36

MONDAY, 8:15 A.M.

“Hello, little sister. Time for a little family reunion.”

Looking completely nonplussed, Gwendolyn gaped, snapped her jaw shut, then said, “What are you doing here?” She glared at him. “You nearly scared the life out of me at the morgue. I told you to stay out of my game.”

Serena watched this new development play out between brother and sister.

Gwendolyn demanded, “How did you find this place?”

“The cops told me where it was.”

Hope leaped inside Serena even as Gwendolyn narrowed her eyes. “Then where are they?”

“Oh, they’re around. But they won’t be coming here.” His gaze took in the table, the room. The occupants.

Serena’s hope faded at his words. And the look on his face.

Nate said, “You have a nice little setup here, don’t you? Looks a lot like what I found the night I called the cops.”

“You? You!” Gwendolyn screeched. “I thought it was our mother! I blamed her and all this time—”

A cruel grin spread across Nate’s lips and Serena couldn’t tear her gaze from the two of them. And she couldn’t help the small hope that they’d shoot each other and she and Camille could get out of here. She leaned over to fumble with the cuff while Gwendolyn was occupied. The hope that had spiked at Nate’s arrival disappeared as fast as it had risen. The man wasn’t here to help her and Camille, that much was obvious.

“What do you want?” Gwendolyn snapped. “I’ve got unfinished business.”

“As do I.” Nate walked to the table and examined the steel rod with the gun now attached. “Shall we play?”

“You weren’t invited. You were never invited,” Gwendolyn sneered.

Nate’s eyes turned as cold as his father’s had the last time Serena had seen him. “I didn’t need an invitation this time. I invited myself.”

Gwendolyn pouted. “That’s against the rules.”

“I don’t care what the rules are.” He looked around. “I think I know how this game works and I’m playing this time.”

“No, you’re not.”

Lightning fast, Nate’s hand flipped up to reveal a gun. Before Gwendolyn could react, Nate fired and his sister fell to the floor, a bullet in her chest.

Serena couldn’t help the scream that slipped out. Camille let out a piercing wail as Gwendolyn stared up at her brother through shocked blue eyes and gasped, “Nate? Why?”

He stared down at her. “Because it’s my turn to play.”

Nate had sworn he had no idea who his sister had been friends with as a child. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know. I avoided her and my dad like the plague. If she had a friend other than my dad, then I never met her.”

So now they were knocking on doors in the Lindells’ old neighborhood as Terry narrowed the list to just residents who’d lived in the neighborhood when the Lindells did.

So far, they were batting a big fat zero.

Everyone knew the story of the house that had belonged to the Doll Maker Killer, but very few residents had lived there when the Lindells had.

And when they came across a neighbor who wasn’t home, Dominic simply had Terry find the person and get him on the phone.

Soaked in sweat and more frustrated than he could remember, Dominic was ready to throw in the towel and retreat to look elsewhere for a hint about where Serena might be.

Until they came across the Martins. “Do you remember Gwendolyn Lindell?”

Mrs. Martin, a woman in her early sixties, pursed her lips. “The daughter of the Doll Maker Killer. Yes, I remember her. Pretty little thing with a mean streak a mile long.”

Dominic tamped down his excitement. Finally they were getting somewhere. “Do you remember who her best friend was when she was a child? Or even as a teen?”

“Sure. It was a girl from our church youth group. She lived two doors up from me.” Mrs. Martin pointed to the light brown ranch-style house with black shutters. “Her name was LuAnne Rose. She and Gwendolyn became inseparable for about six months. Then LuAnne disappeared. Police never found her.”

Dominic exchanged a look with Hunter. “Who lives there now, Mrs. Martin?”

“A young single woman who keeps to herself. Seems friendly enough and waves when she sees me, but I’ve never had a conversation with her, come to think of it.”

“When did she move in?”

“Oh, a few months ago. I remember the house being on the market for about a week, then it sold. I thought that was amazing in this economy.”

“Amazing, all right,” Hunter muttered.

“She’s a musician, I think.”

“Why do you say that?”

“There was some work going on when she first moved in. I asked one of the workers what she was doing.” She flushed. “So I was nosey. Sue me.”

“It’s all right. What did he say?”

“Said she was soundproofing her basement so she didn’t disturb the neighbors with her music.”

Or her victims’ cries for help, he thought grimly. He nodded to Mrs. Martin. “Thanks so much. That helps.”

Dominic shook the woman’s hand and pulled out his phone. “I need the SWAT team and backup to 312 Hovarth Avenue. Possible hostage situation. Suspect is armed.”

“We don’t know she’s there,” Hunter said.

Dominic looked at the quiet house and pointed. “That vehicle wasn’t there on our last pass.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “She’s there.”

“What’s the matter, Gwenie, that wasn’t in the rules?” Nate mocked his dying sister and all Serena could do was watch.

Camille’s sobs reached her and she wished she could comfort Camille and help Gwendolyn. No matter what the woman had done, Serena couldn’t just sit there and watch her die. “Let me help her.”

Nate turned his eyes on her and she froze at the malevolence there.

“What are you going to do, Nate? Let her die?”

He looked at his sister. “That was sort of the point in shooting her,” he muttered.

His coldness made Serena shudder. “Let me help her.”

“No.” He looked around and took in a deep breath. “So this is the playing field.”

“Nate, you haven’t done anything really wrong. You protected us,” she said. “You can be the hero. You saved us from the serial killer.”

Nate seemed to ponder her words, then shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“What do you mean? Of course you did.”

“I wanted to play.” He looked down at Gwendolyn, who’d drawn a ragged breath two seconds earlier. But now, Serena noticed, her chest remained still.

He was as warped as his sister. The relief that she’d felt previously seeped away to be replaced with a familiar fear.

“You want us to die, Nate?”

His brow furrowed. “No.”

“Oh good.”

He smiled. “Not yet anyway. Not until after we’ve played the game.”

Dominic and Hunter watched the SWAT team disperse around the home while officers went door to door, evacuating the residents who were home.

He checked his weapon and Hunter did the same. Colton and Katie had arrived and were awaiting instructions.

Dominic pushed his earpiece in a little further and said to the SWAT team leader, “What do you have, Mac?”

Mac had some serious equipment that allowed him to see through cement walls. Vaguely Dominic remembered the man going with Rick to some conference and learning all about it. Dominic wished he’d paid better attention to Rick when he was all excited about telling him about it. Something about a TWR-S Through the Wall radar system.

Mac was saying, “No security system. No booby traps found. Basement is soundproof, but we have visibility of four people with the radar system. One person is on the floor unmoving. Two others appear to be seated. The fourth one is moving around, walking between the two who are sitting down.”

“Weapons?”

“A pistol in the hand of the one walking around. And one appears to be attached to a pole at the end of the table.”

Technology was a wonderful thing.

“Okay, let’s figure out a plan.”

Serena gulped. “What are you doing?”

Nate opened the gun and spun the cylinder. “One bullet.” He grinned. “Russian roulette.”

Camille seemed almost catatonic at this point.

Nate shook his head. “I knew Gwen was after you. I followed her to your house so many times I lost count. She had chosen you to be her next toy, the next player.” His jaw hardened and a malicious look came into his eyes.

His comment seemed random, but she had a feeling he was going somewhere with it.

“I even tried to help her catch you one time.”

“Wha—the car wreck,” Serena whispered.

“I saw Gwen ram your car. And then the cop behind you was going to interfere.”

“You killed him?”

“I did. I thought Gwen would be happy for my help. That she would let me play when she realized I was the one that helped her get away.”

“But she wasn’t happy for your help, was she?”

His lips tightened. “No, she wasn’t.”

“Why not?”

“She didn’t want me to play.” His eyes turned mean. “They never wanted me to play. ‘Go back inside, Nate, this is Daddy-daughter time.’” He singsonged the words and gave a vicious kick to one of the chairs not bolted to the floor. It careened over and slammed against the cement floor with a crash.

Camille didn’t even flinch.

Serena cringed but held back her scream.

Nate spun the roulette wheel much like Gwendolyn had done. He watched the little ball jump and land, jump and land. “So, who’s going to go first?”

“What do you mean?” Serena asked.

“Well, after Gwendolyn and I saw each other at the morgue, she came to me and warned me away from her business.”

A thought hit her. “The notes the killer—Gwendolyn—left in the boxes. They weren’t for me or the authorities, were they?”

He smirked. “No. Your FBI friend let me see all of the notes on his second visit. That’s when I was sure that some of them were meant for me. Her snarky little way of telling me to back off. That I wasn’t allowed to play. I wasn’t invited to play.” His grip tightened on the gun and Serena drew in a steadying breath, trying to keep the clamoring terror at bay.

She looked at Gwendolyn. One killer down, one to go. The inane thought crossed her mind and she nearly giggled. And realized hysteria was going to set in soon.

“Nate, don’t do this, please.”

“Shut up.” Then, conversationally, he asked, “You know who used to live here?”

“No. Who?” Keep him talking. Steady, be steady.

“Gwen’s best friend.”

“Oh. What happened to her?”

“Dad made Gwen kill her.”

Serena felt nausea well up. “Why?” she whispered.

“Because Gwen was getting too close, too friendly, with Rose, and Dad wouldn’t have that. Because she was his.”

Nate paced from one end of the room to the other. Then back to the terrified Camille. He stooped in front of her and ran a hand over the girl’s hair. Camille cringed as tears leaked down her cheeks. Nate frowned.

“How do you know that, Nate?” she persisted. “If you didn’t get to play the game, how do you know this?” Serena tried to think of something, anything, to get his attention off Camille and back on her.

It worked. For the moment. He cocked his head, stood, and spun the roulette wheel again. “Because they made me bury the body. And all of the ones that came later.” He smirked. “See, the police only had half of the bodies.” At her horrified expression, he lifted a brow. “Oh yeah. The winner got to be found, all cleaned up and posed. Dad was very gracious about giving the winner’s family closure.”

He stuck his gun in the waistband of his pants and settled his hands on Serena’s shoulders. She wanted to scream at him to get his hands off her, but she bit her tongue. As long as his attention was on her, it wasn’t on Camille.

He said, “Look at the other end of the table. Look at Camille.”

Serena did as she was told. The girl lifted terrified eyes, her breath hitching as she struggled not to hyperventilate. Serena could relate to the feeling.

“Now,” his breath tickled her ear and she swallowed the urge to vomit, “let’s pick up where Gwen left off. Pick a number and a color.”

“No.”

He raised his gun and aimed it at Camille in one smooth move. Serena gasped, “Okay, four red.”

He let the gun drop to his side. “Four red. That’s more like it.”

The little ball started its never-ending journey once again and Nate watched it, seeming to be captivated by it. “Four red, four red,” he intoned.

Serena leaned over and worked on her cuff once again. And felt it click. The little piece of wire she’d snitched from the toilet had done its job.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

She sat up. “Trying not to be sick.”

He grinned at her. “No time to be sick, darling, you just lost the bet.”

He walked to Camille and pulled her up closer to the table. The girl jumped up and shoved him. Nate stumbled from her. Serena shot to her feet, and the clasp of the handcuff tripped her. She fell back into the chair as Nate whipped the gun around and slammed it into Camille’s stomach.

The girl went down, gagging and groaning.

“Camille!” Serena placed her hands on the gun in front of her and tried to yank it from the clasp, but she didn’t know the trick to release it and didn’t have time to figure it out. And if she pulled the trigger now, she’d hit Camille.

Nate slammed Camille back against the chair, whipped her hands behind her back, and pulled on her arms until she arched her back and screamed. Then he said, “Do anything like that again before the game is over and I’ll end it now, you understand?”

Sobs wrenched from Camille’s throat and Serena clenched her fists, silently begging God to intervene. “Don’t, Camille, don’t fight him, honey.”

Camille gave up with a wail, leaned her head back, and cried.

Nate jerked her head up. “Now, now, that’s no way to behave at my table.” He walked to Serena, the gun held in front of him. With his left hand, he motioned for her to sit. “Now, put your hands back on the gun. You lost. You get to shoot your friend.”

“What?” she gasped. “I’m not going to shoot her.”

“You will or I’ll shoot her. Then I’ll shoot you. Then I’ll go find your mother—again—and shoot her. And before you ask, yes, your mother was a message to Gwen that I was going to play the game whether she liked it or not.”

“A message?” Stunned, Serena simply gaped. “Why didn’t you just kill her?”

He barked a laugh. “You would have preferred that?”

“Of course not! I just don’t—”

“Understand.”

“Yes, I don’t understand.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want you grieving your mother. Grief does crazy things to people. You might not have functioned for days, weeks, months. I needed you functioning. It was the only way to get at Gwendolyn. When she took you, I’d simply take you away from her.” He looked at his sister’s now lifeless body on the floor. “And that’s what I did.”

He was insane.

He was also in control at the moment.

Nate spun the cylinder again. “So if you don’t play, I’ll go after your father, then your pretty little friends at Covenant House and see how many of those sweet young things like to play games. It’s your choice. Taking one life for the good of many. If you don’t want to be responsible for the people you love dying, shoot her.”

Camille shook like a tree in a hurricane. Serena stared down the gun at the girl and knew she couldn’t even shoot to miss. The gun was held and aimed firmly in its holder. She looked back at Nate. “And what happens to me if I shoot her?”

“You get to live.”

Visions of the dead girls, the victims of the Doll Maker Killer, came to mind. “Somehow I doubt that. You just said the winners got a bullet in the forehead and were placed on display for all to see.”

Confusion riddled his gaze for a moment, then he said, “Well, then I guess I can change the rules, right? After all, Drake’s in prison and Gwen’s dead. So the rules can change.” Satisfaction gleamed as he waved the gun. “So, I’ll let you live. But if you don’t shoot her, you’ll definitely die. And if you don’t pull the trigger, she gets a turn. If she kills you, then she lives. It’s as simple as that.”

“That’s the dumbest game I ever heard of,” Camille whispered.

Chills swept over Serena. One hard tug and she’d be free of the cuff around her ankle. But where would she go? Could she get to the door and get it open before Nate put a bullet in her back?

No, she couldn’t.

She released the gun and said, “Then let Camille take a turn because there’s no way I’m going to pull that trigger.” She dropped into the chair and stared defiantly at the man.

Camille jerked. “I can’t shoot you!”

Serena turned her gaze to Nate. “What do you do when the players won’t play?”

Cold, soulless eyes stared back at her. “Kill them and find new ones. Just like Dad and Gwen used to do.”