Chapter 17

They had just pulled up to Utley’s house and climbed from the car when Monroe called. Until that moment—until their conversation—Lane hadn’t known she was in danger. Had worried, yeah, had known it was a vague possibility, but now it was confirmed and he felt like his heart was going to explode inside his chest.

On the way over, Lane had made calls to every friend and relative he could get hold of. None of them had any idea about Utley’s or Carrington’s whereabouts. Lane had also called Utley’s cell. Kramer answered the call. Both cell phones were at the house, along with Carrington’s purse. It was starting to sound more and more like they were snatched. Or, there was still the possibility that Utley was the killer and had taken off with Carrington.

“Wow, dude.” Tony whistled after Lane clicked his cell closed. “You sly dog. You love her?”

Lane scrubbed a hand over his face. “She was trying to get me a message. I said that for the benefit of whoever was listening.”

“Well, if what you said will benefit them, imagine how happy they’ll be if you bone her.”

Lane turned on him, grabbing him by the shirt collar. “Shut the hell up. You hear me?” His rage was totally out of proportion to the comment, and he tried to shove aside the dark curtain falling over his vision.

“Hey, hey,” Tony said, his hands rising defensively. “Take it easy, man. It’s me. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

Lane let out a breath and released his hold. “Sorry. I’m just wound a little tight, you know?”

“Yeah. I can see. Hey, for what it’s worth, you’re a really good actor.”

Lane narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tony shrugged. “I’m just sayin’. You know. The love thing? You had me convinced.”

Lane glared at him, but chose to ignore his remark. “Someone definitely has her. Utley and Carrington are probably with her, too. Hell, Utley may be the one holding her. But where? No time to get a warrant to trace the cell signal.” He slapped a palm on the hood of the car. “Damn.”

“What makes you so sure something’s wrong?”

“She said they were going to see Katie.”

“Yeah, so? Couldn’t she really be going to see Katie?”

“Hope not,” Lane said tightly as they headed to Utley’s door. “Katie’s been dead for twenty-five years.”

****

“I meant what I said,” Derek told me. “I don’t want to kill you, but if he shows up, I will. You better not have tipped him off.”

“I didn’t,” I said, hoping I had, but that Lane could do something about it that wouldn’t get anyone killed.

“Was is worth it?” Derek asked, his attention now on Adam and Tabitha, seeming to have forgotten about my call to Lane. “The sex? Was it worth what happened? The murders?”

“It wasn’t our fault.” Tabitha’s voice was thick with tears. “You didn’t have to—”

“Oh, but I did. You drove me to it. You betrayed me with someone I thought was my friend. You made a fool of me, took away everything I had, then left me. Like I was nothing.” He ran the gun along Tabitha’s cheek and she flinched. Slowly, he let the gun trail downward, over her neck, then to her breasts where he let it linger. “Must have been really good. The sex. So, tell us. How good was it?”

“Stop, please,” she whimpered.

“No. I want to hear about it. Right after we married, you became a prude. Wouldn’t let me touch you. All you cared about was yourself. Your looks. The spas, the exercise, the facials. Sex would just cut in to your beauty sleep. Your beauty regimen. Is she that way with you, Adam? Or does she give it to you like a prostitute? Any time you ask, but it’s going to cost you?”

“Knock it off,” Adam said.

Derek laughed. “I want to know about the sex.” The gun traveled down to between Tabitha’s legs. She gasped. He laughed again, then moved the gun over to Adam, aiming toward his crotch. “If the sex isn’t worth talking about, I might as well shoot off your dick, right? Is that what you want, or you want to tell me about it?”

“I’ll tell you,” I said.

Derek turned. “You? What do you know about it?”

“More than I want to, trust me. I’ve seen the signs.” I met Adam’s eyes and put as much hatred as I could into mine. “I found the sex toys they used. When he screwed her. Here. In my cabin. My bed.”

“What are you doing?” Adam’s eyes rounded. “You’ll just piss him off.”

It was true, but I had a plan. Maybe not the greatest, but it was all I could come up with at the moment. Had to try. I didn’t think Derek would be any angrier at evidence of what he already had in his head about the two of them. Maybe I could have thought of a better way to get him out of the room, but I was under duress. I didn’t do my best thinking when I was tied to a chair, in a room with my almost naked ex-lover and his equally naked fiancé, being held captive by a harmless, slow-witted homeless man turned ranting, murderous, psychotic, kidnapper.

“Let her talk,” Derek told Adam, then to me, “Tell me.”

I nodded. “First, though, I want the ring.”

“What ring?”

I pointed. “Her ring. It should have been mine.”

Tabitha glared at me. “You’re out of your mind. It’s mine. He didn’t love you.”

“Take it,” Derek said, giving her a smug smile. “Want me to cut her finger off for you?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Untie me and I’ll get it.” At his hesitation, I said. “Come on. You have my gun. You’re standing there with yours. What am I going to do?”

He thought about it. “Go ahead. But make it quick.”

“I want his, too.”

Derek laughed. “Miss goody-two-shoes has a mean streak. I like that.”

He loosened my bindings and I stood, rubbing my wrists to get the circulation going again. I walked over to Tabitha.

“Please,” she whispered tearfully. “Please don’t take my ring. If I’m going to die, I want to die with it on.”

A surprising surge of sympathy rose. Moving behind Tabitha, I squeezed her hand, hoping to convey reassurance, although not sure what I was reassuring her about. I tugged the ring from her finger and slipped it in my pocket, at the same time, gripping the razor blade. Behind Adam, blocked from Derek’s view, I pulled his ring off also, putting the blade in his hand.

Moving around to the front of him, I leaned in and said, “Goodbye Adam.” Moving closer, as if to kiss him, I put my lips against his ear, whispering so quietly, I wasn’t sure if Adam heard me, but I didn’t want Derek to. “If you get a chance, use this. Escape.”

I rose and turned to Derek, opening my hand where the rings lay in my palm, triumphantly displaying my success.

“Good for you. Where they’re going, they won’t need them anyway.”

Tabitha sobbed out, “Please, Derek. God, think about this. You can’t really mean to—”

“Where are they?” he asked me, cutting her off. “Where are the toys? Maybe we’ll make them give us a demonstration.”

I shuddered. He was lumping us together, as if we were a team.

“Upstairs. In the bedroom. Maybe in the nightstand drawer, but they could be in the closet.” I was pretty sure Gable had gotten rid of all the paraphernalia, but looking for it would keep Derek busy long enough for us to get away, even if he tied me up again before going upstairs, which I was certain he would.

My hopes were dashed with his next words. “Okay, but you’re going with me.”

Correction. Maybe just long enough for Adam and Tabitha to get away.

I cast Adam a look I hoped he understood. Now’s your chance.

Then, I led Derek up the stairs.

****

There was nothing at Utley’s to indicate where they’d gone, or to indicate whether he was the perp or a victim. They’d tried to reach Harmon, to no avail. He could possibly be involved, too. Or at least know where Utley might have taken Tabitha.

Now, Lane had the added concern over Monroe. The added urgency. She was in danger. And, he had no idea how much, or by whom, or where she might be.

His phone rang and he snatched it off his belt. “Brody,” he barked.

“This is Chris at the lab. Got results back on the paint at the Lohman scene.”

“Yeah?”

“There were two different kinds, actually. One was a water-based paint, like face paint.”

“Face paint?”

“Yeah. Like clowns might use.”

Lohman’s band was the Raging Clowns. Lane and Tony had gone to the club where they performed and learned that their fans dressed like clowns. A crazed fan had killed her?

“And the other?”

“A water soluble oil paint. Artist’s paint.”

“Artist’s?”

“Yep.”

Artist’s…. Why did that seem to trigger something? Artist’s paint…

Then it hit him. Son of a bitch. Harmon.

“Thanks, Chris.” Lane slammed the phone shut. He looked at Tony. “It’s Harmon. Let’s go.”

“Harmon?”

“Remember his paintings?” Lane said as he and Tony climbed in the car. “Artist’s paint was found at Lohman’s scene. It’s him.”

“Shit. And he seemed like such a nice guy.”

“Right. Don’t they all.” Lane’s gut tensed as they sped to Harmon’s. Would Monroe be there or did he have her somewhere else?

Please let her be there, he prayed. But mostly, please let her be okay.

****

Harmon’s house was dark when they pulled up. Nothing to indicate anyone was inside.

“Police, open up,” Lane shouted, banging on the front door.

No response.

Tony went around to the back while Lane waited on the front porch, continuing to knock. When Tony reappeared, he shook his head. “Nothing back there. I tried the doors, locked.”

Lane considered for a moment, then said, “Stand back. We’re going in.”

Tony nodded and backed up.

Lane hoped ‘probable cause’ would fly. If not, he was willing to deal with the consequences. He aimed his Glock at the knob, firing until the lock, and parts of the wood, shattered. They pushed the door open and stepped into the darkened house.

“Harmon?” Lane called out. He and Tony made their way through the house, into the kitchen, bathroom, pantry. Up the stairs, into each bedroom, each bathroom, each closet. Back downstairs. Not a sign of anyone.

“Where the hell is he?” Lane said, fighting down panic.

Tony shook his head as they both re-holstered their weapons. “Have no idea.” He walked over to the entertainment center where the CD rack was filled with CD’s and began to thumb through them. “I’ll be damned,” he said after a few seconds.

“Any of them Rupert Holmes?” Lane asked.

Tony turned to look at him and sighed heavily. “All of them.”

Lane could feel the blood drain from his face. “We had him,” he bit out. “We were right here in his goddamned living room.”

“Yeah. We had him. What now?”

Lane’s shoulders dropped and he swiped his hands over his face. He replayed his and Monroe’s phone conversation in his head, trying to figure out if she’d given him a clue as to their whereabouts. She’d said they were going to ‘Katie’s place.’ Did that mean they were at her grave? At Katie’s parents’ house? He had no idea where either of those was, but he could find out. He didn’t feel convinced Harmon had taken Monroe there, but he had nowhere else to look.

He picked up his phone to call headquarters and nearly dropped it when it rang in his hand. He looked at the display, praying it was Monroe. It wasn’t.

“This is Schwinn.” Lane had the computer guy at the station running a check on Sausalito, the place mentioned in Utley and Carrington’s obit. Lane had told him to find out if it were a street, a business, a town, anything. “Got a hit on Sausalito.”

“Yeah?” Lane’s heart sped up. Wherever this Sausalito was, most likely that was where Harmon had taken them.

“It’s a road. Not sure if that’s what you’re looking for, though. It’s not here.”

“Where is it?”

“Lake Viking.”

****

I slowly led Derek to my bedroom, one part of me hoping Adam and Tabitha would escape, the other part not sure, not wanting to be left alone with a killer… wondering what would happen to me then. Did Derek really mean it when he said he wouldn’t kill me?

“Where are they?” Derek asked when we were inside my room.

It took me a moment to answer. My gaze was on the bed where an unfamiliar comforter had replaced my grandma’s quilt. Gabe. I’d forgotten about his promise to replace the bedding, but he’d been true to his word. A rush of emotion swept through me. Would I ever see my brother again?

“Monroe?” Derek barked. “Where are the toys?”

I started at his voice. “Maybe over here.” I went to the nightstand and slid the drawer open, rummaging through the few items—hand lotion, a Dennis Lehane book, reading glasses. No sex toys.

“Well?”

I shook my head. “They might be in the closet.”

We went to the closet, but there wasn’t much to rummage through. Since I didn’t stay at the cabin often, I kept only a few items there. It didn’t take long to figure out there were no sex toys.

“They must have taken them with them the last time they stayed. But, they were here. You can’t imagine how hurt, how humiliated I was when I found them.” At least that part was true.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I can.” Derek sighed. “Doesn’t matter. I’m tired of the games anyway. Time to put an end to all this. Let’s go.”

He motioned me in front of him and I slowly walked to the top of the stairs. Peering down, I saw a flash at the front door as Tabitha slipped out, Adam close behind. Derek saw it, too.

“Shit!” he yelled and raised the gun.

Automatically, my arm went up and shoved at his.

The gun went off and a stinging, burning sensation pierced my hand. I jerked, flailing backward, grasping with both hands, including the injured one, but making contact with nothing but air. I lost my balance, stumbling, then falling, toppling down the stairs. I cried out as a sharp pain stabbed through my chest, much more painful than the hand that had taken a bullet.

“Son of a bitch.” Derek raced down the stairs, past me, running to the door.

In moments, he was back, cursing, storming over to where I lay on the ground. “You let them go,” he raged. “You helped them escape. I know you did.”

Wooziness swam through me, and I thought I might throw up, but the pain had cut off my breath, and I couldn’t do anything but gasp, fighting the blackness closing like a curtain over my eyes.

“Couldn’t let you kill us,” I managed to whisper, not sure if the words really came out. “Not all of us.”

He aimed the gun at me. I closed my eyes, tears of pain and fear squeezing between my lashes. I didn’t want to die. I was terrified and would have been begging for my life if the pain wasn’t so bad that I could barely breathe, let alone speak. I couldn’t decide what hurt the most, my chest and side where I thought I might have broken a few ribs, my ankle I’d injured in the fall, or the hand with the bullet hole that was now starting to burn and throb like a mother.

Didn’t matter. All of the pain would soon go away, because in seconds, I’d be dead.

****

“You should have let me drive, dude,” Tony said, the words a tense warble as he stared at the speedometer’s climbing needle.

Lane didn’t respond. His hands tightened on the wheel, but he decreased his speed, just a little. Asia had given them the address to the cabin. They’d passed the graveyard and the church she mentioned. From what he could gather, they were only a few miles out. He was having trouble breathing. Fear had taken hold of his throat and was spreading through his chest. Monroe was with this maniac. An image of Laurel Lohman’s bloody body strapped to the chair flashed in his mind, and he almost gasped out loud.

Shit, shit, shit.

He felt Tony’s eyes on him, but he kept his on the road. They pulled into the lake entrance and passed a brick sign with a replica of a ship mounted on top, displaying the words “Valkyrie Valley” in red, another landmark Asia had mentioned. They were close. He peered through the gloom for the Sausalito street sign.

In moments, he found it, and then the cabin. Lane slowed , lights off. A dark colored Lexus was parked in front of the porch. Next to it was Monroe’s car.

Lane parked at the end of the drive so the killer wouldn’t spot them if he happened to look out the window. It might make him freak out and do something to the hostages. If he hadn’t already.

He and Tony exited the car, both sinking into a low crouch, guns drawn. Lights glowed in the windows of the cabin, but he couldn’t see figures, couldn’t make out anything from this distance. He’d have to get closer.

“Cover me,” he whispered to Tony and started to head toward the cabin. Before he had gone two steps, he heard the boom of a gunshot. He froze. His intestines twisted and fingers of ice climbed his spine.

Two figures ran out the front door, illuminated by the cabin’s porch light. Lane raised his gun, then slowly lowered it when he saw the man wasn’t Harmon. Both people were half-naked, the woman wearing some kind of lingerie, the man nothing but bikini briefs. Neither of them were Monroe. It was Utley and Carrington, their hands in the air, their faces clenched in terror.

“Please,” Utley screamed. “He’s got a gun… Monroe’s in there.”

Behind them, a man appeared in the doorway. He spotted Lane and ducked back, but not before Lane recognized him. Harmon. Shit. They’d had him. Right there, right at the tips of their fingers, but had discounted him as a suspect. And now Monroe’s life was on the line. She might already be dead.

“Is she okay? Who was shot?” Lane asked, panic nearly cutting off the words. He wanted to rush into the cabin, but knew it could possibly endanger her even more. He had to figure out the best way to do this, the way that would save her life.

Utley shook his head. His eyes were moist with tears. “I don’t know. It happened as we were… running.” The last word came out quietly, as if from shame. “Monroe gave me a razor blade, then distracted Derek, got him to go upstairs so we could escape.” He sucked in a deep breath. “He saw us trying to run and was going to shoot us. I think Monroe might have blocked it. She saved our lives.”

God. Foolish, brave woman.

Next to Utley, Tabitha Carrington trembled violently, her face pale except for the streaks of red on her cheeks. Utley didn’t touch her. He stood, arms crossed over his chest, his expression that of a crash victim.

“Get them in the car to warm up and call an ambulance,” Lane told Tony. “Tell them to keep sirens off.”

“Don’t need an ambulance,” Utley said. “We’re not hurt.” His gaze went to the cabin. “But I don’t know what’s happening inside. Monroe might be.”

****

I lay at the bottom of the stairs, gasping for air, willing myself to unconsciousness so the pain would go away. The blackness kept threatening, teasing, but it didn’t follow through on its promise.

Derek came back in seconds. I wondered if he’d shot Tabitha and Adam. Had I heard shots? No. Then why did he come back without them? Was he more focused on me now? Was I his number one nemesis?

“Son of a bitch,” he said through clenched teeth. “You helped them escape. Now the cops are out there.”

Cops? Was it Lane? A wave of relief swept through me, but it didn’t last long. Cops might be outside, but I was inside. With a killer.

Derek peered down at me, his face a mask of uncertainty. “You’re injured. Now what?”

I shook my head. Why was he asking me? He was the one in charge.

“You need medical care.”

I almost laughed, but knew it would hurt too badly. He’d slaughtered people, took delight in torturing his captives, would most likely kill me, but was worried that I needed medical care. Nice.

“I can’t let you die. You’re a good person.”

I opened my eyes long enough to peer at him in surprise. “Turn yourself in,” I managed to choke.

He shook his head and looked away, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can’t. Too much has happened.”

I wanted to talk him into it, to make him see reason—if a psycho such as him could see reason—but I couldn’t speak. The pain was increasing, cutting off my breath. I stared up at him, silently begging him to put a stop to this, to let the cops in.

He looked at the door, then down at me. “Okay,” he said, nodding, coming to a decision. “It’s time. You can’t wait much longer. You’re in bad shape.”

Then, I saw something in his eyes. I wasn’t sure what it was… resignation, doom, fatalistic acceptance.

“Goodbye, Monroe,” he whispered. He whirled and disappeared out the front door.

A volley of gunshots erupted before the blessed blackness finally took me.