Plain Jane (22 page)

There was so much he wanted to say. So much he wanted to tell her. So much he wanted to warn her about Kent. But he had to face it. If she said their relationship was over, it was over. “I guess we got to resolve some things after all?”

“Yeah, I guess we did.” Her voice gave no inflection. Nicole looked as if she were sleeping where she stood.

“Look, that’s not what I came over for. Glick sent me on official business.”

“That could not wait until dawn?”

Ruben shuffled his feet. This was not going to go well. Not well at all. “We have two uteri missing.”

For the first time, it seemed Nicole had life breathed into her. “What are you talking about?”

“Both Joann and Martin’s landlady… Their wombs were stolen after their autopsies.”

Instantly, his partner was back on her game. “That means the killer must have access to the morgue.”

“Or…” Ruben hesitated. Almost wishing he was not the one discussing this with her. Let someone else get skewered once in a while. Unfortunately, it was his job. “Or someone ‘lifted’ them for his own personal amusement.”

Strangely, Nicole sounded more quizzical than angry. “And you are trying to blame Kent for this?”

Ruben indicated the dead pig sticking half out of her garbage can. “It’s not much of a stretch, Nikki.”

“Okay.”

Nicole started toward the house. Ruben followed. “What do you mean, okay?”

She shrugged. “If you think it’s Kent, then go get him. Interrogate him. Torture him for all I care.”

“But—”

“I’m done with men for the night. With you. With Kent. I’m going inside, by myself, and going to bed.”

Ruben watched her walk away. He had never seen her like this. He knew how to fight with her. He knew how to sway her to his side.

But how did you overcome complete and total apathy?

CHAPTER 87

Just before she entered her house, Nicole turned to Ruben. “If you are really feeling motivated, you can put out an APB on my car. He’s got it.”

Her partner’s face clouded over. Obviously confused by her behavior, he gave a curt nod, then left.

Actually, after she said it, Nicole realized she wouldn’t be displeased at all if they hauled Kent’s ass in for taking her car. The sight would give her a reason to get up in the morning. Perhaps he should be as inconvenienced as she was… constantly.

Of course, she’d be the one to bail him out, but still. Nicole was in the mood for a tiny bit of revenge.

Entering the kitchen, the detective found the floor smeared with blood. Damn it, she knew she had heard a noise. It must have been Kent, because the damn stain was in the shape of a uterus.

“Dear God, why can’t you just send flowers like every other guy?”

Grabbing the roll of paper towels again, Nicole started cleaning up the red design. She was halfway done when she heard a creak from upstairs. From her bedroom. Putting down the cleaning supplies, she rose.

It was time to get this over with.

“Yeah, this would be your warped idea of an apology.”

With little relish, Nicole climbed the stairs and entered her bedroom. Sure enough, there was a lump under the covers. A lump on the left side. Kent’s side. You had to give him credit, he had audacity.

“Honestly, Harbinger, your seduction techniques could use some updating.”

Or not. Wasn’t this how it used to be? They would fight. Fight so badly that they finally told each other to fuck off. Kent would take the car and disappear for hours. Then when it came time for Nicole to go to bed, there he would be. Naked. Warm. Inviting. He would open the covers, and she would crawl in beside him.

Her skin could still remember his embrace. They would just lie there entangled in each other’s limbs. Unspoken, each of them asking for forgiveness and receiving it. Then, well then, Kent would make it up to her. For hours sometimes. In ways that Ruben would never dream of.

That was long ago and an exceptional lay was not going to get the profiler back into her good graces.

“Kent,” she said as she walked over to the bed. “Damn it, this isn’t going to work.” Nicole shook the figure. Something was wrong. It gave no resistance. “What the—”

Pulling back the covers she found the lump was no more than a bunch of pillows. Why would Kent do this? Worse, they were streaked with blood. Had he finally lost it altogether? She found the note, writing scrawled all over it. Whatever Kent’s issues were, they were his. Still, curiosity got the best of her. She read the message. Then reread it.

It couldn’t be.

“I have him. Come alone.”

“No…” Nicole read it again. How could it be? How could someone have kidnapped the most efficient profiler the FBI had ever known? It must be a joke. Kent must have faked it. Was pulling some psychological stunt. Make her think he was in danger, forcing her to realize how much she cared. Even as she fleshed it out, the detective knew it wasn’t true. Kent was many things, but an attention seeker? Never.

That only left one possibility. The profiler truly was taken. She read the note again. “Come alone.” Where? Where was she to come? Nicole spun around. What was that noise?

Instinctively she reached for her gun, but the weapon was downstairs. Along with the sound. No, music. Not just music but “Spin Me Right Round.”

The tune for an incoming text message.

Running headlong down the stairs, Nicole snatched up her phone and read the scrolling message.

“Felter and Chayma Way. Convenience store.
Alone
.”

The alone was underlined, italicized, and bolded.

Nicole guessed Plain Jane meant it.

CHAPTER 88

Kent blinked his eyes, uncertain where he was or even
when
he was. The last he remembered, he’d been at Nicole’s.

Nicole!

Snapping fully awake, Kent searched the surrounding room. Dank. Dark. Moist. Subterranean, more than likely. Rough stone at his back.

The glimmering metal more than likely steel.

No Nicole.

Directly across the room, a blank screen stared at him. Kent tried to reach out, only to find his wrists chained to the wall. He tugged, then tugged again, hard. The chains were meant to last.

Craning his neck, Kent felt blood trickle into his eye. Good information. He hadn’t been unconscious for longer than an hour, otherwise, the laceration would have clotted. That knowledge did not diminish the throbbing. A ten-lager-out-until-four-in-the-morning kind of headache.

Blinking rapidly to get the blood from his vision, Kent reviewed his situation out loud, partially to check to make sure his verbal and auditory functions were still working, and partly just to fill the emptiness.

“All right. Let’s see…” He tugged at the chains. “I’m chained up…” His glance took in the small room again. “In a dingy basement…” Sighing, Kent finished, “By a killer who targets brunette women.”

He leaned his throbbing head back. “Nope. Definitely did not see this one coming.”

Kent didn’t feel terribly bad about not divining his fate. Who would have?

The reasons were incomprehensible. He had been seized by Plain Jane, of that he had no doubt. But why? More importantly, was Nicole safe? Had the killer already dispatched her and only took him to prevent any witnesses? Did Plain Jane have trepidation about killing a man?

So many questions rattled around his mind that they only made his head pound more. A sudden light from across the room brought all of this conjecture to a halt. The illumination came from the computer screen.

Once it bloomed fully, words typed as a mechanized Hal-like voice accompanied them. “How’s the head?”

How many times had the profiler wished for just this opportunity? An opportunity to talk to Plain Jane. However, he had visualized it under drastically different circumstances.

It was those circumstances that made garnering valuable insight into Plain Jane even more pressing. So against every grain in his body, Kent kept his tone light, almost casual, but inside he was anything but laid back.

“You know, concussed.”

“You’ll live.”

The profiler within him perked at the choice of the killer’s words. His own voice took on a more serious tone.

“Will I?”

“Someone has to survive to make them understand why I had to do this.”

Kent did not have to pretend to be relieved. “Absolutely, I am your guy. Give me a pencil and a piece of paper, and I’m your scribe.”

“Don’t play me. I know all the tricks you use to lure people out.”

Not only did the killer’s confidence not intimidate Kent, it galvanized the profiler to make sure he tricked the bastard. To ensnare Plain Jane in a tangle of psychological techniques. “So, no face to face? Man-to-man talk?”

“No. I don’t think that will ever happen.”

Quickly trying another tack, Kent acted as if he had given up. “All right then, shoot.” He looked up instantly. “Not literally, of course.”

The computer screen remained blank. The killer had not risen to the bait. Perhaps he needed to try an even more direct approach. “Why kill women, then take their uteri?”

Damn, Plain Jane could type fast. The words came faster than Kent could read them. “Why act crazy when you are more sane than I am?”

Kent snorted lightly. “That’s faint praise coming from a man who’s chained me in his basement.”

“You know what I meant.”

Kent decided to use his strongest interrogation method. Arrogant indifference. “My head hurts, and I’m not going to do this tit-for-tat Clarice thing with you.” He shifted his weight, getting comfortable for the long haul. “You want your story told, tell it, otherwise, log off.”

“Trying reverse psychology on me?”

“Nope.” Kent didn’t even open his eyes. “I’ve just got a screaming headache, courtesy of you, I might add.”

There was a long silence. The profiler worried that he might have lost him. Perhaps acting bored worked well in an interrogation room, however, it might not be the best weapon to use when you were chained up.

“Picture loading.”

Kent kept his eyes closed.

“Picture complete.”

The profiler fought opening his eyes. Whatever the picture was, it was meant to throw him off-balance. Meant to rattle him. Horrify him. Throw him off his game. Kent could not let that happen. His life, and possibly Nicole’s life, depended on it.

However, he could not ignore it forever. Taking in measured breaths, the profiler opened his eyes and looked at the screen. At first he did not understand why the killer had bothered to show it to him. It was just the picture he had taken of Nicole sleeping.

Sure, it was blood smeared, but Kent already knew that. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust before he realized that there was a message.

“I have him. Come
alone
.”

The computer chimed again. “Copy of text message sent 4:05: Felter and Chayma way, convenience store,
alone
.”

“No!” Kent threw himself against his restraints.

“Oh, my. Do I have your attention now?” Plain Jane laughed. A tinny, hollow, computer-generated laugh that echoed off the barren walls.

CHAPTER 89

Nicole pulled up to the curb at the corner of Felter and Chayma Way, to find an all-night convenience store. Bars on the windows. Probably a shotgun under the counter. There were a dozen such in the city. Why had the killer picked this one? Was there some personal connection?

Was it near his lair?

Having none of the answers to those questions, the detective put the car in park and took in a few deep breaths. The car still held Kent’s aroma. It had only been an hour since he had driven off into the night. He must have come back while she and Ruben argued in the backyard. If only she had cut the discussion short. Could she have stopped the kidnapping?

There was no real point in torturing herself anymore. She needed to get inside the store. Nicole tried to peer inside. Not only were the windows covered in bars, but the inside of the glass was lined with beer sales. Beer advertisements. Beer models endorsing the beer. There was not a clear view inside. Maybe that’s why the killer had picked it? She was going to have to go in half blind.

Nicole picked up the stained picture. It didn’t seem such a travesty that Kent had taken the photo anymore. If anything happened to him, at least…

No, the detective refused to go down that road. It was time to be a cop instead of a woman.

Rising from her car, Nicole threw glances down the road. No one. The streets were deserted.

Confidently, or at least she hoped she looked confident, she entered the store. A greasy clerk grunted in her general direction, not even looking up from his exercise machine infomercial. Unless her instincts were totally off, he was no threat. Quickly she took the first aisle to her right, then proceeded to the back of the store.

Slowly she walked past each aisle, glancing down it as if she were looking for a hard-to-find item. Each empty except the row that housed car engine oil next to the soap and cold remedies. There, a tired mother tried to figure out which syrup would quiet her prepubescent son’s cough. He hacked and hacked, following Nicole with his eyes.

Continuing on, she reached the end of the aisles. There was a bathroom, locked. No light spilled under the door. So far, besides the clerk, there were only the mother and child.

No sign of the killer.

On edge, as the anxiety amplified in her veins, Nicole asked the clerk, “Do you have a restroom?”

The man grunted at a gold key attached to a large cardboard cutout of a toilet. Classy. Nicole took it and headed to the back corner of the store. Hidden from plain sight, she pulled her weapon.

Jerking open the door, Nicole quickly surveyed the tiny, cluttered, dirty restroom. No one. Another dead end. Re-holstering her weapon, the detective felt close to tears. She was rapidly running out of options.

CHAPTER 90

Kent struggled against his metal restraints. This could not be happening. He took very little comfort knowing that Nicole was still alive, because he was pretty damn certain her clock was ticking down. Obviously he had interrupted the killer. Plain Jane had no choice but to take him, then use him.