Split Second (64 page)

M
aggie felt numb. It took all her effort to keep her eyes open. She didn’t realize until she pulled into her driveway that she had been functioning on autopilot. She couldn’t remember leaving the interstate nor winding along Highway 6 with its sharp curves and steep ditches. It was a wonder she had found her way in the dark of night and through the fog of her mind.

Nick had left the light on in the portico for her. His Jeep remained where he had parked it earlier. She pulled up next to it, surprised to find the sight of its dusty sides and huge rugged tires supplied her with a wave of comfort. Now she was glad Detective Rosen had convinced her to wait until morning. How could she have thought to go hunting for Stucky in strange, dark woods in the middle of the night? Yet it had made plenty of sense only an hour ago. She had been prepared to stage a sneak attack, forgetting so quickly that she had lost the last one to Stucky. Why was it so easy for Albert Stucky to destroy all her common sense with a sweep of a hand, or rather a cut of his knife?

She knew Dr. Holmes was right, despite the probability that they would never be able to confirm it. She knew the liquor store clerk must have pleaded with Stucky. Maggie could hear it in her head—it came without warning and she couldn’t seem to turn it off.

She could hear Hannah pleading, and when she realized Stucky didn’t care, she must have begged for her unborn baby’s life. He would have laughed at her. It would not have made any difference to him. But she would have continued to beg and cry. Was that why he started cutting while she was still alive? Had he attempted to show her the unborn fetus? It would have been a new challenge to add to his repertoire of horror. It seemed grotesquely inconceivable, but, for Stucky, she knew it was not.

Maggie tried to shut out the images. She unlocked the door, and she tried to be as quiet as possible. It had been a long time since she had come home to anyone or anything other than a dark, empty house. Even before she and Greg had begun avoiding each other, their schedules conflicted more often than not. In the last several years they had become nothing more than roommates who left behind notes for each other. Or at least there had been notes in the beginning. Gradually, the only signs of double occupancy had been the empty milk cartons in the frig and unrecognizable socks and underwear in the laundry room.

The alarm system beeped only once before Maggie punched in the correct code. Immediately, she felt Harvey’s cold nose sniffing her from behind. She reached out a hand in the dark, and his tongue found it.

Though the foyer was dark, the living room was bathed in moonlight. Nick hadn’t closed any of the blinds, and she was glad he hadn’t. She liked the blue glow that made the room seem magical. She saw him stretched out on the floor, his long body only halfway encased in the sleeping bag. He was bare-chested and the sight of his skin, his knotted arms, his tight stomach brought a flutter to her stomach. And just when she thought she was too tired to feel anything more.

She set down her forensic kit, took off her jacket and began peeling off her shoulder holster, when she heard the sleeping bag rustle. Harvey had returned to Nick’s side, laying his head on the bundle of legs.

“Don’t get too comfortable here,” she told Harvey.

“Too late,” Nick said, rubbing a hand over his face and lifting himself up onto one elbow.

“I meant Harvey.” She smiled.

“Ah. Good.”

He ran his fingers through his short hair, causing it to stick up in places. Suddenly Maggie had an incredible urge to smooth it down for him, to run her own fingers through his hair and along that strong, square jawline.

“How are you holding up?” Even in the blue light, she could see the concern in his eyes.

“I honestly don’t know, Nick. Maybe not so good.” She leaned against the wall and rubbed her eyes. She didn’t want to remember the dead clerk’s eyes. She didn’t want to see the shriveled-up fetus still clinging to the wall of its mother’s uterus.

“Hey,” Nick said quietly, “why don’t you join Harvey and me.” He pulled back the top of the sleeping bag, inviting her inside. In doing so, he also revealed tight jockey shorts and muscular thighs.

Again, the stirrings of arousal surprised her. Her face felt hot, and she was a bit embarrassed by her reaction, because she knew Nick didn’t mean the invitation as anything more than to curl up next to him. But now, however, he seemed to be reading her thoughts.

“I promise I’ll let you have as much control as you want.” His eyes were serious, and she knew he had managed to zoom in on her feelings. Was she that transparent?

All she wanted was to feel something other than the frayed nerves, the exhaustion, the emotions that had rubbed her mentally raw. She could no longer remember what it felt like to feel warm and safe. Earlier, in her kitchen, Nick’s presence had reminded her just how few times in the past several years she had felt any stirrings of passion and desire. Ironically, the only times she could remember were when she and Nick had been together back in Nebraska.

Without a word, she slipped off her shoes and started undoing her jeans. She met his eyes and saw a bit of surprise mixed with anticipation. He looked as though he wasn’t sure what to expect. She had no idea herself.

She left on her chambray shirt. Her underpants were already damp before she climbed in next to him. Harvey stood up, turned around three times and flopped down with his back up against Nick. They both laughed, and Maggie was grateful for the release of tension.

They lay facing each other, each braced up on an elbow. His eyes held her, but he kept his hands away. She realized he was serious about letting her have control. He looked anxious to see what she might do with him. She touched his face with her fingertips, stroking his cheek, his bristled jaw and lingering at his lips. He kissed the tips of her fingers, his mouth warm and wet and inviting.

She moved down to the scar, the slight pucker of white on his chin. Then, to his throat, watching him swallow hard as though trying to contain his emotions. Her eyes stayed with his as her fingers caressed the muscles of his chest and traced a path over his hard, flat stomach. His breathing was already uneven by the time her fingers made it to the bulge in his jockey shorts. As soon as she touched him, he sucked in air like a man no longer able to stifle himself.

“Jesus, Maggie,” he managed breathlessly. “If I’d known this was what it would be like to give you control—”

She didn’t let him finish. She kissed him lightly on the lips while her hand slipped into his waistband. His entire body quivered. Then his mouth urged her on. Each of her nerve endings seemed to come alive, though he still touched her nowhere except her lips. She knew she had him close to the edge, but he was holding back. She brought the length of her body against his. The kisses had become deep and urgent, but she left his mouth and moved her lips to his ear. She let her tongue run along his outer ear and then slip inside, rewarded immediately by a groan. She whispered, “Don’t hold back, Nick.”

It didn’t take long and his breathing came in gasps through clenched teeth. Moments later, her hand was wet and sticky. Nick collapsed onto his back, his eyes closed, waiting to gain control over his body again. Maggie’s own body was still a live wire, tingling without any stimulation other than in reaction to Nick. How was it possible for this man to make her feel so alive, so whole and full of electricity without even touching her? As she watched him, she realized she had never before felt so sensual or so completely satisfied.

He put his hands behind his neck. Sweat glistened on his forehead. His breathing had almost returned to normal. He was looking up at her now, as if trying to read her thoughts, maybe even wondering what was next. He glanced over at Harvey who had moved to the sunroom.

“Is he giving us some privacy, or is he tired of us waking him up?”

She smiled but didn’t answer. She braced herself up on her elbow again, lying on her side and watching him. Why was she suddenly not exhausted anymore?

Nick reached up and touched her hair, pushing back a strand and letting his fingers caress her cheek. She closed her eyes and absorbed the lovely sensation being sent through her body. When she opened her eyes again, he was on his side, leaning so close she could feel his breath. Yet he kept their bodies from touching while his hand gently made its way down her neck and into the collar of her shirt. He unbuttoned her shirt, hesitating at each button to give her time to protest. Instead, she lay back, inviting his touch. He was going slowly, cautiously, as if that would give her control. As if that would reduce the intensity. It only made her ache.

He sensed her urgency and let his mouth replace his fingers, gently kissing her. He tugged open the rest of her shirt and his mouth wandered, taking his time moving down her body. Suddenly he stopped. She was breathing too hard to notice at first. Then she felt his fingertips on her stomach, lightly tracing the scar that ran across her abdomen. The hideous scar that Albert Stucky had left. How could she have forgotten it?

She sat up abruptly and disentangled herself from the sleeping bag, escaping before Nick could react. In her rush, she almost tripped over poor Harvey. Now, she stood looking out over the backyard, the front of her shirt gathered into a fist. She heard him come up behind her. She realized she was shivering though she wasn’t cold. Nick wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned into his warm body, resting her head back against his chest.

“You gotta know by now, Maggie,” he whispered into her hair, “there isn’t anything you can say or show me that’s gonna scare me away.”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

“It’s just that he’s with me all the time, Nick.” Her voice was hushed, and there was an annoying catch in it. “I can’t seem to get away from him. I should have known that there would be some way for him to ruin even this.”

He tightened his hug and nuzzled her neck. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to persuade her that she was wrong. He didn’t try to contradict her just to make her feel better. Instead, he just held her.

M
aggie got up before dawn. She left Nick a scrawled note, apologizing for last night and giving him brief instructions for setting the alarm. He had said that he needed to get back to Boston to prepare for a trial, but she knew as he was telling her that he was trying to figure a way out of it. She told him she didn’t want him to jeopardize his new job. What she left out was that she didn’t want him close by for Albert Stucky to hurt.

She called Agent Tully from the road, but when he answered his door he didn’t look as if he expected her. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt and was barefoot. He hadn’t shaved yet, and his short hair stuck up. He let her in without much of a greeting and gathered up a scattered edition of the
Washington Post
. He grabbed a coffee mug from the top of the TV.

“I’m brewing coffee. Would you like a cup?”

“No, thanks.” She wanted to tell him there was no time for coffee. Why did he not feel the same urgency she was feeling?

He disappeared into what she thought must be the kitchen. Instead of following, she sat down on a stiff sofa that looked and smelled brand-new. The house was small with very little furniture, and most of it looked like hand-me-downs. It reminded her of the apartment she and Greg had right out of college—with milk crates for a TV stand, and concrete blocks and stained two-by-sixes for bookshelves. The only thing missing was a lime green beanbag chair. The sofa and a black halogen floor lamp were the only two new pieces.

A girl wandered into the room rubbing her eyes and not bothering to acknowledge Maggie. She wore only a short nightshirt. Her long blond hair was tangled and her steps were those of a sleepwalker. Maggie recognized the teenager as the little girl in the photo Tully paid homage to on his office desk. The girl plopped into an oversize chair facing the TV, found a remote between the cushions and turned the TV on, flipping through the channels but not paying much attention. Maggie hated feeling that she had gotten the entire household out of bed as if it was the middle of the night instead of morning.

The girl stopped her channel surfing in the middle of a local news report. With the volume muted, Maggie still recognized the truck stop behind the handsome, young reporter who gestured to the gray trash bin cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape.

“Emma, shut the TV off, please,” Tully instructed after only a glance at the screen. His coffee mug was filled to the brim and the aroma filtered in with him. He handed Maggie a cold can of Diet Pepsi.

“What’s this?” she asked, taken by surprise.

“I remembered Pepsi is sorta your version of morning coffee.”

She stared at him, amazed that he would have noticed. No one except Anita ever remembered.

“Did I get it wrong? Is it regular and not diet?”

“No, it’s diet,” she said, finally taking the can. “Thanks.”

“Emma, this is Special Agent Maggie O’Dell. Agent O’Dell, this is my ill-mannered daughter, Emma.”

“Hi, Emma.”

The girl looked up and manufactured a smile that looked neither genuine nor comfortable.

“Emma, if you’re up for the morning, please put on some regular clothes.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” She pulled herself out of the chair and wandered out of the room.

“Sorry about that,” he said while he skidded the chair Emma had vacated around to face Maggie and the sofa rather than the TV. “Sometimes I feel like aliens abducted my real daughter and transplanted this impostor.”

Maggie smiled and popped open the Diet Pepsi.

“You have any kids, Agent O’Dell?”

“No.” The answer seemed simple enough, but she noticed Tully still staring at her as though an explanation should follow. “Having a family is a little bit tougher to accomplish when you’re a woman in the FBI than when you’re a man in the FBI.”

He nodded as though it was some new revelation, as though he had never considered it before.

“I hope I didn’t wake your wife, too.”

“You’d have to be pretty noisy to do that.”

“Excuse me?”

“My wife lives in Cleveland…my ex-wife, that is.”

It was still a touchy subject. Maggie could see it in the way he suddenly avoided making eye contact. He sipped his coffee, wrapping both hands around the mug and taking his time. Then, as though he remembered why they were here in his living room on a Sunday morning, he stood up abruptly, set down the mug on the overflowing coffee table and started digging through the piles. Maggie couldn’t help wondering if there was any part of Agent Tully’s life that he kept organized.

He pulled out a map and started unfolding and spreading it out over the surface of uneven piles.

“From what you told me on the phone, I’m figuring this is the area we’re talking about.”

She took a close look at the spot he had highlighted on the map in fluorescent yellow. Here she had thought he wasn’t even listening to her when she had called and woken him.

He continued, “If Rosen was lost, it’s hard telling exactly where he was, but if you cross the Potomac using this toll bridge, there is this piece of land about five miles wide and fifteen miles long that hangs out into the river sort of like a peninsula. The toll bridge passes over the top half. The map shows no roads, not even unpaved ones down in the peninsula part. In fact, it looks like it’s all woods, rocks, probably ravines. Pretty tough terrain. In other words, a great place to hide out.”

“And a difficult place to escape from.” Maggie sat forward, hardly able to contain her excitement. This was it. This was where Stucky was hiding out and keeping his collection. “So when do we leave?”

“Hold on,” Tully sat down and reached for his coffee. “We’re doing this by the book, O’Dell.”

“Stucky strikes hard and fast and then disappears.” She let him hear her anger and urgency. “He’s already killed three women and possibly kidnapped two others in a week. And those are just the ones we know about.”

“I know,” he said much too calmly.

Was she the only one who seemed to understand this madman?

“He could pick up and leave any day, any minute. We can’t wait for court orders and county police cooperation or whatever the hell you think we need to wait for.”

He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim. “Are you finished?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and sat back. She should never have called Tully. She knew she could talk Rosen into assembling a search team, though the area in question was across the river, which meant not only a different jurisdiction but also a different state.

“First of all, Assistant Director Cunningham is getting in touch with the Maryland officials.”

“Cunningham? You called Cunningham? Oh wonderful.”

“I’ve been trying to find out who owns the property.” He ignored her and went on. “It used to be owned by the government, which may account for that weird chemical concoction in the dirt. Probably something they were testing. It was purchased by a private corporation about four years ago, something called WH Enterprises. I can’t seem to find out anything about it, no managing CEO, no trustees, nothing.”

“Since when does the FBI need permission to hunt down a serial killer?”

“We’re operating on hunches, Agent O’Dell. We can’t send in a SWAT team when we don’t know what’s there. Even the mud simply means that Stucky may have been in this area. Doesn’t prove he’s still there.”

“Goddamn it, Tully!” She stood up and paced his living room. “This is the only lead we have as to where he might be, and you need to analyze it to death when we could just go find out!”

“Don’t you want to know what you might be walking into this time, Agent O’Dell?” He emphasized “this time,” and she knew he was referring to last August when she went running off to find Albert Stucky in an abandoned Miami warehouse. She hadn’t told anyone else. She had been following up on a hunch then, too. Only Stucky had been expecting her, waiting for her with a trap. Was it possible he’d be waiting for her again?

“So what do you suggest?”

“We wait,” Tully said as though waiting was no big deal. “We find out what’s there. The Maryland authorities and their resource people can fill us in. We find out who owns the property. Who knows? We certainly don’t want to go onto private property if there’s some white supremacist group holed up with an arsenal that could blow us off the planet.”

“How long are we talking?”

“It’s tough getting in touch with everyone we need on a Sunday.”

“How long, Agent Tully?”

“A day. Two at the most.”

She stared at him, the anger clawing to reveal itself.

“By now you should know what Albert Stucky can do in a day or two.” She calmly walked to the door and left, allowing the slamming door to enunciate what she thought about waiting.