Closer Than You Think (5 page)

Damn, but this guy was heavy.
Now I remember why I stick to women. They’re half his weight.
And there was the little bonus of the sex, he thought with a smirk. Stretching his arms to the sky, he turned his head until he felt his neck crack, providing a little relief.

He’d bent down to grab the man’s jacket again when he caught the movement from the corner of his eye. He turned to see Ken’s hand emerging from his pocket, clutching a black aerosol can.

Understanding dawned a split second too late. ‘
No!
’ He reached to knock the can out of the man’s hand but spray already filled the air, burning his eyes, mouth and nose. ‘Fucking sonofabitch!’ His voice was a high-pitched screech. He couldn’t help it. The pain was excruciating.
Hot pokers in my eyes
. ‘You motherfucking sonofabitch!’

He staggered back, tears streaming down his face. The pain . . .

The bastard wasn’t unconscious at all. He was playing possum, biding his time until he could hit me with that damn pepper spray
. He panted, unable to get enough air. His lungs were swelling up, closing in. He gasped like a landed trout, but couldn’t draw a full breath.

He needed to kill this meter-reading motherfucker so that he couldn’t get away.

He could barely make out the man’s form through the rivers flowing out of his eyes.
He’s moving.
On his knees.
The bastard was on his knees, dragging himself . . . 
toward me. The idiot doesn’t even have the sense to run away.

He took a few steps backward, pulling the gun from his waistband and blinking hard to try to clear his eyes. Without warning, Ken launched himself, throwing beefy arms around his legs, taking him down. His head hit the ground so hard he almost missed the jab in his leg. Like a bee sting, but worse. He slapped at his leg, dislodging something plastic.

He brought it close to his burning eyes.
Not a syringe
, he thought.
It’s a dart
.

‘You stuck me with a
dart
?’ he demanded. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Who the hell carries
darts
?’

‘What the hell is wrong with
me
?’ Ken cried. ‘What the hell is wrong with
you
? Are you insane?’ He rolled away, scrabbling to his hands and knees.
Now
he had the sense to crawl away, trying to escape.

That could not be allowed to happen. He came to his feet, stumbling after the blurry blob that was moving alarmingly fast. He aimed for the blob and fired. Ken screamed, but kept moving, so he kept firing. Finally the blob stopped, inches from the corner of the house.

Mt Carmel, Ohio, Monday 3 November, 2.55
P.M.

Please God
, Arianna prayed.
Please let him help us, whoever he is
.

She could hear the girl, who she now knew was named Roza, shuffling across the floor, but she passed the table, stopping on the other side of the room. ‘What is Earl P and L?’ Roza asked.

Under her blindfold, Arianna blinked in surprise. ‘The power company. Why?’

‘Because there’s a sign on a truck outside that says that. There’s a man up there, with tools. And
he’s
afraid.’ Something was different. A hardness in her tone that hadn’t been there before.

Arianna felt the girl’s hand, cold and bony against her arm. Then . . . tugging. Tugging and the rough sound of rope being cut. Arianna was afraid to breathe, afraid she was imagining this, but she wasn’t. Roza was cutting her free.

Holding her breath, Arianna said nothing, afraid of making Roza change her mind. But she didn’t, and soon Arianna’s other hand was free. Tearing the blindfold from her face, she gritted her teeth and struggled to sit up while the girl cut the ropes at her ankles.

Arianna blinked hard, squinting against the bright overhead lights to get her first glimpse of the girl, who looked as young as she sounded. Maybe twelve years old. Her dark hair was tangled, her skin almost white. Like she’d never seen the sun.

Then she noticed that in the corner there was a laptop whose screen was divided into six areas, like in the security office of a department store. He had cameras, Arianna realized. One of the six partitions held the video of a man wearing a jacket that said ‘Earl Power and Light’ across the back. That picture was from a camera to the outside.

Arianna’s heart sank. He’d come to read the meter. He hadn’t come to help them.

He doesn’t know we’re here
.

She had to get his attention. Shoving back the panic, she scanned the room, looking for something to use to make some noise. Instead she saw walls lined with shelves, and on the shelves were jars filled with liquid. The countertop was also covered with jars. All containing dark brown liquid. Some had . . . things floating in them. Arianna gagged.

‘Don’t throw up,’ Roza snapped, briskly rubbing Arianna’s feet, forcing circulation. ‘There are some stairs that go up. There’s a door at the top. That’s all I can do for you. Go.’

‘Thank you.’ Arianna reached out her hand. ‘Let’s go.’

A beat of silence passed, then the girl shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t go.’

‘Why not?’ Arianna whispered back desperately. ‘Who does he have that you love?’

Saying nothing, Roza grabbed Arianna’s arms and slid her off the table. The moment Arianna’s feet hit the floor, they felt as if they were being stung by a thousand bees. ‘Who?’ she repeated through clenched teeth. ‘Who does he have that you love?’

‘My mother. You need to go. Get help. Get Faith Frye.’

‘Why? Who is she?’

‘I don’t know, but he’s trying to find her. He hates her.’

‘What about my friend? Is she here?’

‘Yes. But she’s chained and I don’t have the key. I can’t get it. I’m sorry.’

‘But I can’t leave her here. He’ll kill her.’

‘If he catches you trying to free her, he’ll kill you both. Now go.’

Arianna got to the door of the room where she’d been held and took a look back to find Roza holding a bottle made of dark brown glass. ‘Where is my friend?’

‘You have to go,’ Roza said urgently. She twisted the lid off the bottle, brought it to her mouth and drank it all.

‘What are you doing?’ Arianna cried, horrified.

‘I can’t leave. You can. He’ll know I cut your ropes. If you don’t kill him, he’ll beat me. I don’t want to be awake for it.
Go.
’

Arianna stumbled out of the room. There were the stairs. And three other doors. Where was Corinne? Arianna was heading for the first door when the sound of a gunshot made her stop in her tracks.

He’d had a gun the night he’d taken her and Corinne.
He shot me with it.
Now he’s killed the meter reader.
There wouldn’t be anyone else to come and help them.

Run. Get help. Before he kills us all
. She started up the stairs, tears rising in her throat.
I’m sorry, Corinne. I’ll be back for you. I promise
.

Mt Carmel, Ohio, Monday 3 November, 2.59
P.M.

He knelt beside the well in the back, pumping water to keep flushing his eyes until he could blink without screaming.

He sagged against the cold iron of the pump, breathing hard.
Goddamn asshole meter reader. Goddamn asshole Faith Frye for calling the power company to start with
. Where was she? All he needed was for her to show up right now when he was incapacitated.

His hands trembled as he took his cell phone from his pocket. He was tired.
So damn tired
. His arms felt like they weighed six hundred pounds. Each. And his vision was still blurry.

Squinting at his phone’s screen, he brought up the app that monitored the tracking device he’d put on Faith’s Jeep. It hadn’t moved. At least one thing was going as he’d planned.

He pushed himself to his feet, forced himself to walk over to Ken’s body. He looked dead enough.
But I’m taking no chances,
he thought
.
Fool me twice, shame on me
.

He grabbed a handful of the meter reader’s hair with one hand and shoved his gun to the base of the man’s skull with the other. He pulled the trigger, putting a final bullet in Ken’s brain. Then he found Ken’s cell phone and figured out which contact was his boss.

Finished with the last house. Feeling sick. Going home early.
He hit
send
.
There.
It was done. Now he had to get this sonofabitch into the basement and clean up the mess.

He tried to stand, but his head spun. His knees wobbled. There was a roaring in his head.

No. That was an engine. ‘Whatza fuck?’ His words were coming out slow. Slurred. He’d only felt like this once before, when he was being anesthetized for surgery.

Shit.
The dart. Ken had tranqed him. He heard the sound of the engine roaring again and forced himself to crawl around the back corner of the house so that he could see the road.

The power company truck was driving away. Someone had escaped his basement. He could see a vague shape in the driver’s seat. Too tall for Roza, too dark for Corinne Longstreet.

Arianna Escobar had gotten away.
Get her. Stop her.
But his body would no longer cooperate.
So tired. Dammit
. His arms gave out. His chest hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him.
Fuuuck
, he thought bitterly as his eyelids lowered and everything went dark.

Chapter Three

Mt Carmel, Ohio, Monday 3 November, 4.45
P.M.

F
aith’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she exited the interstate, the blaring noise of traffic giving way to a restless kind of quiet. The bumper-to-bumper traffic and miles of golden arches were suddenly gone, and now there were only trees. As far as the eye could see.

After a day of constant activity – introductions, paperwork, greetings from new co-workers, calls to utilities and locksmiths and, importantly, the lunchtime purchase of a new, untraceable cell phone – the respite should have been welcome. But it wasn’t.

Because now, in the quiet, she could finally hear what her mind had been muttering all day.
Twelve steps and a basement.
The feeling of impending doom had hovered over her since she’d woken from the nightmare, but it was growing exponentially with every mile she drove, until it was all she could do to maintain her direction. Everything within her screamed for her to
turn around and run
.

Which was both ludicrous and humiliating. Twelve steps and an empty basement should not have the power to control her actions. She wouldn’t let it.

Besides, she had an appointment with the locksmith, and it would be rude to stand him up. The lawyer had told her that the key he’d given her was the only one he’d had, so she’d called a locksmith to come open the door and make her a new one. Soon she’d have a key. She’d go into that house and march straight down those basement stairs.

Or . . . 
Maybe I’ll save the basement for later.
There was certainly more than enough to do on the first floor to make it livable. Or maybe she’d wait until the contractor came to check the foundations, pipes and wiring and let him go down there first.
I like that idea much better
.

Because she had self-delusion and denial down to art forms. And self-distraction, she thought, switching on the radio. Country music poured from the speakers, the Jeep’s stereo still connected to her iPod from the trip up from Miami. Her playlist had kept her awake on the long drive, giving her something to focus on besides what she was running from – and what she was running to.

She sighed when a new song started to play, a Tim McGraw tune she recognized from its intro, about all the things a man accomplished once he found out he was dying. The words hit far too close to home. She started to skip it, but made herself stop and listen.

Had her boss not been standing next to her that day, she’d have taken those bullets to her chest and head.
And I’d be dead
. Had Combs been successful any of the other times he’d tried to kill her, she’d be dead. If he managed to find her, she still might die.

She hadn’t told her father she loved him in too many weeks.

She hadn’t called him from the hotel the night before as she’d promised in her text. She’d put off dialing until it was too late to call, resorting to email instead. Just as she had every night for several weeks. Not because she didn’t want to talk to him, but because she did. Too much.

She needed the comfort of his voice, but was afraid he’d hear the fear in hers and know she was hiding something. Which of course she was. She’d been hiding all kinds of things from him, the least of which was that she’d quit her old job, found a new one, changed her name, sold her Prius, and driven fifteen hundred miles with her belongings in the back of her new Jeep.

She’d emailed him that she was going to Cincinnati as she’d packed up the Jeep. He’d assumed that her trip was to prepare the house for sale, not to get it ready to live in. She’d let him believe what he wanted, but now he needed to know the truth. At least as much of it as she could share without scaring him, quite literally, to death. His heart was not strong enough to know everything.

Steeling her spine, Faith instructed the Jeep’s voice-activated system to dial her father’s home, the song pausing itself mid chorus as the phone started to dial.

She slipped the hands-free earpiece over her ear, as was her habit. She’d survived one bad car accident because she’d been religious about keeping both hands on the wheel. Plus, the earpiece allowed her to keep her phone in her pocket, so that she always knew where it was.

At the moment, her new cell was in her right pocket, her gun in the left. She kept both on her person at all times, in the event she needed either quickly. The precious seconds it would take to find them in her purse could mean the difference between life and death.

This she’d learned the hard way, her boss paying the price.

‘Which we will not think about right now,’ she muttered as her dad’s phone began to ring.

‘Hello?’ Her stepmother answered warily, which was to be expected. The number on the caller ID would be a strange one.

‘Ya wanna buy some encyclopedias, lady?’ Faith teased, hoping to break any ice that had formed because she hadn’t called in so long.

‘Faith?’ Lily shuddered out a breath that sounded like a sob. ‘Oh God. Oh God. I’m so glad you finally called. I’ve been trying to call you for hours. What number is this?’

Panic grabbed Faith by the throat. ‘What’s wrong with Dad?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing. But only because I got to the phone before he could, every time it’s rung today.’ Her stepmother drew a deep breath. ‘First, are
you
all right?’

‘Yes. What’s happened, Lily?’

‘That’s what I want to know,’ Lily whispered fiercely. ‘What number are you calling from? Why haven’t you answered your cell phone all afternoon? Why is a detective trying to find you? I’ve been trying to reach you.
For hours
.’

Guilt swamped her. ‘I got a new phone on my lunch break. I was calling to give you my number. Who was asking for me?’

A beat of silence. ‘What happened to the old number, Faith?’ Lily asked, quietly now.

‘It didn’t transfer over.’ Because Faith hadn’t wanted it to. ‘Who’s been calling for me?’

‘A detective from Miami PD. I tried calling your home phone, but all I got was a recording saying the number was no longer in service. Your old cell kept going straight to voicemail. I must have left ten messages. I tried your hotel and the phone in your room just rang. Where are you? Why are the police looking for you? What the hell is going on here?’

‘I don’t know,’ Faith said truthfully. ‘What was the name of the detective?’

‘I have it written down . . . Vega. Detective Catalina Vega.’

‘Okay. I know her. Did she leave a message?’

‘Yeah, that you should call her. What is going on?’

That was a good question. Best case, Vega had called to make sure she was okay. Worst case, to tell her that the man who’d made her life a living hell was headed north. That Vega had found it urgent enough to call her stepmother did not bode well.

‘I’m still in Ohio. Didn’t Dad get the photo I texted? The one of my mother’s grave?’

‘Yes, he did, and don’t you try to distract me, Faith. Who is Detective Vega and why is she . . .’ A pause, then a whispered oath. ‘Your dad’s coming. We’ll finish this later.’

‘Lily?’ Faith could hear her father in the background, sounding slightly slurred and short of breath. ‘Is that Faith on the phone?’

‘Yes, it sure is,’ Lily said brightly. ‘I’ll put her on the speaker.’

‘Faith? How are you, darlin’?’ Her father’s voice had been shaky ever since his stroke, but his love came through as strong as ever.

Relief washed over her in a warm wave and her shoulders sagged in relief. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d needed to hear his voice. ‘I’m fine, Dad. How are you?’

‘Better now. I got your picture of your mama’s grave. Thank you, sweetheart.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Did you talk to the realtor?’

‘Well, not exactly. I changed my mind, Dad. I don’t know if I’ll sell the house after all.’

There was long pause, and Faith visualized her father and Lily frowning at each other. ‘Why not, honey?’ her father asked carefully.

‘Because I’m thinking of living in it.’ There. She’d said it. ‘If it’s livable.’

Another pause, even longer. ‘But . . . I don’t understand,’ her father said.

‘Neither do I,’ Lily added, a tad more sharply. ‘What about your job, Faith?’

‘I quit. Wait, hear me out,’ she said over their startled protests. ‘The crisis center lost most of its funding.’ After its director was shot to death outside the center’s front door. ‘I’d been thinking of moving on anyway and, well, it seemed time, so I resigned.’ She’d quit because she didn’t want anyone else at the center to be hit by a bullet meant for her, but her dad didn’t need to know that. ‘I didn’t have any real ties to Miami.’

‘Because that snake of a husband of yours turned all your friends against you,’ her father growled. ‘If I could, I’d kick his ass up his throat and through his teeth.’

The thought nearly made her smile. But though her ex had committed a multitude of sins, that hadn’t been one of them. ‘They weren’t really my friends, Dad. They were Charlie’s friends from the force, from before we got married. He didn’t turn them against me. If they’d been my friends, they would have stuck with me.’

‘Well, I’d still like to kick his ass,’ her father grumbled. ‘For the things I know he did do.’

Like divorcing her to marry his pregnant girlfriend. But that was done and over now. Faith had moved on, mostly. Her father, not so much.

‘So, about this move to Ohio,’ Lily said, changing the subject before Faith’s father started in on a well-worn anti-Charlie rant. ‘What do you plan to do with yourself?’

‘I’ve got a new job, a really great one with HR at one of the banks up here. And I’ll fix up the house. Make some friends. What normal people do.’

‘Do you need money, Faith?’ her father asked. ‘We can spare a little.’

Faith swallowed hard. He and Lily were living on his GI pension. They had nothing to spare. But that he’d offer was no surprise. That was the kind of man he’d always been and just one of the reasons why she loved him.

‘No, Dad. I’m okay. My new job pays great. And I’ll probably sell most of the land. I don’t need fifty acres. Once that money comes in, I’ll be sittin’ pretty.’ She’d even be able to send some home to them, but she’d never say that to her father. Richard Sullivan had a huge heart – and a sense of pride to match. Faith would quietly address the checks to Lily, who’d bank them just as quietly. Her father would never know.

‘But . . .’ Her father’s voice trailed off. ‘You worked so hard to become a psychologist. And now you’re going to count
money
?’

‘No, Dad, I’m not a teller. I’m working in the HR department. That’s Human Resources.’

‘Doing what?’ Lily asked.

‘Evaluating the employees, especially those who are on the list for advancement to management. The bank wants to identify employees with sociopathic tendencies.’ Identifying sociopaths was one of Faith’s specialties. It was vaguely ironic that she’d be searching for them at the same time she was hiding from them. Or at least from one in particular. ‘It’s a new approach to preventing embezzlement.’

‘But honey . . .’ He sounded disappointed. ‘For as long as I can remember you wanted to help people. Make a difference.’

She’d prepared for his concern, not his disapproval, and it stung. She
had
made a difference. For
years
she’d made a difference and it had almost gotten her killed. It
had
gotten Gordon killed. Which he totally did not need to know. Faith opened her mouth, then closed it.

Lily intervened in a soft murmur. ‘Richard. She’s helped so many victims already.’

‘But—’

‘Richard,’ Lily said more firmly. ‘It’s her life. Let her live it.’

‘But a
bank
, Lily?’ he whispered, as though he’d forgotten Faith could hear them. ‘Since when has she been concerned with
money
?’

Ah. It was the
money
that bothered him the most. Her father had once studied for the priesthood and had been prepared to take a vow of poverty. Money had been one of the few things she could remember her parents arguing about. The O’Bannions had had wealth and Margaret O’Bannion Sullivan had wanted her share of it, but Faith’s father would have walked over hot coals before taking a dime.

Her father wasn’t upset that she’d moved to Ohio. He was upset that she was working for a
bank
. She wondered how he’d feel if he knew the truth – that the armed security guards in the lobby had made her feel safer about going to work than she’d felt in the entire ten years she’d counseled victims of sexual assault.

‘The job at the bank’s not forever, Dad,’ she said gently. ‘It’s just until I can figure out what to do with my life. I’m kind of at a crossroads. Looking for a change. But I need to pay the bills while I figure things out.’

‘Of course you do,’ he said firmly, his disapproval, if not gone, at least hidden for the time being. ‘But honey, if you’re at a crossroads, you should come home. You could live here, with me and Lily.’ His voice became wheedling. ‘We have a new neighbor who would be perfect for you. He’s handsome and I’ve told him all about you.’

Faith’s response was a strangled groan. ‘
Dad.
’

‘Richard!’ Lily exclaimed. ‘Leave her be. She’s got to find her own way.’

‘Her
own
way is too damn
far
away,’ he grumbled. ‘What if she meets some guy? How will I grill him? On Skype? Hell, I don’t look half as threatening on Skype.’

Faith smiled, the first time she’d done so in more than four weeks. ‘I’m not meeting any men, but if I do and it’s serious, I’ll bring him home so that you can give him the full treatment.’

‘Promise?’

Her smile faltered, her eyes stinging, and she was suddenly, fiercely glad they weren’t on Skype. She injected a bright note into her voice and hoped she’d pulled it off. ‘I promise.’