Midnight Fear (26 page)

T
all leyland cypresses flanked the rear of the Georgetown house, concealing the Crown Victoria from the street.

“Walk.” Tierney had untied Caitlyn’s ankles, and he followed behind her, prodding her between the shoulder blades with the barrel of his gun. Fallen leaves crackled under her feet. Her head ached and she felt dizzy and unsteady.

“Is the alarm on?” He punctuated the question with a sharp gun jab into her spine.

Caitlyn shook her head, her mouth still gagged and her hands bound uselessly in front of her. They climbed the short flight of stairs onto the covered service porch. Tierney came around to face her. He stood close, his hot breath fanning her face. The scent of his musky cologne was strong.

“You better not be lying to me.” He had gone through her purse and taken her keys, and he poked and jiggled each of them in the lock until he found the right one.
Pushing the door open with a soft creak, he shoved Caitlyn inside ahead of him. They continued walking in darkness, passing through the gourmet kitchen with its black-and-white tiled floor and down the long, wainscoted hallway.

“This isn’t my usual place,” he confided, his hand at her nape as he propelled her forward. She could feel his body heat and the bump of the duffel bag he carried against the small of her back. “It was Joshua’s idea.”

Caitlyn felt a cold chill.

They reached the two-story entrance hall, the elegant vestibule now seeming foreign and sinister. The unlit crystal chandelier floated like an apparition above their heads, and the arched entrance to her father’s library appeared dark and foreboding. The Palladian window facing the street let in only a feeble amount of moonlight, but it was enough to see the rusty swipe of Bliss’s bloody handprint still on the wall. Caitlyn closed her eyes in a vain attempt to block out the image of her friend being attacked here.

Her heart raced with the probability she would be next.

All this time, the copycat had been hiding in plain sight. The dichotomy of good and evil, of being the man chasing monsters and the monster itself was nearly more than her mind could process. Tierney had always seemed indomitable, and she wondered how Joshua had managed to infiltrate his psyche, his soul.

“Upstairs.” She felt the thrust of the gun again at her back. At the bottom of the curved staircase, Caitlyn
froze. The second floor would limit any opportunity she had for escape. Her legs felt wooden and unable to move. The gag muffled her cry as Tierney sank his hand into her hair, snapping her head back until it rested against his hard chest.

“Get up the goddamn steps now,” he ordered, his mouth at her ear. “Or we’ll get things started right here.”

Somehow, she found the strength to do as she was told. Reaching the landing, Caitlyn panted heavily, fighting to take in air through the thick cotton pushing against her tongue. Bile rose in her throat as Tierney cupped the curve of her bottom, squeezing hard.

“The room in back,
Caity
. You know which one, don’t you? I’m going to fulfill
his
fantasy.”

He pushed her toward Joshua’s old bedroom. Panic fell over her as she thought of the doll she’d found there—the pipe cleaner that had been wrapped around its neck, the straight pins inserted into its nude, rubberized body.

Entering the room, she glimpsed the streetlamps in Montrose Park. Their light cast a pale glow over the remnants of Joshua’s childhood. A mobile of the solar system hung from the ceiling, gently twirling. Nothing seemed real. She wondered what this would do to Reid—finding out his partner was responsible for her death, and the deaths of the others. Or would he ever know? She prayed there had been security cameras at the hospital, and that they had captured her leaving with him.

Even so, for her it would be too late.

Holstering his gun, Tierney dropped the duffel bag onto Joshua’s desk. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves as Caitlyn’s eyes followed his movements. The bag’s metal zipper rasped. He removed what appeared to be a folded square of plastic sheeting and unfurled it into the air. She winced as he arranged it over the bed. Caitlyn felt lightheaded. The sheeting would act as a drop cloth.

“You should thank me, sweetheart. More blood will only make the resale value worse.” Despite his dark attempt at humor, his expression remained stony. Hateful. “I don’t want to leave any of my DNA around here. Police training counts for something, right?”

As he loomed closer, Caitlyn shrank against the wall, her wrists working against the tight binds cutting into her skin.

“It’s your fault, you know.” Angrily, he jabbed a hard finger into her sternum. “I didn’t want to shoot him. I had to or he would’ve chased me outside. He would’ve seen my car.”

He raked a big hand through his coarse hair, pacing a few steps away before returning to glare at her. “He wasn’t supposed to even be there tonight. He lied to me—he said he was going to a football game! It was supposed to be you and that worthless con, Ruiz. Reid’s car wasn’t even at your place. How was I supposed to know?”

His laugh sounded bitter. “But I guess that’s what I get for making a deal with the devil, right?”

Roughly, he grabbed her jaw with hard fingers, dragging her face closer to his.

“Let’s get one thing straight. Joshua’s the reason you’re here. I’d decided to leave you alone, did you know that? It was too risky with my partner hanging around you like a dog after a bitch in heat.”

Tierney’s pale eyes appeared bloodshot, and up close his skin was sallow and porous. “I had it all set up! Hunter was the perfect fall guy— I could end it right there, go back to my old life…”

His upper lip curled into a snarl, and Caitlyn felt spittle from his mouth land on her cheek. “But your fucking brother wasn’t having any of it! He called me after the news conference, threatening to tell everything if I didn’t carry out
his plan.
He wasn’t ready to let me end it without you. So here we are…”

His index finger trailed down her neck, going lower and lingering between her breasts. Tierney smirked, enjoying the violent trembling she could no longer control. Then he returned to the duffel bag and fished inside it.

“Luckily, your neighbor has given me a new prime suspect, which I’m going to need after tonight.” Extracting a small video camera from the bag, he placed it on a tripod on the desk and aimed it toward the plastic-covered bed. He peered through the viewfinder, making sure of the correct placement. “You know what a snuff film is, right?”

Caitlyn’s mind reeled. Tierney had framed David Hunter, had probably staged his suicide. And now he was planning to set up Rob Treadwell for her death.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to film this. I’m not that crass. I just want it to look like
someone
did. And who do you think will be at the top of the FBI’s suspect list? Treadwell’s been getting off filming women, including you—so why not make it look like he’s into torture and murder, too? We already know from his DVD collection that he likes it rough and kinky.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach as Tierney extracted more binding and a knife from the duffel. The knife’s steel flashed in the moonlight. Caitlyn wanted to try to flee, but his hulking form blocked the door to the hallway. His eyes glittered.

“It’s time to have a little fun, Caity.” He lunged forward, grabbing her arm. The gag muffling her cries, Caitlyn fought him, using her bound hands to pound at his chest. With a low grunt, he struck her face hard with his open palm, knocking her backward onto the bed. Stunned, she felt the coppery taste of blood in her mouth. He was on top of her in a flash, his body levering over her.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure Treadwell pays for the mess he’s going to make of you.”

Her lungs froze as he seized her hands and sliced through the cording with the knife. But just as quickly he wrenched her right wrist up to the headboard, preparing to tie it to the bedpost. Caitlyn jerked her right knee upward as hard as she could, catching him in the groin. Tierney roared in pain, rolling off the bed and cupping his genitals.

“Fucking whore!”

She scrambled to the other side of the mattress. She couldn’t escape—his bent-over, writhing form remained between her and the room’s only exit. The closet offered the only protection. She ran inside it, sliding the door closed with a bang and holding onto its latch from the inside. Sobbing, she worked the gag from her mouth, dropping the knotted cloth around her neck. Her skin prickled as she heard his footsteps.

“You’re only making it worse for yourself,
Caity,
” Tierney warned through the door. “You’re going to get an extra burn, an extra cut for every minute you defy me—”

He tried to yank the door open, then gave it a forceful kick that jarred her hands. The door shuddered, its panel cracking. Still holding on to the latch with one hand, she felt frantically around the closet’s blackened interior with the other, searching for something, anything, to use as a weapon. Blindly, her fingers traveled over long-forgotten sneakers, boxes of board games, a tennis racket…

“I’m going to rip you apart!” His deep voice vibrated with fury. He kicked at the door again, deepening the crack in the wood. “I’m going to find out why my partner can’t get enough of your tight little—”

He tore the shattered door from its track, sending it crashing to the floor. Caitlyn screamed as he reached into the closet, grabbing a fistful of her sweater and dragging her out. She swung the baseball bat she’d found. Tierney raised his arm to ward off the blow but
it hit him squarely on the forearm. He bellowed, curses spewing from his mouth.

Caitlyn swung again. This time the bat glanced off the side of his head as he ducked. But it was enough to send him toppling backward onto the broken door.

She darted past him and down the hallway, screaming for help and running to the staircase. As she reached the landing, the mahogany railing exploded next to her.

“Stop there,” Mitch warned. “Or I’ll put you down now.”

Caitlyn turned to face him, panting and unable to catch her breath. He stood less than a dozen feet away, his gun trained on her. Crimson trailed down the side of his head where she had hit him, dripping onto his shirt collar. His chest heaved.

“Drop the bat. Throw it over the railing. Now!”

Blood rushed in her ears. Mitch staggered closer with the gun trained on her face. Numb with terror, Caitlyn did as she was told, heaving the bat over the splintered banister. Its crash echoed as it bounced off the antique table in the foyer below. Her only hope was that someone had heard the gunshot and reported it. She felt faint. Her legs would no longer hold her, and she sank onto the hallway’s carpeted runner, holding her reinjured hand.

“You’re going to suffer for this.” Tierney gripped her so tightly she heard the bones crunch in her wrist. Dragging her on the floor by one arm, he headed back down the corridor.

Back to Joshua’s bedroom.

“I
don’t think anyone’s home.” Morehouse sounded tinny and distant through the cell phone. “There’s no light on inside and his car’s not here.”

Reid gripped the steering wheel harder, disappointment filling him. He was still on I-66 headed back toward the District. He had sent Morehouse to Mitch’s Arlington neighborhood, since the agent lived in the same general area and could be there before him.

“I need you to go around the house, look into the windows—”

“Agent Novak?” Morehouse’s voice held disbelief. “You’re sure about this?”

“Pretty sure,” he said quietly, although the conviction sat in his stomach like a block of lead, heavy and unsettling. The scant number of other cars on the highway appeared motionless as he moved past them at a high rate of speed. “You’ve worked with him for the past six months. What do you think?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know…maybe,” Morehouse con
ceded nervously. He seemed winded and Reid guessed he was already conducting a check around the exterior of the modest, ranch-style residence. The house had been left to Mitch by his parents and was the only thing he’d managed to keep in the divorce.

“Him leaving the hospital with Ms. Cahill and lying to you about it, all the unrecorded visits to her brother—it’s weird,” Morehouse admitted. “He’s got some anger management issues, and he doesn’t seem to like women much. Not as
people,
anyway. But he’s a federal agent…”

The sky overhead was still dark, and Reid could see the reflective glow of city lights ahead of him. His mind spun with ideas of where Mitch could be, where he might have taken Caitlyn. The possibility she was being hurt at that very moment tore into him like a dull knife.

“Agent Novak?”

Lost in the private hell of his thoughts, he’d nearly forgotten Morehouse was still on the line. “Do you see something?”

“I’m in the backyard. There’s a vehicle inside a detached garage. It’s between the two houses so I’m not sure which one it belongs to. The door’s padlocked, but the vehicle’s got a tarp over it.” His voice grew pinched. “It’s dark inside but I can see a little through the window. I…I think it might be a white van.”

Reid felt blood rush through his veins. “Get inside the house. You have exigent circumstances—you don’t need a warrant.”

“But no one’s here—”

“As far as the courts are concerned, you don’t know that for certain,” Reid emphasized. “Caitlyn’s in grave danger and something inside could help us figure out where he might have taken her. Morehouse, use the opportunity. We don’t have time to go through the legal channels.”

“All right. I’ll call you back.”

Reid disconnected the phone. A sign announcing the Arlington exit appeared in front of him. He had planned to get off there, but there was no point now. Morehouse could cover the residence without him, and the time he had left to find Caitlyn alive was leaking away like water from a cracked vase. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, aware of the dull throb beginning inside his head.

He drove past the exit and headed farther into the District.

As he drove, Reid tried to control his anxiety and think clearly. Caitlyn would be special to Cahill—he would want Mitch to take her to a special location. The dilapidated factory on the Potomac in Southwest Washington would have been a strong possibility if it hadn’t been razed a year earlier. But there was another place. Thinking of the mutilated doll, his foot pressed harder on the car’s accelerator.

He was going on raw instinct. If he was wrong, the lost time could be devastating.

Passing over the Francis Scott Key Bridge a short time later, the river’s choppy waters below him were dark. Reid considered calling the cops and sending a
unit to the Georgetown home, but he feared the wail of sirens closing in might cause Mitch to panic, to move things along faster. If he and Caitlyn were even there at all.

As he took Wisconsin Avenue toward Montrose Park, his cell phone sent out an electronic shrill. “Novak.”

“There’s no one here,” Morehouse confirmed, excitement spiking his words. “But the basement, it’s set up like some kind of torture chamber. There’s a bloodstained mattress on the floor, ropes—”

“Get Forensics out there. Document everything.” Reid heard the tremor in his own voice. A blackness washed over him. He wiped a hand over his mouth and felt his heart pound at the image of Caitlyn being tied down, being tortured and raped by the man Reid had trusted with his life. He struck the steering wheel with his fist, causing a flare of pain to shoot up his injured arm.

Goddamn it, Mitch.

Self-recrimination churned inside him. He should have known, should’ve seen signs that Mitch was experiencing some kind of psychological break. Just because Reid had been ill, distracted—it was no excuse. Nor was the fact that Mitch was smart enough to mask any suspect behavior around those most likely to pick up on it.

He had planted the knife and jewelry in David Hunter’s hotel room. And although the handwriting on Hunter’s suicide note appeared genuine, Mitch had probably forced him to write it, then administered the
fatal shot to his skull. As a trained law enforcement officer, he understood bullet trajectory, blood spatter and other forensic sciences. He would know how to make it look like a self-inflicted wound. But if he’d gone to all the trouble of setting Hunter up for the murders, why take another victim now?

It didn’t make sense.

Reid ignored the faint auras appearing around the wrought-iron streetlamps as he reached the outskirts of Montrose Park. His vehicle sped past the waterfront and woodlands before making the turn onto the affluent residential block. The Cahills’ stately house stood wrapped in shadows. The interior was equally dark, with no light coming from the main level or the dormered windows on the top floor. Boxwood hedges and an elaborate ironwork fence framed the home’s front yard.

Caitlyn had to be here. If Reid was wrong, if he had wasted precious time…

He drove past, parking farther down the tree-lined street. His right arm felt stiff as he exited the Cherokee and circled back on foot to the cobblestone walkway leading to the house’s rear. Keeping close to the home’s side, he scanned the backyard with its brick courtyard and lush veil of climbing ivy. The jut of a metal bumper was almost entirely concealed by the large cypresses at the property’s boundary. Reid moved closer, his heart thumping.

Mitch’s sedan sat in the narrow back alley.

The pain inside his head grew more persistent,
spreading its tentacles through his brain. For a moment, Reid closed his eyes, fighting his own internal battle. Then he called for backup. But he wouldn’t wait to go inside. His best shot was to get to Caitlyn before all hell broke loose. Trying the back door, he felt its easy give. He entered quietly, moving into the kitchen and down the hall with his gun poised in front of him. Adrenaline coursed through his body. The chilling sound he heard caused perspiration to pop out on his forehead.

Caitlyn’s muffled screams floated down to him from upstairs.