Instead a hand wrapped around her mouth from behind. She tried to scream but couldn’t. She tried to thrash, but the man’s other arm circled around her midsection, pinning her arms. “What I want you to do is to send him a message. I want you to tell him that revenge is the sweetest weapon, and that this isn’t even close to being over.”
Then the man jammed something into her neck. A needle. And Madison’s world went black.
THIRTEEN
M
adison forced her eyes open. Blinked. Tried to focus.
Where was she? What had happened?
Everything flooded back. She gulped in a breath.
Everything was black, so much so that she couldn’t make anything out. Was she still in the boathouse? Was her attacker still here?
She closed her eyes and tried to make a mental assessment of herself. Nothing hurt. Her hands were free. Her mouth was uncovered. Nothing circled her neck. Everything around her was quiet. She remained still, waiting to hear the telltale sign that someone else was in the room.
Nothing. Not yet. But her attacker was calculating. He could be waiting for her to stir, waiting to take her by surprise again.
She waited longer but heard nothing.
Finally she moved. It took her a moment to find her footing. Whatever the man had injected her with made her wobbly, woozy. She leaned against the wall to steady herself. She’d feel her way around the perimeter of the room until she found the door, she decided.
Her breathing felt labored, almost as if the room itself tried to suffocate her. The darkness felt blinding. She had to get out of here. She had to find Brody and tell him what happened, tell him the madman was still on the loose.
Her hand hit something and it crashed to the floor, shattering. A picture maybe? She stepped over it and continued feeling her way around the room. Finally her hand connected with something metallic. The doorknob. She grabbed it and twisted, but it didn’t move.
Using both hands, she shook the door. Why wouldn’t it open?
She kicked the wood, tears popping into her eyes as she did so. It was no use. She was locked in here.
She leaned her forehead against the door. How would she get out?
The heat felt stifling, hanging heavy in the air.
A window? Could she open a window? If she could propel herself through it, she would land in the bay below and could swim to shore.
She felt her way around the room again. At last she felt the heavy drapes that covered the windows. Her fingers fumbled as she shoved them aside.
Why didn’t light flood the room when she moved the shades? She knew the answer before her hands felt the board that covered the window. She pounded at the wood, hoping it might budge. Nothing.
Was she trapped inside this room? Was there any other means of escape?
She wouldn’t give in to despair.
But she wanted to. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry.
No, she needed to keep searching for a means to escape.
Her cell phone! She could call someone.
She reached for her pocket, but it was empty. He had taken her phone. Of course he had. He’d thought of everything else, hadn’t he?
There had been two other doors in the room. Where did they lead? She continued around the room. Finally she felt another doorknob. She twisted, but nothing moved. It was locked, also. Of course. A few feet over she found the other door, but as she expected she couldn’t open that door, either.
Perhaps she could find something to knock down the outside door? She wasn’t strong, but at least she could try. Maybe there was something she could wedge between the door and the frame that would help her. She couldn’t give up hope. Who would ever find her here, after all? Was her assignment at this location ever real? Or had the killer simply strung her along? She had a feeling the latter was true. Had she even told Kayla where she was going? No. Only that she was going to take pictures for a new exhibit at the museum. No one was going to find her in this secluded location.
She needed to think. She slid down the wall and pulled her knees to her chest. Just a moment to think. But every moment of entrapment teetered on the edge of turning into despair.
* * *
Brody raced down the road toward Madison’s house. He gripped the cell phone in his hand and waited for Kayla to pick up the phone at the preschool. Finally on the third ring, she answered. “Kayla, have you heard from Madison?” he asked.
“Madison? No, I haven’t talked to her since this morning.”
“She’s not answering her cell phone and she’s not at her house. This isn’t like her.”
“That is weird. We always ask parents to keep their cell phones with them while their kids are at school in case we need to get in contact with them. You’re right—it isn’t like her to not answer.”
Brody’s gut had been churning all day, a sure sign that something was wrong. They’d all been duped into thinking that York County was safe again. In truth the killer remained at large. Brody felt certain of it.
“Kayla, can you keep an eye on Lincoln for a while?”
“Of course.”
“I’m going to go and see if I can find Madison. I have a bad feeling.”
Kayla looked pale as she nodded. “I pray she’s okay, Brody.”
He managed a stiff nod. “Me, too.”
He went to his car and started toward her house. Each inch closer he got, the more worry embedded itself in his muscles. Madison would never be irresponsible when it came to Lincoln. Never. He knew her well enough already to know that.
As soon as he turned onto their street, he saw that her car wasn’t at the house. He had a key to her place. She’d given him her spare just a couple of days ago. He needed to go inside and see if he could figure out where she’d gone.
All was quiet inside her home. He remembered the last time he’d entered unannounced. He’d stumbled upon the horrific sight of Madison hanging from the fan. Tension gripped him at the thought.
“Madison?”
No answer.
He checked all of the rooms and found no one, which was both a relief and a concern.
He went into her office and walked over to her desk. An appointment book lay open in front of the computer. He saw a noon appointment with a Mr. Johnson. Who was Mr. Johnson? She’d mentioned being commissioned to take photos of fishermen in the area for a museum exhibit. Could Mr. Johnson be a part of that? And where would that fisherman live?
He flipped through the rest of her appointment book, searching for an address. Nothing.
He wiggled the mouse on her computer and the screen came up. Directions from a website stared at him. Good old Madison. She hated GPS and always did things old school. That just might work to her advantage right now.
He printed a copy of those directions and ran out to his car. He turned the emergency lights on as he sped down the road. He had a feeling he didn’t have any time to waste. And if he did, then he’d rather find out sooner than later that she was okay.
Lord, if You’re out there, watch over Madison.
He would never forgive himself if something happened to her.
He sped down the road, praying again that he was on time.
* * *
Madison fought panic. How long had she been here? It felt like hours. Perhaps it had only been minutes? It was hard to say.
Her eyes had adjusted slightly to the darkness, enough that she could make out the outline of a pool table, a couple of chairs, two windows.
She’d run out of ideas as to how else she could get out of here. She wasn’t strong enough to bust through the door. There appeared to be no other means of escape. The wood nailed across the windows was stuck and wouldn’t even budge.
Despair threatened to overtake her. She tried to steady her breathing.
Lord, help me. I don’t know what else to ask except for Your intervention right now. Help someone to realize where I am.
A noise outside brought her to her feet. What was that? Tires on gravel? It was hard to tell over the lapping of the water underneath the pier. Seizing the opportunity, began pounding on the door.
“Help! Someone help me! Please!”
She stopped, listened for a moment. Nothing. Had she been hearing things? What if it was the serial killer, coming back to finish what he’d started?
She decided to risk that possibility and began pounding on the door again, yelling for help and praying that someone would hear her.
She paused again, desperate to hear a sign of life.
“Madison? Are you in there?”
Brody! Brody had found her. Hope filled her heart.
“I’m here. I’m in here, Brody!”
The doorknob rattled.
“He’s got you bolted in from the outside. A padlock. I’m going to have to knock the door down. Back up for me.”
“Got it.”
She stepped well out of the way. A moment later she heard a crash against the door. Wood splintered. Then she heard another crash. This time more panels cracked and a ray of sunlight filled the room. Brody shoved the rest of the door out of the way and stepped inside. At once, his arms engulfed her. She savored the feeling of safety, of strength.
His lips found hers in a surprising kiss. She froze a moment before surrendering to the emotions pulling them together. All her worries melted away as the feeling of being cared for radiated through her. All too soon, Brody drew back and rested his forehead against hers.
“I was so worried,” he mumbled.
Madison’s heart still raced—from both the kiss and the life-or-death situation she’d just encountered. “I didn’t know if anyone would find me.”
“Of course I’d find you. I’ll always find you.”
He pulled away and studied her closely. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
She touched her neck where the man had injected her with something. “He drugged me again. I don’t think he meant to hurt me. He’s just playing this twisted game and, for some reason, I’m a pawn.”
His arms wrapped around her again, holding her tight. She rested her head under Brody’s chin, surprised at how natural it felt. Then she felt Brody stiffen.
“What is it?” She stepped back and saw him looking at something beyond her. She turned and saw words had been scratched into the wall, almost as if with a knife. She drew in a sharp breath as she read the words.
Death. Selfish. Suicide. Accusation. Hatred. Blood.
Brody’s hand circled her arm. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here. I’m going to call in some backup.”
Madison needed to ask him about that kiss sometime, ask him what it meant. But not now. Right now they needed to concentrate on finding this madman. Maybe he’d left some evidence this time. She doubted it, but there was always a chance.
“We need to have you looked at also.”
She shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t know what he injected you with. You should be checked out.”
“I need to get to Lincoln.”
“Kayla has him.” He led her away from the pier and toward his car. “Let’s get some AC on you. I have a bottle of water in here. You need to drink some.”
She didn’t argue. She let the cool air chill her skin, relishing the current blowing from the vent. Brody handed her some water and she gulped it down, thirstier than she thought. Brody stayed outside the car, on his phone. She could only imagine the conversation he was having.
Her lips still tingled from their kiss. What had that been about? It had been so surprising. Even more surprising was her reaction. What had she been thinking? The last thing she wanted in her life was romance. But based on the way she’d responded to Brody, no one would ever guess that to be true.
Just then Brody opened the car door and slid inside. “Backup is coming, as is the forensic team.” His eyes softened as he looked across the seat at her. “Are you sure I can’t take you to the hospital?”
She nodded. “I just want to go home. See Lincoln.”
“I understand.”
The madman’s words flooded back to her. “He mentioned you, Brody.”
His eyebrows twitched. “Me?”
“He told me to ask you about Lindsey.”
Brody’s face drained of color. “Lindsey?”
“Who’s Lindsey, Brody?”
“She’s…she’s someone I dated a few times up in New York.”
“What’s her connection to this case?” she prodded.
“I’m not sure. Except that she committed suicide. I have no idea how this man knows about her death or why he’s connecting it with these murders.”
“There’s obviously something about you and about her that ties all of these things together that have been happening lately. Did you make some enemies after her suicide?”
He sighed deeply. “I was my biggest enemy after her suicide.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I blamed myself. I still blame myself. Her suicide note made it clear that she took her life because she couldn’t deal with the pain from my rejection.”
Madison placed her hand on his arm, but he pulled away. “You can’t blame yourself for someone else’s actions.”
“I didn’t want to commit or be tied down. I think six months was my longest relationship. I didn’t consider people’s feelings the way I should have. I only thought about myself.”
Another sheriff’s car pulled up, effectively cutting their conversation off. Maybe it was better that way. Madison had a lot to process. But before she could begin to process any of it, she had to recount what had happened to her.
Brody squeezed her hand. “You ready for this?”
She nodded. “We’ve got to catch this guy before he strikes again.”
“I know.” He nodded toward Sheriff Carl outside. “Let’s go see what kind of evidence he left.”
FOURTEEN
A
fter the entire boathouse had been canvassed for evidence, Brody climbed back into the car with Madison. She looked exhausted. She’d been through a lot, not only today but over the past several days. He needed to get her home to rest.
“Anything?”
Brody shrugged, not wanting to tell her the blunt truth that there appeared to be no evidence of who this man was—no fingerprints, no hairs, no fibers. “We collected a few things we’re sending to the lab.”