Deadly Abandon (7 page)

Stupid, stupid, stupid!
The frantic slamming of her heart rang in her ears. She prayed whoever was in the outer office wouldn’t hear it.

How would she escape the maniac? The windows to the surgery were sealed shut due to the heat pump installation. The phone died in the power outage. She realized she forgot her cell phone at home.

She didn’t dare make a break for the hallway leading to the back and front exits of the building. In other words, she was a sitting duck in the arcade of her own clinic. Adrenaline punched her system to a whole new level of survival.

Slipping into the small stockroom off the surgery, she snicked the door shut behind her. It was so dark she could hardly see her hands in front of her face. She fumbled on the shelves for anything she could use as a weapon. A disposable scalpel was her weapon of choice, but Laura had reorganized the shelves during a cleaning spree and everything had been moved.

Her fingers touched a box of wooden matches. Those could work. If the security system overrode to battery power as it was supposed to, the matches could be her ticket out of there. Inching her way up the stockroom ladder, she lit a match under the smoke sensor located in the ceiling. The match flashed for a second and died. Breeana cursed under her breath.

A draft nudged her spine as the stockroom door flew open and smacked against the outer wall. She choked back a scream, gripped the top of the ladder, and froze.

The shaft of a penlight danced across the small space before coming to rest on the ladder. On her. With fumbling hands, she struck more matches, held them like a flare beneath the sensor, and prayed for a miracle.

As if on cue, the haunting lyrics of a hymn filled the room. Breeana couldn’t believe her ears. Her obscene caller had escalated from telephone intimidation to physically assaulting her within the space of a few days. His malevolent voice behind her, the beam from his penlight blinded her when she twisted on the ladder.

“Say your prayers, Breeana. You’re about to meet your maker.”

The matches burned her fingers but she held fast. She could use them as a weapon to poke out his eyes. An instant later, a piercing squeal filled her ears as the smoke sensor responded above her head. Its deafening screech rebounded off the walls.

Her attacker roared, shoved the nearest shelving unit, and sent it flying. It crashed against the ladder and toppled her to the floor. Frantic, Breeana tore at the sharp edges of metal pinning her down, slicing her hands. The twisted pieces wouldn’t give an inch. It was useless.

The slamming of the stockroom door barely registered until she smelled the acrid stench of smoke.
Crap!
The sprinklers weren’t working. He must have turned off the water main outside the building. Wide-eyed, terror slammed through her as she watched flames lick upward from the base of the door, a pool of burning accelerant streaming toward her from the surgery beyond.

“Help! Help me!” She beat back the flames with a blanket that fell from the shelving unit. Choking on smoke, she fought dizziness, praying for the sounds of running feet, the clamor of voices, and the swoosh of fire extinguishers. The wail of the fire detector was the only sound she heard.

Help would never arrive in time.

Chapter Four

Sully was the first to reach Breeana, flashlight in hand and gun ready as he forced the supply room door. Air filtered in, clearing the smoke. His heart lurched when he saw her, pale-faced and gasping for breath on the floor, tears streaking her cheeks.

Hell, she could have died in there.
It took every ounce of willpower for him to keep his voice even. “You’re okay now. We’ll have you out of there in a minute.”

He holstered his gun. When she didn’t respond right away, he started to panic. “Talk to me, Bree. Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay.” She wheezed in a gasping breath and launched into a fit of coughing. One of the paramedics leaned through the toppled shelving and fit an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. In another moment, her breathing seemed to ease, her chest rising and falling with a natural rhythm.

Sully’s concern relaxed a little, but it didn’t last long. He’d screwed up. He should have anticipated the attack on her.
Jesus.
With at least one of her friends murdered—maybe two—it stood to reason she’d be on the killer’s hit list.

There was no way she had done this to herself. He’d seen the remains of accelerant-soaked towels shoved against the supply room door, her assailant’s parting gift before escaping out the back of the building. His mind also registered the empty bottles of Isopropyl Alcohol tossed in a corner, confirming the prick had used her own antiseptic supplies to try and burn her alive. She’d been lucky, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Curse words threatened to spill out of his mouth. He clamped his teeth together and swallowed hard. Swearing wouldn’t catch the psychopath. Only a full-scale police investigation would hunt the bastard down.

As soon as the power was back on, firemen helped Sully drag the mangled shelving to the side. “Be careful,” he cautioned. “I have criminalists on the way to take evidence.”

Breeana fell into his arms as he scooped her up and carried her to the reception area. EMTs examined her there, closing the cuts on her hands with butterfly bandages. It was a miracle she wasn’t burned, or suffering from serious smoke inhalation.

Sully kept a hand on her shoulder to forge a connection. He doubted she would ever think of the clinic as a safe haven again. She glanced around the room while breathing in fresh, clean air. He could see terror reflected in her gaze. “How are you doing?”

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a semi,” she rasped. “But all things considered, I’m okay. My throat hurts but the EMTs said they’re satisfied I haven’t inhaled dangerous levels of smoke. At least I don’t have to go to the emergency room.”

He steadied her when she stood, placing an arm around her waist. “Are you sure you didn’t get burned anywhere?”

“The flames never reached me.” Breeana took a faltering step then straightened, visibly pulling herself together. “How did you get here so fast?”

“Cody called me.” He held her against him and brushed the hair back from her face. Another few minutes and she wouldn’t have made it out alive. He didn’t want to think about it.

“Good thing he found my business card and has a hell of a lot more sense than you do. He heard you drive off, saw the note on the fridge, and couldn’t raise you on the cell phone. With Rainey Dubé and possibly Miranda Greene murdered, he had good cause to be alarmed. I put out an APB on your vehicle, and was on my way to your place, when the fire call came through on the scanner. I recognized the address.”

“I’d better call him, Sully. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

“We’ll call from the car. I’m taking you home. This time you’re going to stay there.”

The storm had tapered off when he handed Breeana into his unmarked and buckled her seatbelt.

A second later, a sedan swerved to the curb right in front of them. Breeana held a hand in front of her face to shield her eyes from the glare of headlights, and peered at the driver. “It’s my dad.”

“Okay. Stay put and let me talk to him for a minute.” Breeana’s father angled out from behind the steering wheel. Sully crossed the grass to meet him. He’d been in such a hurry to get inside earlier, he’d parked on the lawn. Forest noticed the badge clipped on his belt. “Are you the police lieutenant my grandson called?”

“Yes, sir. The name’s Sullivan Sauvage. And before you ask, your daughter is fine. A few minor scrapes, but nothing serious to worry about.”

“Thank God for that.” Forest heaved a sigh of relief. “What the hell happened? I got a call from the security company that the clinic was on fire.”

Sully eyed him for about a nanosecond before making a decision. There was no point trying to stonewall a man like Forest with empty platitudes and bullshit. He wouldn’t buy it, even if it was gift wrapped. “Someone broke into the clinic tonight and attacked Breeana. He managed to set the fire before he escaped.”

“Holy frickin’ cannoli!”

“She’s okay, Dr. Forest.” Sully angled his chin at the SUV. “You can check for yourself.”

Forest crossed to the Tahoe and sprang the passenger door in an instant. “Pumpkin? Did that nutbar hurt you?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine, Dad. Even the EMTs said I’m good to go.”

Right. A person would have to be blind to believe that load of BS. Sully figured Jack Forest couldn’t help but notice his daughter had seen better days. A slight breeze would knock her flat if she wasn’t already sitting down. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face sooty with streaks of grime.

“You look like hell and you’re a terrible liar, my girl.” Jack stared her down, crossed his arms and rocked on his heels. “But I am going to call your bluff. If you think you can manage, I’ll stay here tonight, and catch a few winks in the office. The animals boarding with us will be upset by the smell of smoke and so much activity going on. It’s really a blessing they were in another wing of the building.”

“I know, and I’m glad you’re keeping them company.” Breeana shot her father a ghost of a smile. “And don’t worry about us. Cody and I won’t be alone. We’ll have the dogs.”

“Sure.” Forest snorted, closed the door, and turned in his direction, and spoke in a low voice. “You’ll stay with them, Lieutenant? I don’t want any harm to come to them. Who knows what the maniac will do next?”

“Don’t worry, sir, I’m not leaving.”

Forest’s clear-eyed gaze studied him for a time, taking in his measure. “I’m relying on you to be professional, Lieutenant, to do the right thing.”

“I understand, sir.” Oh man, did he ever.
In other words, keep your grubby paws off my daughter.

Satisfied, Jack nodded. Turned back to the SUV, and leaned through the window to kiss Breeana. “You stay home and rest for a few days. And don’t worry about the mess at the clinic. I’ll have a crew make the necessary repairs in the morning. From now on, I’ll handle any emergency calls coming in after hours. Goodnight all.”

****

The Shepherd smiled to himself. It felt good to be alive. Thank God, Breeana McGill couldn’t say the same. He’d nailed the bitch but good.

Taking a drag from his cigar, he watched the circus—the troop of police and firemen outside the veterinary clinic—satisfaction a living thing inside him.

He couldn’t wait to see them wheel her out, black body bag strapped to a gurney. Too bad he couldn’t attend the autopsy too.
That would be the
pièce de résistance
,
and—oh, shit
.
What’s this?
The coroner’s van pulled out of the parking lot without a dead body.

It didn’t take a crystal ball to figure out what had happened. While he’d slipped out the back way—whistling to the hymn on his iPhone—the cop and firemen must have charged through the front door and saved her. The smoke alarm’s wail inside the clinic hadn’t clued him in to their approach.

Man, I was lucky to get out of there undetected
.

After making his escape, he’d almost freaked when he’d seen the rescue vehicles in front of the building, strewn across the lawn like tinker toys. They must have responded in record time, quick enough to pluck Breeana from the jaws of death.

He circled the block for the third time, shot the brown sedan into a parking space, and killed the engine. Cracking his knuckles to ease the tension, he cursed the adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

The night air stirred around him, the quiet almost absolute with most of the city tucked safely in their beds.

If they only knew.

The only noise came from the crime scene on the far corner, the hustle of firemen dragging hoses and setting equipment to rights. The collective murmur of the crowd gathered on the street. He needed a closer look.

A small bottle lay on the console. He tapped its contents into his palms, masking the smoky scent still lingering on his skin with expensive sage cologne. Next he stripped off the coveralls, stuffed them in a garbage bag, and tossed them in the trunk. He’d burn those later.

A brief glance at his golf shirt, khaki trousers and spit-shined shoes confirmed he was good to go. Locking up, he set off down the street and noticed a uniform panning the crowd with a camera zoom lens. Thanks to
CSI
and other crime shows, even dumbass local cops filmed at arson investigations now. It seemed everyone knew firebugs returned to the scene.

I’m here. Come and get me.

Images of Breeana poured through his mind and taunted him. Her perfect face. Her tight body. Her slutty woman scent. Was she badly burned and disfigured now? She had better be, considering the trouble he’d gone to. He needed to see the damage for himself, but doubted she was still inside.

Wind whipped around a corner of the brownstone, bringing with it the smoky stench pouring from a broken window. The Shepherd inhaled deep, searching for the stink of burned flesh. It wasn’t happening.

An hour later, the front door opened and a man came out carrying several garbage bags. Jack Forest, the devil who had spawned her. A local television reporter rushed up to catch a few sound bytes before he dropped the trash in a dumpster and moved back inside.

“Doctor Forest, is there any news on your daughter? How is she doing?”

Forest turned to the woman and smiled. “She’s doing fine, Katy. She’ll be back at work in a few days.”

The Shepherd clenched his fists, moved out of the crowd, and headed for his car.
We’ll see how fine she is after I’m finished with her.

Angling into his ride, he cranked the engine. He had to move. Breeana was waiting.

****

Cody paced the rain-soaked driveway when they rolled to a stop in front of the house.

“Mom? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, kiddo. The smoke got to me, that’s all. I just need a hot shower.”

“Yeah, and a bowl of my famous chili to perk you up. It’s an old family recipe. Gramps and I made it for dinner when you were at the hockey meeting.”

Much later, after they’d eaten the chili—well, Bree only nibbled a few bites—and after she’d shared the details of the clinic fire with Cody for the umpteenth time, her son headed back to bed. Sully could see Breeana was shaken more than she’d wanted anyone to know. Hell, she crumpled before his eyes. While she could hide her face in her hands, she could not control the tremors racking her body.