I’m Watching You

Chapter Eight

Thursday, February 19,

9:00 p.m.

Adjusting her rearview mirror, Kristen cautiously looked both ways before exiting the parking garage, feeling alone and very vulnerable. Looking over her shoulder, wondering if he was following. And if he wasn’t, where was he, what he was doing? Who was next for his vigilante justice? Her hands gripped the steering wheel and she squinted at the onslaught of headlights coming in her direction. So many people, most engaged in perfectly legal pursuits. But for every twenty who were honest citizens, there was one who was not.

The sum total of that one in twenty was enough to keep her gainfully employed for the rest of her life. She blew out a breath, watched it turn to vapor, then disappear. He was out there, somewhere, hunting for the one in twenty.

And for some reason, he brought the fruit of his labors to her.

Fruit of his labors. „I’m starting to sound like him,“ she murmured. „All pomp and circumstance.“ She bit her lip, glanced up to her rearview mirror once again. With teeth. Their humble servant was pomp and circumstance with very sharp teeth.

Which made her think of Jack’s funny face as he’d urged her to get a dog with sharp teeth, and it made her smile. They’d tried so hard to lighten her mood, to lessen her fear. They’d walked her to her rental car, all of them. Mia and Jack and Marc. And Reagan. She couldn’t forget about Reagan. With his intense blue eyes and dry wit. Cerberus. She chuckled out loud. The three-headed guardian of the gates of Hell. How apropos. Maybe she would get a dog at that. This weekend, perhaps. A dog that barked, wasn’t cute, and had big sharp teeth. That didn’t eat cats.

She entertained herself with the notion all the way home, but when she pulled into her driveway, the lighthearted thoughts fled, leaving her staring at her own house with dread.

He could be anywhere. Anger mixed with the dread, fury that her fear had her still sitting in her driveway. She was afraid in her own home. Dammit.

A knock on her car window nearly sent her though the roof. With her hand on her racing heart she turned to find Reagan’s frowning face. He twirled his fingers and she rolled down the window, shuddering from the cold blast of frigid air.

„It’s ten below out here,“ he hissed, mindful of the darkened windows up and down the street „If he doesn’t get you, you’ll die of exposure.“

She narrowed her eyes at him. „It was warm in the car.“

„Well, I’m freezing my keister off out here. Give me your keys.“

„Excuse me?“

He shoved his gloved hand through the open window, palm up. „Give me your keys and I’ll check your closets. Dammit, Kristen, hurry up.“

She yanked her keys from the ignition and slapped them in his palm. „I didn’t ask you to come.“ But she was suddenly, fiercely glad he had. Cursing her unsteady legs, she followed him up the sidewalk.

„You’re welcome,“ he muttered. „You should have a spotlight by your door.“

„I did,“ she muttered back, wincing as he missed the keyhole and the key skittered across the door she’d so painstakingly painted last fall. „The neighbors complained it was keeping them awake and signed a petition to make me get rid of it.“

He pulled a flashlight from the pocket of his overcoat, shone it on the lock, and unlocked the door to the kitchen. „Your neighbors need to get a life.“ He waited for her to follow him inside before closing the door. „Disarm the alarm, then stay here.“

„Yes, sir.“

He threw a lopsided grin over his shoulder at her caustic reply and her heart took off at a canter once again. Not with fear this time. Not the same kind of fear anyway. But just as fast and just as hard. She watched as he drew his weapon and his grin faded. „Stay here,“ he repeated, softly this time. „I mean it.“

„I’m not stupid,“ she muttered to the empty kitchen. To keep herself occupied she fed the cats, then busied herself with the teapot, willing her hands not to rattle the china.

Her tea was steeped and poured and he still hadn’t returned. She tiptoed to the archway to the dining room and peered out. Just as he had the night before, he’d left every light blazing in his wake. She’d grumbled about her electric bill the night before, but made no move to turn off a single light. She suspected tonight would be much the same.

Behind her the door opened and slammed shut and Kristen swallowed a shriek just as his deep voice rumbled through her kitchen. „Damn, it’s cold.“

She turned to find Reagan stamping his snow-covered feet. „Don’t scare me like that.“

Abe looked up, his expression grim. She stood still as stone, holding a fragile china teacup so tightly it seemed fused to her hands. She still wore her winter coat, buttoned up to her neck even though her kitchen was warm. „Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.“ He tossed her keys to the countertop and more carefully put her laptop bag beside them. „I closed your car window and locked it up.“

She drew a deep breath. „Thank you. What took you so long?“

He slipped his flashlight in his overcoat pocket. „I used the basement door to get to the backyard and did a lap around the house.“

„And?“

His lips thinned. „Somebody was here. There’s a set of fresh footprints in the snow up by your basement windows. What’s in the little shed out back?“

„It’s the detached garage, but I use it for storage. Why?“

He shrugged. „Just curious. That’s one hell of a padlock for a storage shed. Somebody might think you’ve got valuables in there.“

Her smile was shaky, and totally false. Now that he’d seen the real thing, heard her truly laugh, he recognized all the other smiles for the frauds they’d been. „One man’s trash is another man’s treasure,“ she said lightly. Which of course meant she had no intention of telling him what she’d stored in the shed. The realization stung a little. She lifted her cup. „Can I pour you some tea?“

Abe looked down at her for a moment. She was trying. She was uncomfortable having him here in her kitchen, of that he was certain, but she was making an honest attempt at hospitality. He should leave her in peace, allow her to get what would obviously be much needed rest, but somehow he couldn’t make himself leave.

He wanted to hear her laugh again, so much it was almost a palpable ache.

„Sure. Maybe it’ll warm me up.“ He sat down at her table and pulled at his gloves and scarf. „Aren’t you going to take off your coat?“

She looked down, as if surprised she was still wearing it. Awkwardly she shrugged out of it, laying it across one of the chairs, but made no move to take off the jacket of her dark charcoal suit. „Thank you for following me home.“ She concentrated on pouring tea into a big mug, totally at odds with her fragile little cup. „I was scared to come inside by myself and that made me mad, so I took it out on you.“ She looked up, met his eyes. „I’m sorry.“

He tilted his head, studying her as she placed his mug on the table in front of him. She didn’t look away while apologizing and he respected that. „It’s okay. I’m used to women getting mad and taking it out on me. I have two sisters. Sit, please.“

She sat self-consciously and he wondered if she was always so ill at ease in her own home, or if being stalked by a homicidal vigilante was a special cause.

„Annie and Rachel, right?“

He nodded, pleased that she’d remembered. „And two brothers. Aidan and Sean.“ He blew on his tea, enjoying the feel of the warm mug between his cold hands. „Aidan’s also a cop. So was my dad before he retired. And all of his friends.“

Her eyes sharpened. „I understand now. I’m sorry if you thought I was singling out police as potential suspects. I would have added John’s staff from the beginning, if I’d thought of it, but I’m so accustomed to doing things by myself.“ She pressed her fingertips against her nape, massaging her neck. „I meant no disrespect.“

„I was too sensitive.“ His lips quirked up. „In some households IA is the postal code for Iowa. In my house ‘Internal Affairs’ was worse than the worst four-letter word.“

She smiled, small, but real. „Well, I’m glad that misunderstanding’s out of the way.“ Her eyes sobered. „But you do realize the chances of him being a cop are higher now that we know he’s a marksman.“

Abe nodded. „I know. I think I knew it this morning, but that a cop could go bad isn’t an easy thing for me to admit.“ She massaged her nape again and he tightened his fingers around the warm mug to keep from taking over the task. „Just let it down.“

Her eyes widened. „Excuse me?“

He sipped at his tea. „Let your hair down. Those pins are giving you a headache. Besides, it isn’t like I haven’t seen it down before, and you are in your own house now.“

After a moment’s hesitation she did, pulling out a handful of pins, letting her hair fall to her shoulders. Well, fall was the wrong word, he thought. It boinged, like so many springs, sending fiery curls in every which direction. He chuckled into his tea, imagining she’d be none too pleased with his thoughts.

„What?“

Her face relaxed as her fingers threaded through her curls and Abe tightened his fingers around his mug, wondering if her curls were soft or coarse, knowing that the scent of her hair would linger on his hands if he was ever brave enough to find out. Instead he shook his head. „You’ll be mad.“

She tucked her tongue in her cheek. „What, little Orphan Annie? Looks like I stuck my finger in a light socket? I’ve heard them all before.“

„I like it.“

Her eyes narrowed as if she suspected him of lying but was too polite to voice it aloud. „Thank you.“

They were quiet for a few minutes, then, sipping their tea in the absolute quiet of her kitchen and Abe wondered if there was ever noise in Kristen Mayhew’s house. His own parents’ house had been so noisy that he’d often yearned for quiet, but the silence in Kristen’s house was oppressive. Despite her efforts to renovate room by room, the house had an empty feeling. „How long have you lived here?“ he asked.

„About two years.“ She looked around fondly. „It’s been fun making this place over.“

„You do good work,“ he said and she smiled in genuine pleasure. „My sister Annie has her own interior design business. She’d love the challenge of an old place like this.“

„It was built in 1903. I uncover hand-carved wood in every room I redo, but I haven’t even contemplated the kitchen yet. I’ve kind of been waiting for one of the appliances to die so I have a good excuse to buy new ones. But I don’t cook often, so the oven’s safe, and the refrigerator seems to be immortal.“

„Annie would show these old appliances the door with no remorse. My mother fought her for years over redoing our kitchen at home, but Annie finally won. Mom complained every day the kitchen was out of her hands, but in the end she loved it.“

Kristen’s mouth curved, a little wistfully, he thought.

„Your mom seems like a nice woman. Takes good care of her baby.“

„I’m not the baby,“ he corrected. „That would be Rachel.“

She lifted a brow. „Ah, yes. Rachel that wants to be me. She’s thirteen?“

Abe shuddered dramatically. „Apparently so.“

„A bit of a late-life surprise, huh?“

„More like the shock of the century.“ He grinned at her. „I remember us all being appalled to find our parents still did it at all.“ She chuckled in answer, but said nothing and within a minute the quiet became suffocating once again. „How about you?“ he found himself asking. „Family in the area?“

She shook her head. „No.“

He leaned forward slightly, waiting. „And?“

She leaned back, so slightly he was sure she didn’t realize she’d pulled away. She’d maintained her distance, consciously or not. „No, I don’t have any family here in Chicago.“

Abe frowned. Her tone had become flat, her eyes blank. „Where then? Kansas?“

Her eyes flashed at the mention of her home state and her teacup slowly lowered to the table. „No. Thank you for escorting me home, Detective Reagan. It’s been a long day for both of us.“ She stood up, and irked, he would have done the same if he hadn’t seen her hands tremble just before she locked them behind her back. Still dressed in her dark suit and heels, he imagined this was how she stood in court, seemingly impervious.

With her hands trembling behind her back. So he kept his seat.

Yesterday she said she had no friends. Today, it was no family. It struck him that in both times he’d made a sweep through her house he’d seen no pictures, not a single personal memento, with the exception of the law school diplomas that hung over her desk. „Sit down, Kristen.“ He pulled her chair closer to where she rigidly stood. „Please.“

Her jaw clenched and she looked away. „Why?“

„Because you’ve got to be exhausted.“

She shook her head and her curls bounced. „No, why is it so important to know about my family?“

„Because… it’s family.“

She turned to look at him and her eyes were no longer angry, but weary. „You’re close to your family, Detective?“

Detective. She seemed determined to keep him at arm’s length. He was equally determined to see the wall she’d erected torn down. „I haven’t seen much of them over the past few years because of the job. But yes, we’re close. They’re my family.“

„Then I’m happy for you. Truly. But you should know that the majority of families aren’t close, tight-knit little units. The majority of families have problems.“

„You’re awfully young to be so jaded.“

Her shoulders sagged. „I’m a hell of a lot older than you think.“

He stood up then. „What I think is that you’re tired. Try to get some sleep.“

Her mouth twisted. „Sleep well, Kristen?“ she mocked bitterly. „Somehow I don’t think so.“ She lifted a hand when he opened his mouth to speak. „Don’t say it.“

„Say what?“

„Don’t tell me to go to a hotel. This is my home. I will not let him make me leave.“

He picked up their cups and put them in the sink. „I wasn’t planning to. I was planning to offer to run to the drugstore and get you something to help you sleep.“ She closed her eyes, one hand clutching the back of the chair.

„Why are you being so nice to me, Detective?“ It was a damn good question. Because she seemed so alone? Because he’d seen her scared and vulnerable when the face she showed everyone else was confident and brave? Because he wondered why there were no party dresses in her closet and no family pictures on her nightstand? Because he found her fascinating and couldn’t get her out of his mind? Because her laugh was like a sucker punch to his gut?

„I don’t know,“ he answered grimly. „Why won’t you call me by my first name?“

Her eyes flew open, suddenly wary. „I… I don’t know.“

„Fair enough.“ He pulled on his coat, conscious of her eyes following the movements of his hands as he buttoned up. When he reached the button at his throat, her eyes rose to meet his and he could see she was still troubled by his question. Good, because he was troubled by hers as well. „I’ll swing by the courthouse tomorrow morning to pick you up. I’d like to visit the rest of the original victims before the families of our five dead guys make a connection with tonight’s report and contact your friend Richardson.“

At the mention of Richardson, her lips thinned. „I’ll be ready.“

Thursday, February 19,

10:30 p.m.

He was cold. Very cold. His hands ached and he glanced longingly at the fur-lined gloves sticking up out of his bag. Soon. For now he’d have to make do with the thin leather gloves. The warm gloves were so thick he couldn’t feel the trigger.

He wriggled a little on his stomach, trying to get comfortable on the hard concrete. Fought the urge to check his watch. No more than an hour could have passed since he arrived. He’d spent three times that long crouched in duck blinds on cold mornings waiting for feathered prey. He could wait a little longer for a prize infinitely more valuable.

He expected his guest to show at any moment. That Trevor Skinner wouldn’t show up hadn’t even entered his mind. The bait was entirely too enticing.

So enticing that even a man like Skinner would risk coming at night, to a place like this. He’d staked out this place weeks and weeks ago. Location, location, location, he thought. This one had it all. Deserted, dark alley. Commercial property. A two-story abandoned building with easy roof access. And a neighborhood bad enough to discourage anyone who actually did hear anything from coming out to investigate.

He heard the car before he saw it pull around the corner, headlights dimmed. He watched, silently waiting as Skinner stepped out of his Cadillac. He dipped his head, checked the sight. Ensured it was the man he sought.

It was.

Quickly he dropped the sight to Skinner’s knees and pumped the trigger – once, twice – and Skinner went down with a scream. Just as King had. He felt the surge of triumph, dismissed it, his eye still on the sight, still on Skinner so when Skinner’s hand moved, he pumped again. Skinner’s hand went flying in an arc to the pavement, empty. He’d been going for something in his coat pocket, but he wasn’t any longer.

He waited another half minute until he was satisfied Skinner wasn’t moving. Quickly he gathered his things, including his shell casings, wincing as they burned his hand. The police were going to catch up to him sooner or later, but he didn’t intend to make it any easier for them than he had to. In another minute he was at street level, stowing his gear in the small hidden compartment in the back of his van. Again, the cops would find it if they looked hard enough, but a passing glance revealed nothing but the hollow inside of a delivery van. Now he did check his watch – so that he could time the rest of the act. Lifting from the back of the van the platform on rolling casters that he’d made just for this purpose. Lowering the ramp. Rolling platform to the mark, sliding the writhing body onto the platform, click, click, buckling him down. Seat belts saved lives, he thought, patently ignoring Skinner’s moaned insistence to know who he was. Skinner’s weak curses of retribution made him smile.

No, if anyone would have retribution this night, it was to be himself. And the young woman whose brutal rape went unpunished a year ago. Renee Dexter.

And, of course, Leah.

He rolled the platform up the ramp into the van on top of the thick plastic he’d laid down. Bloodstains were so difficult to remove from carpet fibers, and the police had ways of detecting trace amounts even after a carpet had been thoroughly cleaned.

As a final step, he patted down Skinner’s pockets, retrieving a set of keys, an electronic organizer, and a gun that looked more like a water pistol than a real firearm.

„Why… why are you… doing this?“ Skinner demanded, his face a contorted mask of agony. „Take… my wallet… please…just… let me… go.“

He chuckled, closed the van doors, pocketed the organizer, and tossed Skinner’s keys onto the front seat of the Cadillac. Left with the keys in view, the car would be gone by dawn.

He checked his watch a final time. Less than seven minutes for the whole second act. King had been eight minutes twenty. He was improving.

Thursday, February 19,

10:30 p.m.

From his car Abe stared up at his apartment building, at the dark concrete that seemed to loom into the sky. In reality it was only a twenty-story building. His apartment was on the seventeenth floor. He had a bed, a recliner chair, and a television set. With cable – 250 channels. He hadn’t turned the television on in more than six months. It was an empty shell, a place he came to sleep.

He sighed, the sound rife with frustration. He didn’t have pictures of family in his place, either. They were all in boxes, in storage. He’d put them there himself the day before he’d transferred the keys to the house to its new owners. The house he’d bought with Debra, with the swingset in the yard and the nursery Debra had just started to decorate in baby blue.

Kristen Mayhew had her little shed in the backyard.

He had the Chicagoland U-Store-It in Melrose Park. I am a first-class hypocrite.

He glanced at the clock on his dash, then at the empty bowls on his passenger seat. His mom stayed up late sometimes, usually when Aidan or his dad were pulling night patrols. Or me, he thought, remembering all the times he’d dropped by for breakfast after his shift to find her dozing in her favorite chair, the movie she’d started watching long since over.

Without another glance up, he backed out of his space. Twenty minutes later he pulled into his parents’ driveway. Sure enough, the light was still on and his key still worked in the front door. It had been a long time since he’d let him-self in after midnight, before he and Debra were married. Sure enough, his mom was dozing in her favorite chair. Some things truly didn’t change. He put the empty bowls in the kitchen sink, then covered his mother up with an afghan. She stirred, then jerked awake, her eyes widening at the sight of him.

„What’s wrong?“

He crouched down. „Nothing. I needed to bring back the bowls.“

Her eyes narrowed. „It could have waited till Sunday. What’s wrong?“

He took her hand, linked his fingers through hers. „Nothing. I just missed you.“

She smiled, squeezed his hand. „I missed you, too. How was your meeting?“

„Busy. Your cabbage casserole was a big hit.“

„Good. Nobody teased you about your mommy bringing dinner?“

He grinned. „Hell, no. They want you to join the team.“

She grinned back, then her expression went sly. „So… what about Miss Mayhew?“

Abe went for obtuse even though he knew exactly what she meant. „She got there too late to try the casserole. Mia had eaten everything but the vegetables.“

His mother shook her head. „Not what I meant. She’s pretty. Smart, too.“

He should have known her sharp eyes had missed none of his and Kristen’s exchange. „Yes, she is, Mom.“

„You didn’t like it when she ignored you.“

She knew him so well. „No, I didn’t.“

Her face settled to serene. „Do you want me to fix you a snack?“

He pulled her to her feet. „No, I want you to go to bed.“

She grimaced. „Your father snores.“

„I do not.“ Kyle Reagan appeared, scratching his broadening belly.

„He does, too!“ The scornful shout came from behind Rachel’s closed bedroom door.

„What’re you doing awake this time of night, young lady?“ his father demanded.

Rachel stuck her head out the door and Abe blinked at the sight of his baby sister in nothing but an oversized T-shirt. She had grown up. My God. She’s only thirteen and she looks seventeen. He wondered if his father had cleaned his gun recently. She’d done something different with her dark hair and there were traces of smudged mascara around her blue eyes, which were rolling in a display of great patience. „Like I could sleep with all this noise,“ she said. „Not.“ She eyed Abe carefully. „Hiya, Abe. Good to have you back.“

She wanted something. That much hadn’t changed in the last year. „Hi, Rach.“

„So can you get me an interview or not?“

Abe blinked again. „With who?“

„Whom,“ Rachel corrected archly, and it was Abe’s turn to roll his eyes.

„Whatever. With whom?“

„With Kristen Mayhew. Mom says the two of you are tight“

Abe winced at the idea. „You want to interview Kristen Mayhew, like with a camera?“

„No, not like with a camera. Like with a pencil. We have to do a project on the career we want and interview somebody who’s doing it. I want to be a lawyer. Miss Mayhew is a lawyer.“

„Damn lawyers,“ Kyle grumbled. „Cops arrest ‘em, lawyers in suits let ‘em go.“

Rachel shook her head. „Not this lawyer, Daddy. She has the highest conviction rate in her office.“ She lifted eyebrows that Abe sworn hadn’t been that severely tweezed last time he’d been home. „So? Can you get me an interview or not?“

I can’t even get her to call me by my first name, Abe thought. „I don’t know,“ he answered honestly. „I can ask.“

„She spoke last year at the University of Chicago Law Commencement,“ Rachel said and Kyle disappeared into the kitchen, still grumbling about lawyers.

Abe had trouble picturing that. „She did?“

Rachel nodded vigorously, her dangling earrings dancing wildly. „I did an Internet search and found her speech in one of the university’s newsletters. She said that mentoring young people was one of the greatest things the graduating class could do to keep the pipeline full of diverse talent.“

„She did?“

Rachel rolled her eyes again and Abe caught his mother smothering a grin. „What, is there an echo in here?“ Rachel asked, sounding just like their father. „Yes, she did. So I’ll bet she’d just love to help a young person like me.“ Her face softened into a winsome smile that he’d never been able to deny. „Please, Abe, pretty please?“

Abe exhaled helplessly. „I’ll ask her, Rach. But don’t be disappointed if she says no. She’s a busy lady.“

Rachel tilted her head forward conspiratorially. „I bet you could invite her over for Sunday dinner. Mom’s making a great big ham. Everybody’s got to eat.“

„No. No. No.“ Abe scowled, but not at the thought of looking at Kristen’s face across his mother’s table. That would be no hardship at all. His scowl was for the withering look of disdain she’d give him when she rejected his invitation. „Did I say no?“

Rachel’s face fell. „Well, ask her about the interview. I’d get an A for sure.“

„I’ll ask.“

„I think it’s way past time you were in bed, sweetie,“ Becca said and Rachel frowned, but obeyed, first lifting on her tiptoes to kiss Abe’s cheek.

„I’m glad you came,“ she whispered. „Even if you can’t get me an interview.“

He kissed her forehead. She was a good kid, all in all. „Me too, squirt. Now go to bed. You’re going to fall asleep in school tomorrow.“

His mother slipped her arm around his waist as Rachel’s door closed. „She was so excited to hear you knew Miss Mayhew. I told her to wait to ask you, but you know how she is. The bed in your old room is made up, Abe. If you want to sleep here, I’ll make you waffles for breakfast From scratch, not those disgusting frozen things.“

„You never make me waffles from scratch,“ Kyle complained from the kitchen.

„You don’t need waffles from scratch,“ his mother shot back. „You’re on a diet.“

Abe had to grin at his father’s muffled muttering. „No, Mom, I need to be in the office early tomorrow. I just wanted to see you tonight.“

With a sigh she walked him to the door. „You’re still coming over on Sunday?“

„Unless something really important comes up on this case, I’ll be here.“

Friday, February 20,

1:00 a.m.

„Why?“

It was an agonized cry, and no less than the bastard deserved. He spared a cool glance. „Renee Dexter.“

Skinner twisted his head to follow him as he gathered his tools, eyes widening in terror. „Who?“

He stopped. Turned his full attention on Skinner’s pathetic form, still strapped down. His bleeding had slowed, his Armani suit was soaked. It would be the most expensive clothing he’d packed into a crate up until now. Skinner hovered on the brink of consciousness, holding on with an effort. „You truly don’t remember her, do you?“

„No. Dammit. Where… am I?“ Skinner gasped. „Who are you?“

He turned away, ignoring Skinner’s line of questioning. „Renee Dexter was a college student, driving home from her part-time job at the campus library.“ He opened a drawer, studied its contents. „She had car trouble, and no cell phone to call for help.“ He made his choice and held it up for Skinner to see before placing it on the table next to him, gratified when Skinner’s eyes went glassy with fear. „Do you remember her yet?“

„Oh, God,“ Skinner moaned, twisting, trying to escape. „You’re insane. Insane.“

He considered it. „Perhaps. God will be the judge of that, I suppose.“ He rolled a cart holding a vise across the room, positioning it at Skinner’s head. Adjusted the grips of the vise on either side of Skinner’s skull and twisted the knobs. Skinner moaned.

„Renee Dexter was terrified.“ His voice hardened. „Nineteen years old and terrified. A car stopped and two clean-cut young men got out and she drew an easier breath. She’d been afraid of thugs, of criminals, but fate had been kind and sent two nice young men her way.“ He twisted the knobs once more and Skinner began to sob. „Unfortunately, they were not nice young men, Mr. Skinner. When the police found Renee Dexter the next morning, she was weaving through traffic on foot, her clothes torn. They thought she was drunk, but she wasn’t. Is your memory improving now, Mr. Skinner?“

„Why?“ Skinner sobbed. „Why are you doing this to me?“

His lips twisted grimly. „Ironic. Renee said the very same thing to the two young men as they held her down all night, raping her by turns. She said they laughed and said ‘Because we can.’ The police were able to catch the two men using descriptions Renee gave them from her hospital bed and the State’s Attorney’s Office filed charges.“ He lifted his tool of choice, twisting it in the overhead light, watching it shine. „That’s where you came in, Mr. Skinner.“ He chuckled dryly as Skinner’s eyes flickered in recognition. „I see you remember now.“

„You… weren’t there.“

„Are you sure, Mr. Skinner? Are you very sure about that? You sat at the same table with those two animals.“ His voice shook with anger. „And when Renee came to the stand, you decimated her, assaulting her a second time. Not with your fists or your…“ He waved a hand toward Skinner’s lower regions. „But you assaulted her the same. She was a party girl. The boys had met her the weekend before. Not true. She’d agreed to meet them. Not true. A drug test showed she’d smoked some marijuana sometime in the previous two weeks, confirming what kind of girl she was. So you said she’d asked for it, allowed them to do it. Then accused them falsely.“ He leaned close, his body vibrating with fury. „Do you remember now, Mr. Skinner?“

„Answer the question, Mr. Skinner. Yes or no?“

Skinner moaned. „Oh, God.“

He straightened. „Not so comfortable now, Mr. Skinner? I’ve contemplated this, long and hard. Those animals went free because you painted Renee Dexter as a girl with loose morals. When she tried to defend herself you tripped her up again and again until she finally had no voice at all.“ He was calm again, and ready to do what needed to be done. „Now you’ll learn what it is like to have no voice, Mr. Skinner.“

Friday, February 20,

3:45 A.M.

Zoe ripped the sheet away from his sleeping form. „Up you go.“ She shook his shoulder impatiently. „Rise and shine, big boy. Time to go home.“

He rolled over onto his back and blinked up at her. „What time is it?“

„Almost four. Your wife’s alarm will be going off in less than two and a half hours.“

His eyes flew open at that. „Shit.“ He rolled out of bed and grabbed his boxer shorts. „Why the hell did you let me go to sleep?“

Zoe looked away, under the pretense of gathering the items that had fallen from his pockets until she managed to control the gleam in her eye. She turned back, her hands filled with his belongings. „Because I fell asleep, too.“ She smiled, alluringly. „You tired me out.“

He looked up from tucking in his shirttail into his pants, a smug grin on his face. He’d earned it, so she let him be self-satisfied for now. „You were fucking amazing.“

She brushed her lips against his. „Hmm. I know. But it’s time to go home.“

„I’m going. You want to meet me tonight?“

Not if I can help it, she thought, but smiled nevertheless. „I’d love to.“ If she had her way, by sunset she’d be ass-deep into what was becoming a more interesting case with every new tidbit she learned.

Grabbing her chin between his fingers, he placed a hard kiss on her lips. „I’ll call you.“

She walked him to the door. „You do that.“ Then she closed the door behind him and, sliding the deadbolt into place, let the Cheshire cat grin take over her face.

She wondered if he knew he talked in his sleep. She suspected his wife did.

She grabbed the phone. „Scott… Of course I know what time it is. Meet me at the station in an hour. We’re going to have a very busy day.“