Minutes to Kill (8 page)

In the meantime, Brody was going to do everything in his power to identify the dead woman and prove she wasn’t Teresa.

Stella went back to her duties. Brody checked his cell for messages. The sun sank over the trees, and the forensics team broke out overhead lights and turned them to high noon. The next twelve hours were going to be the longest in history. Chet was going to have a very bad night.

Chapter Nine

Jewel opened her clenched fist and stared at the business card she’d snatched off the floor of the woman’s car. Hannah Barrett, whoever she was, had tried to help her. But look what she’d gotten for her good deed. Mick had cracked her good. She’d gone down hard. Had Mick and Sam gone back for her after they’d dragged Jewel from the car? Maybe Mick killed her. Maybe Mick was going to kill Jewel.

Maybe that would be best.

The last six months had made her feel less than human. Most people treated their dogs better, except Mick. He starved and beat Butch, too. Asshole.

Sunbeams slanted through the dust-encrusted window high on the opposite wall. She licked her cracked lips. She’d been freezing all night, but the temperature in the shed had been rising all day. Sweat soaked her skirt and top. Dirt stuck to her damp skin. She straightened her leg to ease a cramp. Pain wracked her torso, her ribs screaming with every breath.

What day was it? Sunday?

Death couldn’t be too far away. She couldn’t last another day without water. The desert climate wasn’t natural to her. She never thought she’d say it, but she missed Toledo. At this point, she’d be happy to go back to her mom’s house and deal with the new boyfriend. Lenny’s abuse seemed like nothing after the hundreds of men since she’d been grabbed off the street and brought here.

Mick was a master at causing pain. He wasn’t going to forgive her this time, and if he ever learned what else she’d done . . .

Stupid is exactly what she was. All that risk for nothing. She’d thought she was smarter than him? That she could take him down? She shuddered. This beating was bad, but Mick could do much worse. But the worst thing was, despite her current misery, she could still envision escape. She didn’t
want
to die.

The cuffs dug into her wrists. She rubbed them in the dirt to move them to a fresh quarter inch of skin. The dog whined at the back of the shed. Jewel inched to the wall and stuck her hand in a two-inch gap between the dirt and the side of the shed. A wet nose sniffed her fingers. As the dog licked her hand, Jewel’s eyes filled. Too bad Butch couldn’t dig her out.

Footsteps outside the shed filled her with hope and dread. She wanted out of this shed, but Mick was pissed. Would it be better to die slowly of dehydration? If Mick did it, he’d make sure it hurt.

The door opened. Jewel tried to slide backward, to get as far away from her visitor as possible.

Lisa stood in the opening, a bucket in her hand, a plastic bag in the other. Behind her, Jewel could see Butch chewing on a large hunk of red and raw meat.

Walking through, Lisa closed the door. Jewel squinted up at her. Silhouetted against the sunshine, Lisa looked as pale as a cloud. The skin of her shoulders and arms were nearly glowing white. The sunshine rarely touched her skin.

“Stupid bitch. I don’t care if Mick kills you. How dare you fuck up my life?” Lisa squatted in front of Jewel, grabbed her hair, and lifted her head off the ground a few inches. “Last thing I want to do is go back to working. Did you actually think you could get away?”

With her head craned backward, Jewel’s throat was too stretched and dry for a response.

“Mick wants you clean, but if I was you, I’d drink this water first or you’re gonna be dead by tomorrow morning. Not that I care, but I don’t need Mick any madder than he already is. He wants you alive.”

Pain seared through Jewel’s scalp. Lisa opened her fist, and Jewel’s head smacked into the dirt. Lisa put the bucket within reach. Jewel got her knees under her body, lifted her shoulders, and stuck her trembling hands into the bucket. She lifted a palmful of water to her cracked lips. The cool moisture slid down her throat. It tasted of rusty pipes, but she didn’t care.

“Is Mick here?” Her voice creaked.

Lisa shook her head. “I ain’t never seen a girl piss him off as much as you, but this time, girl, you fucked up big-time.”

Lisa dug a bar of soap from her pocket and tossed it into the dirt. “Get washed. Put those stinking clothes by the door.”

For an ex-whore, Lisa had an OCD thing about being clean. She showered three times a day, as if she couldn’t get the scent of men and sex from her skin, even though she hadn’t worked in the whole time Jewel had been here. Sam made her do nasty things, but at least he was only one man.

Lisa took a key from the pocket of her ripped shorts. She unlocked the handcuffs on Jewel’s wrists. “You make one wrong move, and I’ll hurt you. After what you done to me, I’d like nothing better.”

Jewel rubbed her wrists, cupped another handful of water, and drank. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Why do you do what they say?”

“Because I have no interest in being dead, and this is the best I’ve ever had it. Unlike you, I appreciate three meals most days and a place to sleep at night. Now that you pulled this stunt, guess who has to do your hours?”

Well, that explained Lisa’s anger. Mick was making her work. Jewel wasn’t going to get any help from her.

Not wanting to be sitting in mud, she dragged the bucket a few feet away from her corner and began to wash. She stripped off her filthy clothes. The water cooled her skin. As she lathered her body, she took stock. She couldn’t see her face, but her lip didn’t feel too bad now that she’d had some water. Just a bit swollen and sore on one side. The big bruise on her ribs was the only mark Mick had left on her. How had he made her hurt so much over her entire body without leaving much evidence?

Practice.

She shivered, goose bumps rising on her thighs. Best not to think about that. She used her cupped hands to rinse, making sure to keep both soap and dirt out of the remaining water in the bucket.

Lisa kicked the dirty clothes to the door. “Back to the corner.”

Jewel contemplated rushing her. Could she overpower the other woman in her weakened condition?

“Don’t even think about it.” Lisa reached into her pocket and pulled out a knife. She unfolded the blade with one quick, practiced flick of her wrist. The desire to hurt Jewel shone from her eyes.

Jewel went back to the corner. She was still hot and hungry, but she no longer felt like she was going to die at any moment. The bucket of water was still half full. She could save it for later.

Lisa reached into the plastic bag and took out a Styrofoam container and a change of clothes. She handed the items to Jewel. The water had nearly evaporated from her skin already. She tugged on the shorts and T-shirt, then opened the container. Half an order of fries. They were cold and nasty, and obviously someone else’s leftovers, but she ate them. Couldn’t afford to be too particular about her calories. The salt tasted spicy on her swollen lips.

“That’s all you get.” Lisa collected the dirty clothes and shoved them in a black trash bag.

“Thanks,” Jewel said.

Lisa flushed, her eyes turned angry. “Don’t thank me. You ruined everything. We lost a night’s income and a good location, plus Mick has to lie low. He’s pissed. And I sure as hell don’t want to go back to hoing. So don’t look to me for favors.”

And with that tender statement, Lisa kicked over the bucket. The remaining water poured into the dirt. A tiny rivulet wound its way to Jewel’s knees. No water for later.

Lisa gestured with the blade. “Put the cuffs on.”

Her chance for escape, as slim as it had been, was gone. With a sinking sensation in her belly, Jewel squatted and fastened the handcuffs around her wrists.

Lisa left the shed. The padlock closed with a metallic snap.

There couldn’t be more than a few hours of daylight left. She’d had enough water to keep her alive until tomorrow. But then what? What did Mick have planned?

Chapter Ten

Hannah blinked the airbag dust from her eyes. The dashboard light cast menacing shadows on the man’s lean face as he leaned into the car and dragged out the screaming girl.

“He’s gonna kill me,” she sobbed.

Terror rounded her eyes as she scrambled for a hold on the car seat. She reached for Hannah, panic stiffening her fingers into desperate claws. Hannah struggled to move, but her body was held fast by the seat belt. The latch refused to release her. The space between them grew as if being stretched.

“No!” Hannah’s fingers worked at the jammed belt release.

Jewel’s face blurred and shifted until it was little Carson being carried away, his small body kicking and fighting for freedom, his eyes pleading with Hannah to save him.

Fear squeezed her lungs in a vise grip. Her breaths locked down.

Hannah jolted. Her body jackknifed to a sitting position. Lightheaded and confused, she drew in a lungful of painful air. She put a hand on her chest. Under her sweat-soaked T-shirt, her heart rapped against her ribs like insistent knuckles. She’d been well and truly immersed in her nightmare. Despite her disorientation, she knew the dream hadn’t woken her.

What had?

Pushing away the confusing jumble of images, she focused on her surroundings. Moonlight slanted through the blinds onto the duvet, and a dull headache throbbed in her temple. Accustomed to waking in a different hotel every few weeks, she found the change of scenery no surprise, but the intimacy of the homey decor unsettled her.

A storm of barking erupted downstairs. Again? She checked the clock. Four a.m. Grant and the family had left in a flurry of excitement, and Hannah had gone back to bed only an hour before. But she was glad to have been woken. She didn’t need to experience the terror of that dream. She had enough anxiety. Today was Monday. Whatever end was going to come to Jewel would happen tomorrow, and the Las Vegas police were no closer to finding her. As if failing Jewel hadn’t been enough, her imagination had reconstructed the events of last spring until Carson hadn’t been saved either. Eight months later, the memory of the week little Carson had been targeted by Lee’s killer still haunted Hannah’s sleep.

She swung her legs out of bed. Out from under the heavy comforter, the chill settled on her damp skin. She snatched a sweatshirt from the foot of the bed and tugged it over her head. Barefoot, she crept out of the room and down the steps. Dog tags jiggled, and she turned her head to locate the sound. Her hearing was almost back to normal. More barking told her AnnaBelle was in the rear of the house. Hannah walked down the dark corridor into the kitchen. Light flooded the backyard. The hair on Hannah’s nape quivered. Something or someone had tripped the motion sensors. Her gaze swept the lawn. The grassy area was clear. She squinted into the dark beyond the light’s reach. Something moved near the creek. The dog growled, and fresh sweat broke out between Hannah’s shoulder blades.

“Shh.” She reached down and placed a hand on her head to silence her.

A gust of wind rattled the windows and rustled the branches of the giant oak in the center of the yard. Hannah moved to the pantry, opened the door, and examined the alarm panel mounted on the inside wall. Round lights blinked in a steady and reassuring green line. The security system was armed; all zones were quiet. She closed the pantry door and glanced out into the darkness again. An intruder would trip the alarm, but out in the country, help wasn’t around the corner. It could take the police twenty minutes or more to respond to a call.

A lot could happen in twenty minutes, and the Colonel hadn’t raised a damsel in distress. He’d raised a damsel who caused distress.

Hannah retraced her steps. In the upstairs hall, she went into the master bedroom. In the walk-in closet, she located Grant’s gun safe and spun the combination. The heavy door opened to reveal a hefty collection of weapons. Three rifles, a shotgun, a few handguns, her father’s combat knife. Her Glock was in the bottom drawer. She grabbed her holster and a full magazine before closing and locking the safe. In her room, she dressed in jeans and a sweater. With her gun in hand, she went back downstairs. The dog was still growling at the sliding glass door.

Wind gusted again. Carson’s tire swing swayed. Beyond, in the darkness, movement caught Hannah’s eye. A large body bounded in the shadows. The deer flashed past, the light catching red in its eyes as it sprang through an open area and disappeared into the woods.

Hannah looked down at the dog. “Really?”

The dog pricked its ears forward and focused on the door. She emitted another low growl. Maybe it hadn’t been the deer. AnnaBelle whined.

“Oh, no. We are not going for a walk at dark o’clock.”

The dog kept watch for another ten minutes, then she yawned, stretched, and trotted across the room to curl up in her dog bed.

“At least one of us can sleep.”

Several hours remained until dawn. Too keyed up to go back to bed, Hannah returned to the door and stared out into the darkness. The lights had gone out. Whatever had been moving around in the backyard was gone. She went to the couch and sat down, setting her gun and holster on the coffee table. If the kids were home, she’d have secured her weapon. But this morning, she was very much alone.

The motion lights went out, leaving the yard dark again. The big farmhouse blotted out a chunk of night sky. From the cover of the woods, Mick raised the binoculars to his face and focused on the back door.

Hannah Barrett. Long and lean, with her fresh face and just-out-of-bed hair, standing in her designer-perfect kitchen, symbolized every woman who would never be his. She was staring at the spot where he’d been standing just minutes ago. It felt as if she could see him. As if their eyes were meeting. As if she knew what was coming. Despite the cold night, excitement warmed his blood.

Mick backed farther into the woods. A branch swiped his head. Cursing, he swatted at it. He’d forgotten how much he hated the outdoors.

She moved away from the window. He needed to go. Couldn’t be caught out here in the daylight. He skirted the property, staying just inside the trees, until he reached the road. He’d parked the car behind a clump of evergreens on the other side of the road. But watching from a distance hadn’t been enough.

He’d gotten too close, close enough for the dog to sense him and wake her. The motion lights had been a surprise. A security system was a possibility. He needed to case the place in daylight, but this wasn’t a neighborhood. People did not walk past houses in the middle of nowhere. Getting Hannah Barrett wouldn’t be easy like all the other women he’d grabbed. She was no dumb runaway.

Sunday had been a wasted day. He and Sam had dumped the body before dawn, then gone back to the house. The dogs in the kennel had been barking nonstop, so he’d tossed them some food and then crashed. He hadn’t woken up until night. But then, being up all night was normal for him, and the time difference between here and Vegas had screwed up his hours further. At home, it was one in the morning, and he wouldn’t be going to sleep for hours yet. It had all worked out for the best, though. He’d gotten here in time to see the family leave an hour earlier, everyone except the blond.

She was in there, and she was alone.

Patience was a virtue, but Mick wasn’t a virtuous man. He didn’t want to wait until the opportunity to grab her presented itself. He wanted her now. His fingers curled into a fist and punched his thigh.

If only he had something—or someone—to relieve his frustration.