When Night Falls (19 page)

“My God,” she rasped. Adrenaline zinged through her as she sped past her exit with a new destination in mind. Her heart hammered hard. They’d been looking in the wrong place. In focusing on the here and now, they’d overlooked the events of seventeen years before.

* * *

The sound of the doorbell pierced like a bullet. He hurriedly locked the thick door and rushed to the front of the house, where the peephole revealed his visitor. The early afternoon sun glinted off the copper highlights in her hair, making her look like a warrior goddess.

Damn it.
He almost swore aloud.
What was she doing here?

He thought about not answering the door, but the ferocity glittering in her eyes warned him she’d be back. Detective Jessica Clark was nothing if not tenacious. Better to deal with her now, before she came back.

The next time she might not be alone.

With a pasted-on smile, he swung open the door. “This is a surprise. I didn’t expect—”

“I know, I should have called, but thought I’d stop by instead. We need to talk.”

“You sound upset—has something happened?” Inspiration struck, and he manufactured some horror for his next question. “Is it Emily?”

She frowned. “In a way.” She glanced behind him, into the darkness of the house he’d turned into a prison. “Can I come in? There are a few things I’d like to run by you. About the past. About Heather’s disappearance.”

A jolt of unease cut through him. “Now’s not a good time. I’ve got some appointments downtown.”

“Please,” she said, pushing past him. “It’s important.”

He sighed. “Five minutes.”

She stopped by the leather sofa and turned to him, her eyes on fire. “My father’s files from Heather’s disappearance are missing.”

His heart started to pound so hard it hurt. She couldn’t know. Nobody was that smart. Except maybe Armstrong.
“What?”

“Missing. Gone. As in someone has taken them.”

He swore hotly. Convincingly. Precaution always paid off. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Suddenly, she smiled. “Which makes me think I’m on the right track by looking for answers in the past—who were Heather’s friends, what was her state of mind, when was the last time she called home, that kind of thing.”

“What’s going on? Has something happened?”

She shoved a hand through her hair, clearly agitated. “What’s the shortest distance between two points?”

The question made no sense. “A straight line.”

“Bingo,” she said with a sly smile.

A cold frost settled in his gut. “I’m sorry, I’m not following you, and I really need to get downtown.” He glanced down the hall, glad he’d pulled the shades. “Maybe we can take this up later?”

She checked her watch. “How about tonight? I should know by then what’s in my father’s
files.”

“I thought you said they were missing.”

“His official files, yes. But not his private files. As far as I know, they’re still in the attic.”

Everything inside him went very still. “Private files?”

“He kept them on the major cases he worked, just in case. If there’s something about before that links to now, I’ll find—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing. “Is that a dog?”

His heart slowed to a crawl. He’d heard it, too. “Just a stray,” he told her, moving toward the still-open front door. He had to get her out of here. Fast. “Look, I really need to—”

“What kind?”

“What kind what?” He tried to act casual, though there was nothing casual about the adrenaline zinging around in him.

“The dog,” she persisted. “What kind of dog is it?”

He shrugged. “Just a mutt,” he said, pulling the door open wider. He didn’t like that look in her eye. Didn’t trust it. “Come on, Jessie, we can finish up—”

She didn’t move. “Can I see it?”

“The dog?”

“I’m thinking about adopting one—”

“Now’s not a good time.” The barking grew louder, more frenetic. He should have muzzled the damn thing. He’d only wanted to make the girl happy, show her he wasn’t a monster. And, of course, make Armstrong think that he was.

“Please,” she said. “Just one look.”

And in that instant, he knew his goose was cooked. She was too damn smart for her own good. If she saw the dog or her father’s files, she would know.

He smiled. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

Chapter 14

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S
he knew. He saw it in the shocked gleam in her eyes, the readiness to her stance. Wallace Clark’s daughter had connected the dots with damning speed.

“Guess you won’t be needing those files, after all.” Thank God she’d come to him first. “I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

The woman who prided herself on control didn’t bat an eyelash. “What plan?”

He knew what she was doing, what any good cop would do. Buying time. Trying to get him to talk. Formulating a plan of her own. “What is it they say in the movies? I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you? Is that what you want?”

She narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t the movies.”

“No, it’s not. It’s my life.” And thanks to Detective Jessica Clark, despite his efforts to point her elsewhere, his plans to pay William Armstrong back were in serious jeopardy. “You know I can’t let you leave now.”

She kept her gaze on his, but he saw her reach slowly for her gun. Her courage really was something to admire.

He almost felt sorry for her when she realized her mistake. “Not there, Jessie. You left your purse by the door, remember?”

Like Emily, she’d had no reason not to trust him.

Her gaze hardened. “You’ll never get away with this.”

“No?” he asked pointedly. “How are you going to stop me?”

In a lightning-quick move, she lunged toward her purse.

She never made it.

He was bigger, stronger. He tackled her as she reached for the table. She fought him, but his strength easily overpowered hers. She cursed him, but he took care of that by stripping off his T-shirt and using it to gag her. Her hands and feet would be next.

No matter how much he admired her, he couldn’t let her spoil his plan. Not now. Not after waiting so damn long.

But his heart pounded furiously as he realized time had run out. He had to get those files, couldn’t toy with Armstrong any longer. Couldn’t draw out the agony. When an officer of the law turned up missing, the manhunt was massive.

Damn it, why did she have to be so smart? He’d been damn careful, hadn’t wanted to hurt her. Hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone. Anyone except William Armstrong.

He wanted that man to suffer. To pay the price. To lose everything. It was the ultimate payback for the life, the future, Armstrong had stolen seventeen years before. Strip the man bare. Take everything.

Leave nothing.

* * *

“Jessica? Open up, it’s me.” Liam pounded on the door, harder than before. Maybe she hadn’t heard him the first two times. Maybe she hadn’t heard the phone ringing, either. She could be in the shower. Or sleeping.

Or she could be flat-out ignoring him.

It was what he deserved after the way they’d parted. That was why he’d started calling in the first place. Why he’d followed her home. The hurt he’d seen in her fathomless eyes had been too sharp. He needed to make sure she was all right. He couldn’t leave things the way they were.

He had to make her understand.

I’m not a coward, Liam. I don’t run anymore.

Her words from just that morning taunted him because he knew they were true. Avoidance wasn’t Jessica’s style. She didn’t play games. She wasn’t one to hide. She met every challenge head-on.

That was only one of the traits he loved most about her.

Unease settled low in his gut. Paranoia, he told himself. He was letting the past send his imagination sprinting down a ridiculous path. Just because unanswered phone calls were how it started with Heather and Emily didn’t mean a damn thing. Millions of phone calls went unanswered every day. She was a cop. She could be anywhere.

But fifteen minutes later, he discovered she wasn’t at the station, either. She’d been there earlier, had requested some files, then left. No one had heard from her since.

Liam looked around her cluttered desk, lingering only a moment on a photo of Jessica and her father. They were both in uniform, at what looked to be some type of ceremony. He saw love in the old man’s eyes. Pride.

He could relate.

Damn it. Where the hell was she?

Reaching for a pen to leave a note, Liam noticed a file on her desk, several pages of notes and transcriptions scattered about. A picture of Emily.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he quickly devoured the details. He was on Carson Manning’s interview when a note scribbled in the margin snagged his attention.

“Good God,” he muttered. The memory hit Liam broadside. Swearing, he saw what he’d been missing all along. Jessica had been right.

* * *

“Armstrong. What the hell are you doing here?” Standing on the front porch of an old rambling house just south of town, Liam looked at Jessica’s suavely dressed partner and reminded himself to play it cool. He couldn’t let the animosity seething between him and Kirby Long jeopardize Jessica’s safety. This was the last step. He’d already made phone calls, lined up the pieces.

Lives depended upon securing Long’s cooperation. “I can’t find Detective Clark,” Liam said, and the words scraped. The possibility of being too late scraped even harder.

Long frowned. “You came all the way down here to tell me you’ve lost another female? This is becoming a pattern with you.”

Liam glanced beyond Long’s shoulder to the darkened living area “Something’s come up—I need to talk to her.”

“Well, if she’s as smart as I think she is, she’s done listening to your lies.” The familiar hint of mean shot into Long’s gaze. “Anyway, she’s not here.”

Any hope of this being as simple as finding Jessica at Long’s kitchen table, reviewing aspects of the case, faded.

“He’s got her,” Liam said. Rage slashed inside him. He could hardly believe what he’d discovered. Commander McKnight had been shocked, too. “He’s taken her, just like he took Emily.”

Long gaped at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“He never quit blaming me for Heather’s disappearance. That’s why he took Emily. She’s almost the age Heather was when she disappeared. He wants me to suffer, to know what it feels like to lose.”

Long’s normally smug expression contorted into shock. “Who? Who are you talking about?”

“Carson Manning. Emily’s grandfather.”

The revelation flared in Long’s cold eyes, then he laughed. “The former state congressman? Are you out of your mind?”

“You’re damn straight I am,” Liam rasped. Standing in the pleasantly mild late afternoon, playing nicey-nice with Long while the clock ticked, was shredding him. “The two people who mean the most to me are missing. How do you expect me to feel?”

Long swore under his breath. “How do you know Jessie is missing?”

“I just do. Now, come on, Detective. We’ve got to get out of here before it’s too late.”

“This is police business, Armstrong.
We
don’t need to do anything.”

“The hell we don’t. They’re in trouble because of me, damn it. I can’t just sit in my house and wait while their lives are on the line.” Liam turned to leave. He wasn’t going to negotiate with Long one second longer. He’d already wasted enough time.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“To Manning’s.”

“Hold up there,” Long snarled from behind him. “You can’t just take the law into your own hands.”

Liam continued down the cracked walkway, confident Long was following. “Watch me.”

“You lousy son of a—”

“Hold it right there, Kirby.”

Liam swung around to see Jessica’s partner staring in shock at their commanding officer. Long’s eyes were narrow, his mouth twisted. “Commander McKnight, what are you doing here?”

The older man moved cautiously toward his subordinate. “Need to talk to you, son.”

Liam’s blood pressure soared. Impatience mounted. He wanted to get on with it, but lives depended upon the details.

“Jessie might be in trouble,” Long said, glancing from his commanding officer to Liam. His hand hovered in the vicinity of his gun. “Armstrong here thinks she’s been taken.”

“I’m well aware of what Armstrong thinks,” McKnight said. Two other detectives emerged from the side of the house. “Now why don’t you and I take a walk for a spell, let these boys have a look around inside.”

Long went absolutely still. All save for his eyes. They went hot with betrayal, like a wild animal’s just before the net closed around him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Five minutes, Kirby. That’s all.”

“This is bull!” the detective roared, then spun toward Liam. “You son of a bitch! You set me up!”

“Easy there,” Commander McKnight said, laying a hand on Long’s shoulder. “You and I both know we have to follow up on every lead. Humor us, son. Let us get this over with, then move on.” The commander sounded like this was just an exercise, a mere formality, another way of pacifying the big bad wolf.

Long glared at Armstrong. “You won’t get away with this, you sorry son of a bitch! First Jessie, now McKnight. I don’t know how the hell you convinced them to listen to you.”

Long kept ranting, but the second McKnight motioned the two detectives to proceed, Liam broke for the house. He half expected Long to lunge for him, but Jessica’s partner stood there watching, hatred glittering in his hard black gaze.

Inside, the abrupt switch from blinding sunlight to the dimly lit house momentarily blinded Liam, but he blinked hard and kept running. “Emily! Jessica!”

The two detectives ran ahead of him toward the darkened hallway. All the doors stood closed.

“Emily! Answer me, sweetheart!”

Nothing.

Liam’s heart pounded harder than his feet.

“Jessica!”

The detectives each pushed open a door and charged into the rooms, guns in hands, ready for whatever they might find. Liam ran toward the remaining two closed doors.

Fear almost gutted him.

“Jessica!”

He heard it then. A strange thumping coming from the fourth door. “Emily?”

He tried the knob, found it locked. “I’ve got something!” he shouted, and the two detectives were behind him in a heartbeat. They turned the knob. Nothing. Left with no choice, they reared back and threw the weight of their bodies against the thick wood. Again. And again.

The thumping grew louder. More insistent.

Liam’s heart thudded erratically. They were in there, he knew. He wanted to throw open a door and find them, safe and together, to gather them in his arms and never let go.

The men crashed against the hard wood once more, and this time broke through. Gun in hand, one of the detectives entered first. Froze. Swore viciously.

Liam let out a guttural cry and pushed past him. Saw the bed. Almost went down on his knees.

Jessica.

Rage tore through him. The urge to kill. The need to punish.

Instead he ran toward the woman he’d made love with that morning. She lay on the bed, a T-shirt gagging her mouth, her hands and feet bound by rope and secured to the bedposts. Her beautiful amber eyes were wide with fury and urgency.

“Good God,” the second detective exclaimed.

“Get me a knife!” Liam roared. He needed to touch her, free her, hold her. “It’s okay,” he said, dropping to the side of the bed and running his hands along her body. “You’re okay. I’ve got you now.”

She blinked several times, tried to say something.

“Hang on,” he said, fumbling with the knotted strip of cotton wedged inside her mouth and tied behind her head. “I’ve got you,” he said over and over. All along, the murderous rage built within him. “I’ve got you.”

He needed to hold her so damn bad but had to free her first. One of the detectives came in with two butcher knives, and the men went to work on her hands and ankles.

The gag fell free first. “Liam!” Her voice was raw, hoarse, barely there.

“You’re okay,” he repeated, running his hands along her face. The sight of the corners of her mouth, cut and bruised and bleeding, sent rage blasting through him.

The rope fell from her abused wrists, and he was able to scoop her into his arms. He held her close, running his hands gently along her back. She was shaking. So was he.

“You’re okay,” he said again and again, fearing she was in shock. He wanted to keep holding her, never let go, but he had to know what had happened. What she’d found out.

Why her partner had turned on her.

“Sweetheart,” he said, easing her back and framing her face with his hands. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated. “What happened?” he asked as gently as he could. “Did you find Emily?”

He’d never feared the answer to a question more.

“Barking,” she whispered on what little voice she had left. “Molly. H-heard barking.”

Liam glanced sharply at the other detectives. “Where?”

“Other side of house.”

The two men ran out of the room.