I Can See You

Chapter Twenty

Wednesday, February 24, 9:30 p.m.

Webster was here, as was Eve, just as he’d known they’d be. This was the prime moment, when Webster was shocked by finding the bodies of the Bolyards and before everyone else showed up. If he could get Webster, Eve would be ripe for the picking.

But Webster had pulled his car ten feet too far. He lowered his gun, frustrated. He couldn’t get a straight shot and didn’t dare move closer. Ever the cop, Webster still had his own gun drawn and though it pained him to admit it, Webster was a better shot. If I miss, I’m dead. He didn’t plan to die. Not tonight anyway.

Phelps just might. It was the spark he’d been waiting for. The press would be all over the story and it would come out that Phelps felt guilt over the death of Rachel Ward. Rather than letting the press catch up, this was the perfect time to throw his final punch.

The Hat Squad would be defensive. They’d say they’d warned the Shadowland study participants of impending danger. That the women of the Twin Cities were safe.

Then by end of the day tomorrow another victim would be found, with no tie to the study, and the Hat Squad would be left with no clues, no defense. No plan.

The press would crucify them. It was perfect. They’d be publicly fumbling, humiliated. Justifying their incompetent investigation while juggling avoidance of any appearance of cover-up in the case of Jack Phelps.

They’d be thrashing about, trying to regain face, looking for suspects. He’d hoped Axel Girard would be good for more than a few days of confusion, but that was all right. The squeaky clean optometrist had never been his planned fall guy.

He’d sown the seeds for two new suspects, providing hours of enjoyment as the Hat Squad’s wheels continued to spin. He’d had the suspects in his plan from the start.

The first backup cruiser was stopping in front of the Bolyard house. Soon the place would be crawling with cops. He’d retreat for now, disappointed but undamaged.

Eve could no longer hurt him with her forays into Shadowland, but that no longer mattered. It no longer mattered how much aid she gave Webster, because the role of her study, and of Eve herself, were finished. He no longer needed to silence her.

Now he just wanted her. Partly for revenge, it was true. But it was more than that.

He’d been stunningly aroused watching Winters recall the moment he’d “killed” Eve Wilson, and how she’d fought for her life. I want that fight. That fear. I want the power of my hands around her throat. There was also the aspect of ego, he had to admit. Succeeding where a celebrated killer had failed would be so very satisfying.

He started his car, slipping quietly away into the night.

Well, that was interesting, Dell thought, watching through his camera zoom as the dark car drove away. Somebody hates Noah Webster as much as I do.

He was certain the man driving away didn’t know he’d been watched. If he had, he wouldn’t have aimed a gun at Webster’s car. Apparently, he hadn’t had a good angle or he’d gotten cold feet, because he’d left without firing a shot.

Dell noted the man’s plate and returned his attention to Webster, who sat in his vehicle, looking very sad. He should look sad. His partner had just been found in bed with his dead girlfriend. It would make beautiful headlines. More beautiful had Phelps’s “suicide” been successful, he thought bitterly. That Phelps had been discovered before he was fully dead was frustrating, to say the least.

That Dell hadn’t been the one to write the headline was frustrating as well. He could still be submitting stories as Buckland had his old man kept his damn mouth shut.

I didn’t do it. What bullshit. Harvey had threatened to tell, and he had. But when time came to pay the piper, Harvey had whined like a little girl.

V always said he would. V always said they could make him cry if the two of them had joined forces as kids. But I was always too scared. Tonight he had not been afraid at all. He’d been angry and justified.

But now Webster knows who I am. Webster had gone to Harvey’s house. They’d found the old man’s body. He’d heard the chatter on the scanner, the BOLO issued… for me. But they’d missed on his vehicle. They had him in a black Lincoln Navigator.

Just like that gun-pointing guy was driving. Dell grinned as things fell into place. Unless Webster had three guys on his ass, the guy in the Navigator was the Red Dress Killer himself. Dell put down the camera and pulled out his BlackBerry, doing a reverse search on the Navigator’s plate. Then frowned at the name that popped up.

Donald Donner. Where had he seen that name before? Oh, yeah. That was the name he’d seen on the door behind that douche Jeremy Lyons’s desk at Marshall.

“I don’t think so, Dr. Donner,” he murmured. “I saw him first. He belongs to me.”

But first, headlines. He couldn’t write them, but he’d make damn sure someone else did. He dialed a number he’d found in Buckland’s contact list. “Hi. I have a tip for you…”

Wednesday, February 24, 9:55 p.m.

Eve was cold despite the car heater Noah had left running at full blast.

She’d seen four dead bodies tonight. She included Katie in that number, the sight of the body bag fresh in her mind. I saw her Sunday, called her a bimbo du jour. Eve wondered what Katie had done to warrant Dell’s wrath. Or if the man had simply lost it.

He killed his father. And tried to kill me. And David. She groaned. She needed to call David. He’d be worried sick. She dug her cell from her computer bag, wincing at all the calls she’d missed.

“I’m sorry,” she said before David could snarl. “I’ve been busy. This guy who hurt you-”

“I know. Olivia called me. She’s stepped up security here at the hospital.”

Eve’s blood ran colder. “She thinks he’ll come after you? He was trying for me.”

“She said she’s not taking any chances. Are you okay?”

“Physically, I’m fine. Emotionally… I’ve seen four bodies tonight.”

“Webster let you?” He sounded outraged.

“He won’t let me out of his sight. What he sees, I see.”

He grunted at that. “Tom told me you had a dinner thing. How did it go?”

Eve found the one side of her mouth lifting despite everything. “Not bad.”

“A glowing endorsement coming from you. I’m glad. You deserved it.”

“Get some sleep. I’m safe.” Hanging up, she reached into her bag for her laptop and her hand brushed the hard bulge in the zippered pocket. The image of Harvey Farmer flashed into her mind, dead on the floor of his living room, a hole in his chest. Dell was out there, somewhere. The gun she carried would do her little good in her computer bag unless she intended to hit him with it.

Lifting her head, she looked both ways out the window before slipping her gun from the bag to her coat pocket and suddenly felt much safer. She opened her laptop to make sure Natalie and Kathy were safe as well. They were, Kathy’s avatar on her Ninth Circle bar stool and Natalie’s still at the poker table.

Natalie was losing big. Dasich, conversely, had a mountain of chips. So not fair. Guy’s a damn cheat. Eve watched the next hand go to Cicely, the avatar who always sat next to Natalie’s. Once she’d had Greer bump into her to get her screen name, to determine if Cicely was one of her subjects. She wasn’t.

At least not that you know of. A new chill chased down her spine.

“Shit.” I have a dozen avatars. Any one of them could, too. She could have red-zones she’d never identified. And at the moment she had no idea what to do about it.

A roar from the casino had her looking down. The Cicely avatar had won a hand she shouldn’t have. It was extraordinarily lucky, totally skillful, or totally cheating.

Natalie agreed, filing a formal complaint. A brawl was building. More fun and ga-

Eve was yanked from the action by a knock on the car window that had her stifling a yelp. She rolled down the glass, drawing a breath. “Captain Abbott, you startled me.”

He didn’t smile. “Did Web tell you that we’ve arranged a safe house for you?”

Eve smiled, brightly. “He did. Thank you for your concern.”

Abbott opened her car door. “I’ll take you there now. Come with me.”

Eve leaned back, shaking her head. “I’ve made alternate arrangements.”

“You can’t stay here. This is a crime scene.”

Eve looked up at him, keeping her expression bland although in her mind, her eyes were narrowing suspiciously. “I’ll leave as soon as my ride gets here.”

Abbott’s jaw clenched. “What are your alternate plans?”

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. “I’m staying with Sal and his wife,” she lied.

“I cannot have Webster distracted. This mess with Jack is bad enough.”

“How is Jack?” she asked, changing the subject before he decided to call Sal.

“They’ve pumped his stomach, but he’s not out of the woods. Don’t change the subject, Eve. I don’t want Noah to miss a threat because he’s looking after you. It could mean his life. Or yours.”

Put that way, Abbott made sense. “I understand.”

“Then you’ll back away from him until this case is resolved.”

Eve studied his face, harshly illuminated by a streetlamp. “I will not be a distraction.”

He glared at her, knowing she had not agreed. “See that you don’t.”

He closed her car door and had started to walk away when Noah emerged from the Bolyards’ house with Micki Ridgewell, both looking grim. Eve muted Shadowland, so she could listen to what was being said outside the still-open car window.

“Time of death?” Abbott asked Noah.

“Between seven and eight,” he replied and Eve’s heart sank. That would have been when they’d been kissing in the backseat of his old car.

“Any indication of what they’d planned to tell you?” Abbott asked.

“No.” Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “But they did make a phone call at 7:47.”

Micki pointed to a local TV news van that was just slowing to a stop. “To them.”

A woman approached wearing a stylish coat and high heels. “I’m Regina Forest,” she said. “Can you tell me what’s going on here?”

“This is a crime scene,” Noah said. “You’ll have to leave.”

Forest’s expression became a deliberate mix of horror and interest. “Mr. Bolyard?”

“No comment,” Noah said, but before he could step away Regina came closer.

“Stuart Bolyard called our office. Talked to one of our staff members.” Her eyes narrowed, catlike. “I’ll tell you everything I know if I get an exclusive.”

“Depends on what you know,” Noah said. “So what do you know?”

“Mr. Bolyard said he’d seen the Red Dress story on the news and recognized one of the women. That he’d seen her at a coffee shop and that he’d called the police for a meeting. I asked why he just didn’t tell the police everything when he called and he said his wife was ‘into celebrities.’ She wanted to meet Jack Phelps. Where is Phelps?”

“Not on duty right now,” Abbott said. “What else?”

“So you already knew all that?” she asked. “He also said he saw a man leave just after them.” Her smile bloomed, cagily. “And that he didn’t tell you.”

Noah’s smile was unpleasant. “Ma’am, we have an ongoing homicide investigation, as you’re well aware. Please don’t play games with us.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. The staffer called me to the phone and when I introduced myself, Mr. Bolyard said his wife wanted to meet me, too, and be on TV. I told him I’d need to hear more. He told me he’d seen the man again, in the same coffee shop. Said he was a professor at one of the local colleges. Fifties, horn-rimmed glasses and a bow tie, and that his hands shook when he drank his coffee.”

Donner, Eve thought. To his credit, Noah didn’t blink.

“Do you know him, Detective?” Forest asked shrewdly.

“Did Mr. Bolyard approach this man?” Noah asked instead of answering.

“Yes. When he saw him today he asked if he was the one who’d left with the woman who got killed. He said the professor got angry and denied it. So, do you know this man with the bow tie?” She wagged her finger. “And no fair answering with a question.”

“We may,” Noah said. “As soon as we confirm, we’ll give you your exclusive. And you’ll hold back on broadcasting the tape your assistant is shooting right now?”

Forest scrutinized him. “Sure. Just don’t double-cross me, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Noah murmured as another car raced up the street, stopping behind the news van with a screech of brakes. Two men emerged, one with a camera.

“Detective Webster?” The one without the camera jogged across the street. “Can you comment on Detective Phelps’s attempt at murder-suicide?”

Forest’s brows shot up and Noah’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“No comment,” Noah said softly.

“I’d say that qualifies as a double-cross,” Regina Forest said, equally softly, and motioned at her assistant in the van to keep rolling tape.

The reporter looked annoyed that he’d been scooped. “Nelson Weaver, the Mirror. Is it true that Jack Phelps murdered his girlfriend and OD’d on booze and pills?”

“No. Comment,” Abbott repeated forcefully.

Forest’s lips curved, this time in disdain. “Nelson, I think we should grab a coffee. Chat.” She walked away, the confused newspaperman at her side.

“Goddamn it,” Abbott muttered. “So much for Jack’s privacy.”

“But now we know who killed five women,” Noah said, sounding oddly disconnected. “I’ll go pick up Donner.”

Abbott turned slowly toward Noah’s car, as if remembering Eve still sat there. “I’ll send a squad car to Donner’s house to hold him there, then I’ll pick him up. Drop her off at Sal’s before you meet me at Donner’s.”

Well, that was interesting, too, Dell thought, watching through his zoom. The guy from the Mirror he’d fully expected since he’d called him, but the chick from the TV news was a bit of a surprise. Looked like Phelps would be covered coming and going.

Phelps could still die, he thought optimistically, but even if he doesn’t, his face will be plastered all over the Twin Cities. A murder-attempted-suicide by a cop was big enough to be picked up by CNN. Hell, maybe even big enough for Yahoo.

Everyone had read that MSP article and thought Phelps was a god. Now they knew he was a murderer and a coward. In other words, everyone would know the truth.

“Now, on to Webster,” he said with a big grin. He knew how to hit Webster where it would really hurt. The man cared for his family.

Wednesday, February 24, 10:15 p.m.

Noah clenched his steering wheel as he drove away from the Bolyards’ house. “What happened between you and Abbott?”

“He wants me out of the way so you won’t be distracted. I told him I’d comply.”

Noah tamped down his temper. No easy feat. “By going to Sal’s?”

“I figured Sal would cover for me. Abbott tried to take me to the safe house himself and that wasn’t going to happen.” She drew a breath. “Noah, I don’t know what to say.”

He gave her a hard glance. “About what?”

“Those people, the Bolyards… They were killed while we were…” She shrugged.

“I know. But you told me that Jack made a bad choice, letting a woman he didn’t really know into his bed. You were right. The Bolyards made a bad choice, too. They could have told us what they knew and we could have picked Donner up before he shot their heads off. They didn’t. They wanted their fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Looks like they got it,” she said sadly. “But back to you. Abbott’s right. I’m a distraction to you right now. Drop me off at Sal’s. I’ll go home with Callie and ask one of the cops to follow us. I’ll even call you when I get there so you know I’m safe.”

“I’ve got an idea that I like better. Brock and Trina’s house,” he said, then blinked when she forcefully shook her head.

“No. They’ve got kids. No way will I lead Dell to them. I’ll go to a safe house first.”

His heart squeezed hard. He hadn’t expected her to say that, but now that she had, he was totally unsurprised. “They sent the kids to Brock’s dad for the night. He’s a retired cop and understands what’s going on. The boys will be perfectly safe there. I called Brock while I was in the Bolyards’ house and he says it’s fine with them.” He lifted his brows, engagingly, he hoped. “Trina is a really good cook.”

“I don’t want to put them out. And what about Callie?”

“I can have her taken to Brock’s, too. You girls can do each other’s nails and stuff.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Would it keep you non-distracted?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll go. Thank you for finding a different way.” She studied his face, hers troubled in the darkness. “Do you believe Donald Donner killed five women?”

He looked over at her. “Do you?”

She wagged her finger. “No fair answering with a question,” she said, mocking the Forest woman, then shrugged. “No, I don’t. He’s angry, but forgetful. Sometimes he’ll be teaching and just trail off, staring into space. He forgets what he’s assigned. His obsession is getting published. I don’t think he has the mental organization to do these murders, or frankly the physical strength. He’s pretty old.”

Noah nodded thoughtfully. “What you said.”

“But you’re picking him up anyway.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said grimly.

“I’m assuming this couple saw Martha at the Deli,” Eve said, “because that’s where Donner goes for lunch. Whether or not he’d go there on a Saturday night? Don’t know.”

“Hopefully the Deli’s security video will shed some light.” He glanced at the computer on her lap. “Did Donner know about Shadow-land? I mean, did he play?”

“I don’t know what he did at home. He needed me to explain the game to him, every time we talked. If he was faking his forgetfulness, he’s a damn good actor.”

“I agree. Did you check on your red-zone cases? Are they where they should be?”

“Yes.” She squeezed his hand lightly. “I’m sorry about the Bolyards. About Jack, about all of this.”

“Not your fault.”

“I don’t mean that. I’m not apologizing that it happened. I’m… sorrowful. Sorrowful that you have to see all this pain and death and that it hurts you.”

Emotion, exhaustion, exhilaration… all welled up in a wave that closed his throat. This is what he’d missed. What he wanted. What he needed. Unwilling to trust his voice, he pressed her hand to his cheek and held it there.

Wednesday, February 24, 10:30 p.m.

The Bolyards hadn’t locked their back door. Donner appeared to be more careful with his locks.

He broke a pane of glass in the basement door, reached in, and twisted the doorknob from the inside. A quick survey of the house revealed Donner and his wife were not home. Dammit. Donner was supposed to have been here tonight. They’d had an appointment. Bastard stood me up.

I should have grabbed him before I killed the Bolyards. This could be tricky. He could only hope that, wherever Donner had gone, his alibi would be as shaky as before.

This did save him from having to kill Mrs. Donner, though. Killing people not in his original plan chafed at him, and he was still plenty chafed over the Bolyards.

I should have stayed outside that coffee house and waited, like I did with the others. But the night he’d met Martha had been so damn cold. He would have drawn more attention to himself sitting outside in his car than going inside. But now he had two unplanned murders and a lot of extra effort to explain it away.

He had to hurry. The TV news reporter had probably already shown up at the Bolyards’ house to get the interview he’d promised from Stuart’s home phone, only to find Webster’s crime scene instead. Pretty soon this place would be crawling with cops. They were supposed to find the house empty, because he’d taken Donner.

He went straight to Donner’s bathroom and frowned. Both toothbrushes were gone, as were several toiletries, leaving gaps in the row of bottles and cans on the bathroom shelf. The Donners had gone away for more than the evening.

In Donner’s kitchen, however, he had to smile. There was a lone highball glass on the table. He sniffed at it. Donner had been drinking bourbon. He’d make sure the sixth of his six victims had a bottle in her house. He dropped the glass in a plastic bag.

Donald Donner had never been a real suspect in Webster’s eyes, but even Webster wouldn’t be able to explain away hard evidence.

As for Donner’s whereabouts… On a hunch he hit redial on the kitchen’s cordless phone and hung up before the number could connect. Committing the number to memory, he took out his BlackBerry, connected to the Net and did a reverse call lookup.

Ah. The number belonged to Adele Donner, Donald’s mother. He’d confirm it, of course, but instinct told him this was where Donald had retreated.

He dialed 411, let it connect, then hung up when the operator answered. He’d knocked Adele’s number from the last-called spot so the cops couldn’t do what he’d just done. They could get the number from Donner’s LUDs, but that would take them time.

Time was something he didn’t have a great deal of. He left the way he’d come, and none too soon. As he rounded the block, a squad car entered the neighborhood, lights blazing but siren silent. Sorry, boys. Dr. Donner has left the building.

Wednesday, February 24, 11:00 p.m.

“Nice place,” Eve murmured. Brock and Trina lived in a brick house with a chimney from which a cozy stream of smoke billowed. Just looking at it made her queasy.

“Nice people,” Noah said quietly. “Why are you nervous?”

“It’s serious when you meet family.”

“You know them from the bar.”

“This is different. This is… personal.”

“Damn straight it is. You introduced me to Tom tonight,” he noted.

“I know.” Her face still heated in embarrassment at the stern way Tom had studied Noah, as if Tom were the father and she were an errant teen. “Kid’s a pain in the ass.”

“He loves you. You’re his family. And I passed muster,” Noah added with an arched brow, then he smiled. “Trina already likes you. Why are you nervous?”

“I don’t know. Maybe my spider senses have been on tingle mode so long today, my nerves are shorted out. I don’t know how you cops cope with all the excitement.”

He came around to open her door. “Normally it’s not this exciting. Normally it’s all paperwork. Don’t forget your phone.”

Her computer bag had fallen on its side and the phone had slid out of the front pocket. Out of habit she flipped it open. “I’ve got a million missed calls.”

“You’ll have time to catch up inside,” he said, a little impatience in his voice.

She made her feet move. He had work to do and she was distracting him again. “Sorry. I procrastinate when I’m nervous.”

“Well, stop it. You don’t need to be.” He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him, hip to hip, her head on his shoulder as he walked her to Trina’s front door. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?” he murmured in her ear and she shivered.

Because it did. And that made her nervous, too.

He sighed. “Just enjoy it, okay?”

She realized she was holding her breath. “God. This shouldn’t be so hard.”

“Try to relax. I’m the least of your worries right now.”

“That’s what you think,” she muttered, then jumped when the cell phone in his pocket vibrated against her leg.

“Eve, relax. Trina doesn’t bite. Not anymore, anyway.” He was smiling until he looked at his caller ID. “It’s Abbott.” He stopped on the front porch and took a step back, turning his face away as he listened to his boss.

Eve didn’t want to know what was happening. The day was catching up to her and she was suddenly overwhelmed. No more. Not tonight. But Noah’s call wasn’t quick and too much energy had her flipping her phone open to look at the incoming calls.

Oh God. It was the same number that had sent the text. She lifted her eyes to Noah, who was now pacing the width of the driveway as he talked with Abbott in low tones she couldn’t hear. Her hand trembling, she hit the speed dial for her voicemail and put the phone to her ear.

“Didn’t your parents teach you not to get into cars with strange men?”

She was breathing hard, the cold air hurting her lungs. Her knees gave way and she sank to the edge of the porch, numb. It was him. Him. It couldn’t be. He was dead.

But it was. The voice that taunted her nightmares until she woke screaming. Her phone slid from her fingers, hitting the porch with a clatter that brought Noah around.

He ran to her, dropping to one knee in the snow. “What?”

“Him.” She shook her head hard, trying to clear it.

“Dell Farmer?”

“Yes. No. God.” She was hyperventilating and she pursed her lips, made herself breathe through her nose. “It was a voice message. Winters’s voice.”

Stunned, Noah did a fast take. “Are you sure?”

She ground her teeth. “Fucking sure. I hear that voice in my dreams. Dammit.”

“Sshh,” Noah soothed. He took her phone, punched in the numbers to replay the message. And his face grew grim. He pocketed her phone and helped her to her feet. “I’ll tell Olivia. We’ll find him.”

“How did he get it? How did he get his voice?” She heard the hysteria in her voice, tried to battle it back. “How did he know?”

“I don’t know. Maybe from an old interview. I found a few on the Net this morning. Try to breathe, honey. It’s just words. Winters can’t hurt you now.” His arms were around her, holding her up. “He can’t ever hurt you again.”

She thought of Harvey Farmer and Katie. And Kurt Buckland and David. “But Dell can. He wants to. He won’t give up.”

“Breathe.” He pounded on Brock and Trina’s door, loud enough to wake the dead. But nobody answered and he pounded again, harder. “Open the damn door.”

It opened only a few inches, Trina’s face peeking around the edge. “Noah,” she said brightly. “Eve, what a surprise.” Then she frowned. “Go,” she mouthed. “Now.”

“Goddammit, Tree, I don’t care if you’re both naked and having sex from the damn chandeliers. Move.” Noah knocked the door open with his shoulder.

Trina’s words hadn’t matched the look in her eyes, Eve thought numbly. Slowly, the look in Trina’s eyes sank in. Run. Pulse shooting like a rocket, Eve backed up, but it was too late. Trina was yanked from sight and Eve heard a loud thud a split second before a hand grabbed her arm, dragging her inside.

“No,” Noah thundered, trying to yank her back. Eve thrashed like a wild cat. But it was too late. She went still when a gun was shoved against her temple.

Noah had gone still as well. “Dell Farmer,” he said quietly.

What a shock, Eve thought, her mind racing now, even as her body was motionless.

An arm locked over her throat, squeezing. “The great and powerful Noah Webster,” Dell scoffed. “You couldn’t have found your own ass in the dark.”

“I seem to have found you,” Noah said calmly, his focus on Dell’s face.

Dell scoffed again. “Yeah, right. Only because my old man gave me up.”

Noah looked surprised, though none of his focus dulled. “No, he didn’t.”

Eve could see Trina, hands and feet bound, lying dazed against a wall. Where’s Brock? Then Eve was lifted on her toes, Dell’s gun digging harder into her head.

“Don’t lie to me, Webster,” he snarled.

Eve found her voice. “He’s not,” she said. “I found you. It wasn’t that hard.”

Dell stiffened and for a split second the pressure from the gun slacked away. But he recovered and Eve winced in pain when he ground the barrel harder. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I found an article by Kurt Buckland, with a nice photo of your father standing at V’s graveside. You resemble your dad.” She paused for effect. “Or you did, until you killed him. You don’t look much like him anymore, what with that hole in his chest.”

“Shut up.” But she could feel a slight tremble in Dell’s hand.

She could see Noah watching, waiting, alert. She felt the weight of her own weapon in her pocket and hoped to keep Dell distracted enough that he wouldn’t feel it, too.

“You killed your father for no reason, Dell,” Eve said softly. “He didn’t tell on you.”

Dell was shaking now. “Shut up. Damn you.”

“Did he tell you he was innocent? Beg for mercy? Did you shoot him anyway?”

His arm tightened around her throat. She lifted higher on her toes, trying to breathe.

“Let her go, Farmer,” Noah said, his voice as calm as hers had been.

“No. No. You killed, too, Webster. You started this.”

“I didn’t kill your brother, Dell,” Noah said. “He was running from a crime. We were pursuing. That’s what we do.”

“He didn’t do anything.”

Eve could smell his desperation, a rancid odor.

“He killed a store owner,” Noah said reasonably. “In cold blood.”

“Only because she drove him to it.”

“She? You mean Katie?” Noah asked.

“Yes. He wasn’t bad. V wasn’t bad.” But he didn’t sound so sure now. Eve sensed his confusion and remembered the night before, that brief moment when she’d reminded him he was in a bar surrounded by cops. Rage had become confusion, then he’d swung back to cold control. Dell was there, right now, in that moment between rage and control, and Eve prayed Noah was paying attention. Turning herself into dead weight, Eve lifted her feet and wrenched from his grip.

“Drop the gun, Farmer,” Noah demanded, even as she hit the floor, rolling away.

Curled into a ball, she turned her head enough to peek out. Noah held his gun steady on Dell, but Dell held his gun on Eve. The two men stared at each other.

“I’ll kill her,” Dell said, his voice coldly mocking, just like the night before, “while you watch. You’re going to kill me anyway, just like you did V. I’ll take her with me.”

Eve slid her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out her gun. She lurched to her knees, holding her aim steady at the hand that held the gun.

“No, you won’t,” she said, and Dell’s head whipped around, eyes wide and startled.

It was all Noah needed. Quickly he closed the gap, twisting Dell’s wrist painfully as he shoved him to the floor, his own weapon shoved against Dell’s spine as Dell fought wildly. Noah grunted as he struggled for control of Dell’s gun, one knee jammed into his back, the other pressing his arm into the floor.

“Get back,” Noah snarled to Eve. “Get out of here. Now.”

“I’ll kill you,” Dell was screeching at the same time. “I don’t care which of you.”

Eve crawled a few feet toward Dell and pointed her gun at his head. “Stop it,” she snapped. “Or I’ll shoot your damn head off. You don’t want to die, Dell. I’ve been there, and trust me, it ain’t fun. I’m not lying. And I’m not afraid of you.”

Dell stared up at her, eyes full of hate. In seconds Noah knocked Dell’s gun from his hand, then cuffed his hands behind his back. Kneeling on Dell’s bucking legs, Noah looked up, his eyes dark with fury. “What part of ‘Get back’ did you not understand?”

“I couldn’t hear you,” Eve said blandly. “He was screaming ‘I’ll kill you’ too loudly.”

Noah rolled his eyes, tersely called for backup, then looked at Trina, who’d struggled to a sitting position, her hands and feet bound. “Where’s Brock?” he demanded.

“Bedroom,” Trina said. “He was going to kill us when you got here, make you watch.”

Eve was on her feet. “I’ll go.” Her heart surprisingly steady, she ran to the back, stopping to grab a kitchen knife. Brock was on the bedroom floor, tied and gagged. But his eyes were open and furious. She pulled the gag from his mouth.

“Is everyone okay?” were the first words from his mouth.

“Yeah. Are you?” She winced. “Ooh. That’s a nasty bump on your head.”

He rolled his eyes. “How much will it take to wipe this picture from your mind?”

Eve chuckled as she sawed at his ropes. “We’ll negotiate.”