Set Up For Love (23 page)

Jill licked her lips, salty from the ocean air. She didn’t have to look at her watch to know their time was ticking away. “We have to go in. Now.”

She felt Dane’s disapproving eyes on her as she huddled in discussion with Gary and the SWAT leader, Bruce. Together, they settled on a strategy and backup plan, then set a timeframe.

“When we get inside,” Jill said, “you find cover and stay out of sight. Let the killer think I’m alone. I’ll talk him out. Then SWAT can take him down. If something goes wrong, you’ll be there to back me up.”

“You can’t go in,” Dane said, grabbing her arm. “It’s too risky.”

Jill met Dane’s piercing gaze. “If the SWAT team rushes the place, the killer might plunge a knife into Tess before they can save her. I can’t risk that.”

“There has to be another way.”

“This isn’t your arena, Dane.” Jill shook his hand away and turned to the SWAT leader crouched nearby. “Bruce, keep this reporter out of the way, even if you have to handcuff him.”

****

Dane tried to grab her arm again, but Bruce stepped between them. Dane felt the collective eyes of the SWAT men who watched from their assigned stations boring through his back.

“You can’t do this, Jill.” His throat felt dry.

“She just did it,” the SWAT leader said with a sneer on his bulldog face. He rested his hand on his club. “Personally, I hope you give me trouble. I’ve never liked the press. Especially you.”

Dane felt a rumble in his vocal cords; he suppressed the beginning of an excruciating low growl. He watched Jill race in silence toward the waiting hunter. Gary followed, but Dane didn’t trust him to protect her. She could be cut down and he’d have to watch. He cursed his job. Her job. Himself.

****

Jill drew her gun, eased the lighthouse door open and slipped into blackness. Gary followed, gun ready. She listened, hearing their heavy breathing and the echo of the ocean vibrating though the walls. A blast of air whistled up the staircase.

Gary stayed close, moving like Jill’s shadow. The darkness was both friend and enemy: no one could see them, and they couldn’t see any danger lurking ahead. Jill had to risk turning on her penlight. She directed its tiny beam in a circle. No footprints on the dusty concrete floor. If the killer had walked through here, he’d left no traces.

What was Gary thinking? He was supposed to back her up, not go off on his own. He’d never ignored an order before. Her stomach knotted tighter. Damn him. He was risking their lives. And Tess’ life.

She brushed aside a wisp of cobwebs and cautiously, with gun held at eye level and at arm’s length in front of her, checked the downstairs. Jill didn’t believe she’d been impetuous coming here. She trusted Dane’s analysis. He knew the city better than anyone. Besides, it made a crazy kind of sense, using a logic that fit the killer’s profile. But what if she were wrong and this was what the killer wanted, to tangle her up, like he’d said, while he was somewhere else murdering Tess?

There was a muffled thud at the top of the stairway. Jill stiffened. She wanted to call to Gary, but she didn’t dare. She had to check it out silently in case they weren’t alone.

Suddenly, she heard something else...bats, sea birds...or the shuffling feet of a killer coming down the stairs toward her.

It was so very dark.
Where are you, Gary?
Her grip on the gun was firm, ready, as she climbed the spiral staircase.

Halfway to the top, she paused and listened. It was too quiet up there. If all were clear, Gary should have called to her by now.

Her heart pounded. The killer was in the lighthouse. She was sure of it now. His evil presence swirled around her with the chilling draft. She had to find him before he found her.

In the darkness, her foot bumped against something bulky. She almost fell over it, but quickly gripped the railing and regained her balance. Before she could flash her penlight down to investigate the mound that blocked her way, a large, icy hand clamped over Jill’s mouth. In the same instant, she felt a sharp blow to her wrist. The impact knocked the gun out of her hand, and it thudded hollowly down the staircase.

“Welcome to the party,” the killer whispered. “Tess and I have been waiting for you. I’ve always wanted to do a sisters scene in one of my snuff videos.”

****

Outside, Dane paced back and forth near the crouched SWAT leader and one of his men. Their incessant whispering grated on his nerves worse than fingernails on a blackboard. Other SWAT men around the compound squatted or stood motionless like toy soldiers. Was he the only one aware of the passing seconds?

Suddenly, to him, the cloud-shrouded moon became a giant clock of doom, racing unseen ahead of normal time, stealing minutes from Jill. Hurling her closer to death.

He wished he’d been wrong about this place—he could smell disaster in the damp salty air. He wanted to catch the killer, but not at the cost of Jill’s life.

Dane grabbed the SWAT leader’s arm. “They’ve been in there too long. You have to go in!”

“It’s been less than five minutes,” the leader grunted. “Grayson knows her job. And she understands what makes this guy tick better than he knows himself. If he’s in there, she’ll draw him out.”

“Something’s wrong, I know it.”

“Back off, reporter. Gary’s there in case things go sour. We’ve been working toward this night for six months and nobody’s gonna mess it up.” His jaw muscle twitched. “You’re only this close to the action because Grayson let you tag along. Don’t push it, or you’re outta here.”

Dane threw his arms up in frustration. “You’ve underestimated this killer. Jill needs
team
backup now.”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” the SWAT leader growled. “She’s in charge of this operation and we take our orders from her, not you.”

“But she’s not here to give the orders.”

The Fed shook his head. “Don’t get your shorts in an uproar. Thanks to Grayson, you’ll have your big story.”

“Look, it’s not what you think.” Dane clenched his jaw, suppressing his rage. Probably this guy was embittered about the way his news reports generally opposed Bureau methods. Dane slammed a fist into his palm. His reputation with the FBI had never been cozy, but now it was sludge. “You have to understand. I care what happens to Jill.”

“Sure you do,” the SWAT leader growled. He turned his back on Dane and spoke quietly to another agent, explaining how they would handle it once Jill drew the killer out into the open.

Talk. They were all talk and no action. Dane reeled from the tiny explosions in his brain. His leg muscles twitched, in readiness to rush the lighthouse. Jill was everything to him.

He charged toward the lighthouse, zigzagging in his fastest wide receiver run. Behind Dane, heavy boots pounded the ground. Damn! The Swat leader was after him. The agent tackled him before he got ten yards, throwing both their bodies to the damp, cold shale and packed dirt with a bone-crunching thud.

Shifting quickly to the top position, Dane caught the leader off balance and knocked him cold with one punch. He took the leader’s gun and rushed on toward the lighthouse, leaving cops and SWAT men far behind. No doubt they were cursing him, but none of them followed or fired on him. He had counted on all of them holding their fire to avoid alerting the killer. The calculated risk worked.

Dane stepped into the darkness of the lighthouse. He heard muffled voices above him. He turned on his keychain light, only a speck of brightness, but enough to find his way. He eased along
that very wall
, aware its surface was still stained with the blood of Laura and Davy. Closing his eyes briefly, he willed away the horror. He had to focus on saving Jill.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Upstairs, the killer turned on a light and shoved Jill into the newly constructed room near the top of the lighthouse. Thanking God that he’d removed the knife he’d held at her throat only a moment before, Jill finally dared to breathe. Now what? He was still behind her, a faceless captor. Did she dare turn? She squinted in the brightness, taking in the layout of a garage-sized room, looking for something she could use as a weapon.

He’d set up video equipment. A cell phone lay on a scarred table. Dozens of black and white photos covered the wall. In her peripheral vision, something moved.

Tess! Her sister was tied and gagged in the corner—but
alive.
There were no obvious signs of physical abuse. As always, the perverted video maker had left the face unmarred for the camera.

She should have known. Gordy Angelo. Alias Bill Smith. He’d made her uneasy the first time she’d laid eyes on him. Everything fit now—the night manager was the Jester’s Motel connection and the Snuff Video Killer.

He had a gun holstered under his arm. But it was the glinting knife he held poised to strike that worried her. His eyes shifted erratically, his pupils black pinpoints of madness. She tried to keep her voice steady. “You don’t want to—”

“Shut up,” he commanded. With the tip of the butcher knife, he speared some skimpy lingerie from an open trunk. “Strip, and get into this teddy thing.” He flicked the red lace into her face.

Jill let the costume flutter to the floor and met his gaze. As she gestured around the room, she prayed her inner trembling didn’t show. “This isn’t going to give the effect you want, you know. The lighting is all wrong, the space too constricted.”

“Yeah?” He sat on the edge of the table, one leg dangling. His aloof act didn’t fool her—he was watching her closely, a hungry animal evaluating its prey. “Well,” he said with a sneer, “we’ll just have to make do, won’t we?” He pointed with the knife. “Now pick that up!”

While holding his gaze, Jill stooped slowly and gathered the soft lace with trembling fingers. This man was a cunning psychopath. She had to play to his ego.

“Sloppy, Angelo, sloppy. Not up to your usual photographic standards. Maybe you’re losing it.”

His gray eyes were the coldest she’d ever seen. Her only chance was to goad him into leaving the lighthouse. If she were right about him, he might be incapable of seeing the risks of his actions.

Jill glanced at Tess. Her sister’s eyes were filled with tears and she was trembling. Jill longed to console her.

For the first time, Jill realized the theme of the stark black and white glossy photos tacked to the wall behind Tess. They were all of women with terror in their eyes, taken in the excruciating moments before their death. It was a sadist’s gallery, a hideous pictorial display of horrors.

“You weren’t alone.” His voice deepened. “But
now
you are.” He thrust the butcher knife toward her, stopping only inches from her eyes. “See the blood on the tip?”

Gary. Jill’s throat constricted, she could hardly breathe. “Is he dead?”
Please, God, let him be alive.

Angelo stepped to the door and listened. “Who else did you bring with you, just that idiot or a full SWAT team?”

“If I’d brought more backup, don’t you think they’d have taken your sorry butt by now? You didn’t give me enough time to arrange a proper reception for you.” She paused and took a breath to bolster her courage. “You can check outside yourself when we leave here.”

“I didn’t say anything about leaving. But you’re right about one thing. I do want a remarkable video, something of greatness.” He rubbed his jaw. “And with sisters, it’s a natural.”

He touched the knife blade to her throat. The steel was sharp, cold, and carried the blood of her friend. Tears threatened, but she held them back.

Angelo glared at her. “I’d finish you right now if this sister thing didn’t intrigue me so much.”

Jill stood very still. “So why waste video tape using the wrong place?” If she and Tess were going to live through this, she had to stay in the game, clear her mind of everything but survival.

Angelo circled the hollow of her neck with the cold steel. “Don’t jerk me around, Grayson. You want us to leave this place to give you a chance to get away.”

She met his gaze, holding it without blinking. “Absolutely,” she said. “I’m going to fight for my life until my last breath. Isn’t that the kind of action you want to catch on tape? With two women it’s infinitely more exciting. But perhaps you just can’t handle two women at the same time.”

He pressed the knife into her skin. All she felt was her own warm blood trickle down her neck. Just a nick, she assured herself. But her stomach went queasy.