Pitch Black (37 page)

“Hey, baby, looks like you don’t need no more of that bottle. How ‘bout sharin’?” Strange voice, echoing. Every word repeated twice in her head.

“Mm-mm, girl, I think you had enough.” Another voice. Deeper. Laughing.

“Yeah, she looks wasted.”

How many were there?

“What’s that on her chest?”

Someone moved closer. “Help me,” she whispered, though her voice was so weak, she barely heard it herself.

A loud bark of laughter split her skull. “Check this out. Bitch wants to get it on!”

Movement. More voices. Hands reaching for her. Groping. Sliding up her bare leg.
Where are my clothes?

“No need to beg. I’ll give it to you.”

“Hey, motherfucker, back off. I saw her first.”

“She got enough to share. Gonna slice me off a piece of that.”

Fingers digging into her thighs, pulling them apart. She struggled, managed to get her eyes open. Blinked to bring her vision into focus, saw she was outside, on the ground, men around her, beside her, above her.

“Wha . . . ?”

“Shh,” the closest one said, leaning close so she could smell the reeking breath. “We’re gonna give you what you wanted.”

He reached for his pants. She tried to scream.

“What the fuck is going on out here?”

Another man. Loud, strong—massive.

“Please . . . help me,” she whispered, staring up at him as he tossed the others out of the way. She stared into his dark brown eyes, kind eyes, despite the huge, beefy body, the gangsta clothes, the gold jewelry.

“Please.”

She felt hands on her. Moving her. Lifting her.

The light faded as she slipped into unconsciousness once more.

T
hey located Tricia
at a city hospital a little before dawn, after making frantic phone calls throughout the rest of the night. A woman of her description had been brought in a couple of hours earlier. Though nearly incoherent, she’d come around enough to say her first name.

For what seemed the dozenth time in a week, Alec found himself driving between the nation’s capital and Baltimore, a panicked Sam sitting beside him. Only now, she wasn’t just a witness, not just an attractive stranger. She was his lover, in every sense of the word. And she was on the verge of shattering into a million pieces.

His fault. Jesus, it was all his fault. If he had never shown up at her place, never knocked on her door, never gotten her involved, perhaps she wouldn’t have drawn the attention of a madman. A madman who now wanted to punish her by hurting those she loved.

Of course, if he’d never shown up at her door, they wouldn’t have shared the amazing hour in that hotel bed. But he’d trade it in a second to make her happy, safe, and whole again.

He had tried calling Wyatt, but had received no answer. Even after working for him for only a week, Alec already knew that was very unusual for the man. Leaving him a message, he’d then called the others, reaching everyone except Lily. They all sounded as exhausted as he felt, but every one of them said they’d be in Baltimore as soon as possible.

“What exactly did the police say?” Sam asked.

He’d told her twice but knew she needed to fill the time until they got there. “That she was found in an alley in a bad part of town, wearing next to nothing, holding a half-empty bottle of booze, with an obscene note pinned to her bra strap.”

It was a miracle the woman hadn’t been raped. Apparently Tricia had been at the center of a gang of young hoods when a bar owner had spotted them and put a stop to it. The bystander had brought her to the hospital.

“I guess Good Samaritans really do exist,” he murmured, feeling a quick stab of satisfaction that at least part of the Professor’s hateful plan hadn’t worked.

When they arrived at the hospital, they were escorted to Tricia’s room, finding a city police officer standing guard, as Alec had requested. He flashed his badge as Sam peered in, her bottom lip between her teeth. When she let out a cry of relief and flew through the door, he knew Tricia wasn’t quite as bad off as they’d feared.

He glanced in, watching their reunion for a moment, realizing Tricia, while weak, was conscious and able to talk. He’d need to question her, but wanted to give the women a few minutes alone. In the meantime, he had other things to do.

“Can you direct me toward the man who brought her here?” he asked.

The officer pointed toward a nearby waiting area. “You can’t miss him.”

Something about the officer’s tone warned him, so when he walked into the room and saw Tricia Scott’s rescuer, he wasn’t entirely taken by surprise. Because the Good Samaritan, who immediately rose as he entered, was one of the most intimidating-looking people he’d ever seen. Truly huge, he dwarfed Alec in height, and had enormous shoulders, thick hands, and a shiny, boulder-sized bald head. He was the kind of man who made nervous women cross the street on sight. But right now, he looked genuinely concerned, worried about the one he’d rescued last night.

This guy broke every stereotype the Professor had relied on.

Alec extended his hand to the man. “I’m Special Agent Lambert, and I want to thank you for doing what you did.”

“She gonna be all right?”

“I think so. But I hear it was a close call. You really saved the day.”

“Those asswipes were too drunk to realize she’d been attacked and was drugged out of her head. Like any woman would really write something like that on herself.”

“The note?”

“I gave it to the detective who was here earlier.”

“What did it say?”

The other man growled in disgust. “‘My boyfriend dumped me. I need to be fucked bad.’”

Every muscle in his body flexed. Alec wanted to hurt the Professor. Wanted to take the bastard’s neck between his hands and squeeze the life right out of him.

But arresting him and throwing his ass in jail was the best he could do. So he’d damn well better get to work doing it.

Thanking the other man again, and asking him to wait a little longer until his colleagues could show up for a more thorough questioning, Alec went in search of the detective. The guy was in a nurses’ station, sipping coffee from a foam cup, yawning between each sip.

“You the FBI?” he asked.

“Yes. Can I see the note?”

The man reached for a satchel, retrieving a plastic sheath in which a single sheet of paper had been placed. Despite Alec’s first impressions, the guy seemed to be at least somewhat professional. He’d had the common sense to treat the evidence carefully.

Holding the plastic by a corner, Alec lifted it in the air and read the hand-scrawled words. But they were hard to read because light shining through the cream-colored paper made writing on the other side bleed through.

He turned the page around. Realized what he was looking at. And his heart stopped.

“Looks like a page torn out of a book,” the detective said, not noticing Alec’s shock. “Autographed. Maybe we should talk to the person that signed it, the Sam Dalton guy.”

“That’s a good idea,” Alec whispered. “A very good idea.”

Though Alec let her
spend a half hour alone with Tricia, Sam knew he needed to question her. She had been loath to leave her poor, bruised, battered friend, but at least knew she’d be in good hands. Still, before she could leave, she’d needed to apologize, to explain as well as she could why she was partially to blame for what had happened.

“Bullshit, girl.” Tricia showed a hint of her usual spirit and her no-nonsense attitude. “Nobody’s to blame for this except the prick who did it.”

“I provoked him.”

“If you hadn’t provoked him, maybe he’d have stayed underground a little longer, slaughtering a few more people along the way before he popped his slimy head up out of his hole.” Tricia’s voice was weak, but her grip pretty strong as she clenched Sam’s hand. “Don’t you regret this. I’m fine. A little banged up, but,”—Tricia released her hand and glanced at her own lap—“the doctor says I wasn’t, uh, violated in any way.”

Thank you, God
.

“I know that’s all my parents will care about,” Tricia added. “They’ll be here in a couple of hours. They’re driving up from North Carolina.”

Sam bent to kiss her cheek, whispering, “I know you’re all tough and bad, but I also know that your mind was raped even if your body wasn’t.”

Thick tears fell from her friend’s pretty eyes, confirming what Sam had suspected: Tricia wasn’t as okay about this as she was trying to pretend.

“I’ll be there for you,” Sam added. “I promise. As soon as you get out of here, I’m coming over to take care of you, nurse you back to health.”

Tricia’s bruised mouth quirked. “You? Leave your cocoon?”

“No more cocoon for me. This caterpillar has become a butterfly at last.”

“It’s about time. I gotta meet this guy.”

“You’ve met him,” Sam said, not surprised at how well her friend knew her, either.

“Sex on a stick?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tricia’s wan smile and murmured, “You go, girl,” revealed how tired she was.

Regretting keeping her from sleep, Sam stood, kissed her forehead, and left the room. Tricia would be okay. She was a survivor. But oh, God, had it been another close call.

Hearing Alec’s voice, she wandered toward the waiting room. His coworkers were there: Jackie Stokes, Mulrooney, and Taggert, all of them huddled together, talking in whispers.

“What is it?” Sam asked.

As if they were all being jerked by the same string, all four immediately focused their attention on her. “Sam, I need you to look at something.” Alec lifted a clear plastic Baggie that contained a single sheet of paper.

Seeing a few scrawled words, she swallowed hard and crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that the note?”

“Yes, it is.” He flipped it over, showing her the other side.

She had to look twice before she grasped it. Then she realized what it was. Somehow, she felt no surprise. Nothing this psychotic madman did could surprise her anymore.

“He’s met me,” she said flatly.

“Apparently so.”

The sheet was the inside title page from one of her books. It had been torn out; the top area, where she usually personalized inscriptions, was missing. All that remained was the title, and her cheerily scrawled,
Stay safe in cyber land!
Below it was her signature.

“I know it will be next to impossible for you to remember whom you signed it to, but if you could give us information on any of your book signings . . .”

She shook her head. “No.”

“You can’t?”

“I mean, no, it’s not impossible.” A bitter pleasure rose up within her. “That bastard may have made the mistake that will lead you right to him.”

All the other team members listened closely.

“I have a special brand of pen I use for my signings. Very specific, smooth, just the right texture and consistency.” She nodded toward the page. “And it’s not red. Not
ever
.”

“This is a forgery?” Jackie Stokes asked.

She shook her head. “It’s mine. I did a signing after giving a guest lecture right after my book came out, almost a year ago. My trusty favorite pen sprang a leak and got black ink all over my skirt. Someone stuck a replacement in my hand so I could finish the autographing.”

Alec muttered a triumphant, “Yes! A red pen.”

“It gets better. The event was part of an attendees-only legal symposium at a local college, for the police, lawyers, judges, and the like. Uncle Nate was involved. He brought me in to talk about cyber crime.”

“Excellent.” Mulrooney chortled. “We’ll get hold of the list of attendees.”

“And your unsub’s name should be on it,” Sam said.

“What’s your uncle Nate’s number?” Alec asked. “He can tell us who the organizers were.”

She gave it to him, feeling so confident they’d finally made a breakthrough, she wanted to throw her arms around Alec’s neck and kiss him. She didn’t, of course. His boss might not be here, but it was still inappropriate.

Curious about that, she asked, “Where is Agent Blackstone, anyway?”

“I have no idea,” Alec said, sounding thoughtful. “Strange that he’s been out of touch for this long.”

The others echoed him, Jackie adding, “I’ve left three or four messages. I couldn’t reach Lily, either.”

Alec frowned. “I hope nothing happened with that other case she was working on.”

The rest of the group appeared curious, but didn’t ask questions. They all had other things to do. Alec got on the phone with Uncle Nate. Jackie interviewed Sam about Tricia’s life and habits. The others talked to the detective.

When they were finished, Sam asked, “Where is the man who brought her in? I want to thank him.”

“He went for coffee,” Jackie said. “He’s a good guy, doesn’t want to leave until he knows she’s okay.”

Remembering what Alec had muttered in the car about the Good Samaritan, she felt the same rush of pleasure, not only because Tricia was okay, but that the Professor had failed. He hadn’t anticipated a good guy, only rapists and killers who might easily have attacked Tricia, or robbed her and left her for dead.

And while they hadn’t confirmed that the man her mother had intended to meet was the same one who’d attacked Tricia, Sam would lay money it was true. Meaning the bastard had been foiled twice in one night. That made her doubly grateful. Somewhere, someone was watching out for those Sam loved. She only hoped the guardian angel stuck around long enough to ensure she survived, too.

A short time later, as Sam stood in Tricia’s room, watching her repeatedly thank her rescuer, Alec entered. “We’re going to take off now.”

“We?”

“I want you to stay here, safe and sound, with the detective and the officer watching you. Jackie, Kyle, Dean, and I will go to the college. The professor who organized the symposium is digging out all the paperwork he can find on it and will meet us there in a half hour.”

“You’re sure you don’t need my help?”

“I’m sure. I just want you protected, Sam. I’ll come back here with any lists we can get, copies of credit card slips, whatever, and together we’ll go over the information, okay? You stay here with your friend.”