Senseless Read online

  “Shit!” Donovan shouted. He jerked at his bindings and started to rock the chair back and forth. Blood ran from Kristen’s body. “Shit! Shit! Shit! Christ, someone help me!”

  The man stabbed Kristen three more times before turning toward Donovan. “No one is going to help you. No one can hear you. So be quiet and accept your medicine like a real man.”

  Donovan’s stomach lurched, and if there’d been any food in his stomach he’d have wretched it up. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

  “What’s wrong, Mr. Donovan? No smooth words?”

  Normally free-flowing sentences jumbled and tangled in a thicket of fear. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Atonement.”

  He jerked raw wrists against his bindings. “What does that mean?”

  The man moved toward the hearth and started to build a small pile of sticks over balled-up paper. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the paper. The fire caught immediately and the flames began to hiss and pop.

  The killer started to whistle “Happy Birthday.” The happy song took on the grotesque in this setting.

  “Whose birthday is it?”

  “His birthday was last Friday but I always extended the celebration a week.” Carefully stacked kindling fed the fire. “The trick is to slowly build the embers. Overfeeding smothers it. And we don’t want that, do we?”

  Donovan yanked at his bindings, ignoring the pain and fresh stream of blood that trickled down his wrists and onto the floor. “Let me go! Let me go!”

  “Not just yet. You have to learn a few lessons first.” A larger stack of wood on the flames had it soon roaring to life. “It’ll be a few minutes before the iron gets nice and hot.”

  Tears stung Donovan’s eyes. He did not want to die.

  It didn’t take a genius to know what came next. He was going to burn.

  Donovan screamed.

  Chapter 21

  Wednesday, April 12, 9:15 A.M.

  Eva had a restless night. She’d been plagued by nightmares. The fire. Josiah. Bobby. Garrison. When she woke, exhaustion hovered around her shoulders like a cold, wet blanket.

  She rolled on her side and inhaled Garrison’s lingering scent on the pillow. She’d barely given the room any notice when she and Garrison had stumbled into it yesterday. There’d only been him. His smell. His touch. The sound of his voice whispering dark erotic words as they’d made love.

  Eva swung her legs over the side of her bed and ran her hands through her hair. She glanced toward the door and realized it was wide open. Last night had been the first time in a decade that she’d slept with the door open. Instead of panic, she savored a real feeling of peace. So much chaos surrounded her now, but a small seed of peace had taken root.

  The room’s furnishings could be categorized as career-woman-with-no-time-to-decorate. The bed had no headboard, and the dresser looked as if it had been hurriedly purchased at a box store and assembled with thoughts to storage not fashion. In the corner sat a wingback chair in need of re-covering. Pinned to the chair was a note.

  Eva padded across the floor and grabbed the note. In her sister’s neat script, she read:

  EARLY COURT APPEARANCE. I’LL BE HOME EARLY SO WE CAN HAVE DINNER.

  Eva smiled and tucked the note into her pocket. She dressed and padded into the kitchen. She made coffee and as it dripped she called King. The line buzzed, signaling he still had the phone off the hook. She poured herself a cup, wondering how he and Bobby fared. They’d been her family these last few months, and hiding out here felt like a betrayal.

  The more she thought about King and Bobby the more she paced and worried. He couldn’t afford to stay closed forever and she worried he’d not be able to handle the crowds. King would tell her to stay hidden and safe, which only bolstered her need to check on him.

  Perhaps if she snuck in the back alley, she could check on them without the media seeing her. She called a cab and twenty minutes later, slipped down the back alley toward King’s kitchen entrance. As she unlocked the door, Merlin meowed from behind the Dumpster.

  She glanced over and saw a kitten peeking his head out. She moved toward him, hoping to catch him, but he vanished back behind the Dumpster. Merlin wasn’t quite ready to join their patchwork family but it was a matter of time. “I’ll get you some tuna, Merlin.”

  The cat meowed.

  Eva pushed open the door. “King?”

  He poked his head out of the storage cabinet. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in hiding.”

  “Couldn’t do it. I was too worried about you and Bobby.” She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a half-open can of tuna. “Merlin is hungry. Did you feed him this morning?”

  “Twice. That damn kitten eats like a horse.”

  She smiled. “Bobby feeds him at least ten times a day. He’s spoiled.”

  She took the tuna outside and scraped it into the cat’s bowl.

  Back inside she washed her hands. “We opening for lunch today?”

  He frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  “Checking on you.”

  “The reporters lost interest last night about midnight, but they’ll be back.”

  “I know. I’ll leave soon. Did Bobby go to school?”

  “He did. Didn’t want to go, but I made him because he’s got a big spelling test before lunch.”

  “Good. It’s doubtful anyone will connect him to me at school so it should be okay for him today.”

  “I sent a cell phone in his backpack just in case.”

  “You’re a good dad, King.”

  He looked at her, his gaze full of emotion she’d not expected. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  “Are you going to adopt Bobby?”

  He shrugged. “I miss being a father.”

  She’d never pried into King’s past—a place she suspected was as dark as her own. But she was beginning to see that forgetting the past didn’t solve as much as she’d have wished. “Tell me about your son.”

  “Before I do that, I need to tell you something you might not like.”

  An uneasy quietness settled in her bones. “Okay.”

  “I didn’t just happen on that halfway house where you were living. I have a friend in the parole system who told me where you were.”

  “Why?”

  He shoved out a breath. “I followed your trial. It made me sick watching what the Cross family did to you. That Darius was like a damn steamroller. He got what he wanted no matter what. ”

  She wasn’t sure how she felt about this. “You came looking for me.”

  “I know how it can be for parolees. Hand to mouth. I figured if you came back here I could help you get back on your feet.”

  She studied King, not sure what to say. Finally, she whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me this at the beginning?”

  “I figured you’d not take me up on the offer. Besides, the job offer wasn’t totally out of the goodness of my heart. A big part of the offer had to do with revenge.”

  She stared at him as if she’d never seen him before. “I don’t understand.”

  “My son’s name was Kyle. Great, great kid.” His voice lost its edge and grew softer. “Died in a car accident when he was twelve. His mom was driving. A drunk driver broadsided them. Kyle died outright. Irene lived through the crash, but she never got over it. She blamed herself. A year to the day Kyle died, she killed herself.”

  “King.” Her heart squeezed tight, choking off her breath and words for a moment. “I’m so sorry.”

  He sniffed and rubbed his eye. “The accident was a long time ago. Nineteen years.”

  “Time doesn’t completely fix pain like that.”

  “No, it doesn’t. You know loss as well as anybody.”

  “But it doesn’t rule my life like it did.”

  He nodded. “I can think about Kyle and Irene and remember the good times.” He met her gaze. “There’s something I’ve never told you.”

  “What?”
r />   “That drunk driver that killed Kyle and my wife. It was Louise Cross.”

  “Josiah’s mother? She died in a car accident herself nineteen years ago. I saw her grave.”

  “She’s not dead.”

  She felt as if the wind had been knocked out her. “What?”

  “That bitch is alive and well.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. Her husband swore she’d never walk free again if the cops didn’t file charges. I argued but in the end his money and power won. Darius vowed he’d be his wife’s jailer and she’d never see daylight again.”

  “Darius is dead. Who’s her jailer now?”

  Garrison picked up his phone on the third ring. “Yeah.”

  “It’s Eva.”

  The tension in her voice had him leaning forward. “Everything all right? ”

  “Yeah. Hey, did you know Josiah and Micah’s mother is still alive?”

  “That can’t be right. Micah said she died. You saw her grave.”

  She told him King’s story. With each bit, his grip on the receiver tightened. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  He shoved out a breath. “We’ve been looking for a man all along. ”

  “Could Louise Cross be doing all this?”

  “Anything is possible. Eva, be careful. Whoever is doing this is dangerous. No one has seen Kristen in thirty-six hours and I’m starting to think she’s in real trouble and that you’re next.”

  “I’m at King’s and I’m not going anywhere. I’m safer here surrounded by people.”

  “Swear you won’t leave King’s.” His concern leaked into the statement.

  “Promise.”

  With her safe, he could think. “I’ll call you soon. Be careful. ”

  “I will.”

  He hung up and called dispatch. He ordered a patrol car to park in front of King’s. When he hung up, he found Malcolm in his office. “Where’s that sketch artist?”

  “Around. Why?”

  “I want her to redraw the picture but without the beard. And give the person long hair like a woman.”

  “Will do.”

  His phone rang and he snatched it up. His irritation shone through when he said, “Garrison. ”

  “Madge Olsen. Social Services. You called about one of my kids?”

  “Right.” He’d called yesterday to talk about Bobby’s case because Eva had been worried. “Bobby Torres. Foster son of Toby King.”

  “Right. His full name is Robert Martinez Torres.”

  “Did you say Martinez?” He dug through his files searching for Eliza Martinez’s file.

  “That’s right. Middle name was his mother’s maiden name. Bobby’s mother died of cancer last year and he went to live with his grandmother for a while. She couldn’t handle the day-to-day responsibility of a child so she allowed him to go into foster care.”

  “His grandmother, Eliza Martinez, was murdered three months ago.” She’d been stabbed multiple times just like Lisa, Sara and Danvers.

  “Yes. I know. And often it’s hard to place a ten-year-old boy who’s endured a trauma. But not this time.”

  “Explain.”

  “Toby King approached us just a day after the kid’s grandmother died. He has friends in Social Services and pushed through his paperwork. His background check cleared so we awarded him custody fairly quickly. ”

  And now King housed Eva and Bobby, both of whom had a connection to the Cross family. Garrison’s gut tightened. “Thanks, Madge.”

  He picked up the phone and called King’s. The line was busy.

  After that homicidal creep had killed Kristen he’d untied her body and carried her away, leaving Donovan alone to watch the hearth’s flames dance and dwindle.

  Panic had brewed inside his gut, and several times he screamed. But when no one came and no one heard him cry out, he’d known getting out of here alive rested on his shoulders.

  This guy has got to have some sort of weakness, Donovan thought as he tried to shove the fear away. Everybody has a weakness.

  For him it was bourbon and too many women. Both vices had gotten him more than his share of trouble and both had nearly cost him his job. The trick now was to figure out his captor’s weakness.

  Atonement was his thing. And if Donovan could just figure out what had driven this guy to the brink, then maybe he could find the chink in his armor.

  Think, Donovan. You’re good at this. You’re good at getting people to open up. He pictured Angie. She’d been a hard case, but he’d found just the right buttons to push and she’d opened up to him like a flower hungry for sunshine.

  Just study the guy. You’ll see the weakness.

  The top door leading down to the basement opened. The killer flipped on the lights and moved down the stairs, slowly, deliberately.

  Donovan stiffened. Shit. What the hell had this creepy bastard planned for him?

  With a great effort, he chased the fear from his voice. “So I’m here to atone?”

  The hooded figure nodded. “That’s exactly right, Mr. Donovan.”

  Donovan sat straight up in his chair, tracking every footstep toward the fireplace. “I’ve been trying to think what I did that ticked you off. All I can come up with is the article on Eva Rayburn. ”

  Just the sound of the woman’s name brought tension to the cloaked frame.

  “I got to say,” Donovan pressed. “She’s one hard case. A lot like her sister, Angie. I’ve been trying to figure out how you could know Eva? She’s only been back in town six months.”

  Crumpled pieces of newspaper fit nicely between dried twigs and branches. And a flick of the light soon had it crackling.

  “You must hate her. ”

  “I don’t hate the sinner but the sin.”

  “What could she have done to you? How did she hurt you? ”

  “You’re clever, Mr. Donovan, but if you believe getting me to talk is going to change things, then you are wrong.”

  Donovan leaned forward. He had the story of a lifetime but he needed to live to tell it. “What did Eva do to you? Did she do something to you?”

  “She stole the most important thing in the world from me!”

  Donovan sensed a door had been cracked open to his kidnapper’s soul. “What did she steal?”

  Silence followed and then soft laughter. “You’re so clever. Why don’t you figure it out?”

  “She was sent away a decade ago. It happened a long time ago.”

  “Some wounds can never be forgotten.”

  He moistened his lips, tried a half smile that, given a different set of circumstances, could have hidden his desperation better. “Wounds you speak about… She didn’t take a thing from you, but a person?”

  Tension rippled and suddenly his captor stoked the flames with angry thrusts.

  “Who did she steal from you?”

  “It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done.”

  “Tell me.” His words sounded like a gentle whisper of a lover.

  “You are very clever. Is that how you got Angie Carlson into your bed? Did you whisper to her like that?”

  “I needed to find Eva. Angie was my only link.”

  “And so you used her. “ The tip of the branding iron started to glow red. Steam rose from the metal tip. Soon it would be ready. “Did she cry when she realized she’d been used?”

  Donovan stared at the branding iron. Showing fear and begging wasn’t going to save him now. “I’m sure she did. She liked me. Liked me a lot.”

  “You broke her heart? ”

  “Sure.” He’d say whatever this guy wanted him to say to get out of here.

  “You’re not a very nice man, Mr. Donovan.”

  “People get hurt. It happens. But I don’t deserve to die. In fact, let me live and I will work to turn the public against Eva Rayburn. ”

  “Your last article caused her pain.”

  “Then let me write more.” He watched the hooded figure heft the branding iro
n in small, gloved hands. The iron appeared to feel heavy. The tip glowed red now and was ready.

  “That’s not necessary. I can handle things from here.”

  “Look,” Donovan said quickly, “at least let me see your face. I should at least know who is doing this to me.”

  “Sure, why not?” He removed the hood and glasses. Slowly, he peeled off the beard.

  His jailer wasn’t a man but a woman! Donovan searched the woman’s face for any signs of recognition. “Do I know you?”

  She laughed. “I don’t know. Do you?”

  Donovan’s next comment was silenced by the jab of the branding iron into his belly. He screamed so loud, the sound seemed to bounce off the walls forever.

  He slumped forward in a sweaty, exhausted heap. “You don’t have to do this. I can help you.”

  “Always the talker.”

  The iron still glowed hot, enough to burn his skin a second time.

  Donovan had never known such agony. His body vibrated with pain each time the branding iron touched his flesh. His nostrils were filled with the scent of his own burning skin. As his captor jabbed the branding iron back into the flames, he knew he’d endure more pain. Only one brand on his belly meant three to come.

  “Let me help you.” His voice sounded so hoarse.

  “Thanks, but I’ve got this under control.”

  “Let me go and I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll write whatever you want.”

  “I bet you would write anything at this moment. But your meager attempt at atonement has little meaning now. You’d do anything now to stop the pain.”

  “I would.”

  She pressed the hot iron into his belly.

  Donovan howled, arching his back and straining against his bindings. “Stop! P-P-P-Please.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop the pain.”

  Donovan forced his eyes open. He knew pathetic hope glistened in his eyes as he searched for a sign of mercy.

  Mercy came in the shape of a sharp blade that glinted and caught the light from the fire. And before he could speak, the tip of the blade pierced his chest, sliced through flesh and grazed bone.

  His body froze. And for one, two, three beats of his heart he believed life melted from his body.