Race Against Time (9 page)

“That’s exactly what I was wondering.”

Kayla glanced up. “What have you tried already?”

Madison told her about all of the brainstorms she’d had, none of which had panned out.

Kayla narrowed her eyes at the paper. “How about the first letter of every sentence?”

Madison gripped her pen against the scrap paper in front of her. “Read them to me.”

“B, r, o, o, k, l, y, n.”

Madison stared at the paper. “Brooklyn? The letters spell
Brooklyn
. That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

“I don’t think so.” Kayla’s face looked white. “Brody’s from Brooklyn. I don’t think that can be a coincidence, either. You need to call him. Now.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later Brody showed up again at Kayla’s house. Madison could see the worry and curiosity in his gaze as he stepped inside. She could also see the weariness in his eyes. He was operating primarily on caffeine, Madison would bet. Every minute that he wasn’t watching over her, she could easily see him working on the case, even if it meant forfeiting sleep.

Brody turned to Madison. “What’s going on?”

Madison held up the note, not wanting her heart to soften too much. What if Brody had more to do with this than he let on? The note had spelled the name of the place Brody had just moved from. What if he wasn’t innocent in all of this? “I knew there was something strange about the words I had to write on this note, so Kayla and I decided to play detective. We discovered that the first letter of each sentence spells the word
Brooklyn.
”

His eyes narrowed. “As in Brooklyn, New York?”

“Exactly.”

He reached for the paper. “Can I see the note again?”

Madison handed it to him. He studied it for several minutes, grunting and nodding. A certain melancholy seemed to settle over him. “Good work, ladies. I’m going to look into this.”

She wasn’t going to let him leave that easily. “Brody, why would someone send a message to you through a supposed suicide note that he had me write?”

Something dark passed through his gaze. “I don’t know.”

Madison had the feeling there was more to the story than that. But what exactly did Brody know? What connection did he have to this case other than being the lead detective? “What aren’t you telling us, Brody?”

A wall seemed to go up around him, and his voice turned to steel. “There’s nothing that I’m not telling you.”

“Nothing, Detective? I find that highly unlikely.”

Something flashed in his eyes. What was it? Fear? Annoyance? “Let me draw the conclusions, Madison. Let me do my job.”

“My life is the one on the line, Detective.”

His gaze didn’t break from hers, sending the clear message that he wouldn’t back down. “There are parts of the case that I can’t share with you, not until we have something firm nailed down.”

Madison didn’t say anything, but she felt sure there was more to it. She’d find out eventually…one way or another.

Because she wasn’t going to let a madman get away with this, and she didn’t care who she had to take down to make sure that happened—even Brody.

* * *

Brody left his cousin’s house, still feeling cold at his core.

Brooklyn.

He had to look at those other suicide notes.

He’d already questioned the other families involved and gotten nowhere. All they’d said was that they couldn’t believe their loved ones had committed suicide—but nearly every family in this situation said that. He needed evidence, not hunches.

And thanks to Madison’s keen eye he may finally have what he needed to move this case from attempted murder to serial killer.

He bypassed his coworkers at the sheriff’s station and went straight to his office. The files for the other two cases were already on his desk. He opened them and rifled through the papers until he found copies of the suicide notes.

His eyes scanned the words there, writing down the first letter of each sentence. When he was done, he sat back in his chair and stared at the word in front of him.

Madison.

The killer had been targeting Madison before they’d even realized there was a killer.

He had a feeling he knew what the message in the next note was. He jotted it down just in case. He was right. The first word had been
Victor,
the name of the second victim.

So why had the killer changed course and made Madison write
Brooklyn?
Unless he wasn’t telling them the name of Brody’s old precinct, but of his next victim.

He had to talk to the sheriff.

* * *

It took forever for sleep to find Madison. She’d tossed and turned in bed, her mind racing with possibilities. What in the world was Brody hiding? And why? What was the reason for his aloofness?

All she knew for sure was that his secrets might be hindering the outcome of her case.

The man could get under her skin, but she’d always assumed he was on her side. Maybe her initial impressions of him were correct. Maybe he was simply rude, arrogant and completely self-centered. She could live with those things—or at least learn to ignore them. But if he was somehow involved in this case and not telling her about it…that was a different story. This was her life on the line.

Images began battering her again. She pictured the man hiding silently in her bathtub with his weapon drawn. She remembered the fear that had rippled through her as her shaky hand wrote the dictated suicide note. She felt the familiar jolt of paralyzing fear at the thought of dying and leaving Lincoln all alone.

In an instant life could be forever altered. She thought she’d already learned that lesson, but here it was slapping her in the face again. When would she learn to fully rely on her faith instead of constantly giving in to fear?

Lord. I’m sorry my trust in You is so quickly swayed by my anxious thoughts. You’re my strength, my refuge and protector, and even through life’s hurts, You’ve never let me down.

But when she fell asleep, the nightmares still came.

She couldn’t wake up. Nor could she breathe. The scent of leather consumed her. Tension squeezed her chest. And the faceless man from her nightmare grabbed for her. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t escape. Her limbs had frozen.

She had to wake. Had to wake up.

An unknown pressure weighed on her. A dream? Then why didn’t it feel like a dream, but reality? She had to escape.

Finally she jerked her eyelids open.

She stared at a nightmare.

Her attacker stood over her, his gloved hand pressed against her mouth. He’d come back. This wasn’t a dream, but cold, hard reality.

She thrashed, trying to get away. But the man had her pinned, trapped, unable to escape. She wanted to scream, but no sound would emerge.

Madison knew without a doubt that the man had come back to finish what he’d started. What did he have planned this time around? Terror gripped her at the very thought.

Lord, help me.

EIGHT

B
rody shoved the keyboard back under the desk and ran a hand over his face. He needed another cup of coffee. “From everything I can tell from my own search and through talking to the County Manager, there’s no one named Brooklyn in York County.”

Sheriff Carl leaned over the desk, staring at Brody’s computer screen. “Maybe the killer is operating outside of York County. Maybe he’s targeting someone in one of the nearby towns. Or maybe we’re just assuming Brooklyn is a person. Maybe the killer is taunting you.”

“Why would he break his modus operandi now? Every letter has spelled out the name of the next victim. I think it’s just a coincidence that Brooklyn happens to be the place I moved from. To take this case in any other direction would be a mistake, in my opinion.”

Sheriff Carl sighed and lowered himself into the chair beside Brody’s desk. “I agree. I just don’t know what that something we’re missing is. Not yet.”

Brody stared at Madison’s suicide note again, each word burned into his memory. “This guy is sick. And I don’t think he’s going to stop until we catch him. The key is, when are we going to catch him?”

Brody put the letter down and picked up a pencil, instead. He twirled the device between his fingers and stared off in the distance, mentally running through everything that had happened. The killer had laid that clue out there for them, dangled a hint about who his next victim was. So why did they feel powerless to stop the next crime from happening?

Sheriff Carl turned toward him, his eyes softening a moment. “How’s Madison holding up?”

Madison’s face flashed through his mind and Brody inadvertently smiled. “She seems to be doing surprisingly well, everything considered.”

Sheriff Carl seemed to study Brody’s expression a moment. “She’s a special lady.”

“You’ve known her awhile?” Brody leaned back, ready to let his mind wander to something else for a moment. Sometimes you needed to step back from the facts in order to process them. Maybe this conversation would help him to do just that.

“I knew the family before they moved to Florida.” The sheriff laced his fingers together across his belly and let out a pensive sigh. “She goes to church with me also. She’s struggled since Reid died, but she always keeps her chin up and she always works hard. Plus, she’s got a great heart. It doesn’t matter if she needs money herself, she’s always the first one to step up when another family is in need at church. She’s one in a million.”

Why did the thought of that make Brody’s heart warm? No one could deny that Madison was special. It was even more reason he needed to stay away from her.

“Don’t hurt her, Brody.”

He cut a sharp glance at the sheriff. “I would never want to hurt her, Sheriff.”

“I’ve heard about your track record with women. I don’t want Madison to end up as your flavor of the month. She deserves better than that.”

“It’s not like that, Sheriff.”

“Maybe it’s not. But in case it is, I just wanted to make it clear that I didn’t assign you this case so you could flirt with a pretty woman. I assigned you because I believe you’re one of the best in the department and you have far more experience in homicides than the other detectives.”

The last thing Brody wanted to do was to explain to his boss how not only had he been misunderstood but how any remnant of the man he’d once been was gone. Tragedies did that to a person. Instead, he shifted in his seat. “I don’t play games with people’s hearts, Sheriff. I promise you that. You can’t always believe the rumors.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

Sheriff Carl raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly. “Absolutely.” He sighed and leaned forward, the weariness of the case dragging at his features again. “We need to figure out why the killer is picking his victims. There’s got to be a reason behind it. But what do Willie, Victor and Madison have in common? That’s what doesn’t make sense.”

“They’re all locals. They grew up in this area.”

“But is that enough of a connection?”

Brody tapped his finger on the desk. “That’s the question.”

His mind went to Madison again, as it often did. Why did such an amazing woman have to be the target of a killer? Not that anyone deserved to be a target. But the world just seemed like it would be a much dimmer place without her. She had a gentle spirit and heart full of love.

It was obvious from the clues this man was leaving that the killer was taunting them. He wanted to play games with them, to toy with them.

A sick feeling settled in Brody’s gut. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit.

First thing in the morning he needed to talk to Madison again. So much for keeping his distance.

* * *

Madison’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest. Cold sweat covered her.

What would her attacker do now? And when he finished with her, would he go after Lincoln? Kayla?

Lord, help us.

“You weren’t supposed to survive, Madison, but superstar detective Brody Philips found you just in time. I figure you survived for a reason. Everything’s for a reason, right? Well your reason is going to be to give Detective Philips a message for me. Tell him I’m not done. Tell him there will be more. And tell him everyone’s blood is on his hands.” He leaned closer. “If you scream before I leave, I’ll bypass the front door and pay your son a visit, instead. Do you understand?”

Madison nodded, knowing terror was written all over her features. She’d do anything to protect Lincoln. Anything.

Slowly, the man slipped away. Out of her room. Almost like a phantom he was so quiet.

She listened, waiting breathlessly to hear which direction he would go. Fearful he would walk toward Lincoln’s room. But he was so quiet. She could hardly hear anything. Wondered if she’d imagined him.

But her lips still felt numb from where he’d pressed his glove over her mouth.

He was no dream, but a real-life nightmare, instead.

She felt frozen where she was. She needed to get up, to call the police, yet her limbs wouldn’t cooperate. She felt chained to the mattress.

Lincoln…what if he’d gotten Lincoln?

The mere thought caused adrenaline to surge through her. In one swift motion, she was out of bed and hurrying down the hall. She threw the door open to Lincoln’s room, fully expecting to see the man there, leaning over her son’s bed just as he’d done to hers.

Instead, all was still.

She tiptoed to her son’s bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. A moment later she heard his even breathing. He was okay.

Tears of relief rushed to her eyes, and her heart slowed a bit.

But where had the man gone? Certainly, he’d left.

Still, fear nagged at her.

She reached onto the nightstand and grabbed the phone. She dialed the number she now knew by heart—Brody’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“Kayla, what’s going on? Is something wrong?”

“It’s Madison. And yes, something’s wrong. You need to get here now. My attacker came back for a visit and he left a message for you.”