Killing Fear (32 page)

Theodore stepped toward Sara but said nothing.

“You wanted to scare her, right?” Sara continued, emboldened by his silence. “Well, she’s scared. She closed the Sin tonight. Until further notice. Called everyone and said she was still paying us, but not to come in.”

Theodore walked over to the front window, opened one of the plantation shutters, and stared at the quiet street. Bryce Descario’s house was across the road, three houses down. He could have easily killed him at least three times. The guy had such a predictable routine, it would have been easy. He left between eight and eight fifteen every morning dressed in workout clothes. Returned before ten thirty. Left again at noon in business casual clothes. And so on.

But he didn’t care about killing Descario. The thought didn’t fill him with any emotion, excitement or otherwise. No thrill.

Killing William Hooper? Oh, yes, he felt it. Anticipation crawled up his spine, excitement spreading, giving his mind clarity and purpose. Killing Robin McKenna? He filled with heat, a blaze of intense satisfaction and
bliss.
As if watching her die would put him on top of the world, he would have the key to the universe.

But together—killing the two lovers together would be the pinnacle of everything Theodore ever wanted. A culmination of all his now seemingly childish pranks with his sister, the games he’d played with the strippers, watching William and Robin fuck like animals.

Now, he saw his true potential, what he could have if only he could get William and Robin in the same room. If only he could control them. He ran through the possibilities.

“Teddy?” Sara asked cautiously.

“You should
never
have kept that information from me.” But he wasn’t angry. He saw the benefit, but more than that he was looking to the future. Robin bleeding. Dying for him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Let’s get ready to go to Mexico. You start packing. I need to transfer some money.”

“I can do that,” she said. “I know—”

“I said
pack
!” He slapped her. Something in her eyes—she was hiding something from him. “Now,” he added, keeping his voice artificially calm.

This was the second time she had made a comment about handling the money. What did she know that he didn’t?

He was about to find out.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Jim watched Trinity’s newscast from his office. He had mixed feelings about Hooper’s plan. While he understood the necessity of putting whoever killed Anna Clark at ease, he still wasn’t one hundred percent confident that it was someone in his lab. Someone he’d worked with for years. Who he’d had dinner with, gone for drinks with, hired or promoted.

“You’re a scientist, Jim, stop being so emotional,” he muttered.

He’d re-packed all the evidence related to Anna Clark’s homicide into the case file box to take home. He’d quietly contacted the Sheriff’s Department, where the city arranged to store long-term physical evidence because they didn’t have the room, and asked that everything relating to Glenn’s investigation be sent immediately to Quantico. It was already en route. Anyone who came in asking about it would be detained.

He needed to do this work from home. He wasn’t a good liar, and he didn’t want to lie to his staff. And more important, he wanted the freedom of spreading the photos and reports out so that maybe he could see something he hadn’t seen before.

Stuart Hansen had been borderline depressed after the screwup on the Bethany Coleman homicide. He’d taken Jessica’s death personally. But could he have killed an innocent human being in order to frame a killer? Jim couldn’t understand that kind of reasoning.

Hans Vigo did, but Jim expected that from the Feds. Suspicious of everyone. What he
didn’t
expect was that Will Hooper would be so ready to suspect an insider. Yes, the evidence was there, and Jim could
see
that, but would Will be quick to think that someone he worked with every day was capable of cold-blooded murder? It had been Will’s idea for a federal agent to follow Stu, Diana, and the two cops—in case they recognized a local law enforcement tail.

Jim’s career was on the line. Worse than that was the thought that he’d failed in the worst way. By missing something that had let a killer walk free, but more devastating to him, personally, was that he could have been working side by side with a murderer. He put everyone he knew in that role, and no one fit. Kind, smart but dopey Stuart Hansen? Career-minded Diana Cresson? All to right a wrong by committing a crime? A cop turned vigilante?

None of them fit. And if it
had
been personal against Robin McKenna, Jim couldn’t help but ask why. Who that he knew would have anything against a witness? It didn’t make sense.

His cell phone rang. “Gage.”

“It’s me, Stuart. Did you see the news? What’s going on? What are the Feds up to? Did they really reopen the Anna Clark homicide?”

Responding like Agent Vigo instructed him, Jim said, “I don’t know. I’m out of the loop on this one. But nothing came of it, and they concur with our findings.”

“Are we all going to be fired? Am I going to be fired?”

“No one is going to be fired, Stu.”

“We’re worried.”

“It’ll be okay. Just sit tight. The cops need to find Theodore Glenn and life will get back to normal.”

He was leaving with the box an hour later when he ran into Stu and Diana in the parking lot. Damn, he thought by leaving after the lunch rush he’d miss his people. “Where are you off to?” Diana asked, glancing at his files.

“I’m coming down with a bug,” he said. “I’m going to do paperwork at home.” His smile was strained.

“Are you sure we’re not going to be in trouble?” Stu said. “With the Feds? Are they investigating you? Is that why you’re leaving?”

“Stu, slow down,” Jim said. “No one is investigating anyone. I told you the Feds looked at the evidence and everything is fine. Glenn was rightfully convicted.”

“Any news on that front?” Diana said. “We haven’t heard anything.”

“We’ve been busy with our jobs, and that’s what we need to focus on. We have a dozen cases to process from this week, I have a major trial in two weeks. Worrying about the Feds or Glenn isn’t productive.”

“Right,” Diana said. She squeezed Jim’s arm. “I agree.” She motioned for Stu to follow her to the lab. “Back to work.”

Will was on the phone with the undercover team surveilling the post office. They had a pair watching the parking lot, as well as a man inside watching the boxes. So far, no one matching Sara Lorenz’s description had been seen, and no one had opened the boxes. The Feds had obtained a warrant to search the boxes. Nothing of interest was in any of them—only a day of mail had been delivered.

“Which means we’re a day too late,” Will grumbled.

“It shows that she probably picks up her mail regularly,” Hans offered.

The physical address on the postal box application led right back to the house Sara Lorenz had rented to Stephanie Barr since last year.

Hans took a call while Will wrapped up his conversation. They hung up at the same time and Hans said, “We need to get over to the Sin.”

“What happened?”

“We’ve been monitoring Sara’s cell phone for real-time activity. She just received a call. From the Sin.”

At the time Robin was supposed to be opening her business, she was sitting in her office while Mario and his men turned away her customers. They’d posted a sign on the door simply stating that due to an emergency, the Sin would be temporarily closed.

She called Isabelle Swann at the art gallery. “Robin! I’m so glad you called. I’m thrilled with the response we’ve been getting on your work. Several serious buyers have already contacted me.”

“That’s wonderful,” Robin said. She wished she could be more excited over the news.

“You don’t sound very happy about it. What’s wrong?”

“My life is completely falling apart.” She dropped on Isabelle virtually everything that had happened this week, from Theodore Glenn escaping—which the gallery owner knew—to closing the Sin.

“Oh, sweetie, that must have been such a hard decision.”

“I didn’t have a choice. And I don’t have a choice in this, either. You’re going to have to postpone—”

“No, I know exactly what you’re going to say. I’m not postponing the showing.”

“I can’t risk it.”

“I’ll hire extra security. I have some cops that work for me off-duty. Good guys.”

“It’s not about the security. I’ve hired my own, and the police are watching my business and home, but Theodore Glenn doesn’t care about that. He may decide to take out something big. Like your gallery. Holding everyone hostage or something. I don’t know how he thinks. But I can’t risk it.”

“Look, Robin, I understand your concern. But I’m not postponing the show. If you can’t come, I’ll work around it. In fact, I might be able to spin it. Yeah, that’s it, we’ll do a video feed. You say a few words, let people ask you questions. I can make a big deal about it, so if that guy is hanging around, he’ll know you’re not here. Okay?”

“I don’t know—”

“Robin, it’ll work. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I’ll make it work. I promise. I’ll sell dozens of your paintings and make us both tons of money.” She laughed. The prices weren’t so extravagant that Robin could even think of closing her club and painting full-time, even if she wanted to, but they were high enough to warrant looks by serious investors.

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I’ll let the police know. If they think we should cancel, I’m going to agree with them.”

“Just think about it, okay? Call me Saturday. I have to go. Be careful, sweetie.”

She hung up before Robin could say anything else.

She’d met Isabelle two years ago when the gallery owner came into the Sin and spotted Robin’s paintings. She demanded to know who had done the work, and for two years they’d worked together to increase Robin’s exposure in the art community. Isabelle had sold several of her paintings already, keeping the allure by only having one piece for sale a month. Then three months ago Isabelle announced that Robin was ready for her own gallery show. Robin went along with it.

Isabelle was also one of the only women Robin had grown close to since Glenn killed her friends, and even now Robin kept her at arm’s length. As much as she could with Isabelle’s natural exuberance and enthusiasm.

Did Glenn know about Isabelle? That she was someone important to Robin? How much did he know about the art show? Could he really be planning something for Sunday?

She rubbed her forehead and opened her payroll. She clocked everyone in at their normal time.

The knock on her office door startled her. “Come in,” she said.

It was Will. Alone, though she heard voices in the bar. “I didn’t expect to see you until later,” she said.

Will closed the door, sat on the edge of her desk, his hand reaching for her face. Caressing her in a casually intimate gesture that gave her butterflies.

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to tell you straight.”

The butterflies turned to lead. “Wh-what?” she asked.

“Two hours ago a phone call was made to Sara Lorenz.”

“Is she one of the women you’re following who might be helping Glenn?”

Will nodded. “We haven’t been able to locate her. The call came from here.”

“Here?” she repeated. “The Sin?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not possible. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Mario said that you called your staff this afternoon.”

“I closed the Sin until further notice.” Her head was swimming. “You’re not saying—I don’t know Sara Lorenz!”

“She may have changed her name or appearance or both. I need you to look at her picture. It’s not a very good image; it’s from her driver’s license about six years ago.”

Robin looked. The woman in the photo was a mousy blonde with brown eyes. She gave the camera a half smile. She looked
normal.
Not like someone who would help a killer.

“I don’t recognize her.”

“What if she went blonder? Darker? She’s five foot three, one hundred ten pounds on her license. Picture her with makeup.”

The picture swam in front of her, beginning to look familiar. She remembered the last time she’d identified someone off a picture—in that case, off a rough police sketch. She’d seen Theodore Glenn. Not because the sketch looked specifically like him, but the shape was his. She’d just known.

The shape of Sara Lorenz’s face was familiar. Her cheekbones. Her eyes.

Dear God, someone she trusted had been spying on her for a killer. Watching her. Talking to her. Her blood ran cold. She’d never suspected her assistant manager was working with Theodore Glenn. How could anyone help him? How could a
woman
trust him?

Robin frowned, the paper rustling in her shaking hands. “I—what if I’m wrong?”

“Who do you think Sara is?”

“She
might
be my assistant manager, Gina Clover. Gina runs banquets and special events during the week. You met her earlier this week.” She handed Will the picture and rubbed her temples.

This was not happening.

“Can you grab her personnel file?”

Robin crossed her office to the filing cabinet as if she were out of her body and watching the scene unfold in front of her. Detached. This was unreal. That Glenn had been watching her even while in prison. That a woman, knowing he was a killer, would help him.

Hands still shaking, she handed Will Gina’s folder.

He flipped it open to her original application. “Rock and roll.”

“What?”

“Same post office box as Sara Lorenz.”

“She’s supposed to put down a home address,” Robin said, grabbing the file. There was a notation.
Moving.
“I remember now,” she said. “She said she was living with her parents until she found a place of her own and would give me her address when she moved. But I never thought to follow up.”

Will pushed her chin up, forced her to look at him. His eyes gave her strength and confidence. “We’re going to get through this. We
will
find her, and she will lead us to Glenn. Don’t blame yourself. Carina and I both met her earlier this week and neither of us realized Gina Clover and Sara Lorenz were the same person.”