When a Heart Stops (29 page)

Gwendolyn stood and laughed. “Oh Serena, this whole thing has just been an amazing game. A game.” She shook her head and muttered, “A game.
My
game. No one else's game, you understand?”

“No. What do you mean? Who was the other person helping you?”

Could she keep Gwendolyn talking long enough for Dominic to figure out where she was? Did the woman have her cell phone? Could they trace Camille's?

“No one was helping me. He just came out of nowhere and . . . helped me. I don't know why, but I'm not going to question fate.”

A thought occurred to Serena. “How did you know I'd be at Camille's house? She texted me, telling me she needed help. How did you know?”

Gwendolyn laughed again. “Camille didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“She lost her phone the night she broke into your house.”

“She broke—” Serena blinked, her gaze landing on her friend still huddled in the corner. Clarity reigned. “Oh. You found the phone and texted me. It was a setup.”

“Exactly,” the woman drawled.

“I didn't break into her house.” The quiet words grabbed their attention. Camille pulled herself up into the chair and stared at them, her gaze dull. With a hint of defiance. “I didn't break into her house. I was in the garage, and when I saw a light flashing inside, I looked through the garage door window. I saw you snooping around. You had her alarm turned off.”

“Yes, when you have friends in high places, it's not hard to get a simple alarm code.” Gwendolyn smirked.

“But the alarm went off that night,” Serena whispered.

Gwendolyn's smirk faded. “Your sneaky little friend caused that to happen.”

Camille narrowed her eyes, swallowed hard. She lowered her eyes, then looked back up at Serena. “I lied to you at Covenant House. I didn't want to talk to the FBI guy because I was afraid I'd get in trouble for being in your garage.”

“Oh Camille,” Serena breathed.

The girl looked up, a defiant light smoldering as she stared at Gwendolyn. “But I couldn't let you hurt Serena.” She made a good effort at an I-don't-care shrug. “And I sure couldn't call the cops. The only thing I could think to do was set off the alarm. So I armed it and then ran out the front door when you had your back turned.” Satisfaction momentarily blotted out the girl's terror and Serena's heart filled with the knowledge that Camille wanted to help protect her, had put herself in danger to get a killer out of Serena's house. So that's why she ran. She didn't want to admit to Dominic, a cop, that she'd been trespassing in Serena's garage.

“Camille, hon . . .”

Keep everyone talking was the only thing Serena could think of at the moment. Give Dominic time to get his text and realize something was wrong. “Wait a minute, how did you get in my garage without setting off the alarm? And how did you know my code?”

Averting her eyes, Camille offered a little shrug. “I used to hide in your boat to get away from my dad. Your window in the storage room is unlocked. I just climbed in, unlocked the storage room door, and crawled under the tarp.”

Serena pictured Camille doing exactly what she said. The storage room locked from the inside. Once in the room, she would just have to open the door to step into the garage. Simple enough. “And your alarm panel is easy to see from there. I just watched you punch it in. Even got the new code when you changed it. When it got too hot in the boat and you weren't home, I'd turn the alarm off and go inside.”

Which explained why the person who had snatched her mother hadn't set off the alarm. They'd probably surprised Camille, who hadn't had time to arm the alarm before getting out of the house.

So her safely alarmed home wasn't so safe. And people in high places? What had Gwendolyn meant by that? She'd been living with a false sense of security for years. Her stomach twisted and she offered up a silent prayer.
Please, God, please, deliver us from this evil.

Terry called and Dominic touched his Bluetooth to answer. “What do you have?”

“I pulled the text messages from Camille's phone and Serena's. They exchanged texts. Camille was probably at her house when she texted, because they came from the tower closest to her house. Same for Serena.”

“We found Serena's phone at Camille's house. Keep trying to locate Camille's phone.”

More tapping in the background, then Terry said, “Nothing is showing up. Either her phone is off or the batteries have been pulled.”

How was he going to find her?

He still kept coming back to Nate.

“Get someone to pick up Nate Lindell. I'm going to pay a visit to Drake. If anyone knows where they would be, it's him.”

Dominic hung up and aimed the vehicle for the prison while dialing a number he'd memorized the day he'd met Serena again at the first crime scene.

“Columbia Hospital Morgue. Paul Hamilton. How can I help you?”

“Paul, this is Dominic Allen. Serena's missing and I need to know if you've talked to her lately.”

“Missing? What do you mean missing?”

Dominic gave the man a short explanation. “So I need to know the last time you talked to her.”

“When she borrowed my jeep a couple of hours ago.”

So that's how Serena had gotten to Camille's house. But where was the jeep? Had the killer taken it? But then how had the killer gotten to Camille's house? Walked? Taken a cab?

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“No. Nothing. Sorry.” Worry riddled his voice. “Please let me know when you find her.”

“Will do.”

Dominic wheeled into the parking lot of the prison and bolted for the building. Hunter arrived right on his tail.

Ten long minutes later, they were in the room with Drake Lindell. “I know your daughter, Gwendolyn, aka Allison Kingston, was in on the killings with you twenty years ago, you sick—” Dominic broke off and got himself under control while Drake looked at him. The sympathetic expression on the man's face made him want to put his fist through it.

Hunter took over. “We've already checked your old torture chamber, but it's gone. Where would Gwendolyn take Serena and Camille?”

His brow lifted. “She took the medical examiner?” Amusement danced in his eyes for a split second before he shuttered them again. “I wonder why.”

Dominic leaned in, invading the man's space. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to faze him. “I think you know exactly why.” He slapped down a paper with two phone numbers on it. “We're also in the process of tracing these calls. Why don't you make things easier on all of us and just tell us who the numbers belong to.”

Hunter rubbed his chin. “I'm betting one belongs to Daddy's little girl, Gwen.”

“Where would she take her, Lindell?” Dominic's voice was low, demanding.

“I don't know what you're talking about. Now, I'm ready to go back to my cell.” He stood and motioned to the guard.

Dominic rose to stop him, but Hunter's hand on his forearm made him pause.

“Let him go. He's not going to tell us anything.”

Dominic slammed a fist onto the table.

Hunter said, “Let's get back to the office, go through every shred of information we have, and figure this out.”

Dominic shook his head. “We don't have time for that.”

“Okay, you have another suggestion?”

He didn't. Pacing, he thought, racking his brain, searching for an answer, praying to the Almighty to provide one. Nothing came to him.

Then, “It's the missing girls.”

“What is?” Hunter asked.

“I don't know. I keep thinking about the girls that are still missing. You know as well as I do that if they haven't turned up yet, they were probably killed twenty years ago.”

“Yeah. I know.”

He walked to the door. “Come on. I want to look at those files again. Our answer is there.”

Hunter followed him out the door.

Serena yanked at the cuffs. Gwendolyn had left the room a few minutes ago. “Camille, we've got to figure out how to get out of here.”

Camille sniffled, then whispered, “We're going to die, aren't we?”

“Not if we get out.”

“We're not going to get out.” Camille looked at her cuffed ankle. “How do you get out of handcuffs?”

“You pick them.”

Hopelessness stared back at Serena. “Camille. Look around. You
can get up and move from the chair a bit. See if there's anything small and sharp.”

Camille simply stared at her.

“Camille! Do it!” She felt bad for yelling at her when the girl jerked and frowned, but at least it got her out of the chair and searching the floor.

Serena did the best she could from her spot at the other end of the table.

And then the search was over when the door opened again and Dor—Gwendolyn walked back into the room. She still held a weapon, but it was a different one.

Gwendolyn lifted a brow when she saw Camille out of the chair and on the floor. “What are you doing, brat?”

Camille froze, then slunk back to her chair, shooting a glance at Serena as she muttered, “I felt sick.”

“Well, stay put. It'll be time to move in just a minute.” Gwendolyn lifted the gun and Serena tensed. But the woman simply opened the cylinder on the revolver and inserted a bullet. She left the other chambers empty.

“What kind of gun is that?” Serena asked, although she figured she probably knew.

The woman lifted a brow. “You care what kind of gun this is?”

“Satisfy my curiosity, will you?” she snapped. Terror and anger were battling it out inside of her.

“Hmm. Why don't I just answer the question you're dying to know?” Her eyes narrowed and took on a dangerous glint.

Fear spiked in Serena—the fear that had never left her since waking up in this room with a killer.

Gwendolyn shot her a satisfied smile. “Yes, it's the same gun that killed Leslie and Kelly. And Patricia and Briann. And Kelsey and—”

“Wait. Stop. Who are Kelly and Briann?” Serena tugged at the handcuff once more. To no avail. Her stomach heaved and she swallowed hard. Keep her talking.

“Oh, that's right. You never found them. And you won't.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “Because those are the rules.” A wicked grin crossed her face. “Now let me tell you about the other rules.”

Gwendolyn stepped forward and placed the gun into a clip on the steel rod that was attached to Serena's end of the table. “Rule number one. Don't try to get the gun out. You won't be able to. If you try to get the gun out, I will immediately shoot you with this one.” The woman pulled another gun from the waistband of her shorts. It was a twin to the other. “These are the best guns ever. Daddy taught me to shoot when I was just a little girl. I'm a crack shot.” She looked at Camille, who cowered and buried her face in her hands. “In other words, I don't miss.”

Serena flashed to her father teaching her to do the same.

Gwendolyn turned the gun over and studied it. “It's a .32 caliber IOF Revolver MK1. Lightweight, but deadly.”

Camille started to shake, her eyes lifting from her hands and flicking from Gwendolyn to the door, to the blind-covered window, then back to Serena.

“Now,” Gwendolyn grabbed a deck of cards and dealt a few, “what's your game? Texas hold 'em? Twenty-one?”

“What are you talking about?”

As though Serena hadn't spoken, Gwendolyn went on, “I like the roulette table myself.” She walked over to the other end of the table near Camille and pulled the cover from a roulette wheel. With a professional flick of her hand, she gave the wheel a spin.

Clicking filled the room as the little ball went round and round. “Pick a number, Serena. And a color. Red or black?”

“What?”

“A number! A color! Are you stupid?”

“Um . . . four. Black.” What was going on? What was she doing?

The clicking continued.

“When it falls on a number, if it's not the number and color you picked, then you lose.”

Click. Click. Click.
The little ball fell into one of the slots. Gwendolyn watched it jump, then land in another.

“Seven red.” She looked up and smirked. “You lose.” She waved the other gun and pointed it at Camille. The girl shrieked and ducked her head.

“No! Don't!” Serena pleaded.

Gwendolyn laughed and lowered the gun. “I'm just kidding. I'm not going to shoot her.”

“You're not?” Serena didn't allow herself to feel relief; she knew the woman was up to something.

Gwendolyn stood next to Serena and reached over to make sure the gun attached to the steel rod was aimed at the girl at the end of the table.

Slowly, it dawned on Serena what Gwendolyn had in mind. The woman confirmed it when she said, “You are.”

Dominic shoved the files aside and stood. Terror had his adrenaline flowing. They weren't going to find her in time. “How long did the other victims live before she killed them?”

“A couple of days.”

He looked at his watch. “It's been three hours. What if Gwendolyn doesn't follow her MO? After all, she changed it from the original killings.”

Colton leaned forward. The task force was gathered around the table, each studying various aspects of the case. Detectives questioned the girls from the home. A BOLO had been issued for Paul's Jeep Cherokee. Newscasts ran missing persons reports for Camille and Serena.

For the next six hours, they worked and searched, following up leads that led straight to one dead end after another.

Dominic rubbed his eyes, swigged another sip of his now cold coffee, and grimaced.

He reached for the file containing the pictures of the missing girls again. The file that had grown exponentially with added information about each girl.

“Each one had a best friend,” he whispered.

Colton looked up. “What?”

“Best friend. Each dead girl had a best friend. They disappeared within hours of each other.”

“But Camille's not Serena's best friend,” Hunter pointed out.

“No.” Dominic stood to pace, his thoughts racing. “No, she's not, but she's someone Serena cares about. And she was there. She was probably also a convenience thing, but . . .” He thought about what he just said. “She's someone Serena cares about.”

“You said that already.”

Dominic looked at Colton. “So who did Gwendolyn care about as a child?”

Hunter leaned forward, his eyes taking on a brighter hue. “Her father.”

“No, it has to be someone else. Female. Who was her best friend, besides her father?”

Colton looked at Hunter, then back at Dominic. “I don't know, but I see what you're getting at. We need to find out. Who can we ask?”

“Nathan Lindell.”

Hours had passed and Serena's stomach rumbled even as she knew if she tried to eat anything, she'd throw up. Gwendolyn had dropped her bomb about Serena being the one to shoot Camille, looked at her watch, and then said, “I'll explain more of the rules when I get back. Gotta run.” Then she'd laughed and unclipped the gun, saying, “I guess I'd better take this with me. I'd hate for you to have a tragic accident.”