I'm Watching You (30 page)

Steve unscrewed the front panel of the unit and then pulled out the
filter. He clicked on his flashlight and stared into the comb of wires. He
frowned. "Have a look at this."

"What?"

He reached inside the air conditioner and pulled out an electronic box
with an antenna on top. "I didn't see it before because it was
tucked in the back."

She frowned. "It looks like a transmitter."

"Why would there be a transmitter in your place?"

"I've seen pieces like that before, at a security conference
I attended last year. It can be used to boost the signal of a camera."

He looked puzzled. "I service every unit in this complex and
I've never seen this."

"Is there a wire attached to it?"

"Yeah."

"Where does it go?"

He shined the flashlight into the unit. "The wire snakes out a
small hole in the back of the unit and crosses to another hole drilled in the
wall."

Lindsay glanced behind the unit and saw the wire. "It vanishes
into the wall between the closet and living room."

Steve shined the flashlight into the hole in the wall. The wire rose up
and vanished into the darkness. He moved out of the utility closet and into the
living room. Above their heads was a grate. "That's odd."

Lindsay didn't like the concern in his voice. "What?"

"That grate on your living room ceiling shouldn't be
there."

She stared at it. She'd never noticed it before.

"Let me get a ladder."

Lindsay folded her arms around her chest. "Sure."

He was back in less than a minute and on the ladder. He undid the screws
and popped off the grate. Drywall and paint tore. He peered into the hole.

Lindsay stood on tiptoe. "What do you see?"

He removed a small electronic device.
"A
camera."

She felt sick inside. She'd heard about cameras like this. They
were easily found on the Internet and were used by people to spy on other
people.

Someone was spying on her.

Someone was watching her.

Steve climbed down from the ladder. He handed her the camera. It was
small, compact, and state-of-the-art. She knew this model could send a signal
up to seven miles away.

Lindsay rolled the device between her fingers as she glanced behind her
trying to imagine the angle of the camera. "It would have recorded
everything happening in the living room."

The Guardian.
He'd been watching her.

Steve shook his head. He looked worried. He had full access to the units
and he'd be the first questioned by the police.

A deep sense of shame washed over her. She felt violated. The Guardian
had been spying on her during her most private moments. She remembered the
other night when she'd been awakened by the phone. She'd had the
creeps then and sensed she was being watched. Had he been watching her then?
Had he been the one to call her?

Lindsay dug her cell out of her purse and dialed Zack's number. He
answered on the first ring. "Where are you?" He sounded terse, and
in the background she thought she heard tense voices.

Her hand shook as she shoved it through her hair. "I'm okay.
I'm at my town house. My maintenance man found a camera in my AC
vent."

A heavy silence followed. "Don't move
,
I'm only five minutes out."

"Thanks." She wanted him close, wanted his protection. She
could have listed seven reasons off the top of her head why it was wrong to
depend on him, but right now she didn't care about reason. She needed
Zack. And she knew he would be there for her.

Steve held the screwdriver in his hand in a tight grip. "I
didn't have anything to do with this."

"It's going to be okay," she told Steve. "The
police are coming."

Steve looked worried and he started to pace. "I didn't do
this."

His agitation caught her off guard. He'd always been so easygoing
and quick with a joke. "No one said you did."

He shook his head. "They might think I'm guilty when they
discover that I have a police record."

Lindsay stared at him and her concern grew. Truthfully, she knew nothing
about him. Steve could be the Guardian. "What were you in jail
for?"

He shoved out a breath. "It doesn't matter. I have a
record."

Lindsay glanced toward the open door of the town house. "I'm
going to wait outside."

He nodded.
"Me too."

Hugging her arms, she ran out into the sunshine and moved away from
Steve.

Instead of waiting with her, he moved quickly toward his van.

"Where are you going?!" she shouted.

"Away. I've seen those tabloid news shows. I'll be
tried and convicted on the news before I even get to court."

"The police are coming to talk to you."

"Screw the police." He got in the van and fired it up.
Gravel kicked up as he punched the gas and drove off.

Lindsay stood on the corner, counting the seconds until Zack arrived.

Minutes later, the white Impala pulled around her street corner. The
wheels had barely
came
to a stop when Zack hopped out
of the vehicle. He strode directly toward her. He stared at her for a long
moment before asking, "What did you find?"

"My maintenance man found a camera in an AC vent. He swears he
didn't put it there."

"Where is he?"

"He drove off.
Said he had a police
record."

Zack's jaw tensed. Warwick got out of the police car as Zack moved
toward him. He relayed what she'd said and Warwick grabbed the radio. He
called in a description of the van and Steve.

The sound of sirens echoed in the distance. More cops were coming.

Zack moved toward her. "Lindsay, there's been another
murder. Marcus Greenland."

Her brows knitted as she stared back at her house. "I was on the
phone with Aisha Greenland the other night. I sat right in my living room and
talked to her about her divorce. She was scared. The Guardian must have been
watching and listening." She felt sick. "He calls himself the
Guardian. Does he think he's helping me?"

"In his mind, it might have started out that way, but its grown
way beyond that."

"What's happened?"

"While the Guardian was dumping Greenland's body early this
morning, two teenagers came upon him. He shot at them. One is dead and the
other is at Mercy undergoing surgery."

"My God."
Her voice hitched with sadness and
tears pooled in her eyes.

Zack worked his jaw. "He's not helping anyone."

Two teenagers--
children
--shot.

"Did you find any other cameras?" Zack asked.

"We haven't looked yet."

Warwick strode up to them. "I've called for the cavalry.
They'll be here in the next few minutes to sweep the place. With any
luck, we can link this system to the guy who installed it."

Her skin felt clammy. "The Guardian is taking over my life."

"Who's the Guardian?" Kendall Shaw's voice
caught them all off guard.

They turned, stunned.

"Where did you come from?" Zack demanded.

Kendall ignored him. The light on the cameraman's camera clicked
on, and like a lioness looking for prey, Kendall shoved a microphone toward
Lindsay's face. "Is the Guardian the guy who's been killing
those men? Has he been secretly videotaping you as well?"

Lindsay stared, stunned. Warwick frowned.

Zack raised his hand and blocked the lens of the camera. "This is
not the time or place for this."

Kendall didn't flinch. "Come on, Lindsay, Detective Kier. I
know this killer has been on a rampage since Monday. And it's the
anniversary week of Lindsay's mother's death. Lindsay lost her job
because of him. He's killed four, maybe five people."

"No comment," Zack said.

But Lindsay's temper roiled. Not at the reporter, but at the
Guardian. He had invaded her life, ruined her job, and watched her while she
moved around her home. She'd promised herself this morning she'd
not hide anymore. If the Guardian wanted her, he could come and get her.

Lindsay said in a loud voice, "I don't know who the Guardian
is."

"Lindsay," Zack warned.

Mike stepped sideways so that he had a clear shot of Lindsay. Kendall
moved closer. Her eyes gleamed with hunger.

"I can tell you this," Lindsay said. Zack grabbed her arm,
squeezing a gentle warning for her to be silent. But she wouldn't stay
silent. This creep wasn't going to hurt anyone else if she could stop
him. "I've grown to hate and resent whoever is doing this to
me."

"Why is he sending you the severed hands of his victims?"
Kendall asked.

"I don't know. He's got a twisted form of justice that
I want no part of. If the Guardian is watching, back off. Leave me alone. I
don't want your help or anything else to do with you."

Zack slapped his palm over the camera lens. "Enough."

Kendall smiled. "That was excellent, Lindsay.
Really
excellent."
She'd gotten the quote she wanted.
"We're going. I've got to hurry if we're going to get
this edited for the noon news."

Zack's expression was harsh as he watched Kendall and Mike leave.
"Get them out of here." He shook his head. "You could very
well have turned yourself into a target, Lindsay."

She dug her hands through her hair. For the first time since she was a
child she felt oddly in control. "Good. Better me than another
child."

Richard Braxton sat in his rented Mercedes down the street from Lindsay
O'Neil's town house. The place was swarming with cops. There was no
sign of Christina, but in the center of the cops stood two women. He glanced at
the photo of Lindsay O'Neil and then back at the two women. The shorter
one was O'Neil.

He twisted his wedding band around his finger. "Where are you
hiding my wife, Ms. O'Neil?"

The cops wouldn't surround her forever. Soon there'd be an
opportunity to get her alone. And when he did, he would make her regret that
she'd ever interfered with his marriage.

Patience.

Thursday, July 10, 11:00
A.M
.

Lindsay felt dirty and violated as she watched
the cops go through her house searching for electronic bugs. So far
they'd found five: one in the kitchen, one in the back patio, one in the
front entryway, and two in the living room.

Zack came down the stairs and moved within inches of her. "We
didn't find any bugs in your bedroom or the bathrooms upstairs."

She didn't feel any relief. "I guess that's the
Guardian's way of protecting my privacy."

Zack nodded. "I think you're right. In his own way, he seems
to be looking out for you."

She glanced around the room at each of the vents. She hugged her body,
warding off a sudden chill. "Nicole said this place gave her the creeps.
I even felt it once or twice. But I shrugged it off to fatigue. Do you have any
idea how long the bugs have been there?"

"No. But if I had to guess I'd say all this started around
the time that article came out in the paper about you."

"I agreed to that damn piece because Dana had said it would boost
fund-raising. Now I wish I'd never met Kendall Shaw."

"That article landed you on someone's radar," Zack
said. "Anyone different you've noticed lurking around
lately?"

She lifted an amused brow. "Zack, you know me. I'm so busy
on any given day I couldn't tell you if it's raining or not."

Zack offered her a half smile as if a memory played in his head.
"Can you think of anyone who might have come into your home?"

"Just Steve the maintenance guy as far as I know. But I
don't own this place. The property management firm has the right to send
in anyone they want if there are maintenance problems."

"What about Nicole? Did she bring anyone in here?"

"No. She's barely getting used to the place herself."

He considered what she'd said. "Does the property manager
have to notify you when they come in?"

"They're supposed to. But the girls in the rental office are
young and not so focused on their jobs."

Zack's face looked as if it had been carved from stone.
"I'll talk to the rental office. How many people know you legally
changed your name when you turned eighteen?"

"Since I returned to Richmond, I've told no one about my
past except you. But I grew up in Ashland, and any one of the people there
could have seen the article and recognized me."

"Have you had contact with anyone from the old days? Like Joel,
maybe?"

"How do you know about him?"

"Warwick and I spoke to him the other day."

She couldn't be angry. He was being thorough. "I
haven't seen him since high school."

"He was worried about you."

"He was a good guy."

He didn't confirm or dispute the comment. "What about
family?"

"There wasn't much family. My dad was an only child and his
parents were gone by the time I was born. My mom's parents were dead too.
And her brother only saw her rarely." She stopped, remembering the dream
she'd had last night. "I remember my uncle called my mom when I was
about ten. Mom had lunch with him. My father was furious."

"Any pictures of your uncle or your
parents?"

"As a matter of fact, I found a few pictures the other
night." She went to the closet below the stairs and pulled out the box of
photos. She had to dig deep to find what she wanted. She handed Zack the grainy
color photo. "It was taken on my parents' back porch. That's
my mom and dad, me in the center, and my uncle on the end."

Zack studied the picture. "He's in a Navy uniform."

"Yes. That's why he was away so much."

"What was your uncle's name?"

"Henry is all I remember."

"O'Neil?"

"No. He and Mom were half brother and sister. They had different
fathers. There was a fifteen-year age difference between them. I don't
remember his last name."

"Which would make him how old?"

"Sixty-nine.
Mom would have been fifty-four this
year."

As thirty loomed for her, she realized just how young her mother had
been when she'd died.

He tucked the photo in his pocket. "Who is Claire
Carmichael?"

The out-of-the-blue comment stunned her. "Claire? She runs a
bookstore in San Francisco but also does a lot of volunteer work with battered
women. She gave Nicole money so she could leave the city. Why?"

"She was murdered on Tuesday."

Grief washed over her. Claire and she had been good friends.
They'd lost touch but she'd liked the woman immensely.
"My God."

"Someone placed a call from her cell to your phone on the night
she died. Tuesday night."

"I got a late-night call on Tuesday on my cell phone. It woke me
out of a sound sleep. It really rattled me. The call came from outside the
calling area, so I just figured it was a misdial. Was it Claire who called
me?"

"We don't know."

An unthinkable thought crossed her mind. "Richard Braxton got to
her."

"Whoever killed Claire was a sadist."

"Nicole said Richard could be quite violent. We've got to
warn her."

"I'll have a sheriff's deputy posted outside my
folks' place so we can keep an eye on her. I want you back there."

"No." When he frowned she added, "I appreciate what
you're doing, Zack, but I can't let the Guardian or Richard ruin my
life."

"You can't stay here."

"I know. I'll bunk with Ruby. No one will ever find me
there."

The elevator doors opened to Mercy Hospital's fifth floor and out
stepped a grim-faced Captain Ayden. Anger overrode fatigue and fueled him as he
approached the intercom by the locked metal doors of the surgical recovery
floor. He'd not slept in forty-eight hours. He had arranged for his boys
to stay with the neighbors and had called them a couple of times just to hear
the sound of their voices. He missed them now more than ever.

This latest shooting of the teenage boys had hit too close to home for
him. His own sons, fourteen-year-old Zane and sixteen-year-old Caleb, were
athletic and active in local mountain bike clubs. Each could have been on that
trail this morning and stumbled upon the Guardian.

Ayden pressed the buzzer that sounded at the ICU nurses station.

"Yes," a woman said.

"I'm Captain Ayden and I'm here to see Dr.
Moore."

"Sure, just a moment."
Another buzzer sounded and this
time a lock on the door clicked and the doors swung open.

Ayden strode into the ICU ward toward the nurses station, where a woman
stood reading a chart. She was in her early fifties and wore her
shoulder-length dark hair tied back with a rubber band. Wisps of hair stuck
out, framing her angled face. Dark shadows hung under vivid blue eyes.

He pulled out his badge. "I'm Captain Ayden."

The woman closed the chart and set it down. "My name is Dr. Moore.
I'm Mr. Langford's surgeon."

"
Mr.
Langford." Ayden swallowed an
oath. He was doing his best to keep his voice calm. "The kid isn't
old enough to shave and we're talking about him like he's an
adult."

Dr. Moore kept her expression neutral, unapologetic. "The less
attached I am the better, detective. I can't do my job if I'm
emotionally involved. A cop should understand that."

Ayden frowned. "I understand but I still don't like
it." He turned his back to the curtain separating them from patients.
Unseen monitors beeped. "How's the kid doing?"

"The bullet tore into his chest."

"But he will live," Ayden said.

Dr. Moore met his direct gaze head-on. "I'm going to do
everything I can to save him. Either way he's got a long road ahead of
him."

He shoved out a breath. "Does he know his friend died?"

"No."

"Can I talk to him?"

"You can only if you promise to keep your conversation very short.
The boy's only been out of surgery for an hour."

"Understood," Ayden said. "I won't do anything
to jeopardize his health."

Dr. Moore led Ayden to a corner cubical curtained off from the rest of
the floor. She pushed back the curtain. The boy in the bed was deathly pale and
shirtless. IVs stuck in each arm. Sensors were pasted to his bare chest. Blood
dripped from a bag into his arm.

"Mr. Langford," Dr. Moore said.

The boy laid open-mouthed, his eyes shut.

Ayden shifted. "What does his mom call him?"

Dr. Moore checked her chart. "Jeff."

Ayden leaned close to the bed, careful not to disrupt the wires.
"Jeff."

The boy's eyelids fluttered.

"Jeff," Ayden said louder.

A monitor indicated that the boy's heart rate rose from sixty
beats a minute to seventy. He was waking up.

"Jeff, I'm a cop. I'm trying to figure out who shot
you. Can you tell me anything about the person who did this to you?"

Jeff moistened his dry lips. In a bare whisper, he said, "Never
saw him before."

"What did he look like?"

"Gray hair."
He ran his tongue over his dry lips
again.

Ayden laid his hand gently on Jeff's. It felt cold. "Can you
tell me anything else, Jeff?"

"He limped, like he'd been hurt." The boy shut his
eyes.

Dr. Moore glanced at the monitors. The
boys
heart rate was dropping again. "He's not going to be able to give
you much more. Not until tomorrow."

"Where's Mark?" the boy whispered.

Ayden squeezed the boy's hand. "Don't worry about him
now."

Jeff's eyes fluttered closed.

Frustration dogged Ayden. This boy was the key to catching the psycho.
"I have just one more question."

The doctor looked annoyed. "You can ask all the questions you want
but the boy isn't going to talk. He's heavily sedated and his mind
isn't going to clear for at least twenty-four hours."

Ayden handed his card to the doctor. "Call me when he can talk
again. I don't care if it's day or night."

She tucked the card in her white coat pocket. "I'll do
that."

He was grateful to leave the room and the hospital with its antiseptic
smells and dull green colors. It was time to turn his attention to what he did
best--catching killers.

Kendall Shaw had filed an updated news report on the Guardian just
barely in time for the news at noon. It was a good piece. No, it was a
great
piece.
Her best.

She'd known when she'd stuck the microphone in
Lindsay's face that she was going to get a hell of a quote. Lindsay was a
powder keg. And it hadn't taken much to set her off and get her talking.

And then Kendall had looked directly into the camera and challenged the
Guardian. She'd called him a coward who hid behind Lindsay O'Neil.

If this wasn't going to be
the
tape that
got her noticed she'd be shocked. Success was so close she could almost
taste it.

Kendall's heels clicked on pavement as she crossed Channel
10's small city parking lot to the side street where she'd parked
her car. The sun was low in the sky and the day's heat waning. She was
headed to her hair dresser to treat herself to a wash and blow-dry. There
hadn't been much time to doll up before the noon news report, but when
she rebroadcast at six she wanted to look her best.

Kendall reached her red sports car and clicked the lock open with the
keyless remote.

"Ms. Shaw?"

The raspy voice had Kendall turning toward a pleasant looking man
dressed in khakis and a white collared polo shirt. His graying hair was brushed
off his face. Deep lines around his eyes made him looked distinguished more
than old.

"Yes?"

"I saw your news report today. It was something else."

She opened her car
door,
aware she had no time
to spare if she was going to get her hair done and be back at the station in
forty-five minutes. "Thank you for noticing."

A smile tipped the edge of his mouth. "You're one great
reporter. Not many would have the spine to call this killer out."

She was accustomed to being recognized. It was part of the job.
She'd learned long ago to be nice to viewers while not getting pulled
into lengthy conversations. Still, the clock was ticking. "Thanks.
I'd chat but I'm really late for an appointment."

He held up calloused hands.
"Oh, no
problem."

She tossed her purse in the car, grateful that this guy, whoever he was,
wasn't going to ask a thousand questions. "You have a good
afternoon."