Authors: Iris Johansen
And in spite of Eve’s words, Kendra knew that no matter what the circumstance she could never allow that to happen.
* * *
“I WANT TO SEE SAM,” EVE
said as soon as she stepped into the foyer of Lynch’s house. “Where is he, Kendra?”
“Where he always is”—she nodded down the hall—“the office. It’s where he set up shop when I brought him here, and since I told him about Beth, he’s been working frantically. I haven’t been able to get him out of the room to even eat.” She smiled faintly. “That’s not new, but Beth usually managed to get something down him. Force, persuasion, and persistence, she used them all. She considered Sam her charge.” She bit down on her lower lip. “Past tense. I’m using past tense. I won’t do that, dammit. She
does
consider Sam her charge.”
“From what you told me, they’ve became very close.”
Kendra nodded. “In their very individual ways.” She turned and started toward the kitchen. “Go in and see him. I’ll go make coffee and sandwiches.”
Eve watched her disappear down the hall, then turned and moved toward the office. She knocked, and when she received no answer, she opened the door. “It’s Eve, Sam. May I come in?”
“Go away, Eve.” He didn’t look up from his computer. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“I’ll only be a minute.” She came forward. He looked just the same as the night she’d first met him at the mental hospital, when they’d asked him to help free Beth. No, not quite. No breeziness now. His eyes were red and his entire demeanor tense. “Any luck?”
“This isn’t about luck. It’s about tracing that bastard.” He stopped typing but stayed hunched over the computer. “And I
can’t
do it. Not in time. It’s not like tracing a phone call. There are thousands, maybe millions of computers out there that have been hijacked without the owners even knowing it. They’re called zombies. Hacking networks sell access to them to businesses to generate spam, or anybody who will pay them. Colby’s messages are going through lots of zombies, different ones each time. That means I have to hack dozens of systems in order to try to track him. It’s like trying to untie a big, gnarly, knotted piece of string. There’s no
way
that I can do that in time.”
Eve stopped before the desk. “Don’t
tell
me that. I remember what you did when Kendra asked you to do your magic and save Beth before, when she was at that mental hospital. We were in despair about how to do it. But you were so confident, so sure of yourself. You’re going to do the same thing now.”
“Am I?” He looked up at her. “It’s different now. It was easier. She was only a problem to me then. Now she’s … Beth.”
“And she’s my sister.” Eve leaned her hands on the desk. “So stop all this nonsense. We’re both going to do what has to be done.” She stared him in the eye, and said fiercely, “Because I’ve just found Beth. I never even knew I had a sister. I’m not going to lose her again. Do you understand?”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I think I do.” He made a face. “I was just having a bad moment. I’m okay now.”
“Kendra said you’ve been working your ass off since you came here. I appreciate it. But I’m going to ask you to work even harder.” Her voice was firm. “And you’ll know I’ll work just as hard. I’ll match you all the way, Sam. You tell me what to do, and it will be done. I’m no novice. I don’t do magic on computers, but I know the Web sites and how to dig for information because of my work as a forensic sculptor. Some people say I have wonderful instincts. I’ll use them.”
“I don’t know what good—”
“Don’t analyze, accept,” she said. “Kendra’s going through the same hell we are. We’re all in this together. But I’m not sure how I can help Kendra. So I’m zeroing in on you.”
“I don’t need—” He stopped as he met her eyes. He smiled. “I can tell Beth is your sister.”
“We’re nothing alike. For instance, I’m not going to insist you eat. That’s up to you. I miss meals myself when it’s important to work.” She added, “And it’s very important to work. So do it, Sam.” She turned back toward the door. “I’m going to bring in that pot of coffee Kendra is making. We’re going to need it.”
* * *
BUZZZZ
.
Buzzzz
.
Beth tried to open her eyes, but she couldn’t summon the strength
Buzzzz
.
A giant, buzzing bee was circling her head. At least that’s how it sounded.
Time to take a look. If only she could find the energy to open her damned eyes.
Buzzzz
.
Through sheer force of will, she raised her eyelids. First the right, then the left. There was just white, blinding light. Nothing else but pain. Her head throbbed, and her mouth stung.
Buzzzz
.
It wasn’t a bee, she realized. It was the light. Her eyes focused, and she saw there were two bare, fluorescent tubes glowing and buzzing on the ceiling above her.
Buzzzz
.
She moved to bring her hands toward her head, but she realized she couldn’t. Her hands were pinned by her side, bound by heavy, nylon straps.
She tried to move her legs, but she realized that they, too, were tied.
Tied to what?
She looked down. She was fastened to a cream-colored embalming table. There was an elevated lip and rusty drain between her ankles.
She’d seen this table before, she realized in panic. This was where Detective Stokes had been stabbed over and over by that maniac.
And this was where he had died.
“Hello, Beth.” She knew that voice. That low, terrifying voice. “Welcome.”
The rest of the room finally slid into focus. What the hell kind of place was this? It was a windowless room, perhaps twelve feet by twelve feet. The walls and floor were covered by a thick, tarlike substance.
Colby stepped closer, smiling at her with those creepy, little, rodentlike teeth. “Your wooziness will pass. You’ll want to be awake for this.”
“I doubt that,” a voice said from behind her. “Full consciousness is rarely desirable when in your presence, Colby.” The other man stepped into view.
“Sims,” Beth whispered.
The man smiled.
Now she remembered. Sims was in her car looking through her files with her, when he’d suddenly jabbed her with the syringe. They’d been laughing together, then … darkness.
“But you’re not Sims, are you?” she asked uncertainly.
He now appeared much younger, with no trace of gray in his hair. His face was less full, and his body even appeared thinner.
“Sorry to disappoint you.” He carefully peeled off his fake moustache, leaving behind a faint rash above his upper lip. “You seemed to enjoy him so much.”
“My young prot
é
g
é
, Joseph Northrup,” Colby said. “It took a great deal of coaching, but I so wish I could have seen him proudly stride into the FBI regional office this morning.”
Beth was silent a moment, trying to overcome the shock and confusion that was bombarding her.
Colby. Death. She might be going to die. Panic soared through her.
And she might not.
Either way, face it and get through it.
“You hacked Sims’s badge?” she asked Northrup.
Northrup shook his head. “Why would I do that when I knew I’d have the genuine article.”
“But how would you—” She stopped as the sick realization hit home to her. “You killed him.”
Colby smiled. “We couldn’t have two Tom Simses walking around, one on each coast, could we? It would have been much too bewildering.”
“But why kill—”
“This has all been in the works for a long time,” Colby said. “Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place. Only one major difference, though. It was supposed to be Kendra’s friend Olivia Moore on that table, but she had the bad manners to leave town just when I needed her.”
“Good.”
“Ah, so noble. Yet I’ve discovered nobility fades remarkably fast under the knife. But who knows, you might prove the exception. No matter, you’ll still make a suitable replacement.” He tilted his head. “Do you know, throughout history, most great works of art are the products of some measure of compromise and improvisation. Depending on the season, Rembrandt substituted burnt umber for burnt sienna pigments for his hand-mixed paints. Mozart would reorchestrate his pieces as he was composing them, based on the availability of talented soloists. Art isn’t created in a vacuum.”
Beth shook her head in disbelief. “Is that what you think this is. Art?”
“Of course.”
“No. That’s just what you say to yourself to try and dress up your sick, pathetic compulsion. What you’re doing has nothing to do with art.”
Colby smiled. “Most people in your position would be doing and saying everything in their power to keep from angering me.”
“You don’t kill out of anger,” Beth said. “I’ve been studying you, and I know you better than that.”
“You know nothing about us,” Northrup said.
“You’re half-right,” Beth said. “I know nothing about you. And no one will ever know anything about you. The history books will have no place for some suck-up toadying pen pal who offered up his computer skills to this homicidal sack of shit. You’re even more pathetic.”
Northrup’s face flushed, and he leaned over her and whispered, “Do you really want to see what I’m capable of?”
Without warning Beth arched her back and snapped her head forward, smashing into Northrup’s face.
“Aughh.” He howled and stumbled backward away from her. Blood spurted from his broken nose. “You bitch!”
“Interesting. From her background report about being in a mental hospital, I thought she might be much more docile,” Colby said, with perhaps a trace of amusement. “It appears that Kendra has chosen someone of her own ilk as a friend. Consequently, you might want to keep your distance from the prisoner, Northrup. Just a suggestion.”
Northrup cradled his face. “Is this a joke to you?”
Colby shook his head. “You’ve made it a joke, Northrup.”
“Did you hear that?” Beth said softly to Northrup, “You’re the joke.”
“I’ll kill you!” Northrup staggered back toward her.
Colby blocked his path.
“Stop it,” Colby said. “I won’t have your lack of control spoiling everything. We have a plan, and we’ll keep to it.” He turned back to Beth. “And, again, I’m fascinated by your willingness to spit in the face of those who hold your fate in their hands.”
“I don’t spit. But I might have taken off his nose, an ear, or even a finger or two if you hadn’t stopped him.” She clicked her teeth.
He chuckled. “Incredible. You’re not even trying to bargain.”
“Sorry if that deprives you of an erection, but I know that didn’t work for the twenty-some-odd people you’ve already killed. Am I afraid? Of course, I am. Self-preservation doesn’t dictate anything else. But I fear death, not you. So why would I want to spend the last minutes of my life groveling to you?”
“I can make those last minutes extremely unpleasant for you.”
“You will anyway. You’ll want to hurt Kendra, and you believe hurting people close to her will do that. Nothing I can do will change that.”
“Quite true.” He gave her an admiring nod. “Ironically, my associate here has been lobbying to save your life, at least momentarily. He’s been swayed by reports of your extreme wealth. He thinks we can take advantage of this situation to get some of it for ourselves.”
“So you want me to write you a check?”
“Oh no. He has some complicated business in mind involving wire transfers and offshore accounts.”
“Then he doesn’t know you as well as the rest of the world does.”
Northrup turned toward Colby, still dabbing at his bloody nose. “You said you’d consider it.”
“Sorry, my friend. She’s right. There’s a certain purity in what I do, and that would only sully it.”
“I tell you, it can work,” Northrup said.
“That’s beside the point.”
“Look, I did everything you asked me to do. We’ve been partners. I told you in the beginning that we’d need money to go somewhere safe and start again.”
“Yes, you did. But I’ve always had funds when I needed them. I’m sorry that you’re not similarly blessed.” He tilted his head. “But it would probably take even many more fortunes than this woman possesses to satisfy you.”
“What the hell? You never said that you wouldn’t do it.”
“Because you seemed so happy when you talked about it.” He smiled. “I like to see you happy, Northrup. You were so talented and being so cooperative.”
“You were deceiving me.”
“A necessary evil.”
Northrup’s face was contorted. “I
need
that money. This conversation isn’t over.”
Colby smiled. “I’m afraid it is.”
He whirled around with his hunting knife and cut a clean vertical line down the front of Northrup’s torso. As blood and intestines poured from the wound, Northrup staggered back and dropped to the floor. His eyes bulged, and blood trickled from his nose and mouth.
“I’m so very sorry,” Colby said. “You’ve been very helpful, but your usefulness has passed. This isn’t a team sport, my friend.”
Beth could only watch in horror as Northrup twitched violently as he bled out. In under a minute, he was dead.
Still holding the bloody knife, Colby stepped toward her. He stopped and stood there silently gazing at her. “You see, it
is
an art,” he finally said. “Northrup didn’t respect that.”
Colby turned and left the room.
* * *
“ANY WORD FROM COLBY?” LYNCH
asked the minute he walked into the house after leaving Griffin at the FBI field office.
“Not yet,” Kendra said. “And I don’t know why he’s taking so long. It’s been ten or twelve hours since he called me.” She moistened her lips. “Unless Northrup didn’t turn Beth over to him. Dear God, I hope that’s it. Anyone would be easier to deal with than Colby.”
Lynch shook his head. “I wish I could believe that was true. But Colby has a reputation of maintaining control of every situation. Northrup is an amateur compared to him.”
Kendra knew that he was right. “I can still hope. It’s better than sitting here thinking about all the sick things he might be doing to her.” She rubbed her temple. “I need to do something. Eve is in the office, working with Sam. You’re trying to find that van. All I’m doing is tracking every Wingate on the planet and waiting for that damn call.” She tried to focus. “What did you find out?”