She Can Scream (35 page)

“I can’t stop in the middle of this.” Luke pinned his attention back on his computer.

Mike gave him a pointed look. “Let me know as soon as you have the address.”

“I’ll call it in as an anonymous tip.”

The stale air stank of carpet, rubber, and fear. Curled on her side, Brooke shivered. A piece of plastic sheeting crinkled beneath her. No doubt to prevent trace evidence from being transferred to the vehicle. Brooke combed through her hair for a few long strands. She tucked them in the rear of the trunk, beneath the sheeting.

A midsize sedan equaled a midsize trunk. She had a few inches of space around her body to maneuver. In the dark, she searched for an emergency trunk-release lever. The car looked
fairly new, so it should have a glow-in-the-dark release of some sort. She didn’t see anything. But then, if a man made a habit out of putting women into his trunk, he’d likely removed the mechanism to open it from the inside.

Where was the compartment that contained the tire changing tools? Wiggling until her back was wedged into the rear of the trunk, she pushed the plastic back and felt for the carpet edges. Her hand slid underneath and found the compartment lid. Her fingers pried it up. She stuck a hand inside and felt the hard rubber of the spare tire, but the well around it was empty. No tire iron. No jack.

Disappointment washed through her, and hope slid from her grasp like a handful of rain.

Jack was right. This guy was a pro. He’d planned this down to the smallest detail.

If she lived in a city, she could have pushed or kicked out the plastic taillight covering. She could have stuck her hand out and signaled to a passing motorist for help. But most of Westbury was rural. There was a good chance there wouldn’t be a car in sight to help her. And she couldn’t take the chance that her daughter would die because of her trick.

All of her training was based on self-preservation, but Brooke’s one and only concern was her daughter. How could she protect Haley if they were separated? Was her daughter still in the car? Was she still alive? Brooke shut down that line of thought. She couldn’t function if she even considered that possibility.

The car lurched to a stop.

In the darkness, she tensed, waiting. Were they at a stop sign? Over the sound of her own labored breathing, she heard a muffled rumble and a metallic squeal. Garage door? The car
rolled forward. Metal groaned and slammed. A car door opened. The vehicle rocked gently as the driver got out. Another door opened.

Haley.

He was getting her out of the back seat. Tears slid down Brooke’s cheeks. Helplessness and horror gripped her insides and squeezed. She held her breath and strained her ears for more sounds. What was he doing?

The car rocked. There was a scuffle and a slap. “You bitch!”

Brooke’s chest compressed as if the vehicle was parked on it. Then everything went quiet, except for her heartbeat thudding in her ears and the labored sound of her next painful inhale. She repositioned herself so her feet were between her and him. If he leaned over, a solid kick to the face or head could knock him out.

Brooke pulled her right knee to her chest. Shoes scraped on concrete, and the trunk sprung open.

Luke stared at the screen. Every drop of blood in his body turned to ice water. He grabbed the phone and dialed Mike. As soon as the chief answered, Luke gave him the name and Westbury address of the account holder.

Mike was silent for two long seconds. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.” Luke gave the police chief extra points for not wasting time with a round of I-don’t-believe-its.

Luke plugged the address into his GPS. Christ, it was only four miles from Brooke’s house. The bastard could’ve walked over any time.

“Luke.” Mike’s voice went stern. “Don’t go out there. He’ll be armed.”

So will I.
And Luke was closer. “Since I got all this information illegally, an anonymous tip will be coming in as soon as we hang up.”

Commotion sounded over the connection.

“Wait,” Mike yelled. “I just got word that Haley’s phone was found. She managed to snap a blurry picture of her kidnapper as he grabbed her. Cars are on the way to his residence now.”

Luke ended the call and collected Brooke’s shotgun from the den. Still loaded. Upstairs, he went into her closet, opened her gun safe, and filled his pockets with shells. His jeans were dark enough, but he tugged a black hooded sweatshirt over his light-colored T. In the car, he set the shotgun on the passenger seat.

Luke was no hero. If the police got there first, great. But if not, Luke wasn’t waiting. He’d already failed to keep Brooke safe from this monster. He’d save her or die trying. Otherwise, he doubted he could live with himself. Even ten seconds could mean the difference between life and death.

Luke killed the lights as the GPS told him he was approaching the address. The last house he’d passed had been nearly two miles back. A yellow glow appeared ahead. He pulled his car onto the shoulder and stared at the ordinary house fifty yards away. Two stories, two-car attached garage. What, no picket fence?

He double-checked the address. This was it.

Luke turned off the interior dome light before slipping out of the car. The shotgun was a welcome weight in his hands as he started across the grass.

Brooke blinked in the harsh light of the garage’s bare bulb.

He was standing well back, away from any chance of her catching him with a kick. An unconscious Haley was draped over his right shoulder. His arm wrapped around her legs to hold her in place. His sleeve was pushed up, revealing a bruised and swollen wrist.

Her vision cleared, and shock shut down her brain.

“Out.” Through a blood-smeared face, Officer Kent’s mouth spread in an evil, “
Heeere’s Johnny”
smile.

Kent?
How could it be?

“You look surprised.”

Brooke spit out a single word. “Why?”

“Why?” Kent sneered. “That’s a stupid question.”

Brooke sat up, pins and needles shooting through her limbs. “Why my daughter?”

“Because she’s yours. She needs to learn some manners.” He wiped blood from his face with the back of his hand, and then raised his handgun awkwardly over his shoulder with his left hand. He pressed the muzzle into Haley’s lower back. “And so do you.”

Brooke climbed out of the trunk. Her stiff, freezing legs protested. She put a hand on the vehicle to steady her balance.

“Turn around and walk.” Kent nodded toward an interior door.

On trembling legs, Brooke stumbled across the cement slab and went into the house. The decor was shockingly normal.

“Keep moving.”

A tidy kitchen opened to a living room outfitted with comfortable furniture and a flat-screen TV.

“The basement door is just ahead.”

Brooke had a feeling the cellar wouldn’t be so ordinary. She opened the door. Wooden stairs descended into darkness. A killer’s dungeon. A strange detachment spread through her. This was it. Time was running out.

“Light switch is on the right.”

She flipped it and illuminated the end of the staircase. Nothing was visible but concrete.

“Downstairs. Now.”

Her sneakers made little sound on the wood treads. He stayed several steps above her, well out of reach of a back kick. She stepped down. A wall divided the room. In the center was a door. This half of the space contained a washer, dryer,
some shelving, and a weight bench. Perfectly normal basement equipment.

“Step to the side. Over by the laundry basket.”

Brooke moved five steps to the right. He opened the door with a key and turned on the lights. She needed him to put Haley down and lower the gun, just for a few seconds. Kent had injured his right wrist. She was pretty sure that was his dominant hand. His coordination seemed off. The injury just might give her a chance.

He backed away. “You first.”

She walked through the opening.

He dumped Haley on a worktable. Equal parts fear and fury pulsed through Brooke’s head. She could barely think. Haley was unconscious. Brooke squinted. Haley’s chest rose and fell much too slowly. Terror spread through her belly in a heavy wave. “What did you give her?”

“Just a little Special K to make her more cooperative,” he said. “She must weigh less than I estimated.”

Special K, also known as ketamine, was a veterinary anesthetic and date rape drug. An overdose could cause respiratory depression or central nervous system damage.

The worktable was fitted with chains and other restraints. The skin of Haley’s forehead was red and smeared with blood. But Brooke could see no break in the skin. She glanced back at Kent.

He wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve. Rage glittered in his eyes, the blue going cold and dead as a shark’s. Haley had broken his nose with a head butt.

Haley’s hands were bound in front of her body. One handed, he lifted her arms over her head. They flopped, limp and pale as dead fish, onto the table. He secured her binds to the table with a
pair of handcuffs, his movements slowed by the use of his non-dominant hand. “There, now she isn’t going anywhere.”

He turned his focus to Brooke.

She was only going to get one shot at him. One debilitating blow or she and Haley were both dead. He walked closer.

Brooke clasped her bound hands together in front of her face, as if she were begging. “Please. Please don’t hurt my daughter. I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Of course you will.” He smiled. Perverse pleasure lit his eyes. “Let’s see how you follow orders. Then I’ll consider letting Haley go.”

Brooke’s mind spun.
Stall him, distract him any way possible
. “Why are you doing this?”

He sighed, the kind of sound one made when reminiscing a particularly fond memory. “If you hadn’t come tearing through the woods to save Maddie, you and I wouldn’t have reconnected. But, given your inclination, I suppose it was Karma.”

“What do you mean, reconnected?”

“We met once before. Don’t you remember?”

“No.” Brooke searched her memories, desperate for a clue to her connection to this killer, information she might use against him.

“It was 1996. I was a rookie. I saw this red Trans Am roaring down Route 27, with a gorgeous girl at the wheel.” His mouth twisted in a smirk, obviously waiting for her to make the connection.

Oh my God
.

“Karen.” She breathed out her friend’s name.

“You remember.” His eyes shone with excitement. “I pulled her over. She had long dark hair down to her ass and legs up to her chin. She was wearing this slutty little miniskirt that she
hiked up to give me a better look. There was a girl in the passenger seat, but I barely noticed her. That was you, wasn’t it?”

The memory washed over Brooke like an ocean wave. The balmy autumn night pouring through the open windows. The radio blaring. Karen belting out “Isn’t It Ironic” at the top of her lungs with Alanis Morissette. Lights flashing in the mirror.

Karen had flirted with the cop and gotten off with a warning. She used to do it all the time. Brooke, in the passenger seat, hadn’t even gotten a good look at the officer. Simultaneously embarrassed and enthralled by Karen’s behavior, Brooke had tried to be invisible. Karen had been the lively, outgoing one.