Deadly Pursuit (18 page)

There was blood everywhere.

How could one little mutt bleed so much?

His stomach still heaving, Daryl stared in the mirror at the gas station restroom and scrubbed at the maroon flecks on his cheeks. Covering himself with plastic had been a smart move, considering how the blood had spurted. Otherwise, his clothes would be a disaster. As it was, they'd escaped unscathed.

He couldn't say the same about his face. Or the hair that hadn't been protected by his baseball cap.

Dipping his head in the sink, he jabbed at the hand-soap dispenser and worked up a lather. It would have been a lot tougher to get rid of the evidence if he'd still had the long hair he'd once favored. At least fate worked to his advantage once in a while. On small things, anyway.

When he finished, he blotted out as much water as he could with paper towels, ran a plastic comb through his hair, and checked himself in the mirror. Not bad.

For the first time in hours, he relaxed. His mission had been a success, and he'd emerged unscathed. All traces of blood had been removed from his person. He'd disposed of the bloody latex gloves and baseball cap in a dumpster outside, hidden in his McDonald's bag. He'd seen no one in the vicinity of the thicket, so there couldn't be any witnesses.

And Alison Taylor had been hurt.

He knew that, because as he'd driven past her street with his windows down, he'd heard her piercing scream.

That moment alone had made the outing worthwhile. It had been far more gratifying than simply imagining her reaction.

Smiling, he unlocked the door and strolled into the small quick shop every gas station seemed to have these days. A Hershey bar caught his eye, and he hesitated. When he was a kid, chocolate candy had been reserved for special occasions, like Christmas. But today felt a lot like a holiday. Except for failing to retrieve Bev's locket, it had gone well. Why not indulge? He'd even pay for it, generous soul that he was.

With Chuck's money.

After plucking it off the rack, Daryl moseyed over to the counter and fished a couple of singles out of his pocket.

The long-haired guy behind the register rang up the purchase, took his money, handed over the change. “Enjoy the treat, man.”

“Yeah. I will.” Daryl picked up the candy bar and exited.

Once outside, he ripped the paper off and took a bite. As the chocolate dissolved on his tongue, he slid behind the wheel, put the car in gear, and pointed it south.

Back to reality.

Back to Chuck's trailer.

A bitter taste overpowered the sweet flavor of the candy, and his breath stuck in his lungs. He sucked in air, but he couldn't dispel the suffocating feeling of being trapped. Helpless. Caught in front of a fast-moving train, with an abyss on both sides.

He clenched his fingers on the wheel and forced himself to keep breathing.

He hated this feeling.

But he'd vanquished it tonight, when he'd been exacting his revenge on Alison Taylor. For a brief interlude, he'd felt powerful. In control. It had been an exhilarating feeling. The kind of feeling he wanted to have all the time. But he wasn't going to get it hanging around Chuck.

Unless he went back to the meth.

Flipping his blinker, he signaled a move into the fast lane and toyed with the idea of snorting a line. Just one. For old time's sake. He didn't want to end up addicted, like Chuck, but a little rush would be real nice.

Or maybe he'd think of some other way to torture the woman who'd ruined his life. That had given him just as big a rush as meth had.

Better yet, why not do both?

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Yeah. That sounded real fine. Chuck had said he had some more ideas for Alison. They could talk about them tonight.

Over a line.

Two hours after Alison had discovered Bert, Mitch joined the three Taylor siblings at her kitchen table to discuss a game plan while Hank processed the crime scene and patrol officers questioned neighbors.

He sat across from her, which gave him a straight-on view of her face. She'd regained very little color, and before she folded her hands on the table in front of her, he noted they were still trembling.

More than anything, he wanted to circle the table, pull her to her feet, and enfold her in his arms. To assure her they had the situation under control and it was only a matter of time until they found bingo man and brought him to justice.

But he doubted her brothers would appreciate any further displays of affection. Nor was there any guarantee they'd find her stalker soon—or ever.

The truth was, the guy represented a serious threat for the foreseeable future.

That's why they were having this powwow.

Cole took a long drink of the soda he'd retrieved from Alison's refrigerator, then set it on the table, his expression grave.

“We need to talk about some defensive measures.”

“I have an excellent security system. You picked it out.” A tremor ran through Alison's voice, her usual independent manner subdued.

“It wouldn't have helped you tonight. What were you thinking, anyway, going outside in the dark? That guy could have been waiting for you instead of Bert!”

What minimal color had crept back into her cheeks seeped out at Cole's heated censure. “I checked before I went out. The whole patio was lit up, and I didn't go far from the door. I was going to phone you or Jake if Bert didn't come when I called from out there.” Her eyes filled with tears again.

Mitch was about to step in, but Jake beat him to it—after casting a reproving glance at his younger brother.

“I'm sure you were careful.” His tone was calm. Measured. “What Cole is trying to communicate with his inimitable tact and diplomacy is that despite your caution tonight, this guy could have gotten to you if he'd wanted to. All he would have had to do was hide around the side of the house, block the door as you started back toward it, and drag you inside.”

She moistened her lips. “Okay. You're right. I shouldn't have gone out. But up to this point, all we had were some dead roses. I wasn't convinced he'd ever come back.”

“Well, he did. And now we need to make some plans.” Cole shoved his soda aside and leaned closer to her, forearms on the table. “Until this thing is resolved, you need to stay with either me or Jake. We don't want you here at night alone, despite the security system.”

“Leave my house?” She frowned and stared at her clasped hands. Mitch watched her knuckles whiten. “But this is my home. Besides, it's too much of an imposition. You guys have your own lives.”

“You're part of our lives.” Jake touched her clenched hands. “And we want to keep it that way.”

She looked from Jake to Cole. Then to Mitch. Although this was a family matter and Mitch had intended to keep a low profile, the uncertainty in her eyes convinced him to join the discussion.

“What Jake and Cole are suggesting makes sense. I think we'd all breathe easier knowing you were safe at night.”

After a few beats of silence, she gave a brief nod. “Okay.”

Her brothers looked at him, wary—or impressed—by his influence. Mitch wasn't sure which.

Cole opened his mouth, but Jake spoke first. “Wise decision. Now let's talk about your daily routine.”

“I don't have one. Every day is different.”

“That's a plus.” Cole jumped back in.

“Yeah, but I don't like some of the areas you go to for home visits.” Parallel grooves dented Jake's brow. “Cole, could you pass on Alison's schedule to the patrol division and have them ask the officers to do a few extra runs in the areas where she'll be working?”

“No problem.”

Jake turned his attention back to Alison. “Your building has a security guard, right? And swipe cards for access?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go straight to and from work. No stops. In terms of any other errands you have to run, tap one of us for escort duty.”

“Me included,” Mitch chimed in.

“Are you with us on this?” Cole cocked an eyebrow at her, as if daring her to argue.

She didn't. Telling Mitch her terror ran deep.

“Yes. I just hope you catch this guy fast.”

“We do too.” Jake stood. “Why don't you pack whatever you need while we see what's going on outside?”

“Okay.”

She rose, holding on to the edge of the table for support. Giving her injured leg a chance to adjust to the new position. Mitch was beginning to recognize the subtle aftereffects of her accident.

As her brothers started toward the door, she called after them. “Wait. What about B-Bert?”

Mitch glanced at the two men, then rounded the table to stand beside her. Raw grief and pain had dulled the vivid blue of her eyes, and he touched her cheek, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “When I was ten, our border terrier was killed by a car. Her name was Patsy, and she'd been part of our family my whole life. I was devastated. My dad had a pair of small wooden chests, and we buried her in the garden in one of them. If you'd like to use the other one, I know he'd be glad to let me have it. I could take Bert home with me tonight, then come back in the morning before work and bury him in the backyard.”

Her eyes filled with tears. In their depths, he saw gratitude and tenderness . . . and a deeper emotion that caused his heart to skip a beat—then accelerate.

“Thank you. I'd like that.”

He nodded. “I'll be here at seven. Wait in your car if you get here first.”

Turning toward the door, he found her brothers still watching him. This time he had no trouble reading the emotions in their eyes—respect in Jake's, approval in Cole's.

“Get your stuff together, Twig.” Jake broke the poignant mood by leaning around him to direct his comment to his sister.

“Okay.”

Mitch heard her exit the room behind him as he joined her brothers at the door.

“Nice job, Galahad.” Cole smirked at him, stepping aside with a sweep of his arm to let him pass.

Jake shook his head. “Ignore him.”

“Who? Is there someone else here?” Mitch walked right past Cole.

One side of Jake's mouth hitched up. “I think my brother has finally met his match.”

Mitch's own mouth twitched. “More than. Now let's see what Hank and the patrol officers have discovered. One solid clue may be all we need to wrap this thing up.”

“I'm glad you finally got with the program, man.”

As Chuck pulled out his rig and Bev prepared to light up, Daryl rolled his line of meth in a dollar bill. He was having some second thoughts about snorting, but admitting that to Chuck wasn't an option. Besides, this was a onetime deal. A quick escape to brighten up his life for a few hours. Nothing more.

“I figure I ought to celebrate after my successful day.”

“Yeah, well, you didn't get my locket.” Bev's expression was glum as she focused on her task.

“I told you, they must have changed the locks.”

“Stan would have had a key.”

“And you think he'd give it to some stranger who happened to waltz in and ask for it?” He shot her a disgusted look as he finished rolling the line. A buzz of anticipation was already building inside him, and his fingers began to tremble.

“Forget the locket, Bev.” Chuck drew the meth water into the syringe.

“It's the only thing I have of my mom's.”

“Like she was so good to you.” His mouth curled into a sneer.

“Hey, don't bad-mouth my mom! She did her best. Can she help it if she married a drunk who beat her? What did you expect her to do, stick around and maybe get killed?”

“So she left you and your sister to get killed.”

“My dad never hit us.”

“Whatever.”

Ending the discussion, Chuck moved to the living room and sat on the lumpy couch.

Daryl followed him, lowering his voice. “I still can't believe how smooth your idea worked. The greedy little mutt was so busy gobbling down the hamburger he never even saw the rock coming.”

“I told you it would be easy.” He pulled off his shoe and sock. “Too bad you couldn't have hung around and watched her reaction.”

“I know. But I did hear her scream as I was driving away.”

His host looked up. “Yeah? That would have been cool. It's always nice when people get what they deserve.”

“Who got what they deserved?” Bev entered the living room, scanned the littered space, and tugged her purse from beneath a pile of clothes.

“The broad who ruined Daryl's life.” Chuck lined up the syringe.

“What'd you do to her?”

At Bev's question, Daryl turned away from the needle and positioned the rolled-up dollar bill. He took his time, savoring the thrill of anticipation. “That's not important. What matters is what I'm gonna do next. You still have some other ideas, Chuck?”

The man grinned and leaned back against the couch. “Oh yeah. I got lots of ideas. We can talk about them all night, if you want.”

That sounded better than sleeping on the roach-infested futon. Daryl snorted the meth and prepared for the rush.

“A slumber party, huh?” He was feeling it already.

Daryl chortled. “Slumber party. I like that. Why don't you join us, Bev? We're gonna have some fun—and make some plans.”

“In other words, we don't have a lot.”

Hank stowed the last of his equipment before responding to Cole's comment.

“Not much. I didn't pick up any prints on the plastic tarp, the rock, or the bingo cards. Nothing on the roses either.” He picked up his case. “I followed the trail through the woods, but I didn't see much of anything. If you want to keep the area restricted, I'll check it over again tomorrow in the daylight. There might be a footprint or two, with all the rain we've had. Then again, there are a lot of leaves on the ground.”

“It can't hurt to take one more look. Thanks, Hank.” Cole let out a frustrated breath. The lines between his eyebrows were growing deeper by the hour, Mitch noted.

He knew his were doing the same, now that Hank had given them no leads to follow up on.

“No problem. Sorry about your sister's dog.” He gave the pup another look. “If the media jumps on this, they'll have a field day. A lot of people get more excited about cruelty to animals than they do about violence directed at people.”

“I hear you. Have any reporters shown up?”

“No. I think they're all covering that bomb situation on the North Side.”

“That works in our favor. I'd rather not give this a lot of media play.”

“Like you'll have any choice if they pounce on it.” Hank hefted his case and trudged toward his van.

“Yeah. I know.” Cole sighed and called after him. “Thanks for coming out.”

Lifting his hand in acknowledgment, Hank kept walking.

“Okay.” Cole raked his fingers through his hair. “As far as I can see, we're . . .” He stopped and pulled his phone off his belt. “Taylor.”

Mitch exchanged a look with Jake as they waited for Cole to complete the call. Based on what Mitch was picking up from the brief, one-sided conversation, one of the patrol officers canvassing the area had come up with some information.

“Thanks, Wes. That's more than we had a few minutes ago.” After pushing the off button, he slipped the phone back on his belt.

“This sounds promising.” Mitch tried not to get his hopes up, but sometimes tips from citizens were the key to solving cases.

If they were lucky, this might be one of those times.

“Maybe. A Neighborhood Watch coordinator lives on the street behind us, and she saw an unfamiliar, dark-colored car parked in front of an empty lot earlier tonight. Last night, she saw a dark-colored truck there. They caught her attention because no one ever parks in that spot.

“About the time we estimate Bert was killed, she saw a person with a lanky build walk down the street from this direction toward the car. The bad news is he or she had a baseball cap pulled low and it was dark, so she couldn't offer much of a description. As the person drove away, though, she managed to get three numbers off the license when a streetlight illuminated it. She said if either vehicle had come again, she was going to notify the police. The officer who took the statement checked for tire tracks. No luck.”

The back door cracked open behind them, and Mitch turned to find Alison silhouetted in the sliver of light.

“I'm ready to leave whenever you guys are.”

Her voice was still too unsteady for his liking, and she was holding on to the door frame as if she needed it for support. Mitch's stomach clenched, and he had to fight down the urge to pull her into another consoling hug.

“Okay. We're about done here.” Jake approached the door. Mitch followed, Cole on his heels.

“Did you find anything helpful?” Alison stepped aside as they entered.

“A woman on the street behind you saw a suspicious vehicle. A midsize dark-colored car. A lanky figure wearing a baseball cap got in it, but she couldn't ID age or gender.”

As they all regrouped in Alison's kitchen, she frowned. “That's odd.”

Mitch narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“When I stopped by Ellen Callahan's apartment today to drop off some information, I literally ran into a lanky guy in a baseball cap who was driving a car that fits that description. He was—”

“Who's Ellen Callahan?” Jake interrupted.

She gave her brothers a quick recap of the case and the players. “Anyway, this guy was leaving as I was going in. The strange thing was, I had a feeling I'd seen him somewhere before, even though I didn't get a clear view of him. He seemed startled by me too. But I'm sure it was just a weird coincidence.”

Mitch exchanged a look with her brothers and saw his own thoughts reflected in their faces.

There were very few coincidences in their business.

“Are you sure you can't place him?” Cole pressed.

“Yes. It was just a fleeting impression. Maybe his body build reminded me of someone. Who knows? But I'll think about it. If I make a connection, I'll let you know.”

“Did anyone else see him?” Mitch kept his tone conversational. No sense building false hopes—or raising unfounded alarms.

“The superintendent came out to answer my ring, but the guy was already driving away. He did seem interested in the car, though.” Her expression grew speculative. “You know, that car fits the description of Bev Parisi's vehicle. I didn't think about that until now, since a guy was driving it.”

“We might want to have a little talk with the superintendent.” Mitch directed the comment to Cole.

“Not a bad idea. Do you have the name and address handy, Alison?”

“Yes.” She lifted her briefcase to the table and began riffling through it.

“I've got a seven o'clock meeting in the morning. Why don't I meet you there at eight?” Cole directed the question to Mitch.

“Let's make it eight thirty.” He tipped his head toward the backyard and made a digging motion.

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.”

Alison jotted down a name and address, handed it to Cole, and repeated the process for Mitch. “Don't expect much. This guy's a real sleazeball, just like Ellen said.”

Catching her slight shudder, Mitch's eyes narrowed as he tucked the piece of paper in his pocket. “He hit on you, didn't he?”

She stared at him in surprise, her lips parting slightly. Then she shot a quick glance at her brothers, whose attention was now focused on her.

“Did he, Twig?” This from Jake. In a low, ominous tone.

“That's his modus operandi.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste and lifted one shoulder in dismissal. “He's exactly the way Ellen described him. But trust me, I can handle guys like him.”

“Or we could handle him for you,” Cole said, his expression stormy.

“I'd rather you focus on my stalker. He's a lot scarier. I do love you guys for caring, though.” She rose on tiptoe and gave Cole a hug. “So who's putting me up tonight?”

“I won the toss.” Jake bent down to pick up her overnight bag and briefcase. “Keep me in the loop.” He included Mitch in that directive.

“If you all want to go out, I'll arm the system and meet you in front.”

Jake and Cole complied. Mitch hung back, closing the door firmly behind them. Then he moved to Alison.

Resting his hands on her shoulders, he examined her face. She had a little more color now, and some of the shock had faded from her eyes. But it had been replaced by deep sadness. And grief.

“Could you use another hug?” The question came out husky, but he didn't care.

Her eyes filled, and without a word she took shelter in his arms.

When she spoke at last, her words came out broken. “I don't know what I-I'll do without him.”

He swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “I felt like that when Patsy died. It's hard to lose a companion you love. Human or animal.”

Silence fell. She stayed in his arms for another minute, letting him stroke her hair. At last she eased back slightly. “My brothers are waiting.”

“I know.”

Had she attempted to step out of his arms, he would have let her go. But she didn't. She just looked at him, her eyes still shimmering with tears. “I appreciate all you did tonight. Having you here helped a lot.”

He brushed a stray strand of hair off her forehead, letting his fingertips graze her soft skin. “I'm glad you called me.”

“You were the first one I thought of.”

Her words warmed him, and he tugged her close for one last hug. “That means a lot to me.”

A discreet tap sounded on the front door, and he released her reluctantly. “Jake's waiting.”

She stepped back and shoved her hands in the pockets of her khaki shorts. “How do you know it's Jake?”

“Because Cole would have banged on the door and hollered for you to come out.”

The faintest smile kissed the corners of her mouth. “You pegged the two of them pretty fast.”

“It pays to be a detective.”

“Or an insightful judge of character.”

He tried not to let her compliment inflate his ego. “Or lucky.”

“No.” She walked over to the security system control panel, waited for the green light, then punched in her code. “Luck has nothing to do with it.” Rejoining him by the table, she picked up her purse, took his hand, and gave him a look that sent a bolt of warmth straight to his heart.

And as they walked toward the front door, her fingers clasped in his, Mitch redoubled his vow to find the guy who was wreaking havoc on her life. The sooner the better.

Because he knew she wouldn't rest easy until the guy was caught.

And neither would he.