Playing Dead (46 page)

Mitch ran across the open space.

“Claire, you bitch!”

It was Langstrom, it had to be. Mitch continued toward where the voices came from. He couldn’t see anyone yet, but they had to be near here.

A startled cry, then the sound of an engine.

He turned to the right and saw the backhoe on the far side of the property. A pile of dirt was being poured out . . . into a hole?

Where was Claire?

Mitch sprinted toward the backhoe. “FBI! Freeze!” He aimed his gun at Langstrom.

“If you shoot, she dies!” Langstrom shouted. A scoop full of dirt was held over the hole.

Claire was in there.

Mitch heard nothing over the motor. Was Claire still alive? Had he already killed her?

“Claire!” he shouted.

He thought he heard a faint cry from the hole, but it might have been his imagination and hope.

Mitch saw faint movement on the other side of the backhoe. Meg and Hans were circling around. Mitch needed to buy time. But he didn’t know how injured Claire was. She could be dying in that hole. She could be suffocating . . .

“It’s over, Langstrom,” Mitch shouted. “Step down from the backhoe and surrender.”

He laughed. “No, Special Fucking Agent. It’s not over. It’ll never be over until Bridget is dead.”

Bridget? Who—the woman who was strangled. The one Hans suspected had molested the young Bruce Langstrom.

“She hurt you, didn’t she?” Mitch said. He felt uncomfortable in this role. Hans had always been the one to talk to the psychopaths, working through their past and getting them to surrender or make a misstep. What if Mitch screwed this up? What if he said the wrong thing and Claire ended up dead because of him?

“You’re not part of this. Go away.”

“No,” Mitch said. “I know about Bridget. She raped her male students and went to prison. You were one of her victims.”

“Victim? Fuck you, Fed. I’m not a victim. I was never a victim! I loved her. I wanted her.”

“Is that what you told the judge when you testified against her?”

“I never did that! I’d never hurt her. My father—he humiliated me. He did it, not me. He had shrinks come in and interpret what I said and change everything around.”

“Shrinks. I can’t stand them either. Come down, Bruce,” Mitch said, trying to turn the conversation more personal. “Come down and we can talk about the damn shrinks.” Even as he said it, Mitch knew Langstrom wasn’t going to bite.

“You’re transparent, Fed. You’re going to back off, right now. Back off. Go back to your car. Drive away. Then I’ll let Claire live.”

She wasn’t dead. At least, if Mitch could believe this killer, Claire wasn’t yet dead. Mitch held on to the hope.

“You know I can’t do that, Bruce. You’re a cop. You wouldn’t walk away either.”

“Cop.” He laughed. “I’m a hired gun, by both the government and the criminals who run it.” He laughed, then it shut off abruptly. “Get away from me!” He released some of the dirt and Claire’s scream from deep in the grave pierced the night, over the sound of the backhoe.

She was alive.

Mitch took a step backward. “Okay, Bruce. Okay. Look. I’m backing off.”

Meg was in position.

“I’m backing off,” Mitch repeated.

“It’s better like this,” Langstrom said.

In the rapidly fading light, Mitch saw movement in the backhoe. Was that a gun?

He hit the ground and rolled as a bullet whizzed past his head. Mitch had his gun out and aimed, but more gunfire rang through the air and Langstrom fell out of the backhoe.

The dirt in the scoop above Claire cascaded down.

“No!” Mitch jumped up and ran. “Claire!”

Damn motor, he couldn’t hear her.

He ran to the edge of the hole. “Claire!”

He couldn’t see her. Oh God, no, all that talking while she was dying . . . then he saw Claire’s limp hand sticking out of the dirt.

He jumped down and began digging around her hand. Her arm. Her head.

“Claire!”

He pulled her head free of the dirt. She wasn’t conscious. He felt for her pulse. Strong, but rapid. Blood coated her hands. Had she been shot? Where was the blood coming from? He checked for a head wound and found none.

“Hans! Meg! I need help.”

The motor shut off.

“Mitch! Where are you? Mitch!”

“Down here! Call for an ambulance!”

Mitch dug away more dirt from Claire’s body. She was naked. Her body was so cold. There were cuts, now filthy from the dirt, all over her arms and chest.

“I need help getting her out.”

Meg jumped into the half-filled grave and rapidly scooped dirt away from Claire’s body until Mitch could pull her free. He lifted her up and handed her to Hans, who was kneeling at the edge of the hole.

“Her leg’s bleeding,” Mitch said. It also appeared bandaged. What had that bastard done to her? Mitch wanted to kill Langstrom all over again. His eyes burned as Hans laid Claire down on the ground. Mitch pulled himself out of the hole, then helped Meg out. Both he and Hans removed their jackets and wrapped them around Claire.

Four more agents ran to the site. Meg gave the orders. “You two, secure the property. You, get the first-aid kit and blankets, stat. You, get the status of the ambulance.”

Mitch smoothed Claire’s hair away from her face. “Claire. Claire, come on, wake up. Please, Claire.”

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” Hans said. He focused on removing the bandage. “The bleeding has mostly stopped, but we need to get the wound washed out and antibiotics administered ASAP.”

“Claire, honey, please.” Mitch swallowed thickly. He couldn’t lose her. Dammit, he could
not
lose her like this. He would rather have her throw him out of her house in a rage than have her die in his arms. “Dammit, Claire. Yell at me. Hit me. Blame me. Just don’t die on me. Don’t do it.” He pulled her into his arms, cradling her, taking comfort that her heart still beat, that her lungs still breathed.

He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips. “Claire,” he whispered, “I need you. I need you back. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me like this. I love you.”

Sirens pierced the night. Thank God. “Claire, we’re getting you help. You’re going to be okay.”

Mitch looked up. He’d forgotten that Hans and Meg were kneeling with him. He turned away from their inquisitive expressions. He didn’t want to explain, but he said, “I love her. Go ahead, fire me.”

Meg said, “I already figured that out.” She took a deep breath. “I must have been a real bitch these last couple years if you think I’d fire you for falling in love.”

Mitch stared at her. “What—”

“As far as I’m concerned, what you do on your own time is your business.” She reached out, touched him. “You’re a great agent, Mitch, flaws and all. I’m glad you’re on my team.”

Mitch nodded and stroked Claire’s hair.

“She’s going to be okay,” Meg said. “She’s a strong woman. I like her a lot.”

FORTY-FOUR

Mitch stood to the side of the property with Meg and Hans. It was Sunday morning, dawn, and the evidence response team was getting to work on a grisly project. It reminded the three of their shared past. Only, this was somehow worse.

They had already identified seventeen possible grave sites. They excavated the most recent: The girl, sixteen or so, had been dead only a couple days. She had dark hair and fair skin.

Like Claire.

“It’s come full circle, hasn’t it?” Meg whispered. “Our first case together.”

“Kosovo,” Hans and Mitch said simultaneously. Thirteen years had passed since their horrifying weeks in Kosovo unearthing mass graves to identify human remains after the brutal civil war tore apart Yugoslavia. It still haunted all three of them.

“What do I say to her?” Mitch asked quietly. They had been upstairs and had put together what Bruce Langstrom had done. The young girl’s room where evidence of a struggle told them Claire had been inside. The worn bear, her name on the door, the photo of a young Claire and her friend on the wall—it didn’t take a rocket scientist to surmise the room was a replica of Claire’s childhood room.

The blood in the hallway where he’d shot her in the leg to prevent her from escaping. Her cut clothes in the bathroom, which matched up with the marks on her body when Mitch found her.

But it was the disk playing in a loop in the bedroom that had Mitch and even the seasoned, unflappable Hans Vigo speechless.

That bastard had been watching her for years. Filming her in the privacy of her own bedroom. Mitch wanted to kill him again—with his bare hands—for putting Claire through hell. For forcing her to watch her most intimate and private moments. Why? Some sick mind game? To demoralize her?

“Tell her you love her,” Hans said.

“It’s not going to be that easy.”

“Nothing worth having is easy.”

“How is she going to live knowing that he—”

“She will because she’s a fighter,” Hans said.

“And,” Meg added, “she has you.”

Mitch watched their evidence response team bring up another body and lay it on a bright yellow tarp. How do they stop monsters like Langstrom? So many victims. Innocent. Maybe he was supposed to be a cop. But the rules that favored killers like Langstrom would always be stacked against them. He didn’t want to go back to a desk, more concerned with paperwork than criminals.

“I want the disk,” he said.

“I can’t—” Meg said.

“Just stop with the rules. I don’t care if it’s evidence. He’s dead! I have to protect Claire. If that gets out, it’ll destroy her.”

“I’ll do it,” Hans said.

“I can’t ask you to—”

“You didn’t. Trust me, Mitch. No one else will see it. Ever.”

Hans turned and walked toward the house.

“Go back to the hospital,” Meg said as they watched Hans enter Langstrom’s house. “You’ll want to be there when Claire wakes up.”

“You need me here,” Mitch said.

“Scram. Claire needs you more,” Meg said.

“Thanks.”

“By the way, a friend of mine called. He’d heard about you, might have a job you’re interested in.”

Mitch stared at her. “Am I fired?” Did he sound hopeful?

“No. I want you to stay. But—” Meg glanced down, then back at Mitch. “You’ve never been happy in the FBI. I saw it, but never addressed it, because I didn’t want to lose you from my team. You’re a great agent. But I want you to do something you really want to do, not what anyone else wants for you.”

“I guess you know me better than I thought.”

“You don’t have to take it. And your job is safe, if you want to stay. Just give this guy a call and listen to what he has to say.”

Mitch took the card Meg held out.

J. T. CARUSO

ROGAN-CARUSO PROTECTIVE SERVICES

“I’ll listen,” he said and walked to his car, leaving the dead, and the past, behind him.

*   *   *

Claire woke to soft voices. Her eyes opened halfway. She breathed as deeply as she could and smelled hospital.

She’d made it. Somehow, she got out of her grave and made it.

Memories of sound, voices, filtered in. Being buried with dirt. Screaming. Begging for her life. Then nothing but warmth. Being rocked. Someone holding her.

Don’t die on me. Don’t do it.

I need you.

I love you.

Mitch had been there. Claire had heard him, felt him.

“Mitch.” Her throat was thick and raw.

“Honey.”

It was her dad. She turned, saw Tom O’Brien sitting with Nelia Kincaid in her hospital room. He wore a bathrobe, but her dad was sitting up. Alive and well.

“Daddy?”

“You’re okay.” He took Claire’s hand.

Nelia said, “I’ll be right back.” She left.

“Oh, Daddy, I don’t know where to begin.”

He fed her water through a straw.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“He killed Mom.”

“I know.”

“He was in my room. He took my bear. He—”

“Shh. Don’t.”

Claire breathed deeply. “How’d they find out?”

“Mitch and the FBI put the information together, and they gave Don Collier a deal for Langstrom’s name.”

“Langstrom?”

“Phil Palmer’s real name was Bruce Langstrom. He was an assassin, for lack of a better word. The FBI is going through countless records of Judge Drake, Richard Mancini, and Congressman Riordan. They’re putting together a conspiracy going back nearly three decades. Political corruption, illegal land deals. Murder.”

“Murder?”

“Seems they killed an old woman for her land. It’s what started this, at least for us. Frank Lowe ratted out Riordan to Chase Taverton as part of a plea agreement. Judge Drake found out about it and had them killed. It was just chance that Lydia was having an affair with Taverton. If not Lydia, it would have been some other woman who died, another husband or ex-boyfriend framed.”

Her dad held her hand.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“This isn’t your fault, or mine, or even your mother’s. Blame those selfish bastards. Be satisfied that their crimes are being exposed now that they’re dead.”

“The time we lost—”

“Honey, believe me, I could hate for a long time if I think about what I lost. That’s gone. I have you back, and that means more to me than anything in the world. I’ve regained my reputation. My innocence. My freedom. I can walk the streets again. And then there’s Nelia.”

His face softened and Claire squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you found someone who loves you.”

He nodded. “And I’m glad you found someone who loves you.”

“I—”

“Mitch told me everything last night after you were brought in.”

“Everything?”

“More or less. Honey, he’s a good man.”

“I know.” Her voice cracked. Mitch was more than just a good man. He was the love of her life.

The door opened and Mitch walked in. Nelia stood in the doorway. “Tom, you need to rest.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom leaned over and kissed Claire on the forehead. “Love you, Claire Beth.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

Tom shuffled out arm in arm with Nelia.

Claire turned her head toward Mitch.

“You probably want to know what happened,” he said.

She nodded. “Yeah. I missed a lot.”