Touching Evil (19 page)

There was a click, a snap as the phone was picked up off the ground. "Detective."

A thousand things ran through his mind, threats, curses, but Artie
went into cop mode. Finally. His voice stayed rock steady as he spoke.
"What do you want? If you've killed a cop..."

"I haven't killed anyone, detective. I have perfected them. She's not terribly lovely, you know. Almost manlike..."

Leah. Jesus fuck. Artie tore the Camaro's door open, gunning the
engine as soon as he could. "You don't want to hurt her. You really
don't."

"No. No, she isn't my type at all, detective. However, I believe you and I are in a position to make a trade."

"I asked you what you wanted." Keep him talking, Artie. Keep him there. I'm coming, Leah.

"I want him. He has something I need."

"What? I can't help you unless you tell me why, man." He was gonna puke. He just knew it.

"Don't play games with me, detective. You know what he does. You
know what he sees. I helped him find that. It belongs with me. It
always has." He could hear the man moving, hear something sliding.

"What are you looking for? What is he gonna help you find, huh?" No, no moving. Surely a uniform was on the way, right? Surely.

"Perfection. I have to go, detective. I have things to do. I'll call
you to arrange the switch, yes? I imagine you'll want to kiss him
goodbye before you give him to me. Damaged goods, but he is a very
unique case."

"Wait!" It came out of his mouth just before the line went dead and Artie growled, pushing more speed out of his Goddamned car.

He was never gonna get there in time. When he squealed to a stop,
the place was crawling with uniforms, sirens and lights lighting the
fucking day right up.

Artie stormed right through the crowd, flashing his badge, amazed he
remembered it. "The cop. There was a cop here. Any sign of her?" He was
barking and he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself.

"No, sir. There's a blood trail leading down the stairs, and we have a vehicle ID and witnesses, but..."

God fucking damn it.

"Well you get your asses out there and find her. You hear me? You
find her." Leah was his partner. He'd do whatever he had to, no matter
what, to get her back.

"Yes, sir." The uniforms scattered as he stormed upstairs, determined to find something, anything.

That was Leah's blood. The very thought gave him the cold sweats,
thinking about her and her baby and her husband and what this was going
to do to all of them. He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to
hold on, to think. For her sake. Oh, fuck.

Greg.

Artie yanked out his phone and dialed Greg's cell.

"Artie?"

"Greg. Babe. Are you all right? Did you lock the door? Lock the door."

"Okay. Is she okay?" He heard Duke yowling up a storm, heard Greg locking the door, the chain rattling.

"No." Artie looked around, just letting his brain process what his
eyes saw, not thinking too much. Sometimes that helped. "She found him,
Greg. And now he has her."

"Oh, God."

The place was dark, dim, books stacked everywhere. Surgical texts.
Biology texts. Books on dissection and photography and electrical
engineering.

"I need to know everything you know about a Jerry Daniels, Greg. You
turned him down once, for an assistantship." Dissection. Artie
swallowed, making himself move past the fear.

"Who? I turned down a hundred people a year, Artie. I ... Wait. I
... He wasn't even an anatomy student, right? Electrical engineering."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's how he got into the station, how he got into
your place..." Book, book, some kind of weird folder full of fuses.

"I ... He was pissed, but no more than anyone. Sucked up. Came to the hospital after the fall. Why didn't I know it, Artie?"

"He said some shit, babe. We'll talk about it. I need to clear the
scene now. I'll come get you soon, though. We're going to have to find
you a safe place. He wants you."

"I want to see his house. I can find her, Artie. I'll be able to find her."

"I know. The place is crawling with uniforms. You'd short out. Give
me an hour. Maybe two." Artie hoped to God Leah had that long. He'd bet
she did. The guy needed her to at least make like he would do the
exchange.

"Okay, Artie. I'll be here. She'll be fine."

"Love you." He needed to say it, even if it made the kid standing
duty on the door stare. Artie hung up, hoping Greg was right. Hoping
Leah would be just fine. She had to be.

If he was stuck in this apartment for any longer, Greg was going to
have a psychotic break and wreak havoc with his faithful sidekick, Duke
the one-eyed demon kitty, at his side.

He'd cleaned. Puked. Cleaned again. Unlocked the door a dozen times and each fucking time the phone rang.

It was surreal.

And deeply fucked.

And made him think that maybe Artie was having the apartment watched or filmed or something.

Of course, that led him into that weird paranoid space, which he
wasn't going to entertain right now. Honestly. No. No, he was going to
just stand up, walk to the door, open it and go find Maple.

If Artie hadn't been standing there when the door opened, it would
have all worked much more effectively. "Well, hey there, babe."

God, Artie looked gray.

"Hey. Anything?" He stepped back, let Artie in.

"Not really, no. We know where he lives. We know his vehicle. We've
got jack. Waiting for him to call." Artie sighed, rubbed the back of
his neck, and even Duke didn't give him shit.

"What does he want?" He headed to make more coffee. Something.

"You. He wants to trade her for you. He says he can use you." Oh, Artie was
pissed
about that.

"Me." God. "Okay. Tell him to name a place and time."

"No!" Artie waved both hands wildly, looking like he wished he had a
tie on. Greg had a sudden image of one flying out the window of the
Camaro to be crushed in traffic. "No, I will not put you in danger like
that."

"She's hurt. She's pregnant. She's your partner. I'm not a weakling.
Maybe if you do it, he'll put himself in a spot you can grab him."

Hell, of all the ways he'd become worthless in the last ten years, maybe this was the way he made up for it.

"I know you're not." One hand scrubbing over his face, Artie turned
and headed to the kitchen, grabbing a beer before speaking again. "It
goes against all of my training to give in to demands, Greg. And to put
a witness or victim at risk. For that person to be you..."

"Better me than Leah, Artie." They were created to reproduce, repopulate. It was a biological imperative.

The look on Artie's face was pure agony. "I don't wanna lose either one, babe."

"Well, I don't particularly want you to, either, but surely our
priority is getting her medical attention, huh?" He headed over, hands
sliding on Artie's shoulders.

Artie tensed up, shoulders like rock. "I. Yeah. Yeah, but, Greg..."
The man was a giant swirl of emotion, most of it pitch-black.

"Breathe, detective." He stepped around behind Artie, knowing he
couldn't keep the expressions off his face, the vague, sick horror.

Artie pivoted, hands reaching for him. "Quit that. Quit hiding. I'm sorry, I can't help what I'm thinking..."

"I know. You shouldn't have to. Worry, I mean. I just wanted to touch you." He'd gotten spoiled.

"Then come here." Artie pulled him close, and now he could feel the
relief, the need. Artie was scared to death, but he made it better.

He nodded, tugged Artie closer, held on. This was all ... "Was this all because I didn't give him an assistantship?"

"I don't know. He says you belong to him." A flash of hard anger,
not at him, came through so clearly his ears rang. "You don't belong to
anyone, babe." Artie paused, laughed. "Maybe Duke."

"You and Duke can share." Greg racked his brains, trying to remember
the guy, remember something besides a few furious emails, a nasty
letter.

"He has all this shit, Greg. Dissection texts. Weird philosophy
books. It's like something out of a movie." Artie shook his head,
nuzzling Greg's cheek.

"Take me over there? Maybe I can figure out where he goes. That's
where he'll take her, right? To his lair?" Lair? What a comic book kind
of word.

"Are you sure? I don't want you to overload, babe." The grooves around Artie's mouth made him sure.

"I'm sure. I want to help." He wanted to do something.

"Okay. We'll go. But you start getting overwhelmed you
say
so. Okay?" Artie patted his chest pockets like he was looking for a cigarette.

"You don't smoke, detective." Although Greg thought he might start.

"I did. You didn't know me then. Leah made me quit." Artie's voice
broke a little before Artie straightened up and moved toward the door.
"Come on. Time's a-wastin’ I guess."

Greg suddenly wanted a kiss, something telling him that things would
never be the same again, that once he left this room, things would be
... stained. He didn't ask, though, because sometimes he was wrong.

He grabbed his coat, scratched Duke's ears. "I'm ready."

"I'm not." Artie turned back again, that lightning fast pivot
stunning him again, just like it had the first time. Artie grabbed him,
just like the man had heard his thoughts, and kissed him silly, lips
bruising his.

He just held on tight, took it all and demanded more. So long. He'd wanted Artie for so long.

Artie just kept on and on, only stopping once little spots swam in
front of his eyes, pulling back so they could whoop for breath. "Not
letting you go," Artie said.

"Good." He met Artie's eyes, serious as he'd ever been. "Don't."

Nodding, Artie took his hand and they headed out the door, the two of them going together this time. Not one of them following.

He got into the car, closed his eyes. He knew that Jerry—the
man's name was Jerry—wouldn't be watching this time. This time
Jerry had Leah.

Artie gunned it, driving a little too recklessly, a little too fast. The man always did that when he was upset.

The building wasn't anything special. Just another gray building in
another street with big houses made into little sleazy apartments.
Nothing overwhelming or evil. They went to the third floor, Artie
unsealing the tape and letting him in, carefully clearing the room
first.

He reached for the doorknob, eyes wide as he was flooded with a
sudden sense of pain, of fury, of a dull fear. "Leah. Leah hurt him.
Leah hurt him, Artie."

"Good." Artie's face looked like stone, the man standing in the middle of the room with those arms crossed. "Good."

He slipped his shoes off, stepped onto the floor, fighting his gag reflex as wave after wave of shit hit him.

"Collector. He's a collector. There's a box of them, and he's trying
to make a perfect one, and he has been trying for years, years. Fuck
me. They're under concrete. Away. A drive. Fuck."

"A perfect what? Woman?"

"Yes. Perfect. Oh, God. Parts. He takes parts. He thinks I can..."
The son of a bitch thought he could put them together. Keep them alive.
He reached for the piles of books, knees buckling as he heard the women
screaming. Artie grabbed his hands, strength pouring into him, all of
Artie's determination to stop this guy bucking him up. "Red lights. Red
lights and he found it at a ... A job. His job. Underneath." Where was
the fucking desk? He needed to see the desk. "The desk. The maps. The
desk."

"Here. Over here." They stumbled to the desk, Artie pulling him up and staggering with him.

His hands landed flat on the wood, his spine feeling like it was
going to snap in two. He scrabbled wildly, looking for the papers, for
the plans. The plans in the ... "Here. Here. Plans. Here. They're here."

"Okay. Okay." Artie yanked him away. "I've got them. Got them."

Artie's phone rang, the whistle and happy little tune enough to drive him mad.

"Yeah?" Poor Artie sounded rough, voice echoing from far away.

It was him. Jerry. Greg reached up, took the phone. "What do you want?"

"You, Greg. You have a gift I need." The voice was sibilant, low, smooth. Controlled.

"Is the detective okay?"

"Leah. Oh, God, Leah..." Artie flopped down next to him on the floor, hand sliding around his waist.

"She's in pain, Greg. She'll be in worse pain if you don't give me what I want."

He shook his head. "Don't hurt her. I want you to let Detective McAdams talk to her, then we'll make a deal."

"Oh, God." Poor Artie. The man was having a worse time of it than he
was. Artie took the phone. "Leah? Leah, honey?" He could just hear the
hint of her voice, feel the dull fury that was building up in Artie.
"You hang in there," Artie was saying. "You hang in. We'll get you. No!
Damn it, you bastard..."

Fuck. Fuck. "Ask him where he wants to make the trade."

"When and where?" Artie barked. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Yeah, okay. She'd better be whole."

Greg nodded, struggled to his feet so he could look around. Okay. Okay, he needed to remember it all.

The phone clunked down on the desk, Artie coming up to him, hand on
him to steady him. "He hung up. Tell me, babe. Just tell me what you
see."

"Red lights. Water. He worked there. He found it at a job, and
they're buried close by. Big equipment. Leah shot him in the shoulder.
He watches them for days before he picks them out. He watched us. Me.
There's film, in my house, here, there. Cameras. Electricity."

"Oh, Jesus." Artie growled it. Growly Artie. Out in full force. "But if he worked there we can track it down."

"Where will we meet him? Will he bring Leah?" He didn't want to be here anymore.

"He says he will. He gave me some instructions. Can you stand here while I write them down?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I can." He felt filthy, like he'd never get clean again.

"Okay. I'll get the plans, just be a minute." Artie disappeared and the sickening, lurching sensation intensified crazily.