Going Gone (7 page)

Cameron felt sick. “Damn it! She’s still traumatized from the plane crash. She doesn’t need to be worrying about becoming a target for a serial killer.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Tate said. “Get a pen and paper. I’ll give you the number of my CIA contact, the one who helped me with Jo’s tracking chip.”

Cameron picked up a pen. “I’m ready. Go ahead.”

Tate gave him the name and number, then disconnected.

Cameron didn’t hesitate. He made the call, anxious to get everything lined up before he went home. There was a thunderstorm predicted, and he would rest easier knowing he was doing all he could to keep Laura safe.

* * *

Laura was arranging the shower gifts on the sideboard and the dining table when she heard a car pull up in the drive. She glanced at the clock. Not quite five. It couldn’t be Cameron. Then she heard a key in the door and smiled.

It
was
Cameron.

She went to meet him with a smile on her face.

“You’re early!” she cried.

He planted a kiss on the side of her neck and then swept her off her feet.

“Now, this is my kind of welcome home,” he said as he slid his hands beneath her hair and proceeded to kiss her until they were both lust-high and hungry for more. “Oh, baby, if we didn’t have plans, I would so be taking you to bed.” He kissed her one last time to emphasize the promise.

Laura smiled. “So how come you’re home early? Did all the bad guys take a holiday?”

“I wish,” he said, and then took a small oblong box out of his jacket pocket. “I have something for you.”

“A present?”

“A very useful present,” he said as he handed it to her.

Laura was still smiling as she opened the lid, and when she saw the delicate silver cross on a long woven chain, her eyes widened.

“Oh, Cameron! This is beautiful. Put it on for me, will you?”

He took the necklace out of the box and then stopped.

“There’s something special about this,” he said.

“You mean other than the fact that you gave it to me?” she asked.

He smiled. “The jewel in this cross isn’t a diamond. It’s a crystal with a tiny tracking chip embedded in it.”

She gasped, and then looked up. “Tracking chip...as in ‘you would always be able to find me’ kind of chip?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes welled with tears.

“You are forever my hero,” she said as she lifted her hair and turned around.

As soon as Cameron fastened it around her neck, she turned to face him, her gaze locked on the promise in his eyes.

“I’ll never be lost again.”

“That’s right, honey, never again.”

“This has been the best day ever,” she said, fingering the cross. “Come see the amazing presents we received. We’re going to be writing thank-you cards for days.”

He laughed, remembering Tate saying the very same thing earlier. He followed her into the dining room to look without mentioning anything about the roses that had shown up at Louise Inman’s final resting place. Right now that was the only sure thing they knew. Everything else was supposition, and he wasn’t going to upset Laura based on a theory.

* * *

Later that night, the thunderstorm that had been predicted earlier moved into Reston, bringing a torrential rain. The wind that came with it blew the rain sideways, slamming into the windows of the bedroom where Cameron and Laura were sleeping.

He woke to a flash of lightning, followed by a boom of thunder. In the glow of the night-light out in the hall, he could see water pouring down the windowpanes.

Laura was snuggled in behind him, and when he moved, she woke.

“What’s wrong?” she mumbled, and started to reach for the light.

“Nothing,” he said softly as he grabbed her hand and put it around his neck instead.

She felt the ricochet rhythm of his pulse pounding beneath her palm, and smiled as he rolled over and parted her legs with his knee. She shifted slightly and then arched her back as he slid inside. He was hard and hot, and she was wet and aching.

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

“I already am,” he said as he began to move.

Once the joining happened, the storm outside was nothing to the storm they were creating. The deeper he went, the tighter she wound. Her eyes were closed, her teeth clenched against a guttural moan that slipped up her throat. It was so good it almost hurt, and yet she couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop. It was all about chasing the quicksilver flutter that would make her lose her mind.

The faint whistle of wind turned into a whine as it whipped through the trees outside the house, mirroring the rush of blood through her body. The force of nature was nothing to the power of lust. When Cameron shifted into a harder, longer stroke, she rocked up to meet him.

“You like that, baby?” he whispered.

Laura moaned. The blood was pushing through her veins at breakneck speed, racing toward the pressure point of bliss. One second she was with him, and with the next breath she swallowed a scream. After that she was gone, riding the climax that exploded within her.

Cameron clenched his jaw, trying to maintain control, but her climax was his trigger and he lost it.

Hours after the storm was gone, they still slept, safely locked in each other’s arms.

Seven

T
ate Benton hadn’t been satisfied with just knowing someone had put roses on Louise Inman’s final resting place. He’d followed up by getting a couple of local FBI agents to check out florist shops in the area and see if someone remembered who’d bought the flowers. Normally the envelope from the florist would have had a name printed on it, but this envelope was missing. The only thing they had to go on was the card, which appeared generic. Still, he wasn’t going to be satisfied until they’d followed up as far as they could. There was too much riding on Hershel Inman’s whereabouts to ignore the significance of the flowers arriving on the anniversary of his wife’s death.

While he waited to hear back from the Louisiana agents, he continued to get ready for work. No need to alert the director or his partners unless he learned something new.

* * *

Cameron rolled out of bed just before the alarm went off. He glanced back at Laura and smiled as he headed for the shower. She was still asleep. Even though she’d taken yesterday off because of the wedding shower, they both had to go into work today.

He was just getting out of the shower when she slipped into the bathroom. He smiled as she wrapped her arms around his waist and licked the water drops off his chest.

Just before he got any ideas, she pulled back with a sexy little grin.

“I made coffee. Do you have time for breakfast?”

“I’d rather make time for you,” he said.

She slipped her nightgown over her head, letting it fall to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I had a feeling you would say that.”

His heart thumped out of rhythm at the thought of a repeat of last night.

“I’m going to get you all wet,” he warned.

“You always do,” she said.

He laughed, swung her off her feet and carried her back to bed.

* * *

When Hershel woke the next morning, he dressed without thought for how he looked, wanting only to get home. He caught a cab to the airport and arrived in plenty of time, but as he was striding to the gate, he began seeing Louise. Everywhere he looked, she was just walking past his line of sight or disappearing into the women’s bathroom or down a ramp to get on a plane.

“What’s going on?” he muttered, but she didn’t answer. “What does this mean? If I’m seeing you, does this mean I’m going to die?”

He sat down near his gate, his hands shaking and his heart hammering in a jerky rhythm against his rib cage. Everything had been fine until he’d come back to the States.

Go home. I told you to go home.

“Then, why am I seeing you?” he whispered.

If you don’t go home, then you
will
die. This is the last warning you are going to get.

“But they aren’t dead. They were supposed to be dead.”

She didn’t answer, and all of a sudden they were calling his flight.

He stood up, grabbed his carry-on and started walking, but instead of moving toward the gate, he was walking away, moving through the airport all the way to ground transportation, where he rented himself a car. By the time his plane was in the air, he was in a car driving north.

The logical part of him knew this was a bad idea, but the worm in his brain was already at work, telling him what to do and how to do it.

Before he left this earth, he needed at least one of those men who’d tried so hard to bring him down to know the pain of his loss. Since Nola Landry and Jolene Luckett had already blown past his fruitless attempts to end their lives, it now appeared there was one more lady who’d moved to center stage.

Laura Doyle was set to become a bride, but not if he could help it.

Reston, Virginia
—September 4

It took Hershel two days of driving to get to Virginia. Upon arrival, he turned in the rental car and purchased a used van. Then it took another day of looking for a place to live before he found what he was looking for on a sign in someone’s yard.

For Rent: Garage Apartment.

He turned into the driveway, eyeing the elegant two-story brick home. It looked neat and tidy, which should bode well for the apartment. Then he saw the garage at the far end of the drive and the apartment above. He eyed the steps going up. A little steep for his knees, but he wasn’t going to need it all that long. He checked out the small roofed landing at the top and decided if the place wasn’t a complete dump, it would be perfect. He would have the kind of privacy he needed to come and go as he chose, but also quiet, which wasn’t always possible in a hotel or motel. He got out of the van and headed for the front door.

The brass door knocker was a lion’s head with a large brass ring between its teeth. Hershel grabbed the ring and banged it a couple of times, then stepped back. The door opened moments later to reveal a middle-aged woman in a maid’s uniform.

“Yes?”

Hershel smiled. “I’m here about renting the garage apartment.”

“Ah, yes, please come in Mr....?”

“Leibowitz, Paul Leibowitz.”

“Come this way, Mr. Leibowitz.”

He followed her into a well-appointed library.

“Have a seat. Mrs. Taft will be here shortly.”

He sat, curiously eyeing the room and its contents. The walls were covered with a plethora of framed certificates and degrees. But before he could get up to check them out, he heard footsteps.

He stood up as a tiny, white-haired lady dressed in a black-and-white pin-striped dress walked in. Her hair was a pale shade of lavender, and the size and number of diamonds on her fingers probably could have funded the overthrow of a small country. She walked with her head up and her arms swinging. He had the impression that if he’d remained seated, she would have booted him out the door without an introduction.

“Mr. Leibowitz, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Paul Leibowitz.”

Her eyes narrowed as she checked him out with no apology for staring.

“I’m Lucy Taft. My deceased husband was William Harold Taft, a direct descendant of President William Howard Taft. I understand you are interested in renting the apartment.”

“Yes, ma’am, but not long-term. I’m only in the area for a couple of months on business.”

She frowned. “I don’t like to rent by the month. Will you be staying alone?”

“Yes, and I’ll gladly pay you the two months in advance, even though I doubt it will be that long. It’s just that I hate hotels.”

“It’s fifteen hundred dollars a month, with a five-hundred-dollar deposit, including furnishings and all utilities. It has a television, and internet and Wi-Fi connections.”

“Sounds great. I’d like to see it,” Hershel said.

She rang for her maid.

“Mildred will show you.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.”

The maid came into the room wearing a jacket, already aware of her duties.

“I have the keys, Mrs. Taft. Mr. Leibowitz, if you’ll come with me, we’ll go out the doors here in the library. It’s a shorter route.”

“Thank you,” Hershel said, nodded politely to Lucy Taft and followed the maid out the door.

The day was sunny, even though the air was a little brisk. They crossed the lawn to the back of the property, then she went up the steps with Hershel at her heels. The door swung inward on well-oiled hinges. Mildred flipped on lights and stepped aside for him to enter.

“The furniture is clean, and the floor is hardwood. No pets or smokers allowed, and Mrs. Taft appreciates things kept neat and tidy.”

Hershel nodded.

“As you can see, the kitchen/living room is one large open space. The television has a DVD player. Every room is fully furnished. The stove is gas.” She opened the refrigerator. “It’s clean and already cold. We don’t turn it off between renters. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the bath and bedroom.”

Hershel followed.

Mildred turned on lights as she moved down the little hall.

“Bedroom on your left has a queen-size bed and matching dresser.” She opened the closet. “It’s a nice size with shelves in the back. The bathroom is across the hall next to a small closet with a washer and dryer inside.”

“Oh, that’s handy,” Hershel said.

Mildred nodded. “Mrs. Taft’s grandson, William Herman Taft, lived here when he was in college.”

“Nice,” Hershel said, imagining the privacy and convenience of being here. “I think this will work just fine.”

“That’s good,” Mildred said. “If you’ll come back to the house with me, Mrs. Taft will tend to the rest.”

This was no more than Hershel expected. The little woman came across as stern bordering on bossy, which was fine. Once he paid her, he wouldn’t have to interact with her again.

Mildred led him back to the library and then handed the keys to her boss.

“He approves, ma’am.”

Lucy Taft had already had her say and was waiting for Hershel to speak.

“It’s very nice. I’m sure I will be comfortable there for the time I need it,” he said, and pulled out his wallet. He counted out thirty-five hundred dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills. “Two months in advance, plus the deposit, and I’ll be sure to keep it clean.”

Lucy Taft took the money and then removed one key from the ring and gave the other to him.

He noticed the fact that she kept one of the keys, a good reminder to leave nothing incriminating lying about.

“When do you plan on moving in?” she asked.

“Today, and since the refrigerator is already cold, I’ll shop for groceries before I come back. If I get my business finished sooner than planned, I’ll certainly let you know ahead of time and make sure to leave everything as clean and tidy as I found it.”

“Agreed,” Lucy Taft said.

“Then I’ll be off,” he said.

“Oh, Mr. Leibowitz?”

He paused. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Are you a God-fearing man?”

Just for a moment Hershel felt as if he was standing in front of Louise and she was about to read him the riot act for skipping church, and then he relaxed.

“Why, yes, I am.”

She lifted her chin and then sniffed slightly, as if she could smell out a rat trying to lie.

“Good. I wouldn’t want any atheists or sinners living on my property.”

Hershel’s smile shifted slightly.

“Ah, yes, but, Mrs. Taft, aren’t we all sinners in one way or another?”

She blinked, and then her lips twitched in what he supposed passed for a smile.

“Yes, I believe my dearly departed William Harold would say that is a fair summation of the human condition.” She stepped aside for Hershel to exit. “Mildred will see you to the door.”

He walked out into the hall, where the maid was waiting, then followed her to the door.

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

“Likewise,” Mildred said, and then added, “If you have problems at the apartment, please let me know. I’ll see to the proper repairmen.”

“Will do,” Hershel said.

He walked back to the van with a bounce in his step. He loved it when a plan came together.

* * *

By evening he was setting up shop.

His target was Laura Doyle, and in the following days he staked out her house to familiarize himself with her routine. It gave him a sense of power to know he could have taken her out any number of times and hadn’t.

It wasn’t just about the killing. A large part of his satisfaction came from the game, only this time he wasn’t going to contact the agents to let them know he was on the job. He hadn’t known they were still alive, so he was going to repay them in kind. He had to. They had worked just as hard to take him down as he had trying to take them out. It would be a betrayal of his love for Louise if he pretended it was over, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for them this time. They were going to have to figure out what was going on from the clues he laid down.

And the plan he’d come up with was actually quite simple. Their challenge in stopping him would be in seeing his plan
before
it was over, because if they waited for the final act, it would be too late.

He had a map of Reston spread out on the dining table. Working from his starting point, which was Laura Doyle’s address, he measured four inches due north on the map. The person living at that address would be the first victim, but he wouldn’t kill them at their home. He was going to take him down at his place of work. The second victim would be four inches due south from Laura’s address, and again the victim would disappear from her place of work. The third victim would be four inches west, the fourth four inches east, and Laura Doyle, whose home was dead center at the axis of those four locations, would be the fifth and last victim.

He’d learned the hard way not to underestimate the Stormchaser team and wondered how long it would take them to figure it out. Once he had time to scope out the first victim’s habits, he would waste no time carrying out the first kill.

* * *

The weatherman hadn’t lied. The rain predicted for late evening arrived just before sundown, lowering the temperature into the forties and turning the September night wet and cold.

It was Patty Goss’s night to close at the Chic Boutique in D.C. where she worked. The front door was locked, and she was in back counting the money from the till to put in the store safe. She never liked closing on her own, but being the manager came with responsibilities. Tomorrow was her day off. The owner would take care of the deposit in the morning, and she would be sleeping in.

She’d called her husband to let him know she was bringing home takeout for dinner. Now all she had to do was wait for the delivery. A few minutes later a knock sounded at the back door. Her delivery was here, but just to be sure she called out.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Mrs. Goss...Charlie from Hot Wok.”

She unlocked the door. The owner’s son, Charlie Lee, was standing in the downpour, his delivery car idling behind him.

“Nasty night,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am, that it is,” he said, and handed her the bag with her food. “Sweet-and-sour chicken. Pork dumplings. Fried rice and three spring rolls...and extra duck sauce. Right?”

“Perfect,” she said, and paid him.

“Have a nice night,” he said, and drove off as she went back inside and locked the door.