Perfect Victim, The (37 page)

He wasn'
t
proud of the fact that
i
n some twisted way, it pleased him knowing she cared, even if it was just a little bit
.
Not that he enjoyed hurting her
.
He didn't
.
Not by a long
shot. But it had been a long time since somebody cared about him that way.

Needing to feel her close, he put his arm around her shoulders. "Let's get back to the car before we get frostbitten."

She didn't move, but continued to stare at the mobile home where Agnes Beckett had lived and died. "When I think about everything that's happened, sometimes I still can't believe it's real."

"You're shivering." He guided her down the front steps. "Let's go."

Surprising him, she shrugged off his arm and stood facing her birth mother's mobile home. "Just a few short weeks ago she was alive and living right there. So close. If I'd found her sooner maybe—"

"Don't even go there," be warned, knowing intimately the crushing weight of guilt and the toll it could take on one's sanity. "Don't second guess yourself, Addison. It's counterproductive as hell."

"I don't blame myself. Not really. I know I'm not responsible for her death. But I can't help but wonder what might have been if I'd found her sooner." Turning, she looked up at him. "I mean, for months now, I've wondered if she ever thought about me. Is that silly?"

"No," he said gently.

"I want to take a look inside the trailer," she said.

A laugh escaped him, but it didn't hold any humor. He should have seen this one coming. "Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not as insane as you think I am."

"I'll do it without you."

"No, you won't," he growled. Slipping his hand to the crook of her arm, he forced her toward the car. It was the only sane thing to do.

"I'm not suggesting we steal anything." She struggled to free herself. "We wouldn't really be breaking the law. Just taking a little look."

"Taking a little look in the state of Ohio will get you two to four in the state pen."

"We're here, dammit
.
I need to do this." Digging in her heels, she broke his grip, then stood staring angrily at him.

Uttering a curse, he faced her
.
The tattered remains of his professional ethics wouldn't allow him to say yes. But the way she was looking at him with those liquid brown eyes . . . so full of hope, of fear . . . Damn her, he'd probably jump through a flaming hoop if she asked.

"Do you have a key?" he heard himself ask.

"Do we need one? I figured you're probably a whiz at picking locks."

"I'm glad you have so much confidence in my criminal capabilities, but the answer is still no." But he knew if she persisted, he wouldn't be able to refuse her
.
So little had gone right with this case, he hated to deny her this one thing
.
Even if it was a hell of a risk and probably wouldn't accomplish a thing.

"You're bound and determined to get us arrested, aren't you?" he snapped.

"We won't get caught
.
"

Randall laughed outright at the absurdity of his debating this with her
.
''Life's a bitch and then you die," he muttered.

"What?"

"I said, McEvoy will have an orgasm if he catches us in the midst of a B and E."

"There may be something important that the police have overlooked." She glanced over her shoulder at the trailer
.
"Besides, legally, it's my property anyway. If it ever went to court
—
"

"It's not going to court, because I'm not going to let you do it
.
"

"This could be the break we need
.
"

"No, goddammit." He started for the car.

"Please, Randall
.
"

Her plea stopped him midstride. Turning, he looked into her eyes, realized with a start he was already in miles over
his head. His resolve melted as her eyes reached into him and touched a place he'd carelessly left unguarded. For God's sake, the woman tied him up in little knots.

"I charge double for jail time," he grumbled.

She gave him a Mona Lisa smile. "We're not going to get caught."

"Yeah, well, if McEvoy shows up it's every man for himself."

After moving the car to a nearby side street, Randall walked back to the trailer, keeping to the shadows, hoping he wasn't about to make a mistake that would cost him his license.

"Let's get this nasty business over with," he said.

When Addison started for the front- door, he hooked his fingers over the collar of her coat, pulling her back. "We go in through the back, Ace."

"Sorry. I guess I'm not used to this burglar stuff." Casting an uneasy glance over her shoulder, she fell in beside him.

Much to his relief, the rear of the trailer faced a plowed field, away from the prying eyes of well-meaning neighbors and bored deputies itching for some action. The wind slapped at their clothes as they headed toward the back door. A piece of the skirting flapped noisily in the wind, filling the night air with the tinny sound of metal against metal.

Randall tried the knob. Locked, as he had expected. "Of course," he murmured, wondering what the hell else could go wrong tonight. "You wouldn't happen to have a burglar's tool kit, would you?"

Behind him, huddled in her coat, Addison shook her head. "Left it in my other coat."

"Ha ha." He withdrew his Visa Gold card from his wallet and worked it into the seam. "If I can't get this door open, we're leaving. If you don't cooperate, I'll forcibly carry you back to the car."

"You'll get it open."

Cold bit through his gloves, numbing his fingers as he worked the card into the seam. An instant later the bolt
slipped aside
.
He turned the knob. The door swung wide and clattered against the wall
.
"I
'
ll be damned."

"You make breaking and entering look easy," she said
.

"Yeah, I'm a real whiz
.
" The smell of old wood and fuel oil rolled over him. Beyond, total darkness beckoned
.
"Come here
.
"

Cautiously, she walked over to him and peered inside.

"You're not afraid of things that go bump in the night, are you, Ace?"

"Of course not
.
"

"Good, because you're going in first
.
"

She stared through the open door like a child about to face off with the bogeyman. "I'd rather you go in first
.
"

"Oh, for chrissake, Addison." Heaving a sigh of exasperation, Randall turned away from her and hoisted himself through the door
.
Removing the flashlight from his coat pocket, he shone it behind him. "No one but us burglars," he said dryly and extended his hand to her
.

Addison accepted his hand and let him pull her up and through the door
.
The odors of musty carpet, old wood, and decay assaulted her nostrils. She hated to think of her birth mother living in such conditions. From all appearances, Agnes Beckett had lived a very hard life.

"Close the door."

She jumped at the sound of his voice. "It's too dark." The last thing she wanted to do was close herself up inside that trailer
.

"Close it, dammit!"

She shut the door, enveloping them both in total darkness.

For a moment, the only sound came from the wind, cutting around the trailer like an angry sea
.
She couldn't shake the thought that this was the place where Agnes Beckett had been so brutally murdered. Images from the crime scene photos played before her eyes, sending a chill up her spine
.
"Turn on the flashlight
,
" she whispered.

A tiny beam of light cut through the dark like a blade. "Better?" he asked, directing the beam to the floor between them.

Addison breathed out a sigh of relief. She could just make out his features in the dusky light, and she didn't miss the concern etched into them. "Thank you," she said, berating herself for allowing her imagination to get the best of her. She couldn't fall apart now. Not when they were finally where they needed to be, and there was a very real possibility of finding some new piece of evidence.

"You okay?" Randall asked.

"I'm fine." To prove it, she threaded down the narrow hall, determined to do a thorough search of the premises. Ahead of her, murky light flowed in from the living room windows.

Her suede pumps were silent on the carpeted floor as she moved closer to the living room. She stopped when the trailer shuddered with a particularly hard gust of wind. "Can we turn on the lights?" she asked.

"No."

Behind her, she heard Randall trip over the small rug she'd barely managed to avoid. "How are we supposed to find clues without light?"

"If the neighbors see a light in here, they'll jam the phone lines calling the sheriff."

"Somehow I knew you were going to say that." Addison passed by a threadbare recliner and end table, spotting an ancient-looking TV on her left. She paused where the bar divided the kitchen from the rest of the trailer. There were canisters and dishes of different shapes and sizes on the counter. The cord of an old toaster dangled over the edge like a dead snake.

"We can start here." Randall propped the flashlight against the toaster so that it shone away from the front window.

"What are we looking for?" Addison opened the refrigerator, wrinkling her nose against the stench of rotting food.

"Anything and everything. Papers. Newspaper clippings. Just don't leave anything out of place."

"Like someone's going to notice."

He opened the first
cabinet, sliding a container of salt and assorted spices aside. "And keep your gloves on."

Addison searched the top of the refrigerator, finding nothing more than a few outdated coupons and a month's worth of dust
.
As she searched, she tried to get a sense of the woman who had lived there. Everything she touched—the wooden spoon, the hot pad—she
held for a moment, wishing in vain they could tell her something.

Methodically, she and Randall worked their way through the kitchen and living room, toward the rear of the trailer where the bedrooms were located.