I Can See You (54 page)

Abbott’s brows bunched. “What are you doing here,
Carleton?”

“I have business with Jack.”

“What kind of business? Why did he call you?” Abbott
pressed, but Carleton’s eyes were fixed on the gurney being pushed out Jack’s
front door, the body bag zipped.

“Oh my God. Did Jack… ?”

“Why did he call you, Carleton?” Abbott asked again.

Carleton’s eyes never left the body bag on the gurney.
“I can’t tell you that.”

“That’s not Jack,” Noah said and Carleton’s startled
gaze swung to meet his.

“Then who is it?”

“Jack’s girlfriend,” Abbott said. “Why did Jack call
you? I need to know.”

Carleton’s shoulders had sagged in relief, but now
they were straight again. “Bruce, don’t ask me. I can’t tell you. Where is
Jack?”

“Probably in the emergency room by now,” Abbott said
darkly. Carleton’s eyes grew wide again. “Why?”

Abbott’s jaw was tight. “He may have mixed alcohol and
downers.”

Carleton let out a quiet breath. “Dammit. What’s
Jack’s prognosis?”

“Not good.” Abbott watched as the MEs loaded Katie’s
body into the rig. “But better than hers at the moment. I don’t mean to be
rude, Carleton, but we have work to do.”

“Fine. If Jack survives, tell him I stopped by, won’t
you? I’ll see you both tomorrow at morning meeting.” He drove away without
another word.

“Unhappy shrink,” Noah noted.

“Not my job to keep him happy,” Abbott snapped.

“He’s not allowed to divulge patient information,
Bruce. You know that. That he was here means Jack was more affected than either
of us thought.”

“I know,” Abbott said grimly. “And that’s not good for
Jack.”

“When Jack wakes up, tell him I don’t believe he did
this, okay?”

Abbott’s angry expression sagged. “Sure. Now go and do
your job. Keep me posted. And follow my orders on the safe house for Eve.”

“Your uncle seemed nice,” Liza offered quietly. They’d
left the hospital when visiting hours were over and were in Tom’s car, headed
downtown. “I’m glad he’ll be okay.”

Tom’s jaw was hard. “I can’t believe somebody tried to
kill him. Or Eve.”

“You’re lucky to have a family,” she said and watched
his shoulders sag.

“Don’t give up hope. Lindsay may still be out there.
How’s your mom?”

“She’s okay. I still haven’t told her. She’s pretty
fragile right now.” Liza felt terrible lying to him, but if he knew her mom was
dead, he’d force her to live somewhere else. For now, she needed the freedom to
move and search. “If you need to be with your family, it’s okay. I can look for
this Jonesy guy myself.” Olivia had never called with information on the one person
that prostitute said might have seen Lindsay.

“I’ll go with. I’m worried about Eve. I don’t want to
be worrying about you, too.”

Wednesday, February 24, 9:25 p.m.

“You were remarkably calm,” Noah commented as they
drove away from Jack’s.

“Not really,” she said honestly. “But I didn’t think I
was helping you by falling apart. Why was Pierce here and what did Abbott say
to make you so upset?”

“Carleton said he had a meeting with Jack tonight.”

“
Meeting
meaning
appointment
. Not good
for refuting Jack’s attempt at suicide.”

“Exactly. Neither of us is terribly thrilled at the
moment.”

“And? Noah, I want to know what Abbott said. I know he
was talking about me.”

He glanced over at her. “What makes you say that?”

“Because he looked me square in the eye while he was
talking to you.”

Noah sighed. “He wants you to go to a safe house.”

Eve smiled mildly even though her insides churned at
the thought. “No,” she said, then moved on before he could argue. “How about
you? Are
you
all right?”

He said nothing for a moment. “No. I haven’t had the
best relationship with Jack.”

“I could tell. Sal told me that Jack went through
partners pretty quickly.”

“The last few years, that’s been true,” he said, guilt
in his voice.

“Noah, even if Katie was a plant, Jack allowed her
into his home. His bed. He let down his guard with a woman he barely knew.”

Noah aimed a long look at her, before turning back to
the road. “I meant to tell you. Amy Millhouse was the first victim. Her brother
altered the scene, which was why we missed it. He said she sold real estate,
but mostly hung out in the casino. High roller.”

“The dancer friend of Rachel’s said he picked her up
in the casino, so we know he’s been hunting there. It makes sense that he’d go
there for Amy. He went to where the heavy users were. I have one other red-zone
case that never leaves the casino. She was there last night, all night, just
like normal. But she could be at risk.”

“Natalie,” he remembered. “She plays at the table with
the avatar who cheats.”

“Dasich,” she said darkly. “I need to check on
Natalie. She should be there now.”

“You can access the game from here? Right now?”

She drew her laptop from her bag. “I’ve got a wireless
card, so I’m good anywhere.”

“After you check on Natalie, see if Amy Millhouse has
a black wreath on her door.”

“Will do.” Eve navigated Greer first to the casino,
where Natalie’s avatar sat in her usual place. Unfortunately for Natalie,
Dasich was there, too, and had the lion’s share of chips. “Natalie’s losing,
but she’s safe. I’ll go to Amy’s now.”

She sent Greer on to Amy’s house and frowned. “Yes,
there’s a black wreath on Amy’s door. There wasn’t one this morning.” She
turned to Noah, troubled. “He put the wreaths on Christy’s and Rachel’s doors
as soon as he killed them, but waited on Martha and Samantha until you realized
they were there. Amy didn’t have a wreath this morning. How did he know you
knew? None of the press picked up on that yet.”

“How did he find out about any of them?” he asked
irritably.

“He found out that you knew about Martha, Christy, and
Samantha through Dell’s article. I heard a report on the radio this morning
about Rachel’s murder when I was driving in to work. But how did he know about
Amy?”

“Jack and I went to see Amy Millhouse’s mother today
and Jack escorted her brother from the airport to the police station. I suppose
he could have been watching us.”

“Like Dell Farmer did,” she said, “except he’s all
wrong for this.” The car pulled to the curb and slowed to a stop. “Why are you
stopping here?”

“This is the Bolyards’ home. They may have been the
last people to see Martha Brisbane alive, other than her killer. Come on, you
can’t stay out here alone.”

“I have my headphones,” she said. “I can always put
them on if you need privacy.”

“I may ask you to.” He put on his hat and for a minute
she let herself stare. “What?”

“I like the hat,” she said, her voice husky. “I always
have.”

He looked at her for a long moment, most of his face
cast into shadow by his hat brim, but she could feel the heat of his gaze.
“Let’s get this done. I’d like to spend some time with you tonight.” With that
he came around to her side, opened her car door, and pulled her to her feet.
Barely feeling the cold, she followed him up the Bolyards’ driveway, staying
back a few steps when he rang the bell.

There was no answer, so he knocked on the door, hard.

“Maybe they went out?” Eve asked tentatively and he
frowned.

“Maybe. But they were expecting us. The wife wanted to
meet Jack,” he added bitterly. Eve ran her hand down his back, wishing she
could comfort him. He straightened his shoulders. “I’m okay. I need to do
this.”

“This” was his job, she knew. Finding, stopping a
killer so that he could somehow balance the scales for his partner. He walked
back to the driveway and peered into the windows cut high in the garage door.

“Come on,” he said, his voice now hard, and her
stomach clenched.

“What?” she said, following him around the back of the
house, through the snow.

“Both of their cars are parked inside the garage.
They’re home.” They got to the back of the house and he held up his hand, palm
out. “Stay here.”

She nodded, forcing herself to breathe as, gun drawn,
he approached the kitchen door and exhaled a weary curse. She took a few steps
forward and could see through the window. “Oh God,” she murmured.

Two people lay slumped over the kitchen table. There
was a lot of blood. Noah pulled on the door and it opened. Eve didn’t move
another step as he went into the house, checked for a pulse. Then he backed
out, touching nothing else.

“They’re dead,” he said flatly. “Come on.”

Once again she followed him, this time back to the car
where he grabbed the radio and called for backup. And CSU. And the ME.

Wearily he propped his elbows on the wheel and pressed
his thumbs to his temples.

Eve ran her hand down his arm. “Who knew they’d seen
Martha Brisbane?”

“My team, the person who took their call, and anyone
else the couple might have told. They were so set on meeting Jack because of
that damn article.” His mouth twisted. “Who knows who else they bragged to?”

“But that would only matter if the person they bragged
to had something to hide.”

He looked at her, intense. “So either they knew the
killer and didn’t know it…”

The dread in her gut matched that in his eyes. “Or you
do,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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