You did this, p.28
YOU DID THIS, page 28
Twice, her captor had shifted the edge of the canvas bag over Dana’s nose, removed the gag from her mouth, and placed a straw between her lips. Dana had drunk the sugary liquid greedily until the woman yanked the straw away. Then, back came the gag, and down came the bag. Once, she had glimpsed shelves on the walls, and boxes, but nothing else.
She hadn’t eaten solid food in a long, long time. Days, probably. Her captors wanted her alive but not strong enough to escape. The other girls had turned up dead shortly after disappearing. Did her captors have other plans for her?
Dana sobbed, her tears soaking the canvas bag. She’d never sneak out again. She’d never go out again, ever. Dana would be a good girl. She’d listen to her parents. Oh God, I will. I promise. Just let me go home, please!
The door opened above. Feet padded down the steps. The footfalls were heavier than before. A man. He descended the stairs with slow, confident strides, and he stood over her. He didn’t smell of flowers like the woman but of peppermint and eucalyptus—a man’s aftershave. What did he want with her?
He touched her shoulder, and Dana flinched. She shifted onto her side and curled into a fetal position. Was he going to kill her now? Would he hurt her first? Rape her?
Large, hard fingers clamped over her arms and lifted her to her feet. Her legs were asleep from the long hours on the chilly floor. She could barely stand on her bare feet.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she cried, but the gag muffled her words. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
This was it—the end. Terror mixed with curiosity. Was this how Grace and Karla had spent their last moments?
The hands gripped her waist and hoisted her into the air. A bony shoulder slammed into her stomach, winding her. Carrying her like a sack of potatoes, he climbed upward, her body flopping painfully with each step. He was taking her upstairs. Dana had hated that basement, but now she wanted to stay, alone and far from the man.
“No! Please don’t!” But the gag turned her pleas into the pitiful mewling of a doomed animal on its way to the slaughterhouse.
Chapter 60
That evening, Rob took a hot shower in his motel room and prepared to break the law.
The steaming water soothed his aching muscles like a rejuvenating rain. Claire was alive. The woman in the Tesla had worn Claire’s clothes, but her name was Kitty Tucker. A sniper’s bullet had destroyed her brain minutes before Claire had propped Kitty’s body behind the wheel. Claire had not killed Kitty. She had faked her own death and remained, once again, one step ahead of the Newburgh PD. Rob wanted to kiss her…and curse her.
For fifteen terrifying minutes, he had lost her. He had mourned her death and he would never forget that heartache. But he couldn’t fault her for duping him.
Her close brush with death had been his fault. He had told her about Kitty’s report, leading Claire to risk a visit to Kitty’s home. And when the SWAT officers opened fire on Kitty’s car, Rob had looked on helplessly.
During the After-Action Review with Captain Emmerso, the officers had pieced together the sequence of events. The sniper’s bullet had killed Kitty instantly. Claire dressed Kitty in her detective clothes and strapped the lifeless body into the driver’s seat. Then, she activated the Tesla’s autonomous-driving feature and opened the garage doors. Adding an ironic touch, Claire had selected the Newburgh Police Department as the car’s destination.
In the shootout’s aftermath, the SWAT officers had relaxed their surveillance of the property. Claire had slipped into the backyard and scaled a wall, escaping through a neighboring home. What she was wearing now, nobody knew. She had dumped Kitty’s bloodstained clothes in her washing machine. The manhunt continued. And this time, Rob would not let Claire down.
He turned off the shower and toweled down. He still had more questions than answers. Why had Claire fired at the SWAT sniper? In hindsight, the gambit had paid off. The distraction had prepared the way for her escape. But the move could have gotten her killed.
“She’s a homicidal nutjob,” Detective Jed Wallace had said. “That’s why she opened fire.”
This time, Rob had kept his objections to himself. Claire was a crack shot. The officers on the street had provided easier targets than the sniper in the upper-floor window. Claire had missed on purpose.
There were other discrepancies. Forensics had found a .22 caliber bullet buried in the bedroom closet behind the SWAT sniper. Claire’s standard-issue Glock 22 used .40 caliber bullets.
Jed had found an explanation for that, too. “She must have used a .22 LR conversion kit to extend her range and use high-capacity magazines.” And although that was possible, it didn’t explain the next problem.
The bullet’s trajectory didn’t match the ground-floor window of the house across the street. A simpler explanation placed the shooter outside the Tucker home. But that solution only triggered more questions.
Claire had suspected a conspiracy. Rob didn’t believe that Tina had faked her death, but could Newburgh PD have covered up the murder? Chief Wallace had partnered with Detective O’Leary. Case files had gone missing only to appear in Claire’s home during a search the chief’s son had led. And Jed’s mysterious disappearance from the crime scene immediately before the shooting began only fed Rob’s speculations. Claire’s conspiracy theory was no harder to swallow than her supposed split personality.
“Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you,” read the quote from Joseph Heller’s Catch-22. For the sake of his sanity, Rob had to dig deeper. Claire’s life depended on it. As far as Newburgh PD was concerned, Claire was a highly dangerous fugitive. She could expect no help from her fellow officers. No help they’d provide willingly.
Rob wrapped the towel around his waist and glanced at the small device on the bathroom counter. A red dot flashed within concentric circles on a map. Coordinates and vectors updated on a side panel. Rob’s target was on the move. Where are you going tonight?
Rob pulled on fresh clothes and pocketed the device. Tom lay on his motel bed and scrolled down a feed on his phone. Rob swiped the car keys from the bureau by the TV.
“I’ll be back later.”
Tom stared at his phone. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Rob skipped his usual witty response. He left the motel room and got in the Bureau car. Tom would definitely not do this. But Rob refused to sit back and do nothing.
He turned the key in the ignition and placed the tracking device on the dash. As he reached for the gear stick, the rear door opened, and the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his neck. He froze, his hand still on the stick.
The car door closed. Without moving his head, he glanced at the rearview mirror. The headrest blocked the intruder’s face but not her locks of blonde hair.
“Don’t turn around,” she said.
Chapter 61
Raindrops splattered on the windshield. Rob’s heart galloped. A gun barrel pressed against the base of his skull. Death might be moments away. And yet he felt the urge to sing. He knew that voice.
“Claire—” he began.
“Shut up and listen,” Claire said. “I didn’t kill Kitty Tucker. Your effing sniper did.”
Claire had dyed her hair blonde. And she was angry. After the raid on her apartment and her close shave with death, she had every right to distrust him.
“I know.”
“And I didn’t shoot at anyone.”
“I know.” The pressure of the barrel eased for a moment, and he tried his luck. “But who did?”
“I don’t know. What matters is this. Jed was the last one to see Tina alive. Kitty told me that before she died.”
“Jed Wallace?”
“He was at her school. He’d been hitting on her. The day she died, Tina told Kitty she was going to teach Jed a lesson. Tina left school with Jed. She probably pulled a knife on him. But her prank backfired, Jed killed her, and his father and O’Leary covered it up. Jed must have forged Kitty’s report and planted it in my house.”
Claire had done it. She had found the missing pieces to the puzzle.
“So Tina’s dead after all?”
Rob imagined Claire clenching her jaw in the silence.
“I was wrong about that. She’s dead. I dug up her body to be sure.”
“Geez, Claire!”
Her clipped tone betrayed her desperation. “I know you think I’m crazy, but—”
“Not anymore. I believe you.” To help her, he had to regain her trust.
Sarcasm filled her voice. “Did the gun at your head convince you?”
“I didn’t believe you before, Claire, but I do now.”
She scoffed. “It doesn’t matter. My only witness is dead, and the only record of her testimony contradicts what she told me. I’m screwed.”
“No, Claire. We can still turn this around.”
“Let me guess. You just need to drive me to the station?”
“Not the station. But let me take you into custody. Stay with Tom until I get hard evidence.”
“And how will you do that?”
He raised his right hand slowly and pointed at the homing unit on the dash. “I put a tracker on your partner’s car. If he leads us to Dana, we’ll have him.”
“We?”
“You’re not alone, Claire. We can do this together. I’ll protect you.”
“Like you protected me this morning?”
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
Claire said nothing. She didn’t lower the gun either. Would she trust him again or did she think he was leading her into a trap? If he still thought she had a murderous split personality, he’d say anything to disarm her. And she’d do the same in his shoes.
“Get out.”
“What?” The rain had picked up, becoming a steady drizzle.
“Don’t make me shoot you.”
“You’d shoot me?”
“Losing an ear won’t kill you.”
Rob had pushed his luck far enough. He opened the door, climbed out, and stepped away from the car, the rain battering his head and matting his hair. Claire got out the back, her gun still aimed at him. She looked a lot like the photo of her sister Tina.
“Tell Captain Emmerso what I know. He’s a good man. He’ll do the right thing.” She got into the driver’s seat.
“Let me come with you.”
She closed the door and drove into the night. The taillights vanished in the dark as the rain trickled down Rob’s neck and seeped into his shirt. He turned back to the motel. She’d taken the Bureau car. Tom was going to love this.
Chapter 62
Raindrops streaked through the beams of the headlights in the dark. Claire glanced at the red dot on the tracking unit as the car ate the road. She was a fugitive in a stolen FBI car. The odds were stacked against her.
Her conscience twinged at abandoning Rob in the rain, but she’d had no choice. He said he believed her, and she wanted to trust him. But tracking Jed’s car was a risky move and probably illegal. Rob was a sworn officer of the FBI. Duty would require him to surrender her to the authorities until they resolved the facts. The powers that be would overrule his good intentions and place Claire in mortal danger. Again.
The winding road passed through a wooded area without streetlights. The red dot had stopped moving at a spot under a mile away. Claire was not familiar with this part of the city. She had no idea what lay ahead. Why had he stopped here? If Jed had noticed the tracker, he’d be waiting for her.
Her stomach still convulsed at the memory of that morning. Kitty had collapsed on the tiles like a limp doll.
“No!” Claire had cried. “No!”
She had crouched over Kitty’s lifeless body. The sniper’s bullet had carved a large hole in the side of her head, shattering her skull and spraying blood and brain matter on the wall behind her. Lulu whined softly and sniffed at her dead owner’s fingers and the spreading pool of blood.
Kitty had been brave. She had shared the information Claire needed to solve Tina’s murder and clear her name. But without Kitty’s testimony, Claire was just another conspiracy theorist—a murderously insane conspiracy theorist.
Claire had forced the horror of Kitty’s corpse and her own impossible situation from her mind. Any moment, a SWAT team would burst inside. To escape, Claire needed a diversion.
She stripped down to her underwear and changed Kitty’s corpse into her work clothes. The dead girl looked eerily like Claire. She carried Kitty to the garage, propped her in the driver’s seat of her brand-new Tesla Model X, and fastened the seatbelt. The electric sports car came with a self-driving feature. Her lifelong interest in cars had finally paid off. Thanks, Dad. Claire started the car, plugged in the first address that came to mind, and, after muttering an apology to her hostess, she opened the garage doors, and Lulu sprinted outside.
Back in the house, she tossed Kitty’s bloodstained clothes in the washing machine and waited for the shooting to end. When silence reigned again, she snuck out the backdoor barefoot and still in her underwear. Her gun clutched in her hand, she scaled the wall of the neighboring home and found a black sweatsuit on a clothesline.
Claire could not afford another confrontation with law enforcement. She had to go underground. In the Baxters’ bathroom, she found a canister of blonde hair dye, and now the face in the mirror looked uncannily like Tina.
The wipers squeaked across the windshield. Claire slowed to a stop on the dark wooded road. She had passed the red dot on the tracker display. Jed must have taken the access road she had passed on her right. Was this where he lived or was he visiting grandma in the woods? Either way, she might run smack into her old partner. Claire welcomed that possibility. She was done running. This time, Jed had picked on the wrong girl. This time, a Big Bad Wolf was after him.
Claire pressed her foot to the accelerator. After a half mile, she stopped on the side of the road. With the butt of her Glock, she smashed the taillights. Sorry, Rob. It’s for the greater good. Then, she got inside the car and doubled back.
Turning onto the dirt side road, she cut her headlights and rolled forward. She could do with Kitty’s silent Tesla right now.
Two hundred yards in, a ranch house appeared in the moonlight. Jed’s silver Dodge Stratus parked outside behind an old white Mazda 3 hatchback. A light burned in one room.
Claire stopped the car and killed the engine. Was this the private facility the killer had used to hold the girls? Had Jed led her to his murder den?
The face of Dana Wood rose in Claire’s mind. Her body had not turned up yet. She might still be alive. Jed knew Claire had spoken with Kitty and learned the truth. Sensing Claire’s noose closing around his neck, had he returned to his den to kill Dana and dump her body?
Claire checked her new Glock—she had fifteen rounds in the full magazine and one more in the chamber. She eased the car door open and proceeded on foot. In her black gear, Claire moved like a shadow in the dark. Raindrops pelted her head. She picked her way forward around dead twigs, the rhythmic patter of the falling rain swallowing the crunch of gravel beneath her feet. A chill breeze rustled the leaves in the tall trees and shifted her damp hair. On a branch high above, an owl hooted.
She drew alongside the house and peered into the illuminated room—a kitchen with old cupboards of faded wood. Cans of food and dirty dishes cluttered the counters. She saw no sign of Jed. But the white hatchback meant he wasn’t alone.
Claire made her way along the side of the house, her gun pointed downward, her finger off the trigger. An accidental discharge might alert her target and end Dana’s life.
She listened at the kitchen door. Hearing nothing, she tried the handle. The door was unlocked—a lucky break or an inviting trap?
Claire inched the door open and cringed at the soft squeak of the hinges. She passed through the kitchen, the rubber tread of her wet shoes making sucking noises with each step. The wind howled through the trees, and the cabin’s wooden planks sighed like an old ship in a sea storm.
Claire moved into the darkness of a corridor, listening while her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears.
Step by step, she continued down the corridor, peering around corners, shifting her weight slowly to make as little sound as possible.
Voices. A man and a woman. The man raised his voice. A shot rang out, and Claire flattened her back against the wall. But she was not under attack. The explosion came from below, from a basement.
Had Jed shot the girl? Claire was alone. She had no backup. A call to the police department from her burner phone would get her arrested for murders she had not committed. She’d left Rob miles away in the rain and without the tracker. He would have arrested her, too, trusting the justice system to find the truth. But the system had let Tina down. Claire could rely only on herself.
She stepped toward the sound. A thin rectangle of light revealed a door beneath a staircase. A basement door. The killer kept his victims down there. The basement walls would swallow the screams, and visitors wouldn’t wander in there by mistake. Claire only hoped she wasn’t too late.
She pressed her ear to the doorjamb. Something whimpered within. Someone. Using the wall as a shield, she reached out her hand and turned the handle. The door glided open.
Claire rounded the doorframe, her gun aimed ahead in both hands, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light. She stood at the top of a cement staircase. A naked yellow light bulb hung from the ceiling. The basement was littered with packing boxes, old chairs, and low wooden bureaus.
The man in the gray suit at the foot of the stairs stood with his back to Claire. Jed held a gun in one hand, a black ski mask in the other. He stood over a woman in a black jumpsuit, who lay in a puddle of blood. She had blonde hair.
Claire’s breath caught in her chest. The dead woman was not Tina, but Claire knew her. They had met outside Gracie’s eighth-grade classroom. Lisa Evans, the middle school teacher, lay dead on the floor. She was the blonde killer who had fled out of Amy’s bedroom window, and that spark of recognition had convinced Claire her sister was alive. She had noticed the chemistry between Jed and the teacher, but she’d never imagined they were partners in murder. Jed had come to the ranch house to tie up the loose ends, and he’d started with his accomplice.
