Beautiful Maids All in a Row (27 page)

“Leaving the party so soon?”

I didn't even bother to turn. “Get out,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I just came to check on you,” Shepherd said, amusement in his voice. “You gave us quite the scare.”

This time I spun around. “Get out or I'll scream.”

“Your scream and whimpers didn't bring anyone before; I doubt they will now.”

“What?”

“I've been sitting outside for the past two hours. You were crying and groaning in your sleep. Must have been some nightmare. Care to share? I am a trained professional.”

“Fuck you.”

“I've offered quite a few times—you finally ready to take me up on it? I
am
single now.”

“You're a sick fucking monster is what you are.”

“Sticks and stones,” he said. “Are you trying to hurt my feelings?”

“You have no feelings.”

“On the contrary, I feel things quite deeply.”

“Please,” I scoffed, “you're about as deep as a puddle. She loved you, you know? She would have done anything for you.”

“If that
cunt
had really loved me she would have kept her damn mouth shut.”

“Unlike you, she had a soul.”

“Not anymore,” he said with a smirk. “Now she's just a slab of meat, courtesy of one Dr. Iris Ballard.”

“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?” I asked. “Want the other side of your face to match?”

He touched his tender jaw. “You are a lot stronger than you look. It's a good thing I don't bruise easily. Well, not that easily. You should see the job the last bitch did to my shins.”

“Are you done gloating yet?”

He sat on the other side of my gurney, tilting his head to give the impression of understanding and compassion. “I'm not gloating, Iris,” he said seriously. “I didn't win anything. You found me, and I must say you put up a hell of a fight. You cost me the two people closest to me. I'll never forgive you for that.”

“I didn't
make
you do anything. You chose to sacrifice them to save your own pathetic ass. How did you do it, anyway? Just walk up to Mooney and say ‘Hey, kill yourself for me?' ”

“The day he left the treatment center he said he'd gladly give his life for mine. I asked him to prove it.”

“They loved you, and you act like they're disposable. Garbage.”

“We always hurt the ones we love. You know that better than anyone.”

“You really are out of your fucking mind.”

“Another thing we have in common.” He jumped off the bed. “Did you enjoy my little work of art in the cabin? It was inspired. Did Henry get all the little details right? We only had the crime scene photos to go off of. Judging from your reaction, I'd say that it was right on point. I thought it was fitting, seeing as you're the reason they had to die.”

“Motherfucker…” I reached into my bag on the bed as quick as a flash and pulled out my gun, aiming it dead center at Shepherd's chest. He didn't even flinch, only grinned. “Get the fuck out of here before I blow you out.”

The gun trembled in my outstretched hands; even with the teacup grip it wouldn't stay still. Shepherd didn't glance at the gun. He peered into my eyes, cool as ice, as if I were holding a water pistol.

“Here's your chance, Iris,” he said in a steady voice. “You won't get a second. Go ahead. We both know you've been dying to for weeks, so pull the trigger.” He took another casual step toward me. “Would it be better if I lie down? I know that is your position of choice.” He bridged the gap so only my quivering, outstretched arms separated us. My breath came out in ragged gasps. “Maybe you need a little help,” he said softly. He enveloped my quaking hands into his own smooth ones, moving the muzzle over his heart. “You have me right where you want me,” he said in the soothing voice a lover uses. “I got away with it, Iris. I won't be punished, not for this, not for anything. And you're right; I will do it again. This is the only way to stop me. So do it. Do it!”

My finger found the trigger, lightly touching it. God, I wanted to do it. Every inch of me wanted to. But I couldn't. Shepherd's cold eyes danced with the dare. He wanted me to shoot him. The gun dropped down to my side. “You may be going to hell, but you aren't dragging me down there with you.”

His eyes turned arctic, with the left one twitching. “You just made a very big mistake,” he said. “You missed your only chance to get rid of me. I won't be giving you another.” He moved away, opening the curtain. “It's been thrilling, Iris.” He spun back around and winked. “I can't wait to do it again.” He swished the curtain closed, disappearing behind the thin white cloth.

“I'll be waiting.”

When I got back to the hotel, I tossed the few items I'd unpacked in my suitcase and zipped up my toiletry bag. Time to make a quick getaway. Only the agent who drove me from the hospital knew I was leaving. My flight was scheduled to leave in two hours, so I had to haul ass to LaGuardia before anyone could stop me. As I finished packing, I listened to the news.

The story had hit the airwaves: Tragedy in the Catskills. Pictures of Diana and Shepherd together at some function kept coming on, followed by a shot of Mooney in his police blues ten years prior. My picture had been flashed a few times, followed by an explanation that I was working on the case and had to be rushed to the hospital for unknown reasons. At least my fifteen minutes were almost up. Small consolation.

When I snuck out of the hospital, Shepherd was in front of the cameras doing an impressive impression of a human being, crying for Diana and the other poor souls Mooney killed. They ate it up. America loved a tragic hero. If only they knew.

Shepherd came back on the screen, eyes filled with unshed tears. “I had no idea. None,” he insisted. “If I had, I would have turned him in to the authorities without a second thought. I wish I had known. Then maybe,” he started to choke up, “Diana would still be alive.”

Cue the violins.

I shut off the TV, zipped up my suitcase, and left the room. Past time to go home. I'd done enough damage. As I walked through the lobby, I spotted the second-to-last person I wanted to see coming through the doors.
Shit.
I stopped dead as he slowly came over. “Thought I'd find you here.”

“How'd you know?”

“I work for the FBI—it's my job to track people down,” he answered. “You snuck out of the hospital and didn't even sign out. I was worried.”

“I knew they wouldn't let me go.”

“There is a reason for that. You were unconscious for hours. There were still some more tests to run.”

“You here to drag me back?”

“I know you better than that,” Luke said. “You were going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“That was the general plan.”

He cleared his throat. “I thought I would at least warrant a note.”

“I thought it would be for the best,” I said. “No teary goodbyes and false promises to keep in touch. You fucked up my plan.”

“Why do you always have to be so…cruel?”

I scoffed. “I'm not cruel, I'm honest. There's a difference.”

“I thought we'd…”

“What?” I snapped. “What did you think would happen? I'd realize my life is empty without you, and I'd fall back into your arms professing eternal love?”

“I thought we were friends again,” he said. “I thought I'd be worth a second
fucking
thought.”

I met his desperate eyes with my cold ones. “If you were my friend, you'd believe me about Shepherd. You'd believe in
me.
You don't, so we have nothing left to say to one another.” I started walking to the exit, making it outside to the curb before he reached me.

“Iris…”

I twisted around. “In all the years you've known me have I ever been
so
off course? I mean…could a man like Henry Mooney really have pulled all of this off? You saw his psych profile from when he joined the NYPD. He had average intelligence and poor impulse control. No way in hell he could have waited months to kill them. And what the
hell
does he know about surgery?”

“He did it, Iris.”

“No, he didn't. Luke, it's all too convenient. All that was missing was a bow. And I think somewhere deep inside of you knows it. And when it does finally dawn on you, then,
maybe then
we'll start swapping Christmas cards again. Until then, I have nothing more to say to you.”

I was about to take a step when Luke's voice stopped me. “You're asking me to believe in something so outrageous…” He shook his head.

“No,” I said sadly, “I'm asking you to believe in
me.
I've always believed in you. I've trusted you more than I ever have anyone else.
Ever.
And I thought you felt the same way about me.” A cab pulled up to the curb, and I moved to get in.

“Iris, don't—”

I bit my lower lip to fight back more fucking tears. I could still feel his gaze on my back, burrowing a hole inside me. As the car was about to move, I glanced over my shoulder at him one last time. Luke stood there, looking as if someone had torn his heart out. The only other time I'd seen that look—so wounded—was when he was holding me that night, rocking me back and forth in his lap as I almost bled to death. I opened my mouth to say something, anything to wipe that look off his face, but I didn't. There was nothing left to say. I simply turned back around as the car drove away.

It wasn't until we were around the corner that I began to weep.

Soon.

Home sweet home.

BOOM!

My Glock kicked back in my sore hand as a nice, round hole instantly appeared in the left-hand side of the black paper silhouette fifteen feet away, joining the countless others.

BOOM!

Another hole blossomed below the first. If this paper man were real, he'd be dead in less than three seconds. Might as well finish him off.

BOOM!

He was a goner. Well, that's what he got for hanging himself on one of my trees, looking all silhouettey. Someone came into the wrong damn backyard.

I pulled off my mufflers with a sigh. Gus barked furiously in the house behind me as usual. This was part of my new routine, target practice. I woke up, took Gus for our run, then some did house repair, followed by shredding paper targets. A full life. The house repair was fun. For all my worthless hard work, the week and a half I was fucking everything up for the FBI, I made two grand. The check arrived by messenger the morning after I got back. It was more than I made in a month teaching, and my bank account was happy to see it. Half the money went into savings, and the other half went to fixing up the house. One empty room had become a guest bedroom with twin beds and a dresser I found at a thrift shop, and the other was now my office. Some of the knickknacks and pictures that I kept down in the basement came upstairs as well, turning the place into something that resembled a home. It was a start.

I asked Carol to assist with the shopping. We went to Charlotte, Winston-Salem, even as far as Durham looking for bargains. It didn't take her long to figure out I was dragging her all over the state looking for throw pillows just so I could keep her in my sights. Like everyone else in the world, she thought I was just being paranoid. The day after I returned, I spent two hours pleading for her and Patrick to move in with me, first claiming it was for my benefit, that I was frightened to be alone, but of course she saw right through me. She finally agreed to phone calls every four hours just so I'd know she was okay. Hadn't missed one yet, thank God, mainly because I threatened her with bodily harm if she did.

Another of my new hobbies was watching the news. BNN, MSNDC, local stations, whichever was covering the Woodsman. In part, it was to see what they were saying about me. The local stations and a few affiliates were camped in front of my house when I got home and didn't leave until three days later when they finally figured out I wasn't going to comment.

Shepherd wasn't so camera shy. The majority of the broadcasts had been of him weeping silently for the lost love of his life, playing up the sympathy of America for all it was worth, and it was worth a lot. His book sales quadrupled that week, and he even received an offer for his own talk show. The broadcasts turned my stomach, but I had to watch them. It was the only way I could think of to protect Carol and myself, because nobody else seemed to give a damn. The Grafton Sheriff's Department sure as shit wouldn't help. They refused to do drive-bys of Carol's house. As far as they were concerned, the Woodsman wasn't a threat anymore. That, and I was insane. Hell, maybe I was. I took my gun everywhere, even to the bathroom. I was skittish as all hell, too. At the smallest noise, I went diving for the phone to call 911.

The
first
time I called the police was when I awoke in the middle of the night to a loud boom outside my bedroom window. I leapt out of bed, cellphone and gun in my hands, before locking myself in the bathroom until the police arrived minutes later. They searched the house and found a large tree branch on the front steps.

The second time I didn't have to call them. The house alarm went off when I was making dinner, giving me a heart attack along with a headache. When the police came again, they found a broken windowpane and one of the cats in the basement. My reputation as “Crazy Iris Ballard” grew even larger.

I should have known better because I knew Shepherd was in New York, as most interviews were done in front of his apartment building. I especially liked the broadcast of Diana's funeral that morning. I watched with revulsion as Shepherd eulogized her, saying that when they met it was love at first sight, and he'd never been as happy with anyone as he was with her, and on and on. I switched off the television for the first time in a week.

Thunder boomed above me in the thick gray clouds that quickly engulfed the bright blue. A gust of wind followed, practically ripping the target off the tree. The first big summer storm looked like it was going to be a doozy. A few raindrops fell as I walked to the house. The alarm screeched like a wounded bird when I unlocked the door but stopped when I put in the code. Yes, I was so paranoid that I set my alarm even when I was right outside the house. I'd been diligent with the alarm and gate to the point of compulsion. I figured I'd bought them for a reason, and I had better put them to use.

Another boom of thunder cracked, sending an already nervous Gus bolting out of the living room and up the stairs into my bedroom. Thunder terrified him more than gunshots—go figure. Thinking of…I filled the clip with the last of the bullets and cocked one into the chamber.

The buzzer for the gate rang, which meant my nosey neighbor down the street called the sheriff again. Besides the two times
I'd
called the police, my neighbor Mrs. Fine had them pop by three other times for reports of gunshots. She needed to get a better hobby. I set the gun next to my purse and walked through the living room over to the intercom.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Iris, it's Roger.”

Ugh.
I pushed the button to open the gate. He drove up and parked behind my Cherokee. Thunder boomed again, louder than before. Yep, it was going to be a bad one. Roger jumped out of his car, a newspaper shielding his head from the torrential rain. “It's supposed to be like this till tonight,” he reported, shaking off the rain.

“Thank you for the weather report. What do you want?”

“You haven't returned my phone calls.”

Since my return, Roger had left five messages asking to meet me to discuss my classes. He was almost as tenacious as Luke, who called four times a day begging me to pick up the phone. I just picked up the receiver and hung up. I would have thrown the fucking phone out if it weren't for Carol's calls.

“I've been busy,” I said with disdain. “Well, you're here. Might as well say what you have to. Let me guess, you want me back in the fall?”

“Yes. I'm here to offer you a new contract.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Gee, really? I'm completely shocked.”

He tightened his jaw. “If you come back, we're willing to offer you a substantial raise.”

“Why? I'll still be the same crappy teacher as before.”

“You know why.”

“The almighty dollar wins over the future of America again.” I chuckled. “I'll have to think about it. Leave the contract, and I'll look it over. No promises, though.”

All the tension in Roger's body disappeared as relief crossed his face. He was probably expecting a big fight and a lot of groveling. I just didn't have it in me anymore. Besides, I needed the job. I doubted the FBI would be calling for my assistance anytime soon.

Roger reached under his raincoat and handed me the contract. “Get back to me as soon as you can. We have to start planning your classes.”

“No problem.” Roger smiled and stepped toward the door, happy to be leaving my presence. “Say hi to Carol for me,” I said as an afterthought.

“She left a few hours ago.”

“Why? Is there something wrong with Patrick?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. She got a phone call and said there was a family emergency. Didn't even ask if she could go, just left.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“No. She just ran out of the office.”

“Oh, shit,” I muttered.

I spun around and ran into the house, leaving a perplexed Roger on the porch. I was dialing Carol's home number in a matter of seconds. With each unanswered ring, my blood pressure rose. “Come on. Shit!” I gave up on the seventh ring. She didn't pick up her cellphone either. The only other place she could be was the nanny's house. Someone there picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?” Mrs. Nelson asked.

“Mrs. Nelson, it's Iris Ballard,” I said in as calm a tone as I could muster. “By any chance has Carol come by your house?”

“No. I haven't seen her since she dropped Patrick off this morning.”

“Is he okay?”

“He's fine. I'm looking at him right now. Is everything all right?”

No, it fucking was not.
“Yes. I was just looking for her, that's all. Could you do me a favor? If she calls or stops by could you tell her to call me?”

“Of course. Are you sure everything's all right?”

“I'm sure everything's fine. Goodbye.” I slammed down the receiver. This couldn't be happening. He was in New York—I saw him on TV there this morning. I looked at the digital clock on the oven. It was three past five.
Shit, he's had plenty of time to fly here.

I tore out of the kitchen and down the hall into the living room. My purse and gun sat on the couch right where I'd left them. I tossed the gun into my purse along with my cellphone, wallet, keys, and Mace. I remembered to grab a clear plastic raincoat with a hood from the closet before I rushed out the door and into my car.

The rain was so heavy the wipers couldn't keep up. Only idiots and crazy people were out driving in this, so luckily I didn't have to dodge cars I'd be able to see only at the last second. Soon, Apple Street became Dutch and then Country Road. The Sheriff's Department was only seven minutes from my house. I knew because I timed it when I first moved here. I missed the days I was paranoid for no reason.

I made it there in five, parking in the handicapped spot right out front. The Sheriff's Department was a one-story gray brick building with three jail cells in the back, a desk for each of the ten deputies, and an office for the sheriff. Perfect for a small town with little drama. That was until I moved there.

Deputy John French, the youngest of the bunch, sat behind his desk methodically typing one key at a time. He glanced up as I entered and walked past the desk, water dripping around me, and into the office pool.

French stood from his desk like a good Southern gentleman and nodded at me. “Dr. Ballard,” he said, “what can I do for you?”

“I need to see the sheriff.
Now.
”

“He's busy at the moment. If you could just wait—”

I strode past him toward the back of the station. French kept protesting but I just ignored him. I swung open the door that read
Sheriff Barry Wade
without knocking. Sheriff Wade, a man almost fifty pounds overweight with a thick handlebar mustache and beady brown eyes, sat behind his desk with his feet kicked up, talking to his wife on the phone. A largemouth bass the size of a cat hung on a plaque above his head. This was my backup. I was fucked.

When Wade saw me, his feet dropped to the floor. “Jesus!” he wailed with a thick Southern drawl. “I told you not to interrupt me.”

“She wouldn't wait,” French said.

“I need to talk to you, now,” I said. “It's important.”

Wade rolled his eyes. “Bernice, hon',” he said into the phone, “I gotta call you back later.” He hung up the phone and sighed. “What now?”

“Carol's missing,” I said. “Roger said she got a phone call and bolted. That was hours ago, and nobody's seen her since.”

“And?”

“
And
I want you to look for her! I want you to do your fucking job.”

“Dr. Ballard, she's a grown woman. She can play hooky from school and not tell you,” Wade said. “She's probably out shopping or something.”

“She hasn't checked in with me. Something is wrong, so get off your ass and start looking for her!”

“Nobody speaks to me in that tone, missy,” Wade fired back. “I am getting more than a little tired of you. We're over to your house almost every day for some reason or another. I am about yea close to throwing your bony butt in jail just so I can get a moment's peace. Now, if Carol doesn't turn up by tonight, then maybe we'll—”

“She'll be dead by tonight! He has her
right now
! Who knows what he's doing to her!”

“
Tonight,
” he said. “If she isn't home by nine then we'll start looking. Okay?”

“I don't believe this. I'll find her myself.”

I pushed past French and made it to the middle of the desks before Wade called to me. “Dr. Ballard, please don't do anything crazy.”

I spun around. “What's
crazy
is the fact that one of your citizens has disappeared under odd circumstances, and you won't lift a finger to find her. There is a homicidal maniac on the streets who goes for
exactly
her type, one who also happens to have a vendetta against me. He's threatened her on several occasions and now
she's missing
! So if you're too busy to find her, then I will.”

I turned back around and stalked out of the station, ignoring Wade's pleas to wait until nine. Deaf ears. I had no plan. Terror clouded everything. I drove aimlessly around Grafton for ten minutes, so mad I hit the steering wheel whenever I pictured Wade's red face. There was a reason the FBI was the elite; we never sat around on our asses when citizens were in trouble.

The FBI.

Luke.

I grabbed my purse and found my cellphone. I'd memorized his cell number when we were on the case, so I punched it in. It went directly to voicemail. “What is the point of having a fucking cellphone if you don't turn the fucking thing on?” I screamed.

Next, I called the office and someone picked up after five rings. “Special Agent Hudson's phone,” a man I recognized as Clarkson said.