Deadly Pursuit (32 page)

It reminded her of Chuck's trailer.

He turned back to her. “They might not recognize
you
, but they'll recognize your car. I don't need any trouble around here.”

“I didn't bring my car. I . . . borrowed someone else's. You don't think I'd be stupid enough to come back if I thought I was going to get caught, do you?”

His dubious expression irritated her.

“Look, I'll get out of your hair in a minute. I just want a few personal things from my apartment, and my key doesn't work.”

“The landlord changed the locks after the police and Social Services started nosing around.”

She sashayed over to him. “But you have a key, don't you?”

“I might.” His gaze raked over her appraisingly. “What's it worth to you to get it?”

That was the response Bev had expected. And she was willing to barter. Her mother's locket was worth it.

Smiling, she ran a finger down his arm. “I think we could come up with a fair price, don't you?”

He belched, and she tried not to cringe.

“Yeah, baby, I think we can. Come on. Let's discuss it.” He grabbed her hand.

As he tugged her toward the back of the apartment, she peeked at her watch: 8:15.

In twenty minutes, tops, she'd be out of here.

Treasures in hand.

“Did you miss me?”

At bingo man's question, Alison worked herself back into a sitting position, wincing as her left leg spasmed. She needed to stretch it out. But that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

The light had faded, and the man's features were fuzzy. But as he sat on the tailgate and began whittling a sharp point on a long stick, the acrid taste in her mouth turned her stomach. Again.

She retched, and he shot her a disinterested look.

“Still feeling sick, huh? At least you're done throwing up. Must have emptied your stomach on the last round.”

He swung his legs into the bed of the truck and stood. Pulling a strip of cloth out of his pocket, he unlatched the top of the cage and reached down.

“No.” The word came out raspy, and she tried to twist away.

Grabbing her hair in his fist, he pulled upward. Hard enough to lift her off the floor. The tender spot on the back of her scalp felt like it was splitting open, and bright lights strobed across her field of vision.

After dangling her for a moment, he let her fall. As she sagged sideways he whipped the cloth across her mouth and tied it in the back. Then he closed the top of the cage, relatched it, and once more sat with his back against the side panel of the truck. He picked up a beer can. Released the tab. Took a long swallow. All the while watching her.

At last he set the can down and went back to work on the stick, testing the point with his finger as he continued to sharpen it.

“I think it's about time you and me had a talk, Alison.” He smiled at her. “It's okay if I call you that, isn't it? Nicole does.”

Nicole.

With that single word, all the pieces suddenly fell into place. Her stalker was Daryl Barnes, Nicole's onetime boyfriend. A meth dealer. The man who had caused Nicole to lose her son for a year. A convicted criminal who'd gone to prison.

He was also the man she'd seen exiting Ellen Callahan's apartment building the day she'd gone there to drop off some GED material.

“So you finally figured out who I am?” He grinned at her. “I knew you would. You're a smart lady. Too bad you're also a busybody.”

He scooted closer, his smile fading, his dark irises glittering with hate. Alison tried to ignore the point on the stick he was holding.

“Here's the deal, Alison. Because of you, I spent four years behind bars. Locked up like an animal. I thought it was only fair for you to see firsthand what that felt like. It's not a lot of fun, is it?”

When she ignored him, he stuck the stick through the bars and pressed the point against her thigh. “Is it, Alison?”

She tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. He pressed harder, twisting the point until it broke through the fabric and bit into her flesh.

Although she did her best to contain it, a tear escaped and trailed down her cheek.

“Oh.” He gave a mock sigh. “Did I make you cry? What a shame. Not.” He leered at her and jabbed harder, the malevolent gleam in his eyes sending a shaft of terror through her. “And that's just the warm-up.”

He glanced at her Capri pants, and a muscle twitched in his cheek. She followed his line of sight. A dark circle was spreading around the tip of the stick, staining the beige fabric.

The next instant he yanked it out of her leg. After tossing it aside he grabbed the knife and stood. She began to shake harder as he unlatched the cage and lifted the lid.

“You know, I tried to convince Nicole to give me another chance when I got out of prison. But I wasn't good enough for her anymore. She said she had a new life now. One you helped her build. One that didn't include me. She also said she owed you a lot. And you know what? So do I. Tonight I plan to repay that debt.”

Alison's heart slammed against her rib cage, and she struggled to breathe.

God, please help me! I don't want to die!

The silent cry came from the depths of her soul as she stared up at Daryl Barnes. A man who took no responsibility for the mess he'd made of his life. A man who was looking for someone to blame for all the misfortunes that had plagued him. A man who needed a scapegoat.

And he'd found one in her.

When he bent toward the cage, she shrank away, closed her eyes, and tried to prepare herself for the searing pain she would feel as the blade of the knife plunged into her.

Instead, he grabbed one of her feet. Startled, she opened her eyes and watched as he cut through the rope around her ankles, freeing her legs.

Locking gazes with her again, his face mere inches from hers, he brushed his hand up the outside of her leg. Fingered her hair. Touched her cheek.

“I think it's payback time, don't you, Alison?”

As his intent registered, icy fingers of dread clawed at her throat and she began to shake.

Maybe it would have been better if he'd killed her after all.

Police officer Sarah Kaufmann pulled into the apartment building parking lot and guided her patrol car down the row of cars, processing the latest report on the Alison Taylor situation that had just come over the radio. After ten years with the County PD, you got to know almost everyone on the force, and she'd run into Cole on a number of occasions. She'd met his sister too, when he'd brought her to a department-wide picnic a couple of years ago. Nice woman.

This whole thing that was happening to her stunk.

On the other side of the spectrum, you had people like Bev Parisi. A real loser. County had been patrolling this lot for days hoping to spot her, but she'd never shown up. Probably never would. She'd disappear into the woodwork and find somewhere else to nurse her meth habit.

That stunk too.

But a lot of things did, as she'd learned during her decade in law enforcement. Innocent people got hurt. Bad guys got away. Sometimes it was hard not to get discouraged.

Sarah turned up the next row. No sign of Bev's car—though she'd most likely changed the plates by now, anyway. But a white Civic did catch her attention. It was parked close to the entrance, angled into the spot crooked, as if the driver had been in a hurry. Or drunk.

Since it was a slow night, she keyed in the license plate.

When a BOLO alert flashed up, her eyes widened.

No way.

She checked the license number again against the Civic, letter by letter, digit by digit.

Yes!

Reaching for her radio, she prepared to pass on the good news.

She'd just found Alison Taylor's car.

“The lab got a positive ID on one set of prints from the car at the mall.” Cole slid his phone back into its holder. “A guy just released from Potosi, who served four years for dealing meth. Daryl Barnes.”

Cutting off his tire-tread question midsentence, Mitch jerked away from Hank and stared at Cole. His colleague must really be out of it if the connection had failed to register.

As he yanked his own phone off his belt and punched in the number he'd copied from Alison's answering machine, he clued Cole in. “Nicole Larson said her boyfriend's name was Daryl.”

A muscle in his colleague's jaw clenched. “I can't believe I missed that.”

“You shouldn't even be on your feet, let alone working a case, after an injury like that.” Mitch motioned toward the sling.

The other man glared at him. “What do you expect me to do? Sit at home and twiddle my thumbs?”

Settling the phone against his ear, Mitch ignored the anger he knew was prompted by frustration and instead focused on the latest break. The only other new information they'd received had come from the K-9 unit, which had been able to follow Alison's scent as far as Lindbergh Blvd. But that had been of little help.

This, however, could be big.

Nicole answered on the second ring, and Mitch gave her a cursory explanation of the situation.

“We're pretty certain Daryl is our man, Ms. Larson,” he concluded. “Do you know where he's staying?”

“No. I'm sorry. I wish I could help.” The distress in her voice was almost palpable. “But I think you're right to suspect him. When he stopped by after his release, I mentioned how much Alison has done for me. I could see he wasn't happy about that. I should have called her sooner, I guess, but I never expected him to resort to violence. Or kidnapping.”

“Do you have any idea where he might have taken her?”

“No. None.”

Mitch's surge of hope waned. They might have a prime suspect, but they had no idea how to find him. “Let me give you my number. If you think of any information that might be useful, please call me. No matter the time.”

As Mitch recited his number, he saw Cole pull out his own phone. The sudden tense line of the other man's shoulders after he answered put him on alert and he tuned in.

“Okay. We're on our way. Tell the officer to stay out of sight until we get there. Our ETA is about twenty minutes. Have her watch for us at the entrance to the parking lot about then. And send enough patrol officers to cover all the exits. They should be watching for a woman about thirty with long blonde hair or short black hair. If anyone answering that description attempts to leave, they need to be stopped and held for questioning.”

Ending the call, Cole cradled the sling with his good arm and took off at a trot for the front of the building. “We've got Alison's car.”

Mitch's hope swelled again, and he fell in beside the other man. “Where?”

“The parking lot of Bev Parisi's apartment building.”

His brain clicking into analytical mode, Mitch pulled out his keys and took the driver's seat. “This isn't a coincidence. Remember, that Neighborhood Watch coordinator on the street behind Alison spotted a car that matched the description of Bev's. The next night, when Bert was killed, she saw a pickup truck in the same spot.”