Mind Reader (33 page)

“Because he wasn’t there. He’s out looking for Decker and Forrester and trying to run down the redhead. There’s
still nothing on her.” Caron smacked the dash with the heel
of her hand. “Go, Parker!”

“If he wasn’t there, how do you know?”

“He left me a message on his answering machine. We’ve
done that for years to keep tabs on each other during an
investigation. He buried the missing-child report—for
Linda, I know it.”

“Did he do it, Caron?” She had that betrayed look. “Did Sanders kill Linda?”

“No.” She buried her head in her hands. Her hair fell
like a curtain around her face. She tossed back her head and
glared at him. “When Linda was dying, I sensed Misty getting weaker.” Caron’s lower lip quivered. “She’s get
ting sicker, Parker. I can feel it.”

Right before she’d collapsed, Caron had called out Mis
ty’s name. Linda was dead, and Misty was without medi
cation to keep her fever down. What was causing the fever,
Caron didn’t know. But the aspirin Linda had given Misty
had reduced the fever...for a while. “That means
Misty—” Parker shoved the gearshift into reverse.

“Yes!” Caron cried. “Misty knows who killed Linda
Forrester. She saw it happen.”

“Ah, sweet Jesus protect her.” Parker stomped the accelerator.

“They’ll go after her.”

“We’ll find her first.” Parker clenched the wheel in a death grip, dodged a white station wagon. Then he realized what Caron had said, and he turned a wary glance on
her. “Did you say
they?”

“Yes!”

Tears coursed down Caron’s cheeks. Without a word, Parker pulled her closer and wrapped his arm around her
shoulder. His questions could wait. Right now, she needed to concentrate on where the shed was located. Somehow he knew that the tears she was crying were Misty’s. And there
was no one there to comfort the child.

Chapter 9

Dawn broke just as Parker turned down the third winding dirt road. “Do you recognize anything?”

“What’s to recognize?” Caron tried to keep a step ahead
of panic. “There’s nothing but brush and trees out here.”

“Be patient.” He gave her thigh a supportive pat. “You’ll find the right one.”

He was thinking of Sarah, Caron knew, the way she’d confused the signs then. Parker didn’t know Sarah’s name, of course—Caron hadn’t broken that confidence—but he
was
thinking of her.

And so was Caron. In the hum of the tires on the pavement, she heard Sarah’s cries for help, those shrill screams
that had weakened to whimpers, then to deafening silence. The wind-whipped trees became fire and flame, billowing
towers of thick black smoke, cloying and concealing and
burning Caron’s throat raw. She’d stayed until the walls
had fallen and there was nothing left to burn. Until the embers had died and all that could be seen was cold ash.
Sarah’s torture chamber had fallen. And still Caron had found no peace.

Sandy said Sarah’s husband had burned down the building. That didn’t feel right, but Caron hoped that he
had. For him, there was solace, if not peace, in knowing that no one else would suffer there. For Caron, there was
neither. She’d failed, and Sarah had died.

The road curved left for the third time. Caron gripped
the door handle, fighting desperation. “This isn’t right,
either. Turn around.” The last road sign she’d imaged when holding the leash had been the one for Lafitte. Now every
thing depended on instinct, and she was terrified of being
wrong.

“You sure?”

“Yes. There were two left curves, then a right.”

Parker stopped, turned the Porsche around, then headed
back down the road, swerving through the cloud of dust the
car had raised.

The dark curl was taunting his ear again. This time, Caron didn’t hesitate, she just reached out and smoothed it back.

He looked over, and something hard in his face soft
ened. The pain in his eyes was gone. Odd. Until it had disappeared, she hadn’t realized how much pain had shone in his eyes. Worry for Misty filled them now.

“When this is over, we need to talk.” His grip on the wheel had his knuckles white. “There are things I need to
tell you.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d said those words to her but the odd pitch in his voice was more telling than any words.
 
She wished she
could see his face, but he’d looked away. A lot remained
unresolved between them; Parker had as hard a time being open about his feelings as she did. But he did feel. One of
them had to take the risk...and the plunge. “I care about
you, too, Parker.”

He reached out to her. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Her heart thundering, Caron clasped her
hand
in his and laced their fingers together until their palms
pressed. It was a gloomy dawn, too cloudy for pretty pinks
and
golds to show in the sky. But inside her the sun shone
warm
.

Something flashed black off Parker’s left shoulder. A dirt road, nearly hidden by tall weeds. “Stop!”

Parker slammed on the brakes.

Caron slid his way and bumped her chin on his shoulder. “Geez, Parker.” She cupped her stinging face in her
hand. “I didn’t mean on a dime.”

“Sorry.” He pecked a kiss to the tip of her chin, then just
waited.

She hadn’t often experienced quiet, undemanding acceptance. Caron loved him for that. The pain in her hands
gone, she unbuckled her safety belt, then turned, her knees
on the seat, to look out Parker’s window.

“I can’t see past your shoulders.” She stretched over the steering wheel. He steadied her with a hand to her waist,
and she saw the tire tracks rutting the road. “That’s it.”

He set her back to her seat. “Hold on.” Parker put the car in reverse and backed up.

She pointed through the windshield. “See how the brush
is bent. This is it.”

Parker reached to the back seat and retrieved a black
vest. “Put this on.”

She slid it on over her blouse. It was too big, and hung
on her shoulders. “A bulletproof vest?”

“Yes.”

“What about you?”

“I’m fine.”

He did care; more for her than for himself. The muscles in her chest quivered. She kissed his jaw to tell him how
much his caring meant to her.

“Hold that thought,” he said, reaching under his seat.
He pulled out a nickel-plated Colt, checked the chamber
and snapped it shut, then shoved it into the waistband of his
jeans. He nodded toward the vest. “That thing fastened?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Snow White.” He gave her a heart-stopping smile. “Let’s go get Misty.”

Caron put a restraining hand on his arm, wanting, needing, to tell him that she loved him...just in case. But the
words stuck somewhere between her mind and mouth, and,
afraid he didn’t want to hear them, she played it safe. “I care about you, and I like your kisses, Parker.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He smiled so tenderly that her
heart ached. “Me, too.” He jammed the gearshift into first
and hit the accelerator.

Weeds and tall grass slashed at the sides of the car. Caron
looked back. A cloud of dust trailed behind them.
“Slow down. They’ll see us coming a mile off.”

He braked to a crawl. “How much farther?”

Caron recalled the image. “A curve right, then the fish
ing camp will be straight ahead.”

“No heroics,” he said. “When we get there, you stick
close, but stay back.”

It was impossible to do both, but she nodded anyway. He
was remembering her going into Sarah’s building when Sandy had told her to stay in the car. She’d wished a thou
sand times, a million times, in the year since that night that
she’d listened to him.

A weedy patch of yellow sunflowers broke the monotony of green and brown to their left. Her stomach curled, and her chest tightened. And relief, precious and sweet, flowed through her veins. This
was
it. This
was
the right
place.

Parker stopped at a wide spot in the road, turned the Porsche around, then cut the engine. “We’d better go in on
foot.”

He grabbed a clanking black bag from the floor of the
car. “Ready?”

Caron swallowed hard, fighting images of Sarah, of going into the bar. They were replaying in her mind and she
couldn’t make them stop. “Ready.”

The tall grass was brittle and pricked at her legs and
arms. It was waist-high in most places, higher in others, scraping her shoulders and catching in her hair. She knew it was grass, but in her mind it was Sarah’s attacker, tor
menting, torturing.

Parked stopped and whispered, “Watch for snakes. As hot as it is, they’ll be slithering to every mud puddle.”

Her attention riveted to his warning. Caron watched the ground. The sun peeked out from behind a heavy black cloud, warming her head. Just as she was putting her foot
down, she saw a brown egg and sidestepped. Again she
imaged Sarah, sidestepping the loose stone in the parking lot.
The man grabbing her arm, jerking her into a van.
Gagging her...

Parker reached back, and Caron halted. The gentle
pressure of his fingers on her upper arm warned her to keep
silent. She was so scared she didn’t think she could talk if
she wanted to; just her breathing sounded like a foghorn in
the still morning air. What if Misty was dead? What if
Parker got killed? What if she never in her life got to hold
him again?

Parker crouched down. Caron crouched beside him, more black fear creeping into her heart. Looking past his
shoulder, she saw a clearing. In the middle of it, sur
rounded by mossy oaks, crepe myrtles and scraggly pines,
stood a clapboard house, worn and weathered almost
black—where it wasn’t green from tree mold. There were
two wooden rockers on the front porch, and fishing rods
leaned stacked in the corner by the door. A new Jeep was parked in the drive. This was definitely the fishing camp she’d imaged.

Parker felt Caron’s fingers dig into his shoulder. He
didn’t look back; he knew this was the place. His stomach
churned. Everywhere he looked he saw Harlan on his
knees, begging Sarah not to leave him, saw Sarah beaten and bruised and lifeless, lying on the tray behind that sil
ver door.

He pried Caron’s fingers loose from his shoulder and
inched forward to the edge of the clearing. Caron crept up
behind him. “Do you see the shed?”

“It must be around back.” He could almost hear her
heart beating, pounding as hard as his own. One slip. One false move. One mistake. And before they could do any
thing, Misty could be dead.
She
could be lying on that cold
metal tray.

Inside the house, a TV blared, the sound carrying out
into the yard.
Wheel of Fortune,
Caron thought, recognizing the music. The innocent tune grated at her ears, an
noyed her.

Moving stealthily, Parker crept farther to the left, stop
ping near the center of the house,
still
protected by the tall
grass. The crunching of it under their feet sounded like cannons firing. Caron broke into a cold sweat.

“Stay here,” Parker whispered.

Caron grabbed his sleeve and held on until he looked
back. “What are you going to do?” She inched forward and prayed for her pulse to level out.

“Try to see how many are inside.” Parker patted her knee. “Stay down.”

He stole out of the tall grass onto the lawn. Behind a giant spike-leafed laropia, he sprang from the crouch to a bend and sprinted from bush to bush toward the house.
Flattening himself against the outer wall, he pulled out his
gun.

Sunlight glinted on its shiny barrel.

Caron cringed. He might have to use it. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and her knees were shaking. Too weak to hold the crouch any longer, she dropped to her knees on the ground—and heard the hiss, and the god-awful rattle she’d so feared hearing.
Not now. Oh, God,
not now!