Authors: Lynde Lakes
“Thanks.” She sipped the hot coffee, hoping it would scald away the fearful ache in her throat. “You always seem to sense what I need to keep going. Now if you could only give me what I need most, the clue to save Tess’ life.”
Dane sighed and dropped onto the couch and started going through Charmaine’s journal. “There has to be something here we missed.”
His tone told Jill he was trying to give her hope. But it didn’t erase her rising panic.
“The killer believes he’s smart enough to make us leap his psychological hurdles while he toys with us,” she said. “It’s a sport to him.”
A loud ring sliced the air.
Jill stiffened and glanced at her watch. It was only four—the killer had said ten. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d lied. Just in case, she flipped on the recorder and pressed the conference button so Dane could hear the caller too. In spite of her denial that it couldn’t be the wily psychopath, she had already steeled herself to hear his chilling whisper.
“No questions! Just listen. It’s no fun to outmatch you so completely. You FBI idiots have chased me across state lines, and you aren’t any closer to stopping me today than six months ago.”
Jill longed to counter with the fact that they’d closed down his Vegas distributor. She pressed her lips tightly together and remained silent.
Jill knew the killer’s egotistical profile. He had to prove he was smarter than any of them. She bit her lip, unwilling to be baited into useless remarks.
An old saying echoed in Jill’s mind,
if you plant roses, roses will grow; if you plant fear, fear will grow.
This psycho was an expert at planting fear. She met Dane’s gaze. A spark of silent determination passed between them.
Quickly, they pulled out their cellular phones. It was risky to use her cellular, but she had to keep her home line free. After alerting the police and FBI to stand by, she placed traces on her own home phone.
At her direction, FBI coding experts ran possible solutions to the string of letters in their computers.
****
By the time the statistical possibilities started coming through Jill’s fax machine, the city maps Dane had ordered had already been faxed to him.
He pasted them together and studied them, looking for anything matching the initials KRTRTLM. He tried listing major streets, city parks, plazas, then recited the names of the seven principal hills: Knob Hill, Russian Hill, Telegraph Hill, Rincon Hill, Twin peaks, Lone Mountain, Mount Davidson. “Hey, I might have found...”
A loud ring stopped Dane mid-sentence. It was exactly ten. Dane rose from his kneeling position. Tense, all senses alert.
****
Jill grabbed the receiver. “Hello,” she blurted.
“Help me,” Tess whimpered. “I shouldn’t have trusted...”
A silence settled on the line, broken only by the distant desolate sound of a foghorn. Dane came close and gripped her shoulder. Together they listened.
They heard heavy breathing.
“Your sister has a
monumental
problem,” the killer said. “She talks too much. She was only supposed to say hello. She’ll die slower for not obeying.”
He was very quiet. Finally he muttered, “Midnight then.” The line went dead. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath.
She glanced at her watch. Precious minutes were ticking by, and she wasn’t any closer to rescuing Tess than when she started. Jill shivered. “I heard a foghorn in the background. Maybe he was holding Tess near Lands End.”
Dane returned to his maps and pointed to a spot downtown. “It’s not making any sense. Center-point would mean he’s holding her about here.”
“We’re back to square one. Because it couldn’t be downtown.” Touching her aching head, Jill started pacing. “He’s been toying with us, feeding us false clues.”
“He has sources and knows things the public doesn’t. And he’s clever. But the S.O.B. may have just outsmarted himself.”
Jill looked up into Dane’s warm, brown eyes, searching for the glimmer of hope she so desperately needed. It was there. Just like he was there, always, when she needed him most.
“The killer said Tess had a monumental problem. I have a hunch
monument
is the real clue.” Dane pointed at the map again with a red pencil. “Which monuments are near a foghorn?”
His eyes darkened. “Because it’s a place I’ve sworn to avoid forever—Point Bonita Lighthouse. That’s where my wife and son were murdered.” Dane raked his fingers through his hair. “Their blood was splattered all over those concrete walls. Fifty coats of paint could never...”
“Oh Dane...” Her hand went to her mouth. She wanted to hug him close and erase his pain, but he stepped back.
She swallowed to clear her dry, achy throat. “The letters fit. They are the same letters as those concealed in the blood on my mirror.”
“It’s all coming together. Sammy, the professor and Angelo all knew where my family was murdered.” Dane’s voice broke.
She searched his stricken face.
“The picture on the call board...” He swallowed. “You’d better get your SWAT team over there now! I’m positive that the lighthouse is the place we’re looking for.”
Jill got on the phone and alerted the SWAT team. Once everything was in motion, she strapped on her holster, checked her gun, and slipped on her bulletproof vest.
“I’m the designated negotiator. But even if I weren’t, it’s Tess out there.” She tried to shake Dane’s hand from her arm. “Let me go!”
“It sounds like we both are. Don’t get in my way, Dane.” She forced a steely tone. “This time I’m going to get him. Nobody has his kind of luck forever.”
“But what if
you
run out of luck?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“That won’t happen!” Dane heard the desperation in Jill’s tone. Her blue eyes glistened with fiery sparks. “I’m good at my job and I don’t take unnecessary risks.”
Dane blocked the door and glared down at her. “Dammit, Jill. It’s your idea of necessary risks that worries me.”
Acid churned in Dane’s gut. He had a job to do. But he couldn’t go to Point Bonita Lighthouse. Not for a story. Not for any purpose. He couldn’t let her go either.
“I can’t let you do this!” Beneath the power in his voice, he heard his own desperation. He wasn’t proud of it.
“Get out of my way, Dane.” She pressed her hands against his chest.
Planting his feet, he became an immovable wall. “What if I’m wrong about all this?” He slowed his speech, trying for the calmer pace of reason. “You won’t be by your telephone to get the killer’s next clue.”
“You’ve heard of call forwarding,” Jill stated flatly.
Dane wished he could think of something clever. “Please. Let Gary and your SWAT team handle the other end. You have to stay here.”
Her expression softened. He relaxed, thinking he’d won her over. But she brushed past him so fast he couldn’t stop her.
“Dammit, Jill,” he repeated, then grabbed his jacket and followed her out the door.
Minutes, later, the silence between them pressurized Dane’s Porsche like a steam cooker about to explode. He’d sworn that any trouble that went down at Point Bonita would be covered by anyone but him. He couldn’t face that place...that horror. Yet, here he was driving toward his worst nightmare.
Was it an ugly twist of fate for the killer to have chosen that monument, or did he know about Dane’s background, like he’d known everything else? A pulse throbbed in Dane’s neck. He couldn’t kid himself. He’d sought this story for over a year, lived it, breathed it. Now the whole thing was blowing up, and whether he liked it or not, he had to be there to report the explosion even if it made him relive that grievous day.
Briefly, he met Jill’s determined look.
How would he protect her? Why hadn’t he kept his findings to himself? He could have gone to the lighthouse on his own, met the killer’s terms and gotten the story. But he’d felt compelled to share everything with Jill almost from the moment they’d met. At first it had been only to extract news from her and save his own tail. But when he learned Tess was missing, finding her became a mutual driving force that bound them. Later, keeping Jill safe became his equal need.
He should have known how she’d react to the information about the lighthouse. If anything happened to her, it would be his fault. Reporting the news was his life. Yet getting the stories was systematically destroying everyone he loved. Just like the first time.
Dane tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He couldn’t risk losing Jill in the same place, the same violent way. He couldn’t risk losing her at all. She was more important than the story...more important than anything.
****
Jill stared straight ahead, rubbing her cold, clammy hands together. She couldn’t let Dane’s darted glances distract her. She felt for him and his aversion to the lighthouse. But now nothing was important but saving Tess and capturing the killer. She took a long deep breath. She had to get in the right mindset for the job ahead.
By the time they arrived at the lighthouse, FBI backup forces and police units had blocked all escape routes. She had ordered a mute, blackout approach with no lights or sirens. The backup teams waited for her next instruction.
Jill’s heart pounded. As she approached, she felt the current of electricity charging from the team’s collective readiness. She lifted her collar to ward off the biting chill from the misting ocean air. Dane took her arm. She welcomed his reassuring warmth and presence but felt hesitant in front of the other agents. Still, she didn’t move away.
Gary came toward her on the run. “Are you sure this is the place?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Dane said.
“Butt out, reporter,” Gary growled. Then he met Jill’s intense look. “There’s nothing going on down there, no sounds, no movement.”
“Let’s get closer to the lighthouse,” Jill said.
A SWAT team of a dozen men joined them as they descended the steep, rugged path. San Francisco Bay was on the left and open ocean to the right. Shivering, Jill bundled her coat tighter around her and braved the strenuous half-mile descent to the gate. The lock hung by the loop of its broken clasp—a possible sign that the killer was inside. Dane took her elbow as they entered the tunnel. To avoid alerting anyone in the lighthouse, the team hadn’t turned on their flashlights until they were inside the excavation. Suddenly, circles of light dotted the darkness.
Dane’s hold on her arm tightened, and he whispered, “This tunnel was chiseled out of solid rock over a hundred years ago.”
Jill knew he’d been inside the lighthouse, and she hated to bring up painful memories, but knowledge of the interior could save their lives. “Can you draw the lighthouse’s layout?”
He let out a breath, then murmured in a ragged voice, “Easily.”
Dane took out his pen and pad, and they paused long enough for him to sketch a floor plan. He pointed out hiding places, stairways, and a newly constructed room on an upper level, then they all moved on.
Just beyond the tunnel was a suspension bridge. Strung high above the rocky coastline, it spanned a steep chasm, and they had to cross five people at a time. As Jill took the lead, Dane followed.
Wind thrashed at their clothes. Far below, waves crashed against rocky cliffs. In the dark, amid the thunderous nature, they all moved with an eerie stillness. A shroud of storm clouds hung above them. A crackle of lightning illuminated the sky and cast the lighthouse in a menacing brightness.
The structure had been closed over a month for renovations to repair earthquake damage. It was the perfect hideout, easy to defend and difficult to seize. What kind of firepower did the killer have? If he was at the top looking down, anyone charging the monument would be an easy target.