns went back into their holsters and the officers approached.
“We were told you were on the way. We didn't expect you to beat us here.”
He pounded hard on the door. He wouldn't touch the bell. Greg knew enough to use a knuckle or a gloved hand, so there probably weren't any prints, but he wasn't taking a chance. His knock went unanswered.
One of the officers walked to his car and returned with a pair of latex gloves. He tried the door then dropped his hand.
“Locked.”
Locked up tight and lights off.
Just as with the other victims.
“Do you have a key?”
He shook his head. They hadn't gotten that far yet. In fact, they were just getting started.
Lord, please don't let me lose her already.
He stood back and thrust outward with one foot. The door exploded inward; the strike-plate side of the jamb splintered. Across the entry, a vase lay shattered on the tiled floor, evidence of a struggle.
The kitchen was untouched. So was the living room. Suki sat in the middle of the floor, mouth open in a mournful cry that shredded his already frayed nerves. Itsy waited in the hall, watching him with wide green eyes. Midnight was probably too freaked out to show himself. If only cats could talk.
His cell phone rang and he took the call, moving down the hall toward the bedrooms.
“Are you at Lexi's?” It was Tomlinson.
“Yeah. I'm inside now. As near as we can tell, she's gone.”
A heavy sigh came through the phone. “I guessed as much. I got the info on the vehicles, and it's not good.”
Alan closed his eyes and steeled himself for what he knew he was going to hear.
“There are two vehicles registered to Greg. One is a 2005 Jeep. The other is a 2002 Toyota Camry, white.”
Alan expelled a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding. If there had been any doubt, the slightest chance that this was all a misunderstanding, Tomlinson's words shattered that possibility in an instant.
“We'll find her, Alan. We've got law enforcement from all agencies combing the county.”
Alan nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Her phone doesn't seem to be here. Which means it might be on her. Alert emergency 9-1-1 in case she gets to use it.”
He moved back to the front of the house and stepped out the door. “And check all the wooded areas near Auburndale. If he stays consistent, he'll take her somewhere nearby. I'll have the two officers here question the neighbors, see if they saw anything.” Although it wasn't likely. The houses were all dark.
“What are you going to do?”
“I'm going to look for her.”
His chances of finding one lone vehicle in the dark, probably hidden in the woods, weren't very good.
But knowing the way this guy worked, he wouldn't kill her right away. He would wait until she revived. Then he would begin his photo shoot, bruising and bloodying her up a little between each shot. The thought drove a red-hot poker through his heart.
But it also lifted a touch of his despair. The killer could take as much time as he wanted.
Because as long as she was alive, there was hope.
* * *
Lexi squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the pain throbbing through her head. If this was what it felt like to wake up after a night of wild partying, she didn't see the appeal. No amount of fun was worth this.
But she hadn't had any fun. Not that she could remember anyway. So why did she feel so rotten?
Her hip hurt. So did her upper arm. She was lying on something. She tried to shift her position and a moan escaped through her nose.
Sounds nearby filtered into her consciousnessâthe rustle of clothing and the crack of twigs. Her eyes fluttered open. She wasn't home in bed. In fact, she was outside. Pine needles lay all around, providing little cushion for what she now knew were exposed roots.
“Well, well, well.”
The familiar male voice sent awareness crashing down on her, as violent as a landslide. Panic spiraled through her, constricting her throat and making it hard to breathe. The killer was Greg. Lysandra had said his name was Gary. But she also said she wasn't sure. Gary...Greg. She was close.
“I'm glad you finally decided to come around. It's no fun without you.”
She tried to sit up, but couldn't move her arms. Ropes cutting into her wrists told her that her hands were tied behind her back. Her ankles were restrained, too, and something covered her mouth. Duct tape, she guessed.
Greg leaned over her and she shrank away from him. But instead of hitting or kicking her, he pulled her to a seated position. She looked around, trying to determine her location. A three-quarter moon shone bright white in a sparsely clouded sky. Trees stood all around, mostly scrub oaks and pines.
He stepped back and moved slowly around her, like a lion circling its prey. He was dressed in jeans and a red polo shirt, and a camera hung around his neck. The uniform he'd worn with the other victims hadn't been necessary. She'd let him in without it.
How could she have been so gullible? She was trained. She had good instincts. She had interacted with Greg over and over and never once suspected anything. She had been careless, blind and stupid. And it might cost her her life.
Stop it!
Berating herself was accomplishing nothing. She needed to focus her efforts on staying alive.
“You just had to keep pushing, didn't you?” He continued to circle her. “You couldn't just let it go. I was ready to call it even. I was only halfway through my list, but after almost getting caught, I decided to consider the price paid. I can do that, you know. I have the authority to mete out the punishment, and I have the authority to offer pardon, to declare the debt paid. That's what the uniform is all about. Justice.”
Dread trickled over her at his words, so eerily reminiscent of the ones he had spoken at the station. He stopped pacing to stand over her, blocking the moon from view and intensifying her sense of vulnerability.
“It would have been all over. No one else needed to die. I even gave you the perfect out, someone to pin the crimes on and declare the case solved.”
He
'd given her the perfect out? What was he talking about? He hadn't had anything to do with Wendell's arrest.
Her eyes widened as realization slammed into her. Greg had nothing to do with the arrest, but he was involved in the investigation, which gave him the opportunity to plant the chloroform. That was why it had taken him so long to get back after picking up lunch and dropping off Jeff âhe'd made a trip home first.
And when he got back to Wendell's, he'd gone straight to the bathroom to wash his hands. That was when he'd slipped the bottle under the sink.
Greg began to pace back and forth in front of her. “I gave you every opportunity to back off. I even warned you. Twice. And you ignored me.” He looked over at her, shaking his head, his expression scolding. “Not a wise decision. Because look where it got you.”
Yeah, bound and gagged. Helpless.
A wave of despair threatened to engulf her, and she fought to hold it back, clinging to a sliver of hope. Alan knew she was with Greg. He would have tried to call her. And when she didn't answer, he would have figured out Greg was the killer. By now, he would have alerted all the agencies. There was probably already a massive search under way.
Greg stepped back and lifted the camera to his face. The next moment the flash blinded her and she flinched.
“It's all good, though. I'm getting to kill two birds with one stone.” He gave her a devious grin. “Pardon the pun.”
He moved to the side of her and she followed him with her gaze.
“Look straight ahead. I'm trying to get a side shot.”
Her eyes widened and she continued to stare at him. He was expecting her to pose for his photo shoot? He was nuts. But he snapped the picture anyway and again started to pace.
“Anyway, as I was saying, it's all working out beautifully. Good things come to him who plans.” He smiled at his twist of the well-known proverb. “Not only will I get you off my back, but I'll have the satisfaction of once again seeing justice done. Nothing gives me greater joy. It's why I went into law enforcement. To see wrongs atoned for. Tonight you're paying for Lysandra's sins.” He tipped his head back and spread his arms. “Justice. Oh, sweet justice.”
A chill swept over her, seeping into her bones. He was nuts. His warped sense of right and wrong wasn't justice. He was a vigilante, but worse, because he preyed on the innocent.
When he looked back down at her, his smile faded instantly. He narrowed his gaze and took a threatening step closer. “Don't look at me like I'm crazy. Because I'm not. This has been done all through the agesâthe innocent sacrificed so someone else can live. I'm sure you know the stories. The people offering a young virgin to the dragon so the village can have peace and protection. Children being sacrificed to appease the gods. That principle is even at the foundation of ChristianityâJesus Christ dying for the sins of the world.”
He snapped a third picture and continued to talk. “What's really nice, though, is that, thanks to your expert sleuthing, all these women are learning that others have died for their actions. They'll carry that knowledge all the way to their graves. That's the sweetest revenge of all.”