The Bride Collector (32 page)

It was now past eleven and the underground garage was quiet, like the inside of a casket. What if Rain Man didn’t come home
tonight? He stopped tapping the leather-wrapped wheel. What if the infidel had uncovered…

Lights brightened the ramp and the beautiful, snarling grill of a BMW nosed down into the darkness.

Rain Man was home.

A jolt of nervous energy ripped through Quinton’s bones, then was gone, replaced by relief. God was good. All the time. And
his love was inexhaustible.

The BMW drove by, turning right toward its customary spot just around the corner. As soon as its red taillights vanished from
his view, Quinton started the 300M, pulled out, turned the car around, then nosed the car back into the same spot so that
the trunk faced the driveway. Lights off.

Without killing the engine, he grabbed the tranquilizer pistol, popped the trunk, and stepped out of the vehicle.

A car door thumped shut around the corner. Rain Man was out—Quinton prayed he hadn’t made a mistake in taking the time to
turn the car around, but he had wanted to face out for easy viewing while he waited, and he now needed the trunk to face out
for easy access.

The garage was still quiet. He ran on his rubber soles, silent, around the corner just as Raines was crossing the driveway
toward the elevators. Twenty yards. He had to be closer—the man was trained to use his weapon and wouldn’t hesitate if he
had the chance. Quinton’s first shot had to put him down.

Throwing caution to the wind, he sprinted forward and closed the gap to ten yards before Raines heard him and spun.

But the mouse was in the trap and the spring was sprung. Quinton lifted the tranquilizer gun and shot the man in his chest.
The two-inch, red-feathered dart made a soft slapping sound when it struck. Rain Man cried out and jumped back, stunned.

His eyes widened as he, being trained in these sorts of things, recognized the instrument hanging from his chest. He grabbed
the dart and tugged it out, then clawed for the weapon holstered beneath his jacket. “You sick son of…” His voice slurred
and he staggered. But the powerful sedative would take up to fifteen seconds. Less if the man’s heart was pumping very hard.

Quinton ducked behind a car and crouched, counting the seconds… six, seven, eight…

Thump
.

He stood up and saw that Rain Man had fallen in a heap, still clutching his pistol. Tucking his own behind his belt, Quinton
rushed forward.

Rain Man was heavy. Deadweight was always heavy—he’d mounted each of the women on the wall without their help, but this… The
man felt like he weighed five hundred pounds.

Quinton heaved him up over his shoulder and ran back around the corner. Now his decision to turn the car around rewarded him.
He shouldered the man into the trunk and, working quickly before another car drove into the garage, fastened handcuffs to
Rain Man’s wrists. The drug would keep him down for half an hour, but he could take no chances.

Having secured his man in the trunk, Quinton slid into the front seat, pulled the car out, and roared up the ramp into the
dark night.

Five minutes later he was on I-25 north. No flashing lights in his rearview mirror. No helicopters overhead. No sign of pursuit
at all. With any luck, no one would even know their star was missing until the morning, when he failed to show up for work.

One of the distinct disadvantages that came with a career in God’s service, like his own career, was all the bad press. No
one cut the clergy enough slack; they got far too much negative attention.

But there were some distinct advantages as well. Having God on your side, for instance, the smoothness of Rain Man’s abduction
being a case in point. It was enough to reaffirm Quinton’s calling, not that he had any doubts.

Still, having Rain Man in the trunk gave him a very good feeling.

He turned right onto Interstate 70. From here the Kansas border waited, 171 miles distant. The small town called St. Francis
slept through the night, ten miles past the border. The barn Quinton had prepared was nine miles south of St. Francis.

Ordinarily, the trip would take at least three hours. In the dead of night, he could make it in just over two, thanks to a
powerful Chrysler engine and a state-of-the-art radar detector slash laser diffuser.

The search for him had primarily been confined to Colorado. But, to avoid all the attention, Quinton would unite the seventh
and most beautiful favorite with God in Kansas.

The thought made Quinton shiver.

FRANK CLOSKEY PUSHED
open the door to the SAC’s office. “Nothing.”

Temple spun from the window where he stood overlooking the street below, hands on hips. His tie was gaped, and the top two
buttons on his shirt were undone. “His condo, his phone, his emergency pager? Nothing?”

“Nothing since he left the office last night just before ten. We checked with his favorite restaurants, no luck.”

“But he arrived at his condo…”

“His car’s in the garage, yes. No indication that he actually entered the building. And get this, the cord to the garage camera
was cut.”

The SAC stared. “And no one was notified? When?”

“Late yesterday afternoon. They put in a repair order, but the security company didn’t get out there till this morning.”

Temple walked to his desk, lowered his hands for a moment, then put them back on his hips. “So, it’s the Bride Collector.”

“We don’t know that.”

“As of this moment we assume we do. First Nikki, now Brad. What on earth happened to the detail?”

“Brad called it off after we found Nikki. There was no reason to think the killer hadn’t satisfied his threat when he took
her. He’s never taken a man.”

Temple’s jaw flexed. “The assistant director’s going to…” He yanked out his chair and sat. “Okay, I want his photograph in
every government car in this state. Check every known location he frequents. Get his cell records from the company and work
through each call. I want to know every step he took in the last twenty-four hours. What about the sketch he brought in?”

Frank still didn’t understand exactly how Brad could be sure the sketch he’d delivered late in the afternoon was of the killer.
It was, after all, based on a ghost. He’d put the highest priority on linking it with any known offenders in the photo identification
system. The sketch was rough and would require manual comparisons, but it was the first hard lead they’d had since Nikki’s
murder, and the team had dropped everything else.

“Nothing yet. We sent it out to the other agencies and every hospital in the state. We also have a forensic artist headed
out to CWI this morning for another sketch.”

“What do we know about this girl? Besides the hogwash about her ability to see ghosts?”

“Not much. Brad was a little evasive.”

“So you’re telling me Brad’s fate now rests in the hands of some mental case?”

“He seemed to think she was pretty smart.”

“This can’t be the best we’ve got.” Temple shook his head. “This really can’t.”

IT WAS A
beautiful day. The trees looked somehow greener, the birds chirped and darted as if they’d found a pot of coffee beans and
eaten every one, the sun even seemed brighter. The eggs she was eating at this very minute tasted richer, sweeter, maybe the
best food she’d ever tasted.

But Paradise knew that neither the trees nor the birds nor the eggs nor the sun had changed. She, on the other hand, had.

For starters, she’d become a bit of an overnight sensation. She might have imagined some of it, but nearly every eye had seemed
to be on her when she’d walked into the dining room half an hour ago. There was no denying that many, if not most, of the
residents knew she had become a very important person in the eyes of some very important people.

Roudy went out of his way to take credit whenever he could. It was he, after all, who’d demanded they bring the evidence to
his team. And in the end, they would still need him to connect all the clues.

“Can’t you just be happy for her?” Andrea demanded.

“Of course I can. But there’s a killer on the loose! Have you no heart for all those poor girls?”

Hopeless.

Either way, Paradise had changed. She had seen. And she had been seen. A cloud had been lifted from her heart. The wool had
been pulled from her eyes. Every cliché in the book had happened to her, all at once. In her dark world, the sun had come
out as if for the very first time.

But only she and Allison knew why. It wasn’t because she’d become a sleuthing hero. It was because of Brad Raines. Or more
precisely, because of what she and Brad had shared. Did share.

Because Brad had shattered the fear that had kept her mind in the shadows. Because she trusted Brad more than she trusted
any other living soul, except maybe Angel and Allison, but Angel was her sister and Allison was like her mother.

Brad was a man.

There was something special between them. She wouldn’t go so far to say that he loved her, it was far too early for that.
She knew that nothing could become of whatever it was he felt. After all, she was here at CWI and he was out there, in the
world with all of its demons.

But she’d decided last night that she would do nothing to temper the way her heart felt in the wake of his departure. She’d
gone to bed tossing and turning, with butterflies flying circles in her belly. And she’d woken with images of Brad whispering
through her mind.

She wasn’t in love with him. That would be going way too far. But if this was what being in love felt like, it was no wonder
so many people risked so much for it.

Andrea was staring at her, wearing a shy grin.

“What?”

Her friend nibbled at her toast. “I don’t know. Did you kiss him?”

“Andrea!” Paradise set her fork down and blushed. “Just because you lift your skirt for the first thing that comes along doesn’t
mean everyone does.”

“I said kiss. You’ve never kissed a man, you said.”

“And I still haven’t.” How embarrassing was this? But her mouth was fighting a smile.

“You will, though.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! It’s not like that. Please, Andrea, you’re going to ruin everything.”

“You’re smiling!”

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Jonathan leaned over and spoke softly. “There’s someone on the phone for you, Paradise.
I thought you might want to take it.”

Normally they would take a message. Then she saw his smile and caught her breath. “A man?”

“It is.”

She jumped up. “I’ll… Send it to my room.”

Paradise took off, then whirled back and pointed at Andrea. “Stay.”

She sprinted down the hall, into the women’s wing, then up the stairs to her room just as the phone started to ring. She slammed
the door and engaged the lock, approached the phone, heart pounding. Her hand was shaking when she lifted the receiver.

“Hello.”

A soft chuckle. “Hello, Paradise.”

She was so tuned in to Brad’s voice that it took her a moment to wonder if this was someone else.

“Brad?”

“No, not Brad. Brad’s all tied up. I have him here with me.”

Was this someone that Brad worked with? Something seemed odd about…

“I’m the one who killed Nikki,” the voice said. “And now I have your lover all tied up. I’m going to make him squeal like
a pig and then I’m going to gut him if you don’t do exactly as I say.”

The phone was silent. She stood frozen in place, unable to breathe.

“Are you there, dear?”

She tried to say something but nothing was working.

“Don’t be afraid, Paradise. I need you to think clearly. I need you to save Brad. Can you do that?”

Her voice shook. “Yes.”

“Good. The first thing you’re going to do is keep your mouth shut. I can see you, your every move. I can hear everything that
happens in that prison of yours. If you tell anyone, including that old nun, that you spoke to me, I will kill Mr. Raines.
Do you understand?”

Her mind whirled with the worst possible scenarios. She was in the dark fog again and behind her came the monster, scrambling
for her legs as she crawled. The bodies were on the ground, and she was crawling over them.

“Do you understand?”

It was real. She was on the phone talking to the man she’d seen. This was his voice; she recognized it now from when she’d
touched the girl.

“Yes.”

“Are you listening? It’s important that you don’t panic. If you panic you’ll do something stupid and I’ll have to kill him.
Okay?”

His voice wasn’t angry or sinister. Just calm and direct. But that only made it more frightening.

“Okay?”

“Yes,” she managed.

“In thirty minutes the gardener will climb into his red pickup truck and leave for an extended coffee break like he does every
day. You will climb into the back of his truck, under the green tarp he uses to keep the rain off—”

“I can’t leave!”

The man paused patiently. “… off his tools,” he finished. “You don’t have to leave in the red truck, Paradise. But if you
don’t, then Mr. Raines will be found dead, and it will be because you allowed him to die.”