Midnight Fear (5 page)

He wondered how long it would be before a second body turned up.

T
he snapshots were stored in a cardboard box, in back of the closet shelf almost out of reach. He had placed them there after the funeral, unable to bear seeing her beautiful face in the photos that marked the ridiculously short time they’d had together. Someday, he would give the photos to his daughters, who had been too young to remember much about her. But he needed no reminders.

Her image was burned into his mind.

Sometimes, he imagined seeing her—in the throngs of shoppers at the Georgetown mall during the holidays, or among the businesspeople headed to work on a busy Tuesday morning. His heart would lift until reality grabbed him by the collar.

She’s gone. Let her go
.

Once, he had followed a woman for five city blocks, mesmerized by the sway of her blond hair in the morning sunlight. She had worn a navy peacoat that looked achingly familiar. Winded, he had caught up with her, his throat tight and his heart beating in hopeful an
ticipation. He’d reached for her, whirling her around to face him. But the eyes, nose, the tilt of the chin were all wrong. Not even close to her beauty.

Startled, the woman had backed away as he offered a broken apology, his face red and eyes tearing with another foolish disappointment.

He knew better—knew that sick son of a bitch had killed her—and yet he continued searching. His children were being raised mostly by nannies now, and his in-laws were seeking custody.
Of their children.
They were the only things he had left of her. His hand closed more tightly around the perspiring tumbler he held, half-full of gin and tonic, mostly gin.

She had suffered a brutal death. Afraid. Cold. He realized some time ago that he’d died right along with her in that dilapidated building. The bastard had destroyed them both. Sometimes he believed his pain and anger were the only things tethering him to this world.

Leaving the tumbler on the dresser, he reached onto the shelf, his hands touching the solid presence that represented what his life used to be. For a moment he considered a walk through memory lane, but he didn’t take the box down. He didn’t want to open it. Not yet. The cardboard felt like a coffin to him. The flat, static photos of her were dead. He wanted warm skin against his body, the feel of silken hair slipping through his fingers. When he closed his eyes he could almost hear the husky sound of her laugh. What he wanted was answers.

He wanted to keep looking for her.

C
aitlyn drove on the two-lane rural highway toward her home. The night out with Sophie and Rob had been relaxing, although she’d stayed longer than intended. After dinner at a local bistro, they had gone to an outdoor symphony concert that was part of the Middleburg Fall Arts Festival. The digital clock on the BMW’s dashboard indicated it was already after 9:00 p.m. Overhead, an obsidian blackness had set in that not even the occasional streetlight could penetrate. Growing up in the District, Caitlyn hadn’t realized how dark nighttime could be without the endless cityscape surrounding her.

At the stacked-stone and wood sign announcing the Rambling Rose stables, she took a left onto the long, private road that led to her house. The car’s headlights illuminated tall oaks and maples, their branches moving in the breeze that had picked up. Fall leaves rustled in the air and crunched under her tires.

Something on the road suddenly darted in front of her, two large shapes in the darkness. Caitlyn gasped
and slammed on her brakes. The tires slipped on the canvas of leaves, causing the car to fishtail slightly before coming to a screeching stop. Two white-tailed deer froze in her beams before leaping gracefully back into the woods.

Breathe, Caitlyn,
she chided herself as the deer vanished. She accelerated and continued along the drive, albeit more slowly. But the ease she’d felt during the evening ebbed away. If she had lost control of the car, skidded into the forest and crashed into a tree, would anyone even notice she was missing?

She had come to the countryside seeking privacy and refuge from her family’s very public drama, but there were times the isolation out here was unnerving.

I’m still a young woman, thirty-three, and living alone in an old farmhouse like a spinster. Instead of cats, I have horses,
Caitlyn thought glumly. At the concert, as she sat on the wool blanket Sophie had brought and sipped Chardonnay, a man had come by and asked her to dance. He had been good-looking enough, she supposed, but Caitlyn politely refused. Later, Sophie had scolded her and Rob insisted she dance with
him,
if only to bring her out of her shell. She’d let him lead her into the swaying crowd as Sophie watched. She’d felt out of place, like a third wheel.

Would she always punish herself for Joshua’s crimes, closing herself off from others and retreating from any opportunity to have a normal life? Lost in thought, Caitlyn gripped the steering wheel harder as she exited the wood-lined drive and the farmhouse came into view.

The main floor of the house, with its wide, wraparound porch and black-painted shutters, was dark. But on the second floor, a pale light emanated from her bedroom. Caitlyn slowed the car. She had turned the light off after getting ready to go out that evening. She was certain of it.

The fine hairs on the nape of her neck rose as a shadow passed behind the room’s closed curtains.

For several seconds, she stared up at the window, unsure of what she had just seen. The deer had already spooked her—was it only her overactive imagination? Still, the image of Aggie’s bloated corpse filled her mind.

Ed Malcolm thinks it was a cult….

Caitlyn turned off her headlights and backed the car slowly away from the house, until it was hidden in the dense shadow of trees.

She made an instinctive decision. Her fingers clumsy with nerves, she opened her purse, searching for her cell phone and the piece of paper on which Reid Novak had written his number.

“Are you all right?”

Reid looked at his sister, Megan, who sat across from him at the kitchen table in her home in the D.C. suburb of Silver Spring. Two years his junior, her dark hair and slate-gray eyes mirrored his own.

“I can always tell when you have something on your mind,” she added, tapping a spot on her forehead. “You get this line right…here.”

“I’m fine. Just a little preoccupied,” he admitted. “There’s a case—”

“Honestly, Reid. You’re not even back to work yet. Are you?”

He stared at the remnants of the apple cobbler on the plate in front of him, then took a sip from the coffee mug he held cradled between his palms. Over the past six months, he and his sister had grown even closer as she helped him to recover from his surgery. For the first twelve weeks, he hadn’t even been allowed to drive. Reid didn’t know what he would have done without her.

“Oh, God. You
are
back to work—”

“I’ve been called in as a consult, that’s all,” he said, downplaying things with a small shrug. “The crime scene had similarities to an investigation I handled a couple of years ago.”

“It’s too soon.”

“It’s not. I’d be going back in another few weeks officially, anyway.”

“Couldn’t stay away any longer, could you?” Reid’s brother-in-law, Cooper, quipped as he passed through the kitchen, grabbing a bag of potato chips on his way to the den. He grinned at his wife. “Meg, you owe me fifty bucks.”

“Shut up, Cooper.”

Reid raised his eyebrows. “You had a bet on me?”

“He was sure you wouldn’t make it all the way through your leave. Cooper’s been saying as soon as you got half a chance, you’d be back on the job.” Megan gave him a pointed stare. “I guess he was right.”

“Cooper just thinks everyone loves their job as much as he does.”

“It’s football. What’s not to love?” he called from the comfort of his leather recliner in the den. A former player at the University of Virginia, Cooper now headed up the football program for one of the suburb’s largest high schools. “Hey, are we going to watch the game or not? Halftime’s almost over.”

“Let me know when it’s back on—”

“Reid,” Megan said quietly as he stood from the table to take his plate and mug to the sink. “You
are
okay, right?”

“Are you going to keep asking me that?”

“It’s just that your illness…it scared all of us. Especially Dad. And you’ve been so quiet tonight.”

Reid paused as his two nieces, Maddie and Isabelle, ages nine and seven, strolled into the kitchen wearing their pajamas and carrying a board game.

“Don’t worry about me,” he assured her. “And as long as we’re on the subject of Dad, where is he? Missing one of your family nights doesn’t fit his M.O.”

“He had a retired police officers’ meeting.”

“So he’s drinking beer in a pub somewhere, arguing about politics and playing pool?”

“You got it.” Megan laughed softly, then her eyes grew serious again. “I guess I’ve just gotten used to having you around without the crazy schedule and a gun attached to your hip. You know what it was like with Dad when we were young. I always worried he might get hurt on the job and not make it back to us.”

“But he always did,” Reid reminded.

She sighed. “You’re right. Girls, thirty minutes and then off to bed.”

He leaned against the counter, watching as Megan cleared the remaining dessert dishes from the table and wiped it down so the girls could use it for their game. He thought back to his own childhood. For so many years, it had been just the three of them—their father, Ben, a vice detective with the D.C. police—Megan and himself. Their mother had died at the young age of thirty-five, the victim of a fatal brain tumor. Reid had been twelve and Megan, ten. Ben Novak never remarried. But they’d had a solid family life, thanks to grandparents, uncles and aunts who filled in the gaps.

Reid was helping Maddie set up the game when his cell phone went off. Both his nieces giggled at the ring tone that still hadn’t been changed.

“Novak.”

He walked to the far end of the kitchen at the sound of Caitlyn Cahill’s voice, trying to hear her above the conversation in the room. He listened as she explained what she thought she had seen inside her house.

“I want you to call the local police. Drive to a public location and tell them where to meet you. Don’t go back home until they give you the okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Closing the phone, he caught Megan’s gaze.

“The case you were talking about?”

“Yeah.” He kissed her cheek and mussed the hair of each child as he moved toward the door. “Thanks for
dinner. Tell Coop I’ll have to take a rain check on the second half.”

Outside, he started up the SUV. Middleburg was nearly an hour away, but he felt the need to go up there. Caitlyn had been unsure of what she’d seen, but he didn’t want her taking any chances. And she’d called
him,
asking for help. That meant something to him.

Despite her attempt to hide it, Reid had heard the slight tremor in her voice. And it was possible things were about to get worse. What he hadn’t yet told her was that, thanks to the Tiffany charm, they had just gotten an ID on the dead woman in the Columbia Heights row house. She and Caitlyn
did
share a connection beyond horses.

The victim was a resident of Middleburg.

C
aitlyn waited tensely in the living room as Reid spoke with Chief Malcolm on the front porch. Around her, much of the wood furniture, as well as the light switches and door frames, carried a sooty dusting of carbon fingerprinting powder. Although the conversation outside was mostly inaudible to her, she already had the gist of what Reid was probably being told. Someone had gained entrance into her home through the kitchen door, shattering the window and reaching inside to unlock it. The phone line wired into the standard house-grade security system had also been cut, rendering the alarm ineffective.

As far as any theft or vandalism, however, there were no indications. While the filing cabinet in her home office and the drawers in her bedroom were rifled through, it appeared nothing had been taken.

Two uniformed officers nodded to Caitlyn as they walked past. One of them carried a dusting kit.

“Did you find any prints?” she asked.

“Quite a few, but based on ridge size and density they appear to be female. They’re probably yours,” the younger officer said. He was the same one who had waited with Caitlyn at a nearby gas station until she’d been given the okay to return home. “The chief wants you to come by tomorrow to have your fingerprints rolled. We’ll know more then, ma’am.”

The men disappeared through the front door. It was several more minutes before Reid wrapped up his conversation and came inside.

“Well, at least you know you weren’t imagining things,” he commented.

“What does Chief Malcolm think?” Caitlyn stood and smoothed her hands over her gray wool skirt, still dressed in the clothing she’d worn to dinner. Outside, the remaining patrol cars were starting up their engines and leaving the property. “Does his theory of rampaging teenagers still hold out?”

“Apparently, there’s been a rash of burglaries in the area. He thinks the units that arrived scared off the perpetrator—or perpetrators—before anything was taken.”

“Is that what
you
think?”

His gray eyes locked with hers. She felt her throat go dry.

“I’m not big on coincidences, Caitlyn. First the horse on your property, and now the random break-in?”

She took a breath, trying to sound calm. “I’ll have someone in tomorrow to repair the window and security system.”

“And in the meantime?”

Her chin lifted fractionally. “My father was a card-carrying member of the NRA. I know how to use a gun.”

“I don’t doubt it. I saw the gun safe in your office. But you need to understand—”

“Thank you for coming.” Caitlyn knew she sounded dismissive, but despite her claims, she felt vulnerable and defenseless. Frightened. It wasn’t a part of herself she wanted to reveal, especially not to him, not now. She shook her head, regretting her earlier decision. “I shouldn’t have called you. I’m sorry—I guess I panicked. I’ve been a little spooked since what happened to Aggie. But whatever’s going on, it’s something the local authorities can handle.”

“I’m glad you called me, Caitlyn. Because I think you might be in over your head.”

She searched his face, realizing that he had more to tell her.

“You got an ID on the victim,” she guessed, dread filling her. “The one from the crime scene in the District.”

“Her name is Allison Murrell. She lived in Middleburg.”

The name didn’t ring any bells. “What was she doing in the city?”

“We don’t know,” Reid said. “She was last seen several days ago. Her elderly mother reported her missing. There’s a possibility she might have been abducted locally. I got a call on the drive up tonight. Her car was
found in a parking lot behind a wine bar here in town. A place called Bellavino?”

Caitlyn’s stomach did a small somersault. The bistro she’d had dinner at that night with Sophie and Rob sat right across the street.

“You look a little pale. Caitlyn?”

Reid took a step closer, lightly touching her upper arm to recapture her attention. She’d removed her herringbone blazer earlier and she could feel the heat of his palm through her silk blouse. “I…I’m fine.”

“Do you ever go to Bellavino?”

“I’ve been a couple of times, with friends,” she admitted. “I’m not a regular.”

“I’d like to stay here tonight,” he told her, his voice low. “Your security system’s knocked out and the break-in must’ve been unnerving.”

Caitlyn felt surprise at his offer. “You don’t have to. It’s already after midnight—”

“You’ll be doing me a favor, then. I won’t have to drive back to the District so late.”

The set of his jaw told her that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. The thought of Reid Novak spending the night in her home was both comforting and unsettling. Caitlyn looked into his eyes and saw his concern. He obviously had no ulterior motive beyond her protection. Finally, she gave a small nod of agreement.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

“Not really.” The truth was, she couldn’t imagine sleeping tonight.

“Then maybe we can start a fire in the fireplace and have some decaf? I saw kindling on the porch.”

He went outside for the wood as Caitlyn moved to the large, country-style kitchen to make coffee. Someone had swept up the broken glass from the window and stuffed cardboard into its open pane to help block out the cold air. But more than the broken window caused the chill she felt. She tried not to think about what might have happened if she had gone into the house while the intruder was still inside.

Working around the fingerprint powder residue, she made the requested coffee, returning to the living room a few minutes later with a wicker tray bearing two earthenware mugs and a sugar-and-cream set. Reid had removed his leather jacket and laid it over the arm of the couch. Dressed in jeans and an untucked button-down shirt, he knelt next to the fireplace, arranging the kindling with an iron poker. Already, flames were licking greedily at the seasoned wood.

When he was done, he rose and dusted his hands on the thighs of his jeans, then accepted the mug before sitting on the opposite side of the couch from Caitlyn.

“Other than the horse, has anything unusual happened around the house or stables recently?” he asked, stirring cream into his coffee.

Caitlyn took a sip from her cup before speaking. She thought of the journalist. “I’m not sure if it’s worth mentioning, but there’s a reporter who called. He covered the investigation and Joshua’s trial for the
Washington Post
. He’s out on his own now and writing a book on
my family, apparently. After I refused to talk to him on the telephone, he came out yesterday. I didn’t see him, but he put a business card under the front door.”

“What’s his name?”

“Hal Feingold. Do you remember him?”

Reid nodded. “We had a few run-ins during the investigation. Is there any chance he might be the one who broke in here tonight? Maybe he was looking for information for his book?”

“I don’t know. I get the feeling he’s pretty tenacious, but breaking into my home…that’s going a bit far.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“You sound like you’re getting involved beyond a consultative role, Agent,” Caitlyn observed quietly.

“It’s
Reid,
” he emphasized. The room’s soft lighting revealed the lean, masculine planes of his face. Caitlyn studied his features as he sipped his coffee. The contrast of his gray eyes and short, dark hair was striking to her. Despite the events of the evening, she felt the same undeniable attraction.

“Reid…” she asked tentatively. “Why
are
you on leave?”

She thought she saw a flicker of shadow appear in his eyes. But after a moment, he shrugged. “I needed a break, I guess. Some time away.”

Caitlyn considered this. “The things you deal with at the Violent Crimes Unit must be difficult, to say the least. The work has to take its toll.”

“You sound like my sister.”

She hadn’t considered that a man like Reid Novak
had family or much of a life outside of the FBI, Caitlyn now realized. In fact, she’d taken it for granted he was single, based on the absence of a wedding band. Not to mention the intensity that emanated from him led her to assume he was singularly career-focused.

“You have a family?”

He chuckled faintly at her question. “Does that surprise you?”

“I…didn’t mean,” she stammered.

“My sister, Megan, is a first-grade teacher in Silver Spring. She’s married with two kids. I also have a father who’s a retired vice detective with the D.C. Police.”

Caitlyn found that interesting. “So law enforcement runs in your blood.”

“I’m the third generation of Novaks to serve and protect. My grandfather was a cop, too.” His eyes appeared smoky under dark lashes, his gray irises ringed with black.
Bedroom eyes
. Caitlyn had heard the phrase before, but only now did she truly understand its meaning.

They continued talking for nearly an hour, until the coffee was gone and the deep chime of the grandfather clock reminded them of the time that had passed.

“You should go to bed,” Reid told her when she stifled a yawn. “I’ll make sure the fire’s out. And I’ll clean up some of the mess Forensics left behind. It’s everywhere.”

Caitlyn touched his wrist as he attempted to step past her. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. You must be tired,
too. You can take one of the guest rooms upstairs. The first room on the right has a larger bed.”

She felt her face heat at the realization of just how close he would be sleeping to her. Done up in shades of yellow and periwinkle-blue, the bedroom was adjacent to hers and offered a morning view of the stables and equestrian ring. “There’s an attached guest bath. It should have everything you…”

Her words halted as he reached up to brush an errant strand of hair from her face, settling it behind her ear. Reid frowned as he studied her.

“I know tonight’s been upsetting…”

“I really am fine,” she promised. For a moment, she thought he might say something else, but he simply continued staring at her, as if measuring the truth to her words. Behind them, the dying fire crackled.

“Thank you again for staying. Good night, Reid,” she murmured.

Caitlyn withdrew her gaze from his. She went up the stairs.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Reid scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration.
He’d touched her.
In that split second, his male instincts had gotten the better of him. Her pale, tousled hair had spilled into those vivid green eyes and he had momentarily lost control of the situation.

He wasn’t officially assigned to the investigation into the D.C. murder, and at least so far, Caitlyn hadn’t been linked. But the dark history between them was compli
cated, and she was fragile. As strong as she appeared to be, he suspected she was barely holding herself together.

Reid lay down on the bed again, chasing sleep. He had so much on his mind—Caitlyn, his pending return to active duty. He had brought the pain reliever Dr. Isrelsen had prescribed him in the early days, when he’d first begun having severe headaches but the tumor hadn’t yet been diagnosed. He’d been carrying it around with him since the incident outside the bar, just in case. But Reid reminded himself he hadn’t experienced another dizzying headache. The first one had been a fluke.

With the knowledge that sleep would not be coming easily to him, he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. Although he had turned out the lamp, there was enough moonlight to make out the bed’s carved-wood posters and the antique, claw-footed dresser. Blue curtains with creamy sheers framed the double windows. He didn’t know if Caitlyn had decorated herself or hired a professional, but the home managed to be elegant and cozy at the same time.

He considered the facts of the case so far. Allison Murrell was from Middleburg, and it now appeared she might have been abducted nearby. Mitch had told him that he and Morehouse had spent the afternoon in the quaint town, talking to the bar staff to see if anyone recalled the victim and whether she had been with someone. They hadn’t learned much of use. Reid felt a knot in his stomach. The abduction was too close for comfort where Caitlyn was concerned, especially considering
the recent events on her property. Earlier, he had told her the truth when he’d said that he didn’t believe in coincidence. After several interminable minutes, he got up and walked to the window, his arms crossed over his bare chest. Through the glass he could feel the nighttime air. It put a chill upon his skin.

The sound he heard was at first weak, distant. Caitlyn was calling out…pleading?

Taking the time to pull on his jeans, he went into the hallway.

“Caitlyn?”

He could hear her, talking and sobbing.

Reid pushed open her bedroom door. A nightlight was on, casting the room in a soft haze. She lay on her side, her knees curled up against her stomach. Her slender body was a small mound under the floral coverlet.

“Caitlyn,” he whispered, touching her. She woke with a start, nearly scrambling from the bed until he caught her by the shoulders and steadied her. “It’s okay. Look at me.”

She stared at him, bleary-eyed. “Reid?”

“You were having a nightmare. That’s all.”

She slowly shook her head, appearing bewildered and embarrassed. “I woke you… I’m so sorry.”

“I wasn’t asleep anyway.” He lowered himself to the edge of the mattress, so that he was sitting next to her. Reid waited for her breathing to return to normal. He laid his hand on her back in a soothing manner and felt the dampness of her skin through her cotton pajamas.

“Want to tell me about it?” he asked softly, offering an ear but not wanting to push too hard.

Caitlyn paused for a long moment. She drew in a weak breath. “I dream about Joshua. At least once or twice a week. Sometimes he’s standing over my bed, holding a knife and asking me why I betrayed him. Other times, I’m tied up and he’s…hurting me.”

She looked at Reid, her eyes haunted. “He’s my own brother. And the things he’s doing to me…”

Reid drew her against him then, holding her. She didn’t resist and instead laid her head against his bare chest, causing his heart to beat harder. All of Joshua Cahill’s victims had been blondes, about the same age as Caitlyn and with similar pedigrees. Reid had often wondered if Joshua’s preference in victims had anything to do with his pretty, adopted sister. Apparently, Caitlyn had wondered the same thing, even if subconsciously.