Don't Look Back (34 page)

No one would be sleeping until Jamie was found safe and in one piece.

“There,” Connor pointed to the figure. “He came out of the side door next to his office.”

Samantha leaned forward. “He put the mask on before leaving the office so we don’t have a picture of his face.” Connor pointed to the screen. “He shoved her into a red truck. I can’t see the license.”

Dakota stopped the tape and nodded to Samantha. “Can you do your magic on the computer?”

“Sure.” She scooted forward and took the mouse from him. A few clicks and a pop-up screen had a partial plate on the red Ford truck.

Dakota sent it to Jazz, although he had an idea who it was going to come back registered to.

Dakota’s cell phone rang. He raised a brow and shot a look at Sam and Connor. “It’s George.”

The rage that had been building in him crested and nearly burst from him. But he couldn’t release it. Jamie’s life depended on him keeping a cool head.
Lord Jesus, give me the words to say
and the composure to say them.

He cleared his throat. “Hello?”

“Dakota, hi, I’m looking for Jamie, have you seen her?”

“No, I’m looking for her myself. We’re pretty sure she’s fallen into the hands of the guy who calls himself the Hero.”

“What? You’re kidding!” Shock resonated. If Dakota hadn’t been suspicious of the man, he would have fallen for the act.

“I wish I was. We’re watching the video of it now. She said she was going to meet you in your office.”

“Yeah, she did, but then she said she wanted to wait until you and Connor could meet with us. She seemed nervous. So, I told her I had to take off and she said she and her bodyguard, um . . . Chet . . . would be in the autopsy room if anyone needed her.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. I left her in my office. Last I saw her, she was talking to Chet.”

Dakota frowned. “All right. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They hung up and Dakota dialed Jazz. “You get it?”

“Yeah. He’s pinging off the cell towers between Arnett and Chowder Streets. Looks like he might be heading down 29 toward the Cowpens, Gaffney area.”

“Get someone on him and keep tracking that phone. I don’t know who he is, but he’s definitely not George Horton . . . and he could be the Hero.”

Shackled to the bed, Jamie heard him move across the room and waited for the pain to hit her. She wondered where he’d strike first. A leg? An arm? A shoulder? A toe? In preparation for the pain, she clenched her teeth, vowing not a sound would cross her lips.

When nothing happened, she cracked her eyes. He had his back to her. The familiar black mask covered his head.

Surprisingly, her fear had faded somewhat. Most shocking of all, she hadn’t succumbed to a panic attack. Oh, she didn’t look forward to what was coming, but because she knew what to expect, it was almost like his power over her had diminished.

A surge of triumph swelled.

Then he turned. And held up the knife.

Fear surged back full force. She pushed it aside.

Green eyes met hers. She refused to speak, narrowed her gaze, and lifted her chin.

She thought she saw the mask move right above his left eye. Had he raised an eyebrow? Surprised at her defiance? Or amused?

He flicked the blade of the knife with a black gloved thumb. “You know, your sister was a quick little thing. She moved too fast for me.” The same raspy voice.

She remained silent, heart thumping. While she had the panic attack under control, she couldn’t help the kernel of fear curling in her midsection.

Fear was all right. It was natural. Terror even. But this time, she’d start thinking faster.

“Oh come now, don’t tell me you’re going to give me the silent treatment.”

“No.” She hated the quiver in her voice, hated more the smile that curved his lips.

“Ah, good.”

She recalled everything George had talked about and took a shot in the dark. “Who abused you when you were a child?”

He froze.

“Your father? Your mother? A relative?”

“Shut up.” His voice was low. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Ah, your mother.” Her breath came in short, soft pants.
Keep
the fear away, Lord, keep it away.

The cuffs felt tight around her wrists. She had to get him to undo them.

“Why?” she demanded softly.

He adjusted the mask. She wanted to tear it from his face, wanted to see him. Gaze upon the features she’d only imagined in her nightmares.

“Why what?” he asked, his words precise, bitten off as though he didn’t want to say them but couldn’t help himself. The knife dipped toward her throat and she sucked in a silent breath. Then it moved to the edge of her blouse.

And did away with the top button. She heard it ping on the floor. The hardwood floors she’d shuffled across so many times.

Jamie swallowed hard.
No fear, no fear, no fear.
The chant calmed her racing heart a fraction. “Why did you kill her?”

He stood. “I said don’t ask me about her.”

The voice lost its raspy edge and she froze. She knew that voice. A name tickled the back of her mind. She needed to hear him talk again.

“Who was she?”

He shoved his face near hers and trailed the knife down her cheek. She felt a sting, then a warm wetness trickle from the cut. “Shut up or I’ll start with your tongue,” he hissed.

Fury drove her over. She lunged forward, opened her mouth, and bit down hard.

He screamed and yanked away from her. The mask came off along with a chunk of his cheek. The metallic taste of blood seeped through the mask and she spit everything out, her eyes flying wide as she registered her attacker’s identity.

Blood gushed from the wound on his face, and her last thought before his fist connected with her chin was that at least she’d have some of his DNA on her when they found her body.

32

Pain ricocheted in her head. Left, right, back, front. Everywhere. She wanted to moan. She didn’t.

Jamie wondered if he’d hit her again after she’d blacked out. After the first punch, she’d known no more.

Surprise that she was actually alive shot through her. He’d moved her hands. They were now cuffed in front of her and linked to the chain that led to the bathroom.

Good move on his part. Nature called . . . urgently.

She cracked her eyes. They worked. She moved her jaw back and forth. It worked too . . . barely.

She winced at the shooting pain.

But at least it wasn’t broken.

Scanning the room, she found it empty.

Thank you, God.

And she still had her lab coat on. Another thank-you winged heavenward.

Sliding to the edge of the bed, she gradually made her way into a sitting position. When she moved, she gasped as shards of glass bounced inside her jaw to her head and back.

The mask lay on the floor to her right. Drops of dried blood trailed an intermittent pattern to the door that was now shut.

She had to get out of here. Her mind played scenes from twelve years ago.
Oh, God, please get me out of here. Please!
A sob escaped her, she couldn’t help it. Stumbling to the bathroom, she made her way to the sink and stared in the mirror.

That was a mistake. Black and blue stared back. She averted her eyes and took care of her business. Her mind hummed, desperate to come up with a plan. She didn’t bother to check and see if she could escape through the bathroom. If there’d been a way, she’d have discovered it twelve years ago. A window opposite the tub offered a little light, but no escape route.

The cuffs clanked against the sink as she splashed water on her face. Wincing at the sting, she ignored it and closed her eyes again. Memories flooded her, bringing terror and choking dread.

Think, Jamie, think.

Dakota and Connor would figure it out. They’d do some research and eventually track her captor down.

The question was, would she still be alive when they found him? She had to be. She’d survived once against all odds, she’d survive again.

Sucking in a deep breath, shoving the terror as far away as she could, she knew she was on her own. She and God, once again.

“What are you doing?”

His voice froze the blood in her veins. Without turning, she said, “Praying.”

He grunted. “Won’t do you any good. Didn’t help me any when I was a kid, isn’t going to help you now. Get out here.”

She spoke to the wall again. “I think I’m going to throw up. It’ll be easier to clean up if I stay where I am.”

Silence from behind her. Had she surprised him? She knew she wasn’t responding as he’d expected. Twelve years ago, she’d just begged and screamed. But she was a different person now. A stronger one. One that he didn’t know quite what to do with?

She could only hope.

A hand slapped against the wooden door frame, and she jumped, her breath hitching. A phone rang from the vicinity of the kitchen.

“Fine. I’ll be back.”

Relief wilted her shoulders as he spun and stomped away.

“Sam, you get the computer. Connor, you start with the files. I don’t want a piece of dust undisturbed in here. I also need to know who that red truck belongs to.”

Samantha settled herself behind George’s desk.

Jake lifted a print from the phone. “I’ll just run this and see what pops up. Be right back.”

He left and Dakota hit the boxes in the corner. The ones he’d asked George about just the other day.

Connor got on the phone with a longtime therapist from Eastside Psychiatrics where George used to work.

The one-sided conversation hummed in the back of Dakota’s mind as he focused on the awards and plaques all made out to George Horton. Uncertainty hit for a brief moment. Had he been wrong?

No, the picture Jazz had sent him of George Horton had been an African American.

The wrong George Horton?

Again, no, he was the only George Horton at the medical school at the time of the incident with his girlfriend and Howard Wilkins.

I’m coming, Jamie, I’m coming. Just hold on, darlin’, be strong.

His hands shook as he ripped open the next box.
Work fast,
Jazz, Jamie’s counting on us.
He switched over to prayer.
Please,
God, I don’t even know how to pray, but Jamie loves you. Keep her safe.
Give her the smarts to deal with this guy. Please!

Jazz was working on locating the African American George while the rest of them searched for the one who’d been using this office for the last few months.

Jake stuck his head in the door. “Fingerprints came up as a match to our guy. George Horton.”

Dakota stopped what he was doing for a minute and thought. “The guy worked for the police. He’d have access to computer files. Could he have hacked in and matched up his prints in case they were ever run?”

A shrug. “It’s possible. Difficult maybe, but possible. I would have thought they’d have run them before he was hired.”

Samantha said, “He could have had someone he went to school with or an acquaintance hack in and change them before he applied.”

“Wouldn’t alarms go off like crazy that the system had been infiltrated?”

She raised a brow. “Not if you’re good.”

Dakota knew Samantha could do it. And if she could, there was probably someone else out there who could.

Or someone within the system itself. He snapped his fingers. “If George had a user ID and a password from someone who had legitimate access, he wouldn’t have had to hack in.”

“You’re right.” Sam nodded. “No alarms whatsoever to worry about then.”

Frowning, Dakota wracked his brain. What was he missing? “I’ve got an idea. Give me a picture of George . . . our George.”

Samantha let out a whistle. “Guys, you’re going to want to see this one.”

Crowding around the desk, they looked over her shoulder to see the screen. She clicked. “This file contains articles on the missing girls.” She scrolled through them. Each one, all the way back to Jamie.

Connor hung up. “I just got off the phone with one of the docs who remembers George. Said George treated a patient who later committed suicide. He was fired from the practice.”