Her Dying Breath (15 page)

He didn’t care.

Not one fucking bit.

He crossed the street, dodging traffic, then noted the sign advertising the businesses out front. The security company’s name had been removed.

The fact that the phone number was no longer working had suggested that the company might have moved, but he’d hoped they’d simply switched numbers.

The small office complex housed three other offices, one an insurance company, the other a real estate office. He strode to the last one, where the security company was supposed to be, but the door was locked. He peered in through the glass in the doorway, but it was so dark he couldn’t see inside.

Yet he thought he detected the dim glow of a light, somewhere in the back.

Glancing around him to make certain no one was watching, he picked the lock, then slipped inside and shut the door. A dead quiet echoed through the room, as if it were vacant. His visual sweep confirmed it had been cleaned out.

Hearing a creaking sound from the back, he reached for his gun. But suddenly someone jumped him from behind. The son of a bitch slammed something hard against the back of his head, throwing him off balance, and he swung around. But another figure appeared from the back room, gray gunmetal glinting just before he fired.

Dodging the bullet, Nick ducked behind the desk, and the two figures darted out the door.

He jumped up to chase them, but they disappeared around the back of the building, and when he followed, one of them fired again. The bullet zinged by his head, almost nicking his brow.

The men jumped in a dark SUV, tires squealing as the driver spun the vehicle around. He shot at the tires, but the SUV barreled straight toward him, and he had to jump to the side to escape being plowed down.

The bastard had cried and cried before he’d died.

Pitiful, weak man.

Even she hadn’t sobbed like a baby when the Commander had forced the lungs from her air and deprived her of life.

No, she was tougher than him.

She pulled her car to the side of the road, the deepest part of Blindman’s Curve, where more than one resident of Slaughter Creek had lost his life, and smiled at the memorial someone had erected for a lost one.

The flowers had dried up long ago. The heart-shaped pillow had been chewed and picked apart by animals, its stuffing scattered on the dry leaves. The ribbon had faded.

She glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, then rushed around to the backseat and dragged the man from the back. The rug she’d rolled him in had made it easier to haul him into the car. Now she shoved him down the embankment, smiling as his naked body flew loose from the rug and careened to a stop beneath a tree.

His limbs flopped out beside him, the frayed ropes still half tied around his wrists and ankles. His penis was a limp purple mess.

She rubbed her gloved hands together with a satisfied smile.

At the sound of an engine rumbling in the distance, she hurried back to her vehicle. She punched the gas and tore away from the curve, winding her way back around the mountain.

Sweet pleasure stole through her as she remembered the man’s terrified eyes as she stole his last breath. All the fuckers
should die like that, their bodies left to rot in the woods where no one would find them.

Except she
wanted
this one to be found. Wanted the Commander to know she’d left him another present.

Red Rover, Red Rover,

Send Seven right over
…

Time to send Brenda another text.

She tapped her fingers along the steering wheel as she began to compose a new limerick in her head.

There once was a girl who cried

Then she died and she died and she died

But no one came

Cause they called her insane

So she lied and she lied and she lied.

N
ick had to dive over the railing of a back stoop to avoid being pulverized as the SUV careened toward him. His knees hit the pavement first, and he rolled, then came up on his haunches, ready to fire.

The driver shifted into reverse, then spun to the right and flew around the corner of the building. Ignoring the pain in his knees, Nick jogged down the steps, then chased after the vehicle, trying to read its license plate.

But it was too dark, and the SUV roared onto the street and disappeared out of sight before he had a chance.

He limped around to the front of the building. Obviously the gunmen had been looking for something in the office space.

But what?

His curiosity piqued, Nick entered again, the floor creaking under his boots.

The first office was empty, not a stick of furniture inside. The second held a metal desk and filing cabinet, but he looked through the cabinet and it had been emptied as well.

Everything had been taken.

Not even a piece of paper or a chewing gum wrapper remained. When had the company disbanded, and why?

Most small businesses failed because of financial problems. Had the company simply relocated?

If so, why had two armed men been searching the office space? Something of importance must have been here.

Something worth killing over…

Curious, he walked next door to the real estate office. A bell rang as he entered, and a twentysomething redhead wearing a blazer and capris smiled up at him. He wondered why she hadn’t heard the gunfire, then realized she had earbuds in. She removed them, then clicked off her music. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Do you know what happened to the security office next door?”

She came around the desk and tapped her chin with one long red nail. “I sure don’t. But it was odd. One day they were there, and the next, they just picked up and left.”

“When was that?”

“Hmm.” She tapped her chin again. “Right around the time that big story broke over in Slaughter Creek.”

The timing did seem suspicious. “Did you know anyone who worked there?”

She shook her head. “Not really. But that man who was killed at that motel, Mr. Logger, I saw him hightail it out of there one day, pissed off.”

Just like he’d left the trucking company. Logger’s ex said he had trouble with his temper.

“You don’t know who owned the company?”

She fiddled with her hair. “No—I saw a man leaving one day, though. He was a big guy, bald. Looked like he was tough, like he was a bouncer or something.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m afraid not.” She gave him a flirtatious smile. “By the way, are you looking for a place to live around here?”

“No, just information.”

“How about a drink?”

He considered it. She was attractive. In fact, she might be good for a night of sex. And he needed that bad.

But she wasn’t Brenda. And he didn’t want to take this woman to bed when he was seeing Brenda in his head instead.

So he thanked her, then left. But as soon as he was in the car, he phoned his partner at the bureau, Special Agent Rafe Hood, and explained about the security company and the attack. “So far I haven’t found out much about them. See if you can dig up anything.”

“I’m on it,” Rafe said. “Any hints as to who worked with your father?”

“Nothing yet. How about you?”

“The CIA is still stonewalling us.”

Nick rubbed at his aching knee. “Figures. And the Commander is sitting back, enjoying the game.”

Nick thanked Rafe, then drove back to Slaughter Creek, picked up a burger, and hurried into his cabin. The agency had suggested he let Rafe handle his father’s case, claiming he was too close, so Rafe had the files from the hospital. But he’d learned hacking skills in the service, and a few minutes later he was studying the records from Slaughter Creek Sanitarium.

He’d expected to find out that Brenda’s mother had suffered a mini-breakdown or had a drinking problem that required treatment, or maybe that an aunt had been institutionalized.

But that wasn’t the case. Brenda had been admitted. When she was sixteen.

He stared at the medical report, knowing full well he’d broken laws and invaded Brenda’s privacy by doing so.

But the woman perplexed him, and he couldn’t look away.

Brenda had been seeing a therapist because of depression. The therapist had recommended a week of inpatient treatment.

He shouldn’t read the rest of the report, but he had to know why a young girl who appeared to have everything, parents who doted on her, all the money in the world, was depressed.

A minute later, he discovered the triggering factor: Brenda was adopted. The Bankses weren’t her birth parents—although the records didn’t list their names or any information about the adoption.

Hell, not that it mattered to him. But obviously she’d been deeply hurt when she learned that the people who’d raised her had lied to her.

That wasn’t the key factor here, though. The key factor was that she’d been in Slaughter Creek Sanitarium at the same time as the killer.

Meaning they had crossed paths. Brenda either knew the killer—or the killer knew her.

Brenda silently admitted that Ron was good company. But he was a politician—he’d been honed to be charming. He was also smart and educated, and had his finger on the pulse of the state’s issues.

Nick was dark, intense, gruff, and he didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of him. He definitely wasn’t out to charm or flatter her.

But that intensity drew her to him anyway.

“Darling,” her mother said. “Ron asked you a question.”

Brenda sipped her water and feigned a smile, but her phone buzzed that she had a text.

She slipped it from her pocket and read the message.

There once was a girl who cried

Then she died and she died and she died

But no one came

Cause they called her insane

So she lied and she lied and she lied.

Brenda’s hand trembled. When she looked up, everyone was watching her.

“Are you all right?” Ron asked. “You look pale.”

She tucked her phone back into her pocket. “Yes, I’m fine. But I have to go.”

“You’re not going to work at this hour?” Her mother’s expression was a mask of disapproval.

“Brenda.” Her father gave her a stern look. “I hope this isn’t about that murder. It’s not safe for a young woman to go out by herself to crime scenes.” He inclined his head toward their guest. “Is it, Ron?”

Ron slanted Brenda a smile, then threw up a hand. “Hey, I’m not stepping into the middle.”

Brenda gave him a grateful look, then pushed away from the table. “I really do have to go. And no, Dad, I’m not going to a crime scene. But I’m beat, and I have some messages to return.”

Her parents and Ron stood, and his mother was rising from the table, but Brenda waved for them to sit back down. “Don’t bother getting up. Enjoy your dessert and coffee.” She squeezed Mrs. Stowe’s shoulder. “So nice to meet you, I hope we’ll see you again.” She circled the table and gave her mother and father a hug—if she didn’t, her mother would chase her to the door.

“I’ll walk Brenda outside,” Ron said.

“That’s not necessary.”

“I don’t mind.” Brimming with politeness, he placed his hand at the small of her back as he accompanied her. His solicitous manner was irritating, and Brenda wanted to shake off his touch, but she forced herself to be civil.