When a Heart Stops (4 page)

“Maybe.”

He lifted a brow. “You want to tell me about it?”

“Someone broke into my house last week while I was asleep.”

Dominic frowned. “What? How?”

“Good question.” She took a bite of her salad. “I had the alarm armed and it never went off. My dog was drugged before she could warn me.” She shrugged. “Then again, she's not really a good watchdog so I don't count on her for that.”

“What was the intruder looking for?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. I shot him before I had a chance to ask him.”

Dominic choked on his tea and grabbed a napkin before he could spew the liquid everywhere. Finally, he asked, “Excuse me?”

Her eyes flicked to his, then back to her food. “I had my dad's gun in a closet. I managed to get to it, and now my intruder's in a coma on the fourth floor of the hospital. The bullet entered his skull and did some damage, but he's still alive.” She took another bite. She sounded blasé about the incident, but he could tell she was deeply disturbed by the fact that she'd shot a man. Before he could try to think of something to say that didn't sound patronizing or just plain stupid, Serena said, “Tell me about Jillian, please.”

Dominic hesitated. Serena looked worn out, tired, and stressed. He wanted to protect her, comfort her, and tell her everything would be fine. But his gut said she wasn't the type to believe it if it wasn't true. He reached over and gripped her free hand. “I'm sorry you had to go through that.”

Tears formed for a brief moment before she blinked them away. “Tell me about Jillian. Please.”

Dominic hesitated again, trying to get a read on the woman across the table. The beautiful woman with the shadowed eyes. She was hiding something and didn't want to confide in him. Yet.

He could understand that. He had a few secrets of his own. But he still made a mental note to look into the shooting. He gave her fingers a light squeeze and reluctantly withdrew his hand. “We know she left town on the night of graduation. She must have used the cash you and Alexia gave her.”

Serena poked at her salad. She winced at the movement, her hand obviously in some pain, but continued with the details of that night. “I gave her several hundred dollars.” A slight smile crossed her lips. “I had all my graduation money in my wallet. I'd planned
to go to the bank that day, but there wasn't any time. Between us, we gave her almost a thousand dollars.”

She didn't say it, but Dominic knew Serena had given the bulk of the money to Jillian. Alexia hadn't had much, and what she had, she'd needed for her own plans. “What was her emotional state?”

“She was frantic, scared, desperate to get away. So . . . we helped her.”

“And you don't have any idea where she is now?”

Serena met his eyes. “None.”

He believed her. “I've talked to her father. She hasn't contacted them one time since she left. Even missed her mother's funeral six years ago.”

“She wasn't particularly close to her parents.” Serena took another small bite of her salad and chewed. She swallowed and said, “But I'm sure she didn't know about her mother or she would have found a way to come to the funeral.”

Dominic leaned back and tried to assess her. She was cool and composed even after almost being run over, possibly killed. And then he had caught the slight tremor in her fingers and figured she wasn't quite as together as she portrayed. “What did you find out about Leslie?”

“The autopsy showed mostly what I thought it would. The gunshot to her forehead killed her. Without the bullet, however, I can't tell you exactly what kind of gun it came from, but the small hole suggests a small caliber. Probably something like a .22 or a .32, but that's just a guess. There's no way to determine the caliber without the bullet. I can rule out some of the larger caliber bullets, of course, but . . .” She shrugged and Dominic understood. Simply put, without the bullet, they wouldn't know what kind of weapon they were looking for. Serena continued, “Marks on her wrists suggest she was tied up. Bruise around her left ankle looks like some kind of restraint was used there. No sign of sexual assault. The scraped knees could have happened before her attacker grabbed
her. Or while she was trying to get away from him. They're pretty recent scrapes, though.” She set down her fork and frowned. “But there's no way to really tell.”

“But why her?”

Serena lifted a brow at him. “That's your area of expertise, not mine.” Her phone rang and she pulled it off the clip at her side. “Hello?”

She listened, frowned, and nodded. He sat up straight and studied her as she said, “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.” She hung up and slowly put the phone back on the clip.

“What is it?”

“That was Rick. He said when he couldn't reach you, he tried me. He has something he needs us to see right away.”

MONDAY, 12:40 P.M.

In Rick Shelton's office, Serena stood next to the man and listened as he said, “I was in a meeting all morning and didn't get to this until just now.”

With gloved hands, Rick lifted the top of the box. Serena felt dizzy and realized she was holding her breath. Letting it out slowly, she focused on deep, even breaths while Rick drew out a miniature doll.

Dominic shifted beside her and the musky scent of his cologne drifted to her. For some reason it comforted her.

“It's beautiful—blue eyes, black hair, distinct features. Almost more like a sculpture,” she said.

“But that's not all,” Rick said. “There's a note to go with the gift.” He reached behind him and pulled a plastic baggie from the shelf. Inside, a 4 × 6 index card stared back at them.

“What does it say?” Dominic asked.

Rick glanced at Serena, then read in singsong fashion: “Eenie meenie miney moe, a killin' I will go. But it's my game, it's my fun, the next to die, someone you know.”

“Someone
who
knows?” Dominic asked.

Rick shrugged.

“And look at the outfit . . .” Serena leaned closer.

“Dressed in a pink jogging suit just like our victim,” Dominic said.

“Right,” Rick said. “Of course I'll go over all of this with a fine-tooth comb looking for prints, hairs, fibers, whatever I can find.” He paused. “Actually, for fingerprints, I'll use an EDAX Eagle II XPL MXRF instrument with a 40 W rhodium anode—” He broke off at Dominic's yawn.

Crestfallen, Rick whined, “You too? Hunter influenced you, didn't he?” Suspicion darkened his gaze and Serena grew confused.

“What does Hunter have to do with anything?” she asked.

Rick pursed his lips. “Because Hunter is an old fogey at the ripe old age of thirtysomething. I try my best to explain how this new technology works and he tunes me totally out.” He turned his attention back to the man at her side. “He got to you, didn't he?”

Dominic raised a brow, the picture of pure innocence. “No, man, I'm just tired. Been a long day already.”

With a beleaguered sigh, Rick laid the doll flat on the evidence examination table. “I did some research while I was waiting on you two to get here.” He lifted his gaze to Serena. “You know how I said something seemed familiar about this killing?”

“Yes.”

“I started looking stuff up. Past crimes where a doll was left behind.”

A bad feeling started in her gut. “And?”

Rick motioned them over to his computer. He wiggled the mouse and the screen lit up. “Here.”

Serena leaned in to read. “The Doll Maker Killer.” She frowned. “I don't remember this.”

“That's because it was before your time. You're a few years younger than I am. You're what? Twenty-eight?”

“Just turned twenty-nine last week. Why?”

“This guy was killing people back from '92 to '95. You would have been a child.”

She quirked a brow at him. “As would you. You're only three years older than I am.”

“Yes,” he conceded with a nod, “but I generally remember just about everything I read and I remember reading about this guy a couple of years ago. Drake Lindell. He was trying to get parole, made a plea that he'd been rehabilitated, found God and all that jazz.”

“How many did he kill?” Dominic's quiet question made her jerk.

Rick rubbed his eyes. “The FBI says nine that they know of, but they suspect more.”

“How did he get his victims?”

“Some just wouldn't come home. Others left to go to lunch from work and were never heard from again. Several were snatched from their homes. There didn't seem to be a pattern. Two of the women reported they thought they were being stalked. Notes left in their mailboxes, dead flowers delivered, et cetera.” He scratched his nose with the back of his wrist, then said, “But really, the only connection between the victims that anyone could find was the doll and the note.” He looked over his glasses. “Really bad poetry most of the time, mocking the police, saying he was going to kill again and the police, the FBI, could do nothing about it. He was on a real power trip for a while there.”

Dominic winced and Serena felt her skin crawl. Dominic shook his head. “I should remember this one. We would have studied it at the academy.”

“Maybe.” Rick shrugged.

She looked back at the article and asked, “So is this killer back? Could he have killed Leslie?”

Rick shook his head. “Can't be him. He's still in prison.” His lips twisted. “Trust me, I checked.”

“Then we have a copycat,” Serena said.

“Looks like.” Dominic blew out a breath. “I need to call my boss.”

Serena looked at him. “Will the FBI get involved after one killing? Doesn't the FBI usually wait until after the second death before they will identify the killer as a serial?”

He nodded. “Usually, but if this is a serial copycat, and it's definitely looking like it, I'm going to ask to be assigned this case. Now.” His eyes narrowed. “I don't want to wait for a second death to happen. We have to catch this guy before he goes after his next victim.” His attention zeroed in on the doll and the note. “The killer's made it clear. There's going to be a next victim.”

Who would get to play next? Waiting on the phone call was annoying. But necessary. Only HE had the names. Only HE would know who would be the best players.

Waiting was necessary.

Waiting could be fun. Anticipation of the coming game caused shivers of delight to dance up and down the killer's neck.

Eager eyes roved over the names in the book. So many to choose from. Who would it be?

Was it her? Beth Hollister? Or maybe Stacy Hathaway?

The killer shut the book with a snap and placed it back on the shelf.

It didn't matter.

The phone would ring soon.

And the game would begin again.

Dominic hung up the phone and felt a grim satisfaction. Local
authorities had agreed to let the FBI take this one and run with it while offering their cooperation.

His boss, Deputy Director Zeb Tremaine, had given Dominic the go-ahead to take over the case as the lead investigator. A task force was being assembled and would be dispatched to the Columbia office within hours.

He walked back into Rick's office and said, “We're treating this as a copycat killer. The package, the note, everything indicates the killer is out there right now stalking his next victim. We're going to jump on this and try to stop him before he strikes again.”

Serena looked at him, then back at the doll. “Why would he leave a note? Why taunt us?”

“It's part of his game,” Dominic said.

“I don't like this game and I don't want to play.”

Dominic tilted his head. “Not sure we have a choice.”

Rick said, “If he's a copycat—and it's sure not Drake Lindell—he's sticking to the MO, an MO the FBI and police never could figure out.”

“What do you mean?” Dominic asked.

“With each body, the Doll Maker Killer would leave the doll, but it was never determined who the doll was supposed to represent. Sometimes she was dressed like the victim. Sometimes she looked completely different. There wasn't any pattern, nothing to pull from the dolls to help figure out who the next victim would be. The authorities were sure it was a message, but they couldn't decipher it.”

Dominic saw Serena's lips tighten. Then she asked, “But what kind of message and
who
was the message
for
? In the note he said ‘someone you know.' Someone
who
knows? Who is the
you
in that statement? You?” She pointed to Dominic. “The investigating officer? Me? The medical examiner?” This time she jabbed a finger against her chest. “Or the person who found her and called it in? How are we supposed to know
who
the message is for?”

“All good questions,” Rick said. “Unfortunately, they've all been asked before and no one could come up with an answer. Another question that needs to be asked is, how does this person know all the details of these killings?”

“I've already been asking myself that. I don't have an answer to that yet.” Dominic pointed at the doll. “We know one thing for sure. If the Doll Maker Killer has a copycat, the copycat's only getting started.” His jaw tightened. “Which means, so are we.”

It was crazy. Totally crazy. She'd never come across anything like this before. A serial killer sending a message to the people working the murder? Okay, so it had been done before, she supposed, but never anything she'd worked on.

Serena watched Rick, then bounced her gaze to Dominic, who was engrossed in something that had just come across his phone.

She thought about the break-in at her home last week. About the man she'd shot.

She shivered. She hadn't been some random homeowner who woke to find an intruder in her house. She racked her brain, trying to figure out who was targeting her. Had possibly pushed her in front of a bus.

Were the incidents related?

God, I think I've had enough excitement to last me awhile. Boredom would be nice at this point. Seriously, God, what's happening? Why is my life suddenly spinning?

She added a prayer for protection and for wisdom to find Leslie's killer as she watched Rick testing for fingerprints.

She couldn't help but think about her intruder and wonder why the man she'd shot hadn't just killed her while she lay in bed. Why search her bedroom? Because he'd planned to take her alive when he found what he wanted? Or force her to tell him what he wanted to know when he didn't find what he was looking for?

Whatever his intentions, she'd interrupted his plans. Rick's phone rang and Dominic said, “You get that. We'll be in touch.”

“Sure.” Rick waved and turned his attention to his phone.

Dominic took Serena by the arm, and she couldn't help the small thrill that invaded her at his touch.

“So, Katie and Hunter are the detectives on this one, along with Chad Graham and Colton Brady,” Dominic said.

“Colton Brady, huh?” She mulled over what she knew about the man. Not much.

“Yep, he's back.”

“I'd noticed that.”

“Sounds like a great team.”

“It is.”

“Katie's at Leslie's house, looking for something—anything—that might give us a clue as to how and why this killer picked her. Colton and Chad are questioning family and co-workers. We'll have a pretty good picture of her life soon. Maybe there'll be something we can work with.”

They made their way out of the building and Dominic said, “Are you in the mood to do a little research?”

“On what?”

“The Doll Maker Killer.”

Serena swallowed hard. “Yes, I suppose. But you don't need me. I'm sure you can find what you need without me being in the way.”

“True. I don't necessarily
need
you there. But . . . what if I
want
you there? And you won't be in the way.”