Chasing Evil (Circle of Evil) (26 page)

It would require an inordinate amount of luck.

Easing her head and shoulders through the space pried between the top of the gate and the wire, she was filled with even more doubts. But freedom was much too close to alter the plan now. A sense of urgency was building and scenarios where her abductor returned earlier than usual flitted across her mind on an endless reel of nightmarish possibilities. Perhaps the profile hadn’t aired, further enraging him.

Or worse, maybe he’d examined her writings more closely and decoded the clues she’d included.

The thought had a cold wash of fear cascading through her. But she couldn’t hurry even if she wanted to. Awkwardly reaching for the next lower rung on the bars on the exterior of the gate, she attempted to work her hips through the opening. The wire scraped and abraded skin as she wiggled through, but her progress down the other side was steady.

Until it came time to thread her legs through the portal. While they were still positioned on the on the bars inside the cell, they were taking the bulk of her weight. Once they left the rung, her wrists had to bear all of it, as if she were doing a headstand. Sophia felt herself slipping, grasped wildly at the next rung. But the momentum of her legs swinging to the other side was too great for her to overcome. She lost her grasp and fell the rest of the way to the concrete floor below.

The breath drove out of her chest at the bone-jarring contact. Stars spun before her eyes. Laboring to breathe, she gasped for air. Her lungs were strangled, heaving for oxygen. Long minutes ticked by.

Eventually she attempted a slow cautious roll to her side. Then got up on all fours. Crawling the short distance to the unforgiving metal gate, she hauled herself to a standing position, taking stock of any injuries sustained in the fall.

Her ribs sang a familiar protest, and there was a teeth gritting pain in her hip that was new. Her left wrist throbbed even when she kept it cradled close to her chest.

But her legs held her when she let go of the gate. She awkwardly wrapped the comforter around herself and stumbled in the direction from which the offender always came. Toward the door.

Sophia could see now that this side of the structure was lined with cells like she’d been kept in, although none of the others had wire across the top of them. She crept along, progress slower than she’d like because of the shadows. She peered into each cell but none held a mattress.

And none held the victim she’d heard last night.

Until she came to the cell just inside a huge set of double doors. This cell had wire over the top. And curled upon a blow up mattress in one corner she could make out the figure of another woman.

“Courtney?”

Her whisper had the female inside the cell trying to turn painstakingly in the direction of her voice.

“Go back.” The words were little more than a croak. “He’ll come back and punish you. He’ll punish both of us.”

“We won’t be here when he gets back,” Sophia promised grimly. She moved to the side of the cell, looking for a key to unlock the woman’s cell. But it was too dark inside the building to see it.

Instead, she turned her attention to the big doors five feet ahead of her. If she inched one open, she’d have enough light to be able to search for the key. And once she released the other woman, maybe she could study their surroundings through the narrow opening before attempting to make a run for it.

Did the UNSUB live on the property? Did he reside close by?

The thoughts had her stumbling to a halt, loath at first to even touch the exit that promised freedom. But there was no other way.

Stiffening her spine, Sophia felt along the door for the handle and then pushed with all her might. It barely budged. She pulled inward on it. Nothing. Desperation flickering, she attempted to drag it first one way and then the other. There was no movement.

Panic and frustration warred inside her. Sophia let the impetus of the emotion drive her forward, throwing her weight against the massive exit. Once. Twice. Again.

Battered now in mind and spirit, she finally leaned against it, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Somehow in all the hours she imagined finding a way out of her prison, it had never occurred to her that the doorway leading to freedom would be locked.

Chapter 14

“I’ve never seen you with your hair grown out before.” Entranced, Sophia studied the picture of Cam and another man. It looked fairly recent, but instead of the short-cropped style he and the other agents favored, it was curling over the top of his ears and around his collar in back. It was thicker than she would have imagined. And sun streaked in a way that gave him a more carefree look. “It’s
curly.”

He never looked up from the kitchen drawers he was rifling through. “I don’t have curly hair. Wavy. There might be a slight wave. Not curly. Curly’s not masculine.”

She looked at the photo again. “Well, in this picture your hair was going all unmasculine on you. I like it. It makes you look…less stern.”

“You want stern? I can show you stern. Just as soon as you help me find some …” His gaze rose then and the rest of his words died. His gaze went still. Calculating.

Watching the change come over his expression, something knotted in Sophia’s chest. Without knowing exactly why, she had the sensation of tiptoeing through a minefield. “Who’s this with you?”

“My cousin.” He returned his attention to the search again. She didn’t know why it seemed as though the hunt for batteries to replace those in his smoke detectors had suddenly become a convenient excuse.

“I thought you told me once that neither you nor your mother had any living relatives.”

He shut the drawer he was looking in. “I’ll just run to the store and get some. Less aggravation.”

But she was dogged. She, the psychologist who respected boundaries in others and only pressed when she felt more transparency was in her client’s best interest. Cam’s best interests hadn’t even crossed her mind. Nor had her usual consideration for others’ privacy.

It was getting more and more difficult to still the warnings sounding in her own head. She held up the picture. “How can he be your cousin?”

His gaze narrowed, a sure sign of his irritation. “I don’t know the actual relationship. We don’t have any close relatives. He’s my mom’s great-uncle’s grandson or something. I’m not sure. That makes us—third or fourth cousins? No idea. I never could figure that stuff out.”

Slowly, she lowered the picture to the desk drawer she’d opened to help him in his quest for batteries. And when she closed it, she felt as if she were teetering on the brink of a momentous decision.

She was being ridiculous. Repeating the words over and over in her mind like a litany didn’t make her feel better, however. Cam certainly had the right to decide which subjects he wanted to discuss with her and which he didn’t. He had every reason to declare some topics off limits.

But he hadn’t done that. Instead he’d lied. In her profession one became an excellent judge of honesty. She had no problem being warned off when she was skating too close to the personal. At least, usually she didn’t.

But she was finding it more and more difficult to balance their intimacy in the bedroom with the lack of it out of bed.

Her own fault. She crossed to the rattan basket he used as a catch all next to the leather couch and flipped through the magazines and fliers in it blindly. She didn’t do well wit casual. Had difficulty traversing the boundaries and unspoken rules. And it certainly wasn’t his problem that she felt as though she were losing a bit of herself in the process.

Unbidden, the unopened foil wrapper from last night flashed across her mind. Sophia didn’t even recognize herself in some of the choices she’d made recently. Cam’s reticence about something as simple thing as a photo was a dash of cold water that she’d desperately needed. He had no trouble whatsoever throwing up walls whenever she veered too close to the personal.

She was the one finding it difficult to maintain defenses. To keep that healthy sense of caution that had served her well all of her life. She just didn’t know what had her acting so out of character.

“You’re not going to find them in there. Forget it. Changing the batteries isn’t pressing. I can do it later.”

She rose, feeling a little raw from her abrasive thoughts. Not meeting his gaze she went to where she’d left her purse. “I could use a diet soda anyway. I’ll run to the store for you.”

“You don’t have to do that. We’ll both go. Just let me get my…”

“No.” Because the word came out a little more emphatic than she’d meant, she deliberately softened her tone and manufactured a smile. “I have a bit of a headache. This will give me a chance to clear my head.” Clear it of this uncustomary dithering and try to figure out once and for all if she was capable of maintaining a no-strings intimate relationship.

Snatching up her keys and hurrying to the doorway, she felt a sense of loss as soon as she stepped through it.

Because in her heart she already knew the answer.

“Go back. Before he comes.” It seemed to take everything Van Wheton had to force the words out. Given the whispery hoarseness of her voice, Sophia assumed she’d been choked by the offender, and had an immediate pang of empathy.

“It’s all right. We
are
getting out of here.” She sounded more certain than she felt. There was something about walking about freely, outside of a cell that solidified her purpose. Once given even a small taste of freedom there was no way she’d give it up again.

With one hand on the door to guide her, she explored the confines of the building. When she reached the corner she nearly tripped over a pile of materials in a jumble there. Judging from the cobwebs she encountered, they’d been there quite a while. Sophia picked up each item, or dragged it closer to the nearest pinprick of light coming in through the cracks. She could see now that the limestone partial wall in the back of her cell continued around the perimeter of the building.

But when she was able to examine each object she’d found in the tiny beam of light, her heart sank. Useless ancient junk, all of it. Pieces of scrap metal that looked like spare parts for some sort of machinery. A roll of rusted wire. A barrel with wooden slats, half rotted with age. When she heard something skittering inside it, Sophia took a cautious step away.

Even though she couldn’t imagine how any of those objects would help her open the door, she continued her search, feeling encouraged. The cell where she’d been kept had been barren. But the building wasn’t empty. Not completely. Surely there had been other items left behind.

She continued to search, staying close to the wall, stopping each time she encountered an unfamiliar object. There were lengths of pipe, and she hefted one grimly. If she wasn’t able to find a way out, she now had a weapon. Maybe she’d be able to surprise her abductor as he opened the door.

The thought of swinging the pipe through the air, making contact with his head brought twin spears of squeamishness and satisfaction. Sophia had never struck anyone in her life. She had a feeling it would be all too easy with this sadistic UNSUB.

She dragged the pipe along with her, but had to set it down each time she found something else to identify. Her left hand wasn’t capable of holding anything, and ached constantly. Under the circumstances, it was the least of her worries.

Her progress was slower than she’d like, and she was acutely aware that the miniscule beams of light were fading. The realization had her hastening her step. That, and the sudden thought that any building, even one as old as this, would likely have a second exit.

She found it on the center of the wall adjacent to her cell. Dropping the pipe, Sophia ran her hands over the rough doorway, slowing when she discovered the seam running the width, splitting the door in half. Comprehension dawned. She had the answer to one question now. They were being held in a barn.

And the thought of just how many of the structures dotted the landscape around the state had her realize just how unlikely their rescue was.

Running her hands over the rough boards, she could find no handle or knob. There was, however, a couple uniform holes in the wood near the edge that might signify where one had once been.

A new plan took shape in her mind even as she continued along the wall trying to find any other items that had been left behind. One of the pipes on the other side of the barn had been a half-inch in diameter. She might be able to use it as a crowbar to pry the frame off around the doorway she’d just discovered.

But then leaning against the wall twenty feet from the cells, she found the treasure that she knew was going to be her ticket to freedom.

A pitchfork.

Giddy with delight, she clutched it close in newfound possessiveness, before doing a tactile examination. The metal handle was loose and it had only two tines. But each felt solid. And better, they were slimmer than even the smallest pipe she’d found.

Retracing her steps to the split door she’d found, Sophia abandoned her original plan. Setting the pitchfork down she ran her fingers along first one side of the door, and then the others, until she found what she was searching for.

The hinges.

# # # #

“You sure you want to do this?” The doubt expressed in Beckett’s voice echoed that of the Boone County Attorney’s when Cam had made his pitch earlier. “This morning you didn’t give a shit about what Jerry Price claimed to know.”

“This morning I didn’t have any way of verifying what he said. Now hopefully I will. And you don’t have to worry.” He shifted to get more comfortable. The narrow wooden chair he occupied in front of the scarred wooden table in the sheriff’s conference room wasn’t exactly cushy. “Your county attorney is no more anxious than you are to offer this scumbag a deal. Most likely Price is blowing smoke to avoid going back inside on the weapon’s charge.” If every ex-con he’d ever met had the type of information they suddenly claimed to possess when faced with a prison sentence, there’d be no unsolved crimes in the country. “But on the off chance he isn’t…we’re just talking, that’s all.” Cam shot him a half-hearted grin. “Probably be the shortest conversation you’ve heard since your last girlfriend dumped you.”

Beckett looked amused. “The one where she said, ‘You’re just too big?’”

“The one where she said, ‘I can do better.’”

Unperturbed, the sheriff picked up his radio. “You don’t know my last ex. If you did, you’d realize those words were punctuated with a lengthy disparaging commentary about the deficiencies in my parentage.” He spoke into the radio. “All right, Owens, bring him in.”

Cam waited for Jerry Price to be shown into the room, fairly certain that Beckett was right. Nine times out of ten, these conversations were a waste of time. There was little a convict wouldn’t do to avoid paying the consequences of his actions with a stint in prison.

But given the details Sophie had managed to embed in the phony profile that was currently airing as breaking news on KCCT, he’d know whether the ex-con was merely playing him without having to waste more than a few minutes on the conversation.

The door opened and a uniformed deputy held it to allow Price entry. He was doing the jailhouse shuffle, courtesy of the leg chains that matched the set on his wrists. His dark hair was a bit greasier than the night he’d been arrested. His beard was filling in, and shot with gray. But jail hadn’t dimmed his attitude.

“Well, look who’s been shopping.” The man grinned at him, edging into the chair the deputy indicated. “That suit’s in better shape than the last one I saw you wearing.”

“Good times,” Cam said mildly. “I like the look you’ve got going on, too. Not everyone can pull off county orange. But that jumpsuit seems to be made for you.”

Price folded his hands and set them on the table, the action sending the links jangling. “Since you’re here, I figure the sheriff told you ’bout my offer. The deal is, you make the weapons charge go away, and I give you information that will lead you to the guy kidnapping and burying all those women.”

Cam laughed in genuine amusement. “You could draw me a map to his house, and that weapons charge still stands. The best you’re going to be able to do with the Boone County Attorney is get him to recommend a reduced sentence to the judge, and that’s only for information leading to an arrest. Something I highly doubt you have.”

“Guess you’re not going to find out.” Price studied the prison tat on the back of one knuckle in studied boredom. “That’s my asking price, and I’m not in the mood to be generous.”

“Sorry to waste your time.” Cam’s chair scraped the floor as he pushed it back and rose. “Thanks, Sheriff.”

“No problem.” He and Beckett headed for the door.

Price turned to look after them, half rising from his chair. “Hey, now.” The deputy put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him firmly back in his seat. Cam turned in the doorway and lifted a brow. “Thought you were done talking.”

“You fellas need to learn a little bit about the art of negotiation.” The ex-con struck a conciliatory tone. “The deal is, I give a little, you give a little…”

“That’s where you’re mistaken. There’s no negotiation going on here.” Cam returned to the table, but didn’t sit. He set his hands on the table, leaning forward. “I doubt very much whether you have anything worth the price of the gas it took to drive over. But I’ve made the only offer I’m going to. You talk or I walk. It’s as simple as that.”

The truculence that came over the man’s expression was familiar. “Any lawyer worth his salt could get me a better deal than that.”

“Then maybe you’ll want to re-consider acting as your own attorney,” Beckett put in wryly.

Price didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed on Cam. “You staying, or what?”

“You giving me a reason to?”

A jerk of a shoulder served as assent. Slowly, Cam sank into his chair, aware of the minutes ticking by. “Okay, here’s the deal. I did time with this guy, my first cellie on my last stretch. He used to say some stuff. Like we’d talk, you know, to pass the time. Perfect crime, and all that. Purely theoretical.”