Stiffly she sat up and grabbed the note and chuckled. Dear Dana, he’d written, I hope by morning the memory of your name has returned. If not, you’re Dana Danielle Dupinsky and you’re not a photographer. As to the “Born2Kill” tattoo on your left cheek, I have only to ask, “What were you thinking?” I’ll call you later. Sweet dreams. Ethan.
She slid from the bed. She’d dreamed the same old nightmare, but after that one bad one, she’d dreamed sweet dreams for the first time in years. One of the last dreams was Ethan filling her, but she’d woken to find it reality and for a third time he’d brought her to a climax so powerful the only name she could remember was his.
But now it was time to work. She’d lost a full day away from the House. She’d call Dr. Lee’s family today, she thought soberly. Offer to help with the funeral arrangements. And Beverly was leaving today, for California. She was supposed to drive Beverly to the bus station this morning. It was one of her favorite things, seeing women off to start a new life.
Mia had told her not to go near the shelter, just in case she was followed, but Dana refused to give up the one activity she most enjoyed. Beverly would need to meet her close to the bus station. Dana picked up the hotel phone on the nightstand. “Evie?”
“Where have you been?” Evie exploded. “We have been looking all over for you. You had me scared to death. ”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She was. She’d never considered someone would be looking for her. Given Dr. Lee and Caroline and Goodman, she should have. “Evie, that was thoughtless of me. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m fine.”
“I called that cell phone number you gave me and it just rang.”
Dana frowned, then remembered Ethan pulling her skirt to her waist on the sofa in the other room. Her cell phone had probably fallen out of her pocket. “I must have left it in another room. I stayed with a friend last night.”
“Which one?” Evie asked suspiciously. “Mia says you didn’t stay with her.”
So they’d been beating the bushes. “A friend you haven’t met yet.”
Stunned silence. “You have a boyfriend and you haven’t introduced him yet?”
“You and I have not exactly been on the best of terms this last week,” Dana said wryly.
“I suppose not.” Evie’s tone was equally wry. “Well, when we get off the phone you need to call David. He’s worried sick and he’s been lying to Caroline all night telling her he’s talked to you so she wouldn’t worry. You really had us whipped into a frenzy.”
Dana sighed. He would have been worried. “I will. Evie, Mia doesn’t want me coming near the shelter, just in case Goodman comes looking for me next. I don’t want you leaving either and keep the doors locked, especially the kitchen door. You always forget.”
“I won’t forget today. What about Beverly? She’s packed and ready to go.”
“Have her meet me at Betty’s coffee shop in an hour. I’ll walk her to the bus from there. Her papers are locked in my desk. You know where to find the key. Give them to her.”
“I will. Dana, about Dr. Lee . . . I’m sorry.”
Sorrow welled and Dana swallowed it back. “I know. Me, too. Evie, I’m sorry about a lot of things. I know I don’t say it often enough, but I love you.”
Dana heard Evie clear her throat. “I love you, too.”
Chicago, Wednesday, August 4, 9:00 A.M.
Security Manager Bill Bush placed a cup of coffee next to the monitor Ethan had been staring at for hours. “You’re the most persistent P.I. I’ve had come through in a while.”
“Thank you.” Ethan took the coffee with significant gratitude. “I decided the laws of physics preclude this woman I’m looking for from simply disappearing, so she must have boarded another bus because she didn’t exit the station Friday morning.”
“Fair assumption.” Bush sat down in his creaky chair.
“I know she was in Chicago on Monday morning, because she sent an e-mail to the kid’s father.” Ethan had his story carefully catalogued in his head. They’d told Bush they were looking for a mother who’d violated a custody agreement. Ostensibly they would not be searching for the woman’s face. They’d know what she looked like and Bush was smart enough to pick up on that. “I want to get tape of her leaving with the kid so we can have it when we take her to court for violating the terms of the custody agreement. Then maybe the boy’s dad can get full custody.”
Bush studied him carefully. “You so sure the mom’s not the better parent?”
“Oh, yeah. Anyway, knowing she was in Chicago on Monday, I figure she had to have come through here sometime between Friday morning and Monday morning. I’ve been watching only the exits. I’m up to Friday night at nine-fifteen.”
“You should take a break. You’re looking twitchy.” He shot Ethan a long look that it didn’t take a genius to read. Bush knew something wasn’t kosher. “One of the things I learned in twenty-five years on the force is that it’s not a bad thing to need help every now and again. That it doesn’t make you less of a . . .” He let the thought trail. “Cop.”
“I’m not a cop,” Ethan said.
“That you’re not,” Bush agreed. “Soldier maybe, cop not.”
“Not a soldier, either.” It was a reflexive snap. Marines were not soldiers. Marines were Marines. From Bush’s reaction, it was exactly what he’d expected Ethan to say. He’d played right into the old man’s hands.
Bush chuckled. “Where’d you serve, Buchanan?”
“Afghanistan.”
Bush grimaced. “Sand.”
Ethan nodded grimly. “Hell, yes.”
“You quit the Corps?”
Ethan shook his head. “Med-down. Land mine followed by a sniper attack.”
“I was in ’Nam. Government discharged most of us in the seventies. Became a cop.”
“So did my partner. Became a cop, that is. I probably couldn’t pass the eye test now.”
“Hell, boy. I couldn’t pass any of the Academy’s tests now. I’m too damn old. But I served as long as I could and I’m proud of what I did. So did you and so should you.”
Ethan hesitated, then went with his gut. “I’m looking for this woman, but she manages to stay a few steps ahead of me. I’ve got pictures from the neck down, but never her face.”
“Kid’s daddy didn’t have any pictures of her face?”
Ethan met Bush’s gaze unflinchingly. “She looks different now.”
Bush grunted. “Women are good at that. You sure she’s the bad apple, Buchanan?”
“Very sure.”
“You got those pictures with you?”
Ethan patted his briefcase. “Right here.”
Bush rolled his eyes. “Do you need an engraved invitation, boy? Let’s have ’em.” He wiped his hands clean and took the photos. Gave a low wolf whistle.
“Yeah, modesty does not seem to be her strong suit.”
“Hiding in broad daylight,” Bush said. “She’s got a tattoo.”
“I know. I’ve gotten a few shots of it. Starts with A.”
“I’m not talking about that one. I’m talking about this one.” Bush squinted and held one of the close-ups of her hands up to the light. “Prison tattoo, right here on her ring finger. See the little cross just below her knuckle? Means she did time.”
Ethan wasn’t looking at her knuckles. He was looking at her hands. Holding the sign language book that reflected the light off its glossy surface. She wasn’t wearing gloves. The book was very glossy. There would be prints. And if she’d served time, her prints would be in the system. He’d been so intent on seeing her face, he’d neglected her hands.
They might finally have something for the cops. He needed to talk to Clay.
Chicago, Wednesday, August 4, 9:00 A.M.
Well, Ruby was wrong this time, Sue thought as she looked out the window to the street in front of the shelter. Evie was hugging Beverly, the woman due to go to California today. Ruby had assured her that Dupinsky always drove the departing client away from Hanover House in a grand ceremony, but it would seem Dupinsky had become busy with a new boyfriend. How sweet.
But Beverly would not be singing “California, Here I Come” today. She turned to look at the kid who lay sleeping. Satisfied she’d sufficiently frightened him the day before, she grabbed her backpack and slipped from the shelter.
Alec waited a long time after the smell of stale cigarettes had lessened. Then opened his eyes a slit. She was gone. And she’d taken her backpack with her. He shuddered once again, remembering what he’d found inside. He struggled not to throw up, taking deep breaths until he felt steady again. She’d been asleep last night and he’d needed to know what she kept inside that backpack. Besides the doctor’s glasses.
Now he knew. Besides the doctor’s glasses he’d found a little cooler, the plastic kind his mom used when they went to the beach. It was cold. Alec swallowed back the bile that burned at his throat. It was filled with three plastic bags of ice. And one plastic bag of fingers. They’d looked like Halloween props, but they’d been very, very real. Alec drew a deep breath, gagging. Controlling it.
She’d killed that doctor. And he’d seemed so nice. She’d killed him and cut off his . . . Again he shuddered. Took great gasps of air. He was sweating, soaking wet. Had been all night. He looked down at his hands, made his fingers work if for no other reason than to assure himself they still did.
She’d killed Paul, and Cheryl, and now that doctor. And she would kill him. He was certain of it. He’d done nothing but think about it all night long. She said she’d kill his mother. Alec filled his lungs until they hurt. He couldn’t be sure that she hadn’t already. His mom could be dead, right now. But his mom wouldn’t want him to die, too.
He had to do something or he’d die. Alec flexed his fingers. Or worse. He didn’t even want to think about his life without fingers. He’d rather be dead. But he didn’t want to be dead. So do something. Do it now.
Carefully he removed the one other thing he’d found inside the backpack, the thing he’d hidden under the covers. A plastic bag of white powder. He knew what this was. He’d read enough on the Internet to know exactly what he held in his hands. Cocaine. More than one person could use in a week, he thought. This was cocaine for selling. The bitch who’d stolen him was a drug dealer.
Alec knew his mother didn’t like the word bitch. But his mother wasn’t here. He was all alone. Well, maybe not all alone. There was the red-haired lady and the girl with the scar.
The girl with the scar was nice. She’d cried so hard last night and he’d known it was because the doctor was dead. Alec had read the note the doctor left behind. The doctor had cooperated with the white-eyed lady to save Alec’s life. The girl with the scar didn’t suspect the bitch of killing her doctor friend.
But she’d smiled at him through her tears. She’d washed his face yesterday morning, had stroked his hair the days before. He’d trust her. He flexed his fingers again, thinking of the cooler, of the fingers. He didn’t have much of a choice.
Summoning the courage he hoped would make his parents proud, he took the bag of white powder and went in search of the girl with the scar. When she saw the powder, she’d call the police. When the police came, Alec would get a pencil and paper and tell them what he knew. The police he knew he could trust. His mother had told him so.
And if the girl with the scar didn’t call the police and kept the white powder for herself . . . Well, then he’d know he couldn’t trust her after all.
Ocean City, Maryland, Wednesday, August 4, 10:00 A.M. Eastern (9:00 A.M. Central)
James sat on the other side of the glass, waiting patiently. Today he’d know where Sue was. What her game was. Her brother should be very ready to talk right about now.
He tilted his head to one side as Bryce Lewis stumbled into the visitation room, his face one massive bruise. James imagined he had bruises other places as well. He hadn’t really been specific after all. He wanted him hurt, but not so that he ended up in the clinic.
Lewis sat in the chair across from him, his body stiff, his face a study in stoic acceptance. “She’s in Chicago,” the boy said without preamble.
“Why?”
“She’s taken a kid with her. His name is Alexander Vaughn.”
A connection. The Vaughns owned the beach house where the body had been found. She’d kidnapped their child. Now he had to figure out how the Vaughns connected to the woman he’d tracked to Florida. The woman Sue had killed. “How much is the ransom?”
“A million dollars.”
“And your share?”
“Half.”
James laughed. “She’d never give you half. Where is she hiding in Chicago?”
“She was going to hide in my uncle’s house.”
“Impossible. Their house burned to the ground. Bad habit they had, smoking in bed.”
“They were innocent old people,” Lewis said hoarsely. “Why?”
Lewis’s eyes glazed with tears and James stood up. “Same reason your sister did an old woman in Florida and that guy in the shed. Because she could, and so can I.”
Sue was in Chicago with a kid. She’d go stir crazy if she hid too long. And when she popped her head from her hidey-hole, he’d be there. He checked his watch. He could be in Chicago before dinnertime.
Chicago, Wednesday, August 4, 10:00 A.M.
Evie sat staring at the bag of coke on the kitchen table. Erik had brought it to her, saying absolutely nothing, his eyes solemn, but alert. So watchful. As if he was just waiting for what she’d do next. She’d called Dana right away. On that new cell phone that had been a gift. But once again it rang and rang. She’d tried again with no success, only getting the canned message that came with the phone. She’d left messages for Dana. Three times. She’d called Dana’s pager three more times.
She’d called Mia, but Mia was off-duty and not on-call. Would she like to leave a message? the police operator had asked. No, she would not. She couldn’t call Caroline. Nobody was supposed to stress Caroline right now and Evie imagined this qualified as major stress. The most important thing was getting Erik out of Hanover House and somewhere safe. She rubbed her head. Wished she knew what to do.
Then she remembered the woman who worked with Dana when they needed to go through Department of Children’s Services. Dana trusted her. Her name was Sandra Stone.
Evie got through the first time and thought it must be kismet. “Miss Stone, my name is Evie Wilson. I work with Dana Dupinsky.”