When a Heart Stops (26 page)

The flush that crept into her olive-complected cheeks made him grin. Her embarrassment was cute. She rolled her eyes and said, “It's a habit from childhood.” Then she turned serious, pulled out her phone, fingers flying. “I'm sending her a text telling her to get in touch with me or . . . or . . . I'm going to cut her phone off.”

“You're going to make a great mom.”

She looked up, her cheeks still red. Then her eyes crinkled as her brow furrowed. “I'm worried about her, Dominic. She's pregnant.”

“Ah. Oh boy.”

“Yeah.” Serena paced toward the subdivision, then back toward Dominic. “I think that's part of the problem.”

“What?” He was confused.

“I have come to think of her as . . . mine. And she's not.”

“But you want her to be?”

She sighed and whispered, “Maybe,” as she stared in the direction Dominic thought Camille went.

He pulled her toward his car. “She seems to be a pretty resourceful kid. Give her a chance to text you back. She's obviously reaching out for some help or she wouldn't have come back to Covenant House. Let her think about it.”

Serena allowed him to open the door for her, but he could see her reluctance. He had a feeling if she didn't have an autopsy to do, she would have been chasing right after the wayward teen.

While Serena sat staring at her phone as though she could will Camille to text or call, Dominic turned his thoughts to Howard's folder. He itched to get another look at it. Because if he was right, he was getting ready to blow this whole case wide open.

SUNDAY, 11:45 A.M.

As Serena rode toward the hospital with Dominic, her mind chugged through everything. Jillian had sent her a package. Someone wanted that package. Camille saw someone, a woman, in her house possibly looking for that package.

If Serena gave it up, would the person leave her alone or kill her because of what he—or she—thought she knew? Should she open the package and read the contents in spite of Jillian's wishes? Or would that be betraying a friend? Then again, was that package putting her life in danger? The lives of those close to her?

Obviously.

Frustration pounded through her.
Lord, what do I do?

“What are you thinking about?” Dominic's voice cut through her thoughts.

“Looking at what's in that package Jillian sent me.”

He glanced at her. “You haven't yet?”

“No. I don't feel right doing it, but Jillian wouldn't want me or anyone else in danger because of it.”

“Then it might be time to open it.”

“You're right. It is. I probably should have done it a couple of
days ago.” She paused. “In fact, I almost did. But how is knowing what's inside going to help? I mean, I know it's something someone wants. I'm not going to give it to that someone regardless of what's in it, so does it really matter if I look or not?”

“All good points, but if the contents will point us to the person doing this to you, then it would help in that respect.”

“True.” She bit her lip. “But after I look at it, tomorrow, I'm going to the bank and put that thing in a safe deposit box.”

“I think that's a good idea.”

She smiled. “Thanks. I probably should have done it as soon as I realized someone was after it. Maybe once it's in the box, I'll tape a note to my door or make an announcement on the six o'clock news that it's no longer in my house.”

He chuckled. “Might not be a bad idea.” Then he turned serious. “I'll escort you to the bank. I don't want you carrying that package around without protection.”

“I won't say no to that.”

Ten minutes later, Dominic pulled into the hospital parking lot and drove around to the morgue entrance. He pulled up beside her designated parking space. He said, “I'll come back. What time will you be ready to leave?”

“I'll call you, but probably around 5:00 or so.”

“I'll be back.”

She could feel him watching her as she walked to the door. Turning, she looked over her shoulder and gave him a little wave. From the corner of her eye, she caught movement to her left and froze.

“Who's there?” she called.

No one answered.

Dominic still watched from his car. The frown on his face said he noticed her hesitation.

Serena pointed to the dumpster to her left. She heard a scrape and another noise she couldn't identify—a small cry? Backing
toward the door, she watched Dominic approach the dumpster, hand on his weapon.

He stayed to the side, the dumpster at his back. In one smooth move, he pulled his weapon and rounded the corner. “FBI! Get out here! Now!”

SUNDAY, 12:01 P.M.

Dominic came face-to-face with Paul, Serena's assistant. The man's wide, scared eyes and uplifted arms had Dominic lowering his gun a fraction. “What are you doing?”

“I . . . uh . . . well . . .”

“Paul?” Serena's voice interrupted the man's stutter.

Paul flushed a deep red and took a breath. “Hold on a second. Can I put my arms down?”

“Step out here first,” Dominic ordered.

Paul shuffled out from behind the dumpster, arms still raised. A mewling cry followed after him.

Serena asked, “What's back there?”

Dominic motioned for Paul to lower his arms. He did and ran a hand down his lab coat before closing his eyes briefly. “Okay, Dorie, game's up.”

Dorie popped out, her hair now a bright orange, a sheepish smile gracing her lips. “We've been . . . um . . . feeding these kittens.” She held up a small ball of kitten that had just started getting its fur.

Eyes wide, Serena stepped around them to peer behind the dumpster. Reaching into the small box, she cupped her hand under one of the gray and black kittens. “Aw, how precious.”

Dominic put his weapon away, his adrenaline rush returning to somewhere near normal. “Kittens?”

Paul gave an embarrassed shrug as he shared a glance with Dorie. “I saw the mama cat get hit by a car two days ago as I was leaving the morgue. When I bent over her to see if there was anything I could do for her, I spotted the babies under the dumpster.”

“Why didn't you just take them to the shelter?”

His jaw tightened. “I called the shelter and they said they were so overrun with kittens, they would probably have to put them down. I didn't want that to happen and I can't take them home because my roommate's allergic. So,” he held up a teeny bottle filled with milk and smirked, “just call me—and Dorie—mom and dad.”

Serena placed a hand over her heart. “You two nearly scared me to death. Why didn't you answer when I called out?”

He flushed again. “I was hoping you would just think it was a mouse or something you heard and keep going.” He lasered a glare at Dominic. “I didn't know we'd nearly get shot.”

“Sorry, we've been a little jumpy lately,” she said.

“You won't tell anyone what we've been doing, will you?” Dorie frowned at her. “We're using our break times to do this, not work time.”

Serena held up a hand. “I won't say a word, I promise.”

Dominic asked Paul, “Will you see she gets inside safely?”

“Sure. I was finished up here anyway.”

Dominic had asked Paul to see Serena inside, but he waited until they entered the building before heading for his car. His nerves gave one last shudder before settling down.

They were jumping at shadows. Her nerves were just as tight as his.

Kittens.

If only all of his “scares” would turn out to be so harmless.

As he slid into the driver's seat, his phone rang and he snatched it, praying someone had a lead somewhere.

Special Agent Jeff Brown said, “I think I've tracked your father to a shelter in Rock Hill, South Carolina.”

“Give me the address.” He headed toward the office while he processed this new information. Another lead on his father. A real one or another dead end? His gut clenched even as he told himself there was no sense in getting worked up about it now. He had other things to worry about first.

After Dominic hung up with Jeff, he placed a call to Hunter and gave him the information. “I want to go with you. When are you leaving?”

“Let me check with Alexia and get back to you. It'll be fast, though—if that's really him, I don't want to miss him. He moves frequently.”

“I'll have a couple of agents pick him up.”

Hunter hesitated. “We don't really have a reason to do that.”

“He's a possible suspect in a kidnapping and attempted murder. I think we have reason.”

“Fine. Have your agents bring him to the office. I'll be there for the next several hours.”

Dominic pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine. He called the FBI office in Charlotte, North Carolina, as he made his way to his desk. He told them what he needed and they promised to dispatch someone immediately to pick the man up.

Dominic felt his adrenaline pushing his concentration levels through the floor, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He found Howard's file and opened it, looking for what he suspected. This was the whole reason he wanted to come into the office on this Sunday.

What interested him the most were the letters from Allison Kingston. A woman who seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. The post office box had been closed with no forwarding address. He looked at the writing, read the analysis from the expert one more time.

Could it be?

He scrambled for his phone and punched in the number for Rick's personal cell.

“Why are you calling me on my day off?”

“I need a favor.”

“Of course you do.”

“Seriously. Can you fax over a copy of the serial killer's notes? I want to compare them to the handwriting of a woman who's been visiting Drake in prison.”

Rick said, “Well, I guess you'd better be glad that I decided to come into the office on my day off. I'll have it to you in less than five minutes.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

Dominic hung up the phone and walked over to the fax machine. His mind hummed and his blood spun in his veins. What if he was right?

What if he was wrong?

He'd know in a few minutes.

The fax machine purred to life and Dominic waited with an impatient tapping of his fingers against his left thigh. Finally, the paper spit into the tray and he snatched it. Looked at it, then raced back to his office to confirm what he already knew.

Allison Kingston was the one leaving the packages. Allison Kingston was their serial killer.

But who was her partner?

Serena made the Y-incision, her blade effortlessly gliding through the upper torso of the fifty-seven-year-old female who'd been found dead in her apartment last night. An empty bottle of pain pills told the story, but the woman's sister insisted it had to be murder—by the deceased woman's husband.

Serena would provide the official diagnosis after the autopsy.

Paul hovered to her left.

Dorie emptied the trash by the door, her gaze fixed on the action on the table.

“Can you tell me what you're doing? I'm taking an anatomy class on Saturdays. So far I have a hundred average.”

Serena looked up and nodded. Dorie pulled out her ever-present pen and slid over to take notes as Serena walked her through the autopsy.

Two and a half hours later, Serena slipped off her gloves and washed her hands. Dorie hadn't been able to stay for the whole autopsy, but each time she was able to watch a little, she learned something that would help her in her future profession. It made Serena feel good she could help someone who wanted to advance in life and was willing to work hard to do so.

Paul said, “I heard they let Chuck Walker go.” Chuck was one of the other assistants.

Serena looked at Paul and frowned. “When did that happen?”

“Late yesterday afternoon. I heard about it this morning. I didn't want to say anything in front of Dorie. I know she's worried just like the rest of us.”

“Anyone else?”

“Just Chuck. But rumor has it there are more cuts coming from every department.”

Grimacing, Serena stepped on the brake release and rolled Mrs. Hines into the freezer. Cause of death—overdose of Oxycontin. No signs of foul play, nothing to indicate that her death wasn't self-inflicted. Her heart hurt for the pain the woman must have been in and wondered what her story was. She sent up a silent prayer for her family.

Paul scrubbed the area around the sink with force.

“It's okay, Paul.” She laid a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer a small measure of comfort. “I'll talk to Daniel and see if I can find out anything.”

He shrugged her off. “Don't bother. If it's going to happen, it's going to happen. Nothing you can do about it.”

A knock on the door grabbed her attention and she turned to see Dominic standing there. The look on his face sent a dart of apprehension through her. “Hi. What's going on?”

“I've only got a minute but wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.”

His phone rang and he shot her an apologetic look as he stepped back in the hall. Serena exited the autopsy room where Paul stayed to clean up. In her office, she sat in front of her computer and glanced at the clock. An average autopsy case took about four hours. That was including all the paperwork. She still had the paperwork to do and Hilary's autopsy. It was turning into a long day.

Thankfully, the suicide was an uncomplicated case and hadn't taken her terribly long. The murdered Doll Maker Killer copycat victims took longer. Hilary's could last anywhere from four to six hours depending upon what Serena found.

However, it might not take her that long since she knew what to expect.

“Hey, Serena. I've got some news.”

She turned to find Dominic standing in the doorway. “What is it?”

“We have a name for our killer.”

“Who?”

“Allison Kingston.”

She frowned and then lifted her brows as the name registered. “The woman who was writing Drake those letters?”

“Yes. We also pulled everything we could find on visitors he had. No one came to see him for an entire year the first year he was incarcerated. Then he had his first visitor on his one-year anniversary in prison. And every anniversary after that.”

“Allison?”

“Yes. That was the name she signed in with.”

“But you don't think it was her?”

“Nope. Rick got a print off Hilary's box and just called to tell me that he found a match for it.”

“Who?”

“Gwendolyn Lindell.”

“Drake's daughter,” she breathed. “So, she found the guts to come visit him? Sounds like she forgave him.” She blinked. “So she's the serial killer? Are you serious?”

“Sounds like. Drake's phone calls have also picked up. He used to make one every once in a while. To his lawyer, to the newspapers, to anyone who would listen to him cry his innocence. Recently, he's been calling two numbers we can't trace.”

“Prepaid phones?”

“Probably. The calls never last more than ten, fifteen seconds.”

She wrinkled her nose. “How weird.”

“Tell me about it. We now have a tap on every phone he's used and someone monitoring it. I want to hear his next conversation.”

Serena shivered at the look in his eye.

Gwendolyn checked her phone and saw that her contact had tried to reach her. Frustration bit at her. She didn't need his constant calls and texts. She'd call him when she was ready.

Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at waiting. If she knew who he was or had any way to trace him, she'd be tempted to put a bullet in that sweet spot in his forehead.

But he paid well and she needed the money.

Besides, the assignment had turned into an amazingly entertaining game and she wasn't ready for it to come to an end.

She hadn't realized how everything would happen. How the past and the present would collide. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was just one more chance to prove to everyone that she was the
one who mattered. She was the important one. The old feelings welled up in her. Pride that her father had chosen her. Happiness that she was the one he loved. Drake Lindell had taught her that everything she could ever want was hers. He taught her that if she wanted something someone else had, she could take it. He taught her that life was meant to be lived to the fullest and that everything was all about her.

He taught her to be a winner. To play the game and win no matter what the cost.

He'd taught her well.