Thursday, November 30, 3:10 A.M.
"What the hell are you doing?" Startled, Brooke looked up from the computer. Her roommate stood in the hall, her iPod in her hand. "It's three a.m.," Roxanne said.
"I don't know what to do," Brooke murmured.
Roxanne sighed. "You can't do any more tonight, Brooke. Go to sleep."
"I tried. I can't. All I can think of are bills and loans and debts. I can't sleep."
Roxanne's expression softened in sympathy. "It'll be okay. You'll find another job."
"I don't think so. I've been searching all night. There's nothing open around here."
"You'll find something. Now go to bed, Brooke. You'll just make yourself sick with worry and then you really won't be able to find a job."
"You're right. I know you're right. But without a recommendation from Bixby, it's going to be close to impossible to find anyone who'll even consider me."
"I still think you should sue the bastard, no matter what Devin's lawyer friend thinks."
Devin had called his lawyer friend from Fiannagan"s, but the friend had told him that her claim would be hard to prove and it would take a long time. She didn't have a long time. She only had forty-two dollars in the bank. "I might. But that doesn't help me now. I'm almost broke." She closed her eyes. "You may need to find another roommate."
"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. I've got to get to sleep. Bach's lullabies work. You should try it." Pressing the earphones to her ears, she headed to her room.
It'll take more than Bach to relax me, Brooke thought. She went into the kitchen and found the brandy she saved for special occasions. It wasn't gourmet, but it was strong enough to do the trick. She downed a glass, then poured herself another and sat at the kitchen table. She sipped at the second glass, despair overwhelming.
She had no money. She couldn't call her parents. They were living on next to nothing as it was. Hate surged. Bixby was a bastard. I did nothing wrong. She gulped more brandy, bitterly resigned. It didn't matter. She'd be out of a job just the same.
She wasn't sure how long she'd sat brooding when she heard it.
Click. She looked up, trying to place the noise. Then walked to the kitchen doorway to stare at the front door. It was opening. With a key. Somebody has my key.
Call 911. Where was the cordless? She stumbled to the counter, pulled a butcher knife from the block. Oh God. She ran to the living room. Where was the phone?
Then her mouth fell open as the man came through the door. He held a knife. Recognition was instantaneous, but she had no time to even say his name before his hand flattened over her mouth and he twisted her wrist. Her butcher knife fell to the floor.
Eyes wide with horror, she saw the metal of his long, thin blade before it swept down and pressed against her throat. He's going to kill me. She struggled and the blade pressed a little harder. Abruptly she stopped struggling and he chuckled.
The hand left her mouth, but the knife continued to press and a stifled sob rose in her throat. "I've cut two throats wide open tonight," he said. "Say one word and I'll make it three." He yanked, making her walk on her toes to her bedroom. He threw her down on the bed, drove his knee into her ribs and shoved a ball of cloth into her mouth.
She fought him when he grabbed one wrist and tied it to her headboard, then cried out when he slammed his fist into her jaw. But her cry was muted, she could barely hear it herself. He leaned into her body with his knee, tying her other wrist.
"You've ruined my work, Brooke," he hissed in her face. His eyes were wild, crazy. He couldn't be the same man she knew. But he was. "Now I'll have no time to finish and you'll pay for that. I told you to let it go, but you wouldn't listen. You'll listen now."
He came to his feet and she kicked, hoping to make a noise Roxanne would hear. He bent to his backpack and when he straightened, he held a pipe wrench in his hand.
No! She screamed it, but nobody heard. When the first blow struck she moaned. With the second she wished she was dead. With the third, she knew she would be.
Grimly satisfied, he zipped the used condom in a baggie, just as he'd done with Penny Hill. He recalled when he took her how her eyes had glazed over from the pain and halfway through she'd closed them, robbing him of the pleasure of seeing her suffering.
He stood over her, sweat dripping down his face. He slapped her cheeks hard and a muffled moan escaped her throat. Good. She was still conscious. He wanted to be sure she had felt everything he did to her, and that she heard every word. "You ruined my work. I may never get my justice. So tonight you'll take her place."
He worked quickly, applying the gel to her body as he'd done to Penny Hill. He placed the egg between her knees, ran the fuse past her feet. There wasn't any gas in this house- only electric, so he'd have to compromise.
He'd already decided to place a second egg at the apartment's front entrance. Just another little hoop for the firemen to jump through. He ran a second fuse and laid that egg next to his knife on the night table. Then pulled out his lighter and leaned down to Brooke's face. "You're like the others. You say you care, but you betray their trust. You say you want to help those boys, but the first chance you get, you give them to the police. You're just as deceitful and just as guilty. When I light this fuse, start counting."
Her eyes flickered, focusing over his shoulder. He turned, a split second before a violin would have come crashing on his head. It struck his shoulder instead, splintering into pieces. A woman stood, eyes wide, breast heaving as she panted. She held the neck of the shattered violin in her fist, then she swung it at him again. He caught her forearm, but she twisted free. He barely dodged the little chair she swung at him.
He grasped his knife from the nightstand and in one fluid motion plunged it into the violinist's gut and ripped, his eyes locked on hers. Her face contorted and she dropped to the floor on top of her splintered instrument. His heart was pounding, his blood rushing. He felt alive. Untouchable. Invincible. He flicked the lighter, lit the fuse at Brooke's feet, then leaned over her ear. "Count to ten, Brooke. And go to hell."
He grabbed his backpack, the knife, and the other egg, and ran from the apartment, down the stairs. He lit the second fuse and placed the egg in the corner of the lobby. The carpet was threadbare, but it would burn quickly. Then he bolted out the front door.
And nearly had heart failure. Two police cruisers were turning into the complex, lights flashing, sirens blaring. The violinist had called the cops. Fucking bitch. He ducked behind the building and ran to the parking lot behind the next row of apartments. At least he'd had the good sense to case the place when he'd first arrived. Keeping to the shadows, he chose the easiest car to steal. A minute later he was driving away.
He'd almost been caught. He struggled to catch his breath and smelled the violinist's blood. It covered his coat, his gloves. She hadn't been in the plan, but… Wow. It was an incredible feeling, taking a life like that, looking into her eyes as he stole her very soul. He chuckled. The English teacher had rubbed off on him.
The he sobered. And wondered how much of him had rubbed off on the English teacher. The fire would be going by now, but without the gas, it might not be enough to destroy everything. He'd used a condom. He'd worn gloves. But he might have dropped a hair. Still, in order to use it against him, they'd have to find him first.
He didn't have much time and he still had to find Laura Dougherty. Then there were four more. They were the worst. They hadn't been merely involved in Shane's death. They'd killed him. One was in Indy. He'd find the other three, then he'd be finished.
He'd roll into a new life just as he'd rolled into this one, make new friends, find another woman to serve his needs at home. He'd have to think about his next job. He'd never thought about doing the one he had now. It had been the right time and place, so he'd snatched the opportunity. But he'd been good at it.
Who needed a college degree? He was the master chameleon. Like in that movie where the guy impersonates a doctor and a lawyer and a pilot. Maybe he'd try his hand at one of those jobs next time around.
Thursday, November 30, 3:50 a.m.
"Holy shit." The words wheezed from Mia's chest as she lay limp and lax and sated.
Beside her Solliday chuckled. "I love your way with words, Mia."
She pushed up on her elbow and smiled down at him. "You know we're going to be wrecks tomorrow. Today," she corrected, glancing at the clock next to her bed.
"I know, but it was worth it. I don't think I realized just how much I needed this."
She slid her palm across his hard belly, feeling the muscles quiver. "How long has it been?" she asked quietly.
His eyes flicked up to hers. "Six years."
Her brows went up. "Holy shit," she said and he laughed. She raked her fingers through the coarse hair on his chest, sobering. "I needed it, too."
He studied her for a long moment. "I want to know why you didn't want to want this."
"And I'll tell you."
"Just not now?" She nodded her eyes solemn. "Tonight?" he pressed and again she nodded wordlessly. "It'd be better if you could come to me, after Beth's in bed. That way I don't have to ask Lauren to watch her like I did tonight."
"Somehow I didn't get the impression that she'd mind," Mia said wryly and his expression changed. He hadn't told Lauren where he was going. His sister thought he'd been called to a fire. The realization stung a little. "You don't want her to know."
"Not yet." He sat up and she rolled to her back. The night was officially over.
"Tomorrow," she started. "Today, I mean. We're colleagues. Nothing more."
The look he sent her was level. "Nothing more." Then he surprised her by leaning down and kissing her with a hunger that stole her breath. "Tonight, though, much more."
He was buckling his belt when his cell phone rang. "Solliday." He got down on one knee to find his socks. "Was there a gas explosion?… Fine then. I'll proceed to 2026 Chablis Court. Thanks, Larry. I should be there in fifteen to twenty."
"It's way past midnight," Mia observed and he threw a look over his shoulder.
"There was no gas explosion, so it's probably not our guy. It's an apartment fire, so they've called four companies to the scene-Larry's is one of them." He slipped his feet in his shoes. "There's no reason for us both to lose sleep. I'll check it out and call you. Can you give me a hand with the buttons on my shirt? It would be faster that way "
She helped him, making quick work of the buttons. "I do hot dogs, too."
He lifted one eyebrow and now she could admit that had turned her on from the beginning. "You are a very bad girl, Mia."
"Mustard, Solliday." She smacked his ass as he walked away. "Think condiments."
"Very bad girl." He was almost to the front door when it struck her-2026 Chablis. "Reed, wait." She ran after him. "Did you say 2026 Chablis Court, like the wine?"
He frowned. "Yeah, why?"
Her heart skipped a beat, visualizing the records check she'd run yesterday. "That's Brooke Adler's address."
His expression went grim. "Meet me there," he said. "Hurry."
Thursday, November 30, 4:15 A.M.
The fire was contained to one apartment building, the end of a row of five. To the untrained eye it might seem chaotic but it was under control. People stood on the edge of the parking lot, huddled in small groups. Many were crying, child and adult alike. The apartment fire he'd worked last year came back and with it the horror for the victims.
And while every one of them was important, one victim was at the front of his mind. Reed found Larry Fletcher and immediately knew it was very bad. "What's happened?"
"We were still en route when you called back, told us about the Adler woman." Larry's voice was flat. "The 186 was doing search and rescue in the building, but Mahoney and Hunter wanted to go in. Wanted to win this time. Chief of the 186 said it was my call, so I let them. Now I wish I'd said no."
"They're hurt?"
"Not physically. They pulled out Adler and her roommate. It was bad, Reed."
Reed looked over his shoulder. Mia was turning in from the main road. "Alive?"
"One was DOA. The other's on her way to County."
Ten cruisers surrounded the perimeter, uniforms controlling the crowd and passing out blankets to the victims. "What about the cops who were first on the scene?"
Larry pointed to a cruiser farthest away. "Jergens and Petty."
"Thanks." He jogged over to the cruisers. "Solliday, OFI. Jergens and Petty?"
"I'm Jergens, this is Petty," the officer on the left said. "We were first on the scene."
Mia was walking toward him. Red gestured for her to hurry and she closed the distance at a run while he took out his recorder. "This is Detective Mitchell." He turned to her. "Two women pulled out of the fire, one dead, one en route to County."
"This is the guy that did Burnette's kid," Jergens said, his mouth flattening. "SOB."
"Which woman is dead?" Reed asked and the two shook their heads.
"Both were burned pretty badly. The neighbors said they were both about the same size, both brunettes, but nobody would make an ID. That's the DOA." A gurney was being rolled toward the ambulance, the body bag zipped.
Mia motioned the ME's to stop. "Well, let's find out." They cringed then exhaled in unison as the ME unzipped the bag. The burns were bad. "Not Adler," she murmured, then turned back to Petty and Jergens. "Did the neighbors at least provide a name?"
Jergens checked his notes. "Roxanne Ledford. She called in the 911."
"Tell us what happened," Mia said calmly. "Start from the 911."
Jergens nodded. "Rape in progress was called in at 3:38. The 911 operator told her to vacate the premises, but she didn't. We got here at 3:42.
"We could see flames upstairs and in the lobby when we got here. Petty radioed for the fire department. I grabbed the extinguisher from the cruiser and tried to go in, but the fire in the entry was already too big. Another cruiser was behind us. I went to see if the perp was still on the grounds and Petty and the other two started evacuating."
Mia lifted her eyes. "But you didn't find anyone?"
"No. I'm sorry, Detective. There was nobody around."
"The last time, he drove off in the victim's car. I want you to find out which cars belonged to Adler and Ledford and see if they're still here. If not, put out an all points."
"What else?" Petty asked. "We really want this SOB."
Mia looked around. "Any of these guys the super?"
"That one," Petty pointed. "Tall, big guy wearing the fuzzy pink slippers."
"Find out if the building's got security cameras. I want any and all tape from the last week. Oh, and what are we doing for these people? We gotta worry about exposure."
"Two buses are on the way," Jergens said. "We're going to put them in the elementary school down the street until we can set up a shelter."
"We'll need statements from everyone. I want to know if there was anybody around here that anybody didn't know." She shot them a hard smile. "Thanks. I appreciate it. So will Roger Burnettc." She looked up when the officers moved off to follow her orders. "We need to get to Brooke. Maybe she can tell us something."
"Hunter and Mahoney pulled them out."
She shot him a look of disbelief, then started toward the trucks at a run. "They went in again! There are four companies here. Why Mahoney and Hunter for God's sake?"
He remembered the look of honest affection she'd given Hunter at the Hill fire. A nasty voice whispered in his ear, but Reed dismissed it. Whatever had happened between Mia and Hunter in the past, Reed had been the one to leave her bed tonight.
"They wanted to go in. After pulling corpses, it really makes you feel good to pull out a live person. The other chief understood that and let Larry's guys go in for the rescue."
"Like Howard and Brooks let me have DuPree."
"Yeah. Just like that."
Hunter and Mahoney sat on the back of the truck. Both looked shell-shocked.
Mia put her hand on Hunter's shoulder. "David. Are you two all right?"
Hunter nodded, his eyes flat. "Fine," he murmured.
Mahoney grimaced. "Yeah. Sure. We're just fine." But the sarcastic words were filled with pain. He closed his eyes. "I really hate this guy."
"What happened?" Reed asked quietly. "Tell us everything you saw."
"We went in the front," Mahoney began. "He'd stared a fire there, too, but the 186 knocked it down. Smoke was heavy in Adler's apartment, but the stove was in place."
"Where did you find them?" Mia asked.
"In the back bedroom." Mahoney shook his head, cleared his throat. "The bed was in flames, all the walls, carpet, everything." His voice broke. "There were two women in the room. One was on the floor. I picked her up and started out. Called for backup for Hunter. When I got her out, the EMT.s said she was already dead. She was wearing flame retar-dant pajamas, so her body wasn't burned so badly, but her face and hands were. She'd been stabbed. Ripped open." He pursed his lips and turned away.
"And the second woman?" Reed asked quietly.
Hunter swallowed. "She was tied to the bed. Nude. Her body was on fire. I grabbed a blanket and rolled her up in it. Her legs were broken. Bent at angles."
Mia suddenly stiffened, her eyes swerving to the road where a woman with a blond braid approached. Two officers turned her away. "Goddammit."
Carmichael again. "She was following you," Reed commented and her eyes flashed up to his. He knew she was thinking the same thing he was. Carmichael had been waiting outside her apartment. She'd seen Reed leave just before
Mia had. That he'd spent the night would be all over the front page. Shit.
But Mia's attention was already back to Hunter. "What happened next, David?"
"I had to cut the ropes to get her out of there. But I didn't touch anything else. I picked her up and carried her out. She was burned." His jaw trembled and he clenched it. "Badly. The EMTs weren't sure if she'd make it."
Mia squeezed Hunter's hand. "If she does, it will be because of the two of you. You have to hold on to that, David." She let go and looked up. "I have to talk to Brooke."
Reed looked up at the building. The fire was nearly out. "I'll stay here and go in as soon as I can. Foster and Ben should be here any minute. Can you call Jack?"
"Yeah." She kicked at some gravel at her feet. "Dammit, we missed him again."
Thursday, November 30, 4:50 a.m.
"I'm Detective Mitchell. You just took in a Brooke Adler. Rape and burn victim."
The ER nurse shook her head. "You can't see her."
"I have to talk to her. She's the only one who's seen a killer. She's his fourth victim."
"I wish I could help you, Detective, but I can't let you see her. She's sedated."
A doctor walked up, brows crunched. "She's heavily sedated, but somehow still lucid enough to mutter. She has third degree burns over ninety percent of her body. If I thought she'd survive, I'd make you wait. Hurry. We were just about to intubate."
Mia fell into stride beside the doctor. "We need to do a rape kit."
"Already noted on my chart. She looks bad, Detective."
"I saw his first two victims in the morgue. Doctor. They looked bad."
"Just tryin' to prepare you." He handed her a mask and surgical drape. "After you."
Mia came to stumbling halt. Acid rose to burn her throat, choke her air. Dear God, was all she could think for the first five seconds. "Oh, sweet Christ."
"1 tried to tell you," the doctor murmured. "Two minutes. No more."
The nurse standing at Brooke's side glared. "What's she doing here?"
"She's the bad cop," the doctor said blandly. "Let her through."
Mia shot him a sharp look. "What?"
He shrugged. "That's what she kept calling you. The bad cop."
"She's muttering something about 'ten,'" the nurse said.
"Like the number?"
"Yes."
"Hey, Brooke, it's me, Detective Mitchell."
Brooke's eyes opened, and Mia saw wild fear and excruciating pain. "Ten."
Mia lifted her hand, but there was no place to touch her. "Who did this, Brooke?"
"Count to ten," Brooke whispered. She moaned in agony and Mia's heart clenched.
"Brooke, tell me who did this. Was it someone at Hope Center? Was it Bixby?"
"Go to hell."
Mia flinched. The woman had been afraid to talk to them. They'd forced her to speak, she and Reed. I'll have to live with that. And though she knew this wasn't her fault, she understood Brooke's anger. "I'm so sorry, Brooke. But I need your help."
"Count to ten." She labored for a breath and machines started beeping.
"Pressure's dropping," the nurse said with grim urgency. "Oxygen levels dropping."
"Push one amp of epi," the doctor commanded, "and start an epinephrine drip. Get ready to intubate. Detective, you have to leave."
"No." Brooke struggled, pathetically. "Count to ten. Go to hell."
The nurse was injecting a syringe into Brooke's IV. "Get out, Detective."
"One more minute." Mia leaned closer. "Was it Bixby? Thompson? Secrest?"
The doctor leaned over Mia with a growl. "Detective, move." Mia backed away, helpless, horrified, while the doctor and nurse battled for Brooke's life.
Thirty grueling, endless minutes later, the doctor stepped back. His shoulders sagged. "I'm calling it. Time of death oh-five-hundred twenty-five hours."
There had to be a word for what churned inside her. But that word wouldn't come. Mia lifted her eyes to the doctor's weary gaze. "I don't know what to say."
The doctor's mouth tightened. "Say you'll catch who did this."
Roger Burnette had demanded it for Caitlin. Dana had demanded it for Penny Hill. "We will. We have to. He's killed four women. Thank you, for doing what you could."
Grimly he nodded. "I'm sorry."
"So am I." She got to the door and stopped. Forced herself turn around and look at Brooke Adler one more time. Then crossed herself and backed out of the room.
Thursday, November 30, 5:45 a.m.
The child watched from his hiding place. He was outside again. He didn't know what the man buried, but he knew it had to be very, very bad. Because he was very bad. Doesn't anybody else know? Am I the only one that sees how bad he really is?
He thought of his mother, tossing and turning in her bed and he was suddenly, fiercely angry. She had to know. She had to see. She knew he disappeared in the night. But she got up every morning and put on her best face. Made him bacon and eggs and smiled like they were normal. They weren't normal.
He wished he would just go. Leave them alone. He wished his mother would throw him out. Tell him to never come back. But she wouldn't, because she was scared. He knew that. He knew she had a right to be. So am I.
Thursday, November 30, 7:20 a.m.
"Daddy?"
Reed looked up from buttoning his shirt, buttonhook in one hand. "Yes, Beth?"
She stood in his doorway, her brows drawn together in worry. "Are you okay?"
No. He was sick at heart. Two more. "Just tired, honey. Just really tired."
She hesitated. "Dad, I need more lunch money."
Reed frowned. "I just gave you lunch money on Monday."
"I know." She made a face. "I owed some library fines. I'm sorry."
Feeling unsettled, he gave her another twenty. "Return the books on time, okay?"
"Thanks, Dad." She slipped the money into her jeans. "I'll go put your coffee on."
"I could sure use it." Wearily he sat on the edge of his bed. Mia had been right He was a wreck this morning. He wondered where she was, imagined her back in her apartment, alone. He should have held off, waited until they could establish the ground rules. No strings. But he hadn't been able to. His mind had been too full of her, his body at the edge of control. He had to stay in control because he didn't want to hurt her.
He looked around his bedroom. Everything here was as Christine left it, elegant and tasteful despite the passage of time. Mia's room was a hodgepodge of clashing colors, orange and vivid purples. Striped blankets and plaid curtains. All rummage sale stock.
But the bed had served its function quite well. Sex with Mia could become addicting if he allowed it. But he didn't allow addicting behaviors. He was stronger than that. Absently he rubbed his thumbs over his numb fingertips. He'd stopped himself from drinking when it got out of hand, something his biological mother had never done. A disease, she'd said. A choice, he knew. She'd loved the liquor more than she'd loved him, more than she'd loved anything.
He grimaced, pushing the thought of his mother out of his mind. He'd thought about her more this week than in years.
He had to stay in control. Not let this thing with Mia distract him from what was important. The life he'd built for Beth. For himself. He lifted the fine gold chain from his nightstand and put it around his neck. A talisman, perhaps. A reminder, most certainly.
He had to get moving or he'd be late for morning meeting.