Scream For Me

Chapter Eight

Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 11:15 a.m.

Wanda Pettijohn looked at Daniel over her half-glasses. “Frank’s not here.”

“Is he out on call, or sick?”

Deputy Randy Mansfield came out of Frank’s office. “Just not here, Danny.” Mansfield ’s voice was even, but the message was clear-it’s none of your business, so don’t ask. Randy slid a thin folder across the counter. “He asked me to give you this.”

Daniel scanned the few papers inside. “This is the Alicia Tremaine file. I expected it to be thicker. Where are the crime scene photos, the interviews, victim photos?”

Randy lifted a shoulder. “That’s all Frank gave me.”

Daniel looked up, eyes narrowed. “There had to have been more than this.”

Randy’s smile dimmed. “If it’s not there, it didn’t exist.”

“No one took a Polaroid of the scene or made a sketch? Where was she found?”

Jaw cocked, Randy pulled the folder around and ran his finger down the page that was the initial police report. “On Five Mile Road.” He looked up. “In a ditch.”

Daniel bit his tongue. “Where on Five Mile Road? What was the nearest intersecting road? Who were the first responders? Where’s the copy of the ME’s report?”

“It was thirteen years ago,” Randy said. “Things were done differently then.”

Wanda came to the counter. “I was here then, Daniel. I can tell you what happened.”

Daniel felt a migraine coming on. “Okay. Fine. What happened, Wanda?”

“It was the first Saturday in April. The Tremaine girl wasn’t in her bed when her mother came to wake her up. She hadn’t been there all night. She was a fast girl, that Alicia. Her mother started calling all around to her friends, but nobody’d seen her.”

“Who discovered the body?”

“The Porter boys. Davy and John. They were out riding their dirt bikes.”

He jotted it in his notebook. “Davy and John were the middle kids of six, as I recall.”

Wanda gave a nod of respect. “You recall correctly. Davy was about eleven and John was thirteen. There are two brothers younger and two more older.”

Davy and John would be twenty-four and twenty-six now. “So what did they do?”

“After he threw up, John rode his bike up to the Monroe farm. Di Monroe called 911.”

“Who was the first policeman on the scene?”

“Nolan Quinn. He’s passed now,” Wanda added soberly.

“He was never the same after finding Alicia,” Randy said quietly, and Daniel made himself remember that this wasn’t just a file for them. It was perhaps the worst crime Dutton had seen up until this weekend. “I joined the force out of school the next year and Nolan was never the same.”

“I can’t imagine anyone could discover something like that and be unaffected,” Daniel murmured, thinking of the Porter boys. “Who did the autopsy, Wanda?”

“Doc Fabares.”

“Who’s also since passed,” Randy said and shrugged. “That whole generation is mostly gone. Or sittin’ on the barbershop bench.”

“But Doc Fabares would have kept records,” Daniel said.

“Somewhere,” Randy said, as if somewhere wasn’t anywhere they’d be likely to find.

“What was found on the body?” Daniel asked.

Wanda frowned. “What do mean? She was naked, wrapped in a blanket.”

“No rings or jewelry?” Or keys? But the keys Daniel would keep to himself.

“None,” Wanda said. “The drifter had robbed her.”

Daniel found the arrest report. “Gary Fulmore.” A mug shot was stapled to the report. Fulmore’s eyes were wild and his face was haggard. “He looks stoned.”

“He was stoned,” Randy said. “That much I remember. He was high on PCP when they found him. Took three men to hold him down so Frank could get the cuffs on him.”

“So Frank arrested him?”

Randy nodded. “Fulmore had wrecked Jacko’s autobody shop, breaking glass and waving a tire iron. They arrested him, then found Alicia’s ring in his pocket.”

“That’s all? No semen or other physical evidence?”

“No, I don’t remember them actually finding any semen in her. That would be in Fabares’s records, most likely. But the way her face was beaten in… only a person hopped up on PCP could’ve done that kind of damage. And he had the tire iron.”

“He was found in an autobody shop. Of course he had a tire iron.”

“I’m just telling you what I remember,” Randy said, annoyed. “You want it or not?”

“I’m sorry. Please go on.”

“The tire iron had Alicia’s blood on it and they found her blood splattered on the cuffs of his pants.”

“Pretty solid evidence,” Daniel said.

Randy’s mouth twisted in a fuck-you smile. “Glad you approve, Agent Vartanian.”

Daniel closed the folder. There was nothing more in it. “Who took his statement?”

“Frank did,” Wanda said. “Fulmore denied everything, of course. But he also claimed to be some rock singer, as I recall.”

“He said he was Jimi Hendrix.” Randy shook his head. “He said a lot of things.”

“Randy’s daddy prosecuted him,” Wanda said proudly, then her mouth drooped. “But he’s passed, too. Heart failure, twelve years ago now. He was only forty-five.”

Daniel had read that Mansfield ’s father had prosecuted in one of the articles Luke had downloaded, but he didn’t know the man had died. Not being able to interview any of the original players was damned inconvenient. “I’m sorry to hear about your father, Randy,” he said, because it was expected.

“I’m sorry to hear about yours,” Randy replied in a tone that said he really wasn’t.

Daniel let it go. “Judge Borenson tried Fulmore’s case. Is he still alive?”

“Yes,” Wanda said. “He retired and has a place up in the mountains.”

“He’s an old hermit,” Randy said. “I don’t even think he has a phone.”

“He has one,” Wanda said. “He just never answers it.”

“Do you have his number?” Daniel asked and Wanda flipped through her Rolodex.

She wrote it down and gave it to him. “Good luck. He’s a hard man to track down.”

“What happened to the blanket Alicia was found in?”

Wanda grimaced. “We got flooded during Dennis and lost everything below the four-foot waterline. That file was stored higher up, or it would’ve been gone, too.”

Daniel sighed. Hurricane Dennis had caused massive flooding in Atlanta and the surrounding counties a few years before. “Damn,” he murmured, then winced when Wanda glared. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Her glare became a worried frown. “The man who killed Janet. He’s killed another.”

“Last night. He seems to be copying the details from this old murder pretty closely.”

“Except for the key,” Wanda said, and it took all of Daniel’s control not to blink.

“Excuse me?”

“The key,” Wanda repeated. “The one that was found on the new victim’s toe.”

“Pics are on the Internet,” Randy added. “The key tied to her toe was pretty clear.”

Daniel shoved his temper back down. “Thanks. I hadn’t seen the news reports yet.”

Randy’s expression slid from sober to just shy of smug. “I’d say you have a leak.”

Or a damn dog named Woolf. “Thanks for your time.” He turned to go, then remembered his promise to Alex. “Oh, one more thing. Bailey Crighton.”

Wanda’s lips thinned. Randy rolled his eyes dramatically. “Danny…”

“Her stepsister is worried,” Daniel said, making his tone apologetic. “Please.”

“Look, Alex didn’t really know Bailey.” Randy shook his head. “Bailey Crighton was a hooker, plain and simple.” He looked over at Wanda. “Sorry.”

“It’s the truth,” Wanda said, dark color flooding her cheeks. “Bailey was white trash. She’s not missin’. She’s just gone, run off like the druggie tramp she’s always been.”

Daniel blinked at the venom in Wanda’s tone. “Wanda.”

Wanda wagged her finger at Daniel. “And you’d best be watching yourself with the stepsister. She may look all sweet in the moonlight, but she was trouble, too.”

Randy put his hand on Wanda’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmured to the old woman, then turned to Daniel, his eyes telegraphing back down. “Wanda’s son had a… relationship with Bailey a few years back.”

Wanda’s eyes blazed. “You make it sound like my Zane intended to take up with that whore.” She shook with fury. “She seduced him and nearly broke up his marriage.”

Daniel searched his memory. Zane Pettijohn was his age and had played ball at the public school. He’d had a penchant for curvy girls and hard liquor then. “But all’s well?”

Wanda was still trembling from rage. “Yes, with no thanks to that tramp.”

“I see.” Daniel let a few beats pass and Wanda sat back down in her chair, her scrawny arms crossed over her scrawnier bosom. “All that notwithstanding, what’s been done about Bailey? I mean, have you searched her house? Where’s her car?”

“Her house is a sty,” Randy said with contempt. “Garbage everywhere. Needles… dammit, Danny, you should have seen that little girl we took out of the closet. She was terrified. If Bailey’s gone, she left on her own two feet or one of her johns got her.”

Daniel widened his eyes. “She was still hooking?”

“Yeah. If you run her record, you’ll find she’s got a sheet as long as your arm.”

Daniel had, actually, and found Bailey’s last arrest was five years ago. She’d been busted for solicitation and possession several times before that. But she’d been clean for five years and nothing Randy had said about Bailey’s house matched what he’d heard from Sister Anne the night before. Either Bailey had gotten really good at not getting caught or something wasn’t right. Daniel was leaning toward the second one.

“I’ll run her record when I get back to the office. Thanks. Y’all have been a big help.”

He was in his car when it hit him. You’d best be watching yourself with the stepsister. She may look sweet in the moonlight… He’d kissed Alex last night, on her front porch, in the moonlight. Someone had been watching them. The bungalow was right off Main Street, so it might have been a goggle-eyed biddy and nothing more. Still, he was uneasy and Daniel was a man who listened to his instincts.

Which was why he’d kissed Alex Fallon last night, in the moonlight. His skin warmed at the memory. Which was why he planned to do so again, very soon. But his unease persisted, shifting to worry. Someone had been watching them. He dialed her number and got her cool voice as the call went to voicemail.

“It’s Daniel. Call me as soon as you can.” He started to pocket his phone and then frowned. Woolf. He called Ed. “Have you seen the news?”

“Yeah,” Ed said glumly. “Chase is on the phone with the powers that be, explaining how Woolf managed it.”

“So how did he?”

“BlackBerry. Snapped the picture and winged it off onto the Internet.”

“Dammit. I didn’t list his BlackBerry in the warrant. I have to call Chloe and re-up.”

“I already did, only the BlackBerry’s not in his name. It’s in his wife’s.”

“Marianne,” Daniel said with a sigh. “Can Chloe turn it around fast?”

“She thought so. Hey, you get any of the old evidence from the Tremaine case?”

“No,” Daniel said, disgusted. “Flooding took out their evidence room and the file is pathetic. The only thing I can tell you is that there was no key. That’s a new MO.”

“The two keys match,” Ed said. “Same exact cut, but that’s not surprising. Did you talk to the principal of that middle school?”

“Yeah, on my way from the crime scene to the police station. She said Janet rented a minivan to take the kids to Fun-N-Sun. I called the parents and all of them say Janet dropped off the kids at seven-fifteen. Leigh’s running down the car rental place from Janet’s credit cards. If anybody asks, I’m headed over to the morgue. I’ll call you later.”

Atlanta , Tuesday, January 30, 12:55 p.m.

Alex gave the photo of a smiling Bailey one last look before she slid it into her satchel, which sagged from the weight of her gun. Meredith had frowned when Alex had taken the gun from its lockbox, but Alex was taking no chances. Hefting the strap of her satchel higher on her shoulder, she looked up into the face of Bailey’s boss.

“Thank you, Desmond. For everything.”

“I just feel so helpless. Bailey’s been with us for three years now and she’s become more like part of our family. We just want to do something.”

Alex toyed with the yellow ribbon someone had tied across Bailey’s station in the very upscale Atlanta salon. “You’ve done a lot.” She pointed to the flyer they’d posted. She’d seen dozens like it as she’d walked through Atlanta ’s Underground shopping mall. It was a picture of Bailey, along with an offer of a reward for information leading to her whereabouts. “I wish the people in her hometown were as generous.”

Desmond’s jaw hardened. “They would never let her live down her mistakes. We begged her to leave, to move here, but she wouldn’t.”

“She commuted every day?” It was an hour each way.

“Except on Saturday nights.” He pointed to an empty station. “Sissy and Bailey were best friends. On Saturdays, Sissy’s daughter babysat Hope while Bailey worked, then they’d stay over in Sissy’s place. Bailey volunteered at one of the downtown shelters every Sunday morning. It was like her religion.”

“I wish I’d talked to you yesterday afternoon. It took me hours to find that shelter.”

Desmond’s eyes widened. “You’ve been there, then?”

“Last night. They seem to love Bailey there.”

“Everybody loves Bailey.” His eyes narrowed. “Except that town. If you ask me, somebody needs to check out the slime that live there.”

Alex could see his point. “Can I talk to Sissy?”

“She’s off today, but I’ll get her number for you. Give me your parking voucher. I’ll validate it while I’m at it.”

Alex dug the voucher from her purse, pulling her cell phone out with it. The light was blinking. “That’s weird. I’ve got a message, but I didn’t hear it ring.”

“Sometimes reception is wonderful down here and sometimes it’s a dead zone.” Immediately he winced. “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. We have to believe we’ll find her.” Desmond walked away, his head bowed low, and Alex checked her call log. Daniel had called four times. Her pulse raced.

He was probably just calling to check on me. But what if he’d made a mistake? What if the woman he’d found that morning was Bailey? She found Desmond at the front counter, took her voucher, and shook his hand. “I have to go. Thank you,” she called over her shoulder as she ran up the escalator to street level and the parking valet.

Atlanta , Tuesday, January 30, 1:00 p.m.

“A single hair, long and brown.” Felicity Berg held up a small plastic bag in which the hair was curled like a lariat. “He meant for you to find it.”

Daniel crouched to study the newest victim’s toe. “He wrapped the hair around the big toe of her left foot, then wrapped the string for the key over it.” He stood up, blinking at the headache that had spiraled in intensity. “So it’s important. Male or female hair?”

“I’d say there’s a good chance it’s female. And he was nice enough to give us a hair with a full follicle, so I should have no trouble getting DNA.”

“Can I see it?” He held it up to the light. “It’s hard to tell color from just one hair.”

“Ed can run a color match and give you a hair swatch.”

“Other than that, what else can you tell me about this woman?”

“Early twenties. Recent manicure. Cotton fibers in the lining of her cheeks and evidence of sexual assault. We’re running the blood test for Rohypnol. I put a rush on it. Come look at this.” She angled the overhead light so that a spotlight shone on the woman’s throat. “Look at the circular bruising on her throat. It’s very faint, but there.”

He took the magnifying glass she offered and looked where she pointed. “Pearls?”

“Big ones. He didn’t strangle her with them or the bruises would have been readily apparent. I’m thinking he may have grabbed them at some point, maybe to put mild pressure on her trachea. And look here. See that little nick?”

“He held a knife to her throat.”

Felicity nodded. “One last thing. She was wearing Forevermore. It’s a perfume,” she added when Daniel frowned. “Four hundred an ounce.”

Daniel’s eyes widened. “And you know that how?”

“I know the scent because my mother wears it. I know the price because I checked when I was looking to buy her birthday present.”

“Did you give your mother the perfume?”

“No. That was way out of my price range.” Her eyes crinkled and Daniel knew she was smiling under the mask. “I gave her a waffle-maker instead.”

Daniel smiled back. “A far more practical choice.” He gave her back the magnifying glass and straightened, sobering as he looked down into the face of their second victim. “Pearls and perfume. This woman is wealthy or gets gifts from someone who is.” His cell phone buzzed and the caller ID had his pulse going a little faster.

Alex handed her voucher to the valet as Daniel’s cell phone rang in her ear.

“Vartanian.”

“Daniel, it’s Alex.”

“Excuse me,” she heard him say. “I need to take this.” A few moments later he was back and mad. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I called three times.”

“Four, actually,” Alex said. “I’ve been with the owner of the salon where Bailey works. They’ve posted flyers all over the Underground offering a reward for information.”

“That’s nice,” he said more gently. “I’m sorry. I got worried.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Nothing, really.” He dropped his voice. “Just that we were… watched. Last night.”

“What?” Alex frowned and stepped off the curb. “That’s-”

But no more words came. Just the squeal of tires and the shout of a stranger. Then screams and her own grunt of pain as a body slammed into her from behind, knocking her forward onto the sidewalk. Her palms and knees burned as she skidded to a stop.

Time seemed to stand still as she lifted her head, still on her hands and knees. There was a queer bubble of muted sound as a man’s face filled her field of vision. His lips were moving and she squinted, trying to hear him. People were grabbing at her arms, helping her up. One man handed her the satchel, another woman her purse.

Dazed, Alex blinked and turned slowly to the street where the valet was bolting out of her rental car, his face pale and shocked. “What happened?” Alex asked, her voice thin and spindly. Her knees went wobbly. “I need to sit down.”

The hands holding her arms led her to a giant cement planter and she gingerly lowered herself to its edge. A new face appeared in front of her, this one calm. And wearing a police officer’s hat. “Are you all right? Do we need to call an ambulance?”

“No.” Alex shook her head and winced. “I’m just banged up.”

“I don’t know.” The first face she’d seen appeared over the cop’s, as if their heads were stacked. “She took a pretty bad fall.”

“I’m a nurse,” Alex said firmly. “I don’t need an ambulance.” She looked at her scraped palms and winced. “Just some basic first aid.”

“What happened?” the cop demanded.

“She was stepping into the street to get her car when this other car came zooming around the corner like a bat outta hell,” the first man said. “I pushed her out of the way. I hope I didn’t hurt you too bad, ma’am,” he added.

Alex smiled at him, light-headed. “No, I’m fine. You saved my life. Thank you.”

You saved my life. Reality hit and with it a wave of nausea. Someone had tried to kill her. Daniel. She’d been talking to Daniel. He said they’d been watched last night. Somebody just tried to kill me.

She gulped a lungful of air, willing her stomach to settle. “Where’s my cell phone?”

“Alex?” Daniel shouted her name into the phone but there was nothing but dead air. He turned to find Felicity watching him, her eyes unreadable behind her goggles.

“What happened?” she asked.

“She was talking and then I heard squealing tires and screams. Then nothing. I need to use your phone.” A minute later he was talking to the Atlanta PD dispatch. “She was outside the Underground,” he said, willing his voice to stay steady. “Her name is Alex Fallon. She’s five-six, slim, brown hair.”

“We’ll check it out right away, Agent Vartanian.”

“Thanks.” Daniel turned back to Felicity, who still watched him.

“Sit down, Daniel,” she said calmly. “You’re pale.”

He obeyed. He made himself breathe. Made himself think. Then his cell phone buzzed in his hand. Alex’s number. He answered, heart in his throat. “Vartanian.”

“Daniel, it’s Alex.”

It was her cool voice. She was scared. “What happened?”

“I’m okay. Daniel, somebody just tried to run me over.”

The heart in his throat began to race. “Are you hurt?”

“Just scraped up. There’s a policeman here. He wants to talk to you. Hold on.”

“This is Officer Jones, APD. Who is this?”

“Special Agent Vartanian, GBI. Is she hurt?”

“Not badly. She’s a little disoriented and banged up a bit. She says she’s a nurse and doesn’t need the ER. Is she part of an ongoing investigation?”

“She is now.” Too late Daniel remembered Alex’s satchel. He’d bet good money she had her gun with her. If she set one foot inside a police station, she’d be busted for carrying a concealed. “But she’s not a suspect, so there’s no need to transport her. Are you outside the Underground?”

“By the valet station. Are you coming or sending someone for her?”

The thought of sending anyone else hadn’t entered his mind. “I’m coming myself. Will you wait with her until I get there?”

“Yes. My partner ran after the car that tried to hit her, but he lost them. We’ll take statements from the crowd. Once we get a description of the car, we’ll put out an APB.”

“Thanks.” Daniel flipped his phone shut. “Felicity, I have to go.” He handed her the bag containing the hair the killer had left for them to find. “Can you have someone take this out to Ed? Ask him to run a color check.”

Felicity nodded, her eyes still unreadable, and Daniel got the uncomfortable feeling she was working very hard to keep them that way. “Sure. I’ll call you when I have more.”

Tuesday, January 30, 1:15 p.m.

“You know, Bailey, you’re becoming a real pain in my ass.”

Blearily Bailey looked up through the haze of pain and fear. He was standing over her, breathing hard. He’d broken a few of her ribs this time, and she wasn’t sure how many more kicks she could take before she lost consciousness. Again. “Too bad.” She’d meant for it to come out sarcastic and strong, but it was a pathetic little croak.

“Are you going to talk into the nice little machine or not?”

She glanced over at the tape recorder with contempt. “Not.”

He smiled then, his cobra smile. It had terrified her at first. Now she was beyond terror. What more could he do? Except kill me. At least then the pain would stop.

“Well then, Bailey, darlin’, you’ve left me no choice. You won’t tell me what I want to know and you won’t say what I want you to say. I’m going to have to go with Plan B.”

This is it. He’ll kill me now.

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you,” he said, amusement in his voice. “But you’ll wish I had.” He turned around to pull something from a drawer and when he turned back…

“No.” Bailey’s heart froze. “No, please not that. Not that.”

He just smiled. “Then talk into the tape recorder or…” He tapped the end of the syringe and pushed the stopper just enough to force a few drops of liquid from the needle. “It’s the good stuff, Bailey. You remember the good stuff.”

A sob tore from her parched throat. “Please, no.”

He sighed dramatically. “Plan B it is. Once a junkie, always a junkie.”

She struggled, but her attempts were as pathetic as her voice. He held her down easily, shoving one knee into her back and grabbing her arm. She tried to pull away, but even healthy she would have been no match for his strength.

Quickly he tied the rubber strap around her arm and pulled with the quick expertise of someone who’d had years of practice. He ran his thumb along the inside of her forearm. “Do you have good veins, Bailey?” he taunted. “This one will do nicely.”

There was a quick prick, the slide of the plunger, then… She was floating. Soaring. “Damn you,” she croaked. “Damn you to hell.”

“That’s what they all say. A few more hits and you’ll be begging to do anything I ask.”

Atlanta , Tuesday, January 30, 1:30 p.m.

Alex winced as Desmond swabbed her palm with disinfectant. She still sat on the edge of the planter and he knelt on the pavement beside her. Word traveled fast in the Underground Mall, and Desmond had come running. “That smarts.”

He looked up, his eyes unsmiling. “You should go to the hospital.”

She patted his shoulder with her fingertips, the only part of her hands that didn’t burn like fire. “I’m fine, truly. Just a poor patient.”

“First Bailey, now this,” Desmond muttered. He swabbed the other palm and again she winced, purposing to be a little more sympathetic the next time she did the same for a patient in the ER. It did really smart. But it could have been so much worse.

Desmond pulled an Ace bandage from his drugstore bag. “Hold your hands out, palm up.” He applied the gauze, then wrapped each hand with gentle care.

“You should be a nurse, Desmond.”

He gave her another unsmiling look. “This is a nightmare.” He rose from his knees to sit next to her. “You could have been dead like Bailey.”

“She’s not dead,” Alex said, just as quietly. “I won’t believe it.” He said no more, just sat quietly beside her until Daniel’s car pulled up to the curb.

He’s here. He came.

Daniel approached her as he had the night before, his face almost stern, his eyes piercing, his stride full of purpose. She stood, wanting to meet him on her own two feet, although the very sight of him made her almost dizzy with relief.

He checked her out from head to toe, his gaze lingering on her bandaged hands. Then he gently pulled her to him and threaded his hand through her hair, holding her head against his chest where his heart thundered hard and fast. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and let out a single shuddering breath, as if he’d held it all in.

“I’m all right,” she said and held up her hands, attempting a smile. “All taken care of.”

“Her knees are scraped up, too,” Desmond said from behind her.

Daniel moved his stare to Desmond’s face. “You are?”

“Desmond Warriner. Bailey Crighton’s boss.”

“He bandaged me up,” Alex said.

“Thank you,” Daniel said, his voice gone husky.

“Are you looking for Bailey?” Desmond asked tightly. “Please say someone is.”

“I am.” Daniel took her purse and satchel in one hand and slid the other to her waist, then turned her toward his car, against which a tall black-haired man now leaned, regarding her thoughtfully. “That’s my friend, Luke. He’s going to drive your car and you’re going to come with me.” Luke gave her a courteous nod.

Alex gave Desmond a quick hug. “Thanks again.”

“Take care of yourself,” Desmond said fiercely, then pulled a card from his pocket. “Sissy’s phone number. Bailey’s friend,” he added. “You ran off before I could give it to you. I was trying to catch you when I heard… Just call me when you hear anything.”

“I will.” She looked up at Daniel, who still looked very stern. “I’m ready to go.” She let him put her in his car, but stopped him when he started to buckle her in. “I can do that. Honestly, Daniel, I’m not hurt that badly.”

He dropped his head, staring at her hands. When he looked up his eyes were no longer stern, but stark. “When you called I was in the morgue with the second victim.”

Her heart clenched. “I’m sorry. You must have been scared.”

One side of his mouth lifted wryly. “That’s putting it mildly.” He put her satchel and purse at her feet. “Just stay here and try to rest. I’ll be back.”

Daniel stepped back from the car. His hands were shaking, so he shoved them into his pockets and turned away from her before he did something that might embarrass them both. Luke was coming toward him, a set of keys in his hand.

“I got her keys,” Luke said. “You need me to stick around?”

“No. Park her car in the visitors’ lot and leave the keys on my desk. Thanks, Luke.”

“Relax. She’s okay.” He studied Alex, who sat with her head back and her eyes closed. “She does look like Alicia. No wonder she gave you a jolt.” Luke lifted his brows. “It appears she’s continuing to give you jolts of a different nature. Mama will be happy to hear this, except that now she’ll turn all her attention back on me.”

Daniel smiled, as Luke had intended. “No less than you deserve. Where’s Jones?”

“He’s the one talking to the valet. His partner is Harvey. He’s over there talking to the man with the blue shirt, who, from what I overheard, was the one who pushed Alex out of the way. He might have seen the driver’s face. I’m going now. See you later.”

From Officers Harvey and Jones, Daniel learned the car had been a late model, dark sedan, probably a Ford Taurus, with South Carolina plates. The driver had been young, African-American, thin, with a beard. He’d come from around the corner where he’d been waiting for an hour, according to witnesses who remembered seeing the vehicle. From that vantage point the driver could have easily seen Alex exit the Underground.

That last piece of information made Daniel the angriest. The scum had waited for her, then pounced. Had it not been for a stranger with quick reflexes, Alex might be dead. Daniel thought of the two victims, of the missing Bailey. Alex would not be next. That he promised himself. He would take care of her.

Why? she’d asked last night. Last night he had no answer. He had one now. Because she’s mine. It was a primal response and probably exceedingly premature, but… it didn’t matter. For now, she’s mine. Later… we’ll see how it goes.

He thanked the officers and the man who’d pushed her out of the way, then drove five blocks before pulling to the curb, leaning over, and kissing her with all the emotion that he’d kept in check. When he lifted his head, she sighed.

“You do that well,” she murmured.

“So do you.” And he kissed her again, longer and deeper. When he pulled away, she rolled her head to look at him, want and fear warring in her eyes.

“What do you want from me, Daniel?”

Everything, he wanted to say, but because she’d suspected his motives the night before, he didn’t. Instead he ran his thumb over her lips, felt her tremble. “I don’t know. But it won’t be anything you’re not willing and… anxious to give.”

Her smile was sad. “I see,” was all she said.

“I’m going to take you back to my office. I’ve got a press conference at two-thirty, but after that I can break away and drive you back to the bungalow.”

“I hate for you to have to do that.”

“Be quiet, Alex.” He said it mildly to take away some of the sting of his words. “I’m not sure how you connect to all this, but every instinct I have is screaming that you are.”

She flinched, a minute motion. “What?” he asked. “Alex?”

She sighed. “When I dream, I hear screams. When I get tense, like back there, I also hear them.” She glanced at him warily. “Now you think I’m crazy.”

“Hush. You’re not crazy. Besides, at least some of the screams back there were real. I heard them, too, right before I lost your call.”

“Thanks.” Her smile was self-deprecating. “I really needed to hear that.”

Last night she’d been dreaming, she’d said. Then you were there. “When you hear the screams, what do you do?”

She lifted a shoulder, looking away. “I concentrate and make them stop.”

He remembered what she’d said to the girl in the shelter. “Push them in the closet?”

“Yes.” It was an embarrassed admission.

He cupped her face and brushed his thumb across her flushed cheek. “It must take a lot of mental energy to do that. I’d be exhausted.”

“You have no idea.” Her voice grew cool. “We should go now. You have a job and I have too much to do to be sitting here feeling sorry for myself.” She lifted her chin, away from his hand. “Please.”

She was terrified. She had a right to be. Someone had tried to kill her. The knowledge left his gut tied in a knot. She wasn’t driving around on her own, not while he had breath. But he’d argue the point later. Now she looked fragile, even as her chin jutted out like that of a prizefighter looking for a fight.

Saying no more, Daniel put his car back into gear and drove.