Candice and I stayed late the night of the third bombing, working any lead we could think of, and all the while I couldn’t shake the terrible sinking feeling that no matter what we did, it still wouldn’t be enough. I felt so strongly that time was running out, and the danger that’d been swimming around my fiancé like a cunning shark was almost ready to move in for the kill.
In desperation I suggested to Candice that we hunt down classmates of Mimi’s at the community college, just to see if she had ever mentioned her boyfriend to any of them. But after several calls, it was obvious that hardly anyone remembered Mimi let alone knew that she’d had a boyfriend.
The next day yielded no additional clues. We headed to Mimi’s apartment complex and had a talk with the apartment manager, but again, the only thing she remembered about Mimi was that she’d dropped off her rent checks on time, and she’d been a quiet tenant up until she’d blown herself up. I doubted that the woman remembered Mimi at all, and had only looked in her records to see if Mimi Greene had paid her rent before turning on the gas and lighting the match.
The thing that Candice and I had both registered from the visit with the woman, though, was that she knew that Mimi had committed suicide. We wondered about that enough to track down the fire marshal who’d issued the arson report and have a chat with him. He remembered having a talk over the phone with some guy claiming to have been Mimi’s fiancé. He said that the man had called him to inquire about the fire in her apartment, but he couldn’t remember if the guy had even given his full name. We asked him to check through his calendar in the hope that he might’ve written it down, and he promised to get back to us if he either remembered it or found it on his calendar. We never heard from him.
At the end of another long day I headed back to the bureau with Candice and we took our carryout dinners into the conference room in search of a little peace and quiet, because the office was teeming with our agents, those from Homeland, and the police. The conference room, while empty of personnel, was littered with boxes and files, all involving the bombings. You couldn’t turn on the news without hearing about the case, and most of Austin was petrified to go out because locals were convinced that the bombings were a terrorist cell at work.
With a weary sigh I sat down at the table and lifted the lid of my grilled shrimp dinner. Candice was making me eat light so that I’d fit easily into my wedding dress…if there was a wedding. Cat was so mad at me she was practically spitting fire, and she’d now tasked Jenny Makeanote to pin me down on the remaining last-minute details. There were half a dozen voice mails from the poor assistant, and at some point I knew I’d need to put her out of her misery and call her back.
We ate in moody silence for a bit. Candice and I were both frustrated with the lack of progress and not up for casual conversation. My gaze kept drifting to the clutter on the table. Nearby was a photo of someone who looked familiar to me. It was paper-clipped to a thin file. Curious, I pulled it closer and saw that the picture was the driver’s license photo of the photographer I’d ratted on at the FedEx bombing scene. The photog’s name was Simon Salisbury, and lifting the lid on the folder, I discovered he had a criminal record. Busted for drugs five years previously, he spent about six months in the county lockup. “What’cha got there?” Candice asked me.
I looked up. “This is the file on that photographer we caught snapping pictures yesterday at the crime scene.”
“Anything interesting?”
“He has a record. Drugs. Spent a little time at county.”
“How long ago?”
“Five years.”
Candice tapped her fork with her index finger thoughtfully. “He owns his own business, right? The photography studio?”
“He does,” I said, immediately knowing where she was going with that. “But he doesn’t look much like the sketch Haley gave us.” Haley had sat with an artist who’d drawn up a mock-up of the elusive Buzz. The sketch was pretty generic, showing a round-faced man with a thick neck and flat nose. He could have been anyone, really.
“Oh, that sketch is ridiculous,” Candice scoffed. “It doesn’t even look like a real person. I mean, it’s so generic that it could be this dude,” Candice said, leaning over to look at the photo.
My radar wasn’t buying that theory, however. “I don’t think it’s him.”
“No?”
I shook my head. “We should still run it by Haley to make doubly sure, but…” My voice trailed off.
“What?”
I closed the folder and stared at Simon’s photo. I didn’t like him. He seemed like a sort of weaselly character and his energy was suspicious—like he often skirted the line between right and wrong. “I’m not sure,” I said. “But I feel like he’s connected to all this somehow.”
“Connected? You mean like he’s connected to this Buzz guy?”
A small lightbulb went off in my mind. “Yes!” Turning to her excitedly, I said, “I think he knows who this Buzz guy is!”
Candice checked her watch, then pushed her partially eaten dinner aside and slid the folder out of my hands. She opened the flap and trailed her finger down the page, which was a list of general information collected by the agent who’d interviewed Simon. “Let’s give him a call,” Candice said, pulling the conference room phone close to her so that she could dial. She waited through the rings and then mouthed, “Voice mail.” She left a message for Salisbury to call her, then hung up and gathered her purse and the file.
“Let’s go to Haley’s first, then see if Simon’s home.”
We met Haley in her living room with her parents sitting on either side of her protectively. We showed her the picture of Simon Salisbury, but her face showed no sign that she recognized him. “Who is he?” she asked.
“Someone who may know Buzz,” Candice said casually. “Have you ever seen him before?”
Haley shook her head. “No. He looks creepy.”
I hid a smirk. Haley was pretty sharp. “You’re sure you’ve never seen him before?” I pressed. “He was never in the store with Buzz?”
Haley shook her head again. “Buzz always came in alone.”
“Did he ever mention having a friend who owned a photography studio?”
Haley shook her head for a third time.
Still, I was convinced there was a connection. We thanked Haley and her parents for their time, then headed out in search of the photographer.
We went to the address listed on the info sheet, but there was no sign of either him or his car. We then headed over to the crime scene in case he’d decided to ignore the crime-scene tape and had entered his studio, but the entire strip mall was dark and quiet—the burned-out hull of the FedEx store still filling the air with an acrid smell.
“Where is this guy?” I wondered.
Candice yawned. It was going on nine o’clock and we’d already had a loooong couple of days. “Let’s camp out at his house until ten and see if he comes home.”
After stopping at a nearby Starbucks, we did just that, but the stakeout was fruitless. We waited until midnight and Simon never came home.
Calling it a night, we headed back to Candice’s, finding Brice asleep on the couch, surrounded by files. Candice gently woke him and made sure my “bed” was free of clutter, then promised to help track down Simon with me the next day.
We had a slow start the next day, the three of us waking up exhausted and grumpy. I dug through my suitcase for something appropriate to wear, but I’d packed most of my business outfits and sent them on to the new house, so in the end I had to settle for jeans and a waist-length leather jacket. At least I had my black boots with me. Candice gave me a subtle once-over when she came out of her room, but she didn’t comment. Still, I made sure to let her know that my business attire had been packed up.
She moved to the hall closet and retrieved a sharp-looking scarf. “Here,” she said, winding it around my neck. “It’ll dress you up a bit.”
We made our way to Simon’s and parked in front of his house, nibbling on pumpkin spice muffins and sipping more Starbucks coffee. The air was crisp and the sky was gloomy—perfect weather for Halloween, and decidedly imperfect for a wedding. It was like the universe was trying to tell me something.
Salisbury didn’t show up at all, and around noon we decided to head back to the office to see if anything else had come up. Brice was in his office with Gaston and the chief of police along with a stern-looking man in a black suit and shiny gold tie. I assumed he was part of Homeland Security.
My phone buzzed. It was Cat. For once I took the call. “Abby,” she began, in that voice that said, “I will kill you if you say no….”
“Hi, Cat,” I said, trying to muster up that same enthusiasm that I’d been lacking for weeks.
“I need to take your final measurements, and you have yet to sit with the hairstylist! The makeup artist also needs to settle on a palette for you, and if I know you, you have yet to get yourself a manicure and pedicure. And I need you to pick out which headpiece you’re going to wear. You keep putting all these things off, and you’re making me so stressed-out!”
Cat’s voice broke with emotion and I felt myself stiffen. I knew I drove her crazy, but I hadn’t realized I was actually making her break down. “I can come right over,” I told her.
Candice turned her head to look at me, her brow raised.
Cat sniffled. “I need Candice too. She has to go through a dry run with the stylist and makeup artist.”
“We’re on our way,” I said, reaching for Candice’s arm. Her eyes widened and she began to shake her head, so I clamped my hand firmly on to her elbow. “We’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”
We arrived at Cat’s offices and were met at the elevator by Jenny. She was holding a basket and when we stepped off the elevator, she pushed the basket forward and said, “Mrs. Cooper-Masters would like you to place your cell phones in here.”
Candice laughed. Not nicely. Sort of evilly. That worried me. “Of course!” I said, immediately dumping my phone into the basket.
Candice crossed her arms in a move that said, “I double-dog-dare you to take away my phone.”
Jenny gulped, but the young woman held her ground, continuing to hold the basket out expectantly.
I nudged Candice with my shoulder. “Come on, Cassidy. It’s only for an hour or two.”
“What if there’s a break in the case?” she said.
“Then there are a hundred agents and police who can act on it.”
Candice took in a deep breath and let it out slow, all the while glaring hard at Jenny Makeanote. Still, Cat’s assistant stood her ground, and I gave her huge props for that. Maybe she didn’t know that Candice had a black belt in judo. And maybe she didn’t know that my partner had also trained with the merchant marines. And maybe she didn’t know that Candice’s hands were registered with the FBI as lethal weapons.
…Okay, so I made that last part up, but seriously, Candice wasn’t someone you stood up to if you knew how formidable (deadly) she could be. And yet, Candice at last handed over her phone, and when she did, I saw the slightest hint of approval in her eyes for little Miss Makeanote.
We walked to the back of the suite, and this time I was definitely convinced that Cat had hired more people. She was building up her Austin office really quickly. Too quickly for my taste. I loved Cat, but I loved to love her at a distance…say, the distance between Austin and Boston.
The minute we walked through the door of the conference room, we were pretty much assaulted. There was the hairstylist, dress stylist, seamstress, makeup artist, manicurist, aesthetician, and of course my sister acting like the ringmaster at Ringling Bros.
She deftly issued orders, talked on the phone, and constantly checked the weather reports for the weekend—which held a small ray of hope. “We might get a bit of clearing skies by midafternoon,” she said. “Which means we’ll want to photograph you and Dutch after the ceremony rather than before. You might be a little late to the reception, but a good wedding photo is worth making the guests wait a bit.”
Cat kept us for the entire day. At one point, Candice and I simply glanced at each other across the room and dissolved into laughter. We were both so tired, anxious, and worried about solving the case that Cat and her circus were actually the perfect ridiculous distraction.
Around six o’clock Cat released us, and Jenny returned our phones. We both immediately checked our screens—not a single message for either of us. Candice called Brice from the car and put him on speaker. He sounded worn down to the nub. “We’ve still got a big fat nothing,” he said. “Unless you count the four hundred phone calls that’ve poured into the tip line in the past two hours.”
“Whoa!” I said. “Four hundred tips? What the freak?”
“APD released Haley’s sketch to the local news, hoping it’d generate a lead. I fought hard against the idea, because that damn sketch looks more like Charlie Brown than a real person.”
I glanced at the clock. The six o’clock news would just be airing, which meant another round of calls was about to roll in.
“Did you want us to come there and field calls?” Candice asked. I held in a groan. There was nothing worse than fielding calls from a tip line. The vast majority of them were a complete waste of time.
“Nah,” Brice said. “You two were working some other lead, right?”
“Simon Salisbury,” Candice reminded him. “Abs thinks there’s a connection between him and the unsub.”
“Yeah? Do you think the bomb was really meant for Salisbury and his studio?”
I blinked. I hadn’t connected that very important dot, but hearing Brice say it out loud confirmed it in my gut. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I think that’s exactly who the target was.”
“Our explosives expert says that the device strapped to Debbie didn’t go off early. He says the timer ran out and she was trying to get out of the harness when it detonated.”
“Any footage from security cameras?” I asked hopefully.
“None,” Brice said. “The cameras that would’ve caught anything were connected to the FedEx store and it burned to the ground.”
“Has the coroner confirmed that it was Debbie?” I asked next.
“About an hour ago. It took a while to track down her next of kin and her dentist.” Brice then changed tacks again and asked, “Have you already talked to Salisbury?”
“Not yet,” Candice said, without going into detail about how we’d spent our afternoon. “We’ve been running by his house, but nobody’s home.”
“Okay, well, keep on that,” Brice said, sounding distracted. “On line three?” we heard him say. “Okay, tell him I’ll be right there. Babe, I gotta go. The director’s on the other line.”
We clicked off with Brice and headed back over to Salisbury’s place. The house was dark and leaves were beginning to pile up in front of his door from the large red oak on his front lawn. There was no garage, just a carport, and no car in sight of the house either on the street or in the carport. “Where the hell could he be?” Candice asked, opening his file again to skim the pages.
“My guess is that he’s gone into hiding. I mean a guy with a record like that…the last thing he needs is for the FBI to start poking around in his life.”
“Or he’s hiding because he knows that he was really the target,” she countered.
I nodded. “Exactly. We have to find him, Candice. This unsub’s gotta know he missed his target. Salisbury could still be in danger.”
Candice closed the file and set it down. Then she reclined her seat a little and laid her head tiredly against the headrest. “We’ll wait here a while, and if he doesn’t show, then I’ll call his parole officer in the morning and see if there’s someplace else Salisbury goes in his off time.”
“Like where?”
Candice shrugged. “A girlfriend’s or a relative’s. Or a buddy’s house.”
We sat in silence for a while, but something kept niggling at me. I picked up the file and clicked on the overhead light to read it. “The question I have is, why?”
“Why what?”
“Why Salisbury? I mean, what connection would he have to Mimi?”
“What connection did the beauty shop have to her? Or the dress shop at the mall for that matter?” Candice said, laying her head back and closing her eyes.
I tapped the back of the folder with my finger and the answer suddenly came to me. At almost the exact same moment, I saw Candice sit straight up and turn to me. “Wedding vendors!”
I nodded. “Yes!”
Candice turned her head to look out the front window again. “Do you think Buzz picked them randomly? Or do you think that he picked them because they were the ones he used for his own wedding?”
I sighed. Besides Buzz himself, there were only four people who could’ve answered that, and three of them were dead. “Since we can’t ask Mimi, Rita Watson, or Carly Threadgill, the only person left who can tell us is Salisbury.”
Candice nodded. “We gotta find him,” she said, moving her seat back to upright again, and looking more alert than I’d seen her all night.
All that alert energy was to no avail, however. By ten thirty, with no sign of Salisbury we called it a night. On the way home, Candice called Brice and put him on speakerphone. We let him in on our theory. He said he’d try to get a warrant in the morning and send Cox and Rodriguez over to Salisbury’s studio to look through the photographer’s customer records. He then asked us if we needed help finding Salisbury, and I knew that Candice wasn’t going to just hand over our lead to him. “We got it, babe,” she said sweetly. “You guys have your hands full working all those tips. If we don’t find Salisbury by the end of the day tomorrow, we’ll ask for help.”
I took a long shower when we got back to Candice’s, wanting very much to clean the ugly feeling of this case off me. When I emerged, Candice held up a bowl of ice cream and pointed to my phone. “Dutch called,” she said. “And I dished you out some comfort food.”
I smiled and took a seat on the couch next to her, going first for the phone. I listened to Dutch’s sweet message, wishing me a good night’s sleep and hoping that I wasn’t working too hard.
“You okay?” Candice asked when I wiped at my eyes.
“Fine,” I told her, clearing my throat. “Thanks.” Candice rubbed my arm sympathetically and it helped to have her company and her understanding.
I tried calling Dutch back, but the phone went straight to voice mail. It was well past eleven; he’d obviously gone to sleep. I drowned my sorrows in the Ben & Jerry’s my BFF had dished out for me, and a short time later was fast asleep.
I woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee and toast. “Morning,” Brice said when I sat up.
“Hey, there, boss man.” Brice looked terrible. Like, haggard and gray from lack of sleep and stress. I could only imagine the tremendous pressure he must be under from his own bosses and the community at large to solve this case. “What time did you get in?”
Brice lifted his wrist, only to see it bare, so he turned to look at the clock on the microwave. “About three hours ago.”
“Yikes. I think you need to go back to bed.”
“No time for that,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee only to make a face and stare into his mug. “Damn.”
“What?”
Brice lifted the lid of the coffeemaker. “I forgot to put the grounds in.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from chuckling and got up to help him with the coffee. When I came around the counter, I noticed that the toast was a bit crispy too, and by crispy I mean black and burnt.
I pointed to the couch. “Sit. I’ll make your coffee and a decent breakfast.”
Brice nodded dully and shuffled over to the kitchen table. While I was chopping up some veggies to put in his omelet, he nodded off. Candice came out of the bedroom, looking pretty exhausted herself. “How long’s he been like that?” she asked, pouring herself a cup of joe.
“You mean asleep-asleep? Or just asleep on his feet? ’Cause if you’re talking the former, about ten minutes. If you’re talking the latter—at least the past three days.”
Candice sighed and moved to the couch to retrieve the afghan I’d slept with. She fitted it around Brice’s shoulders and kissed him sweetly on the cheek. “Thank God he’ll be forced to take tomorrow off.”
I was distracted with the vegetables, which might explain why I replied with, “Why? What’s tomorrow?”
I didn’t hear her answer, so I picked my head up to look at her. She was staring at me with a bit of bewildered alarm. “Your wedding.”
I felt my cheeks heat. “Oh! Yeah…” I laughed and tried to make a joke of it. “I was just testing you.”
Candice came to the kitchen counter and pulled up a barstool. “You okay?”
I was gently tossing garlic, peppers, spinach, and mushrooms into a hot pan. “Sure. Why?”
“You don’t sound so keen on this idea of getting married.”
I felt my shoulders stiffen. “Well, of course I am!” I made sure to keep my face averted from her. “I mean, tomorrow I’ll become Mrs. Dutch Rivers! Who wouldn’t want that?”
Several seconds went by before Candice spoke again. “Abs?”
“Yeah?”
“Why’re you crying?”
I hadn’t realized she’d heard my sniffles. “I’m not.”
“Abs…”
“It’s fine! Everything’s fine!”
“Sundance…”
“Please, Candice?”
I heard her sigh, but she didn’t continue to press it, and I discreetly wiped my eyes and concentrated on making Brice the best damn omelet ever created.
Candice woke him when it was time to eat, and while she and Brice sat at the table, I made two more omelets for her and me. Brice left just as I was plating my own breakfast, thanking me for the coffee and eggs and promising to see me later at the restaurant.
I’d forgotten about the rehearsal dinner. Doing my best to hide my worry from Candice, I tucked into my meal, but I wasn’t really hungry. She in turn pretended to ignore my distress and talked about our agenda for the day. “I need to go to our office,” she said. “I want to dig into Salisbury’s life a little and see if he’s got any relatives living in the area.”
“You think he might be hiding out somewhere close?”
“I do. I think, if he isn’t legally keeping his nose clean, then he’ll be looking for a way to stay close to his drug clients, especially with his studio shut down.”
“How long do you think the strip mall will be off-limits to the store owners?”
“They’ll probably release the crime scene late today, after Cox and Rodriguez have a chance to look through Salisbury’s records,” Candice said.
“And who knows when Salisbury will show up to open his shop again?” I said. “I mean, even if there is a customer record on file in Salisbury’s studio, would we know who to look for, since Buzz is simply a nickname?”
Candice sighed. “That’s why you and I have to track him down today, Abs.”
I nodded. “Let’s hope we can find him, Candice, because he could be the last hope we have of trying to find this unsub.”
“I did have another thought that I wanted to go through with you,” she said.
“What?”
“Well, I keep wondering about Banes. Why would our unsub contact him of all people?”
“When we interviewed him, he swore he didn’t recognize the voice on his answering machine.”
“Yes. But the voice could have been disguised in some way. I mean, you heard it, Abs. The unsub could have used a program on his phone to disguise his voice.”
“There is. In fact there’re a couple.”
I made a face. “Figures.”
“Anyway, I called Banes’s nurse this morning,” she continued. “You were right about him. He did have a stroke, a pretty massive one too. His condition is grave, he’s in a coma, and his nurse doesn’t think he’s got a lot of time, so there’s no way to interview him. I want to dig around in his case files and see if there’s a connection to Mimi.”
My brow lifted. “I hadn’t thought of him having a connection to her.”
“There might be none, but I thought it’d be worth checking on just to rule it out.”
I nodded. “Good idea. We’ll run as many leads down today as we can before time runs out.” I felt a shudder go through me, and goose bumps formed along my arms.
Candice cocked her head. “You okay, Sundance?”
I stood up. “Fine. But I better hit the shower and get ready.”
* * *
Candice and I arrived at our office a little after eight thirty, and she got right to work searching through Salisbury’s info for a relative nearby where he might be hiding out.
I straightened up my own side of the suite for a bit, but started to feel a little helpless. Also, I missed Dutch terribly after not seeing much of him in the past five days. Thinking up a pretty good excuse, I called him. “Morning, dollface,” he said with a gravelly voice.
“You’re still in bed?” I was surprised. Between us, Dutch was usually the early riser.
“The brothers took me out last night for an impromptu bachelor party.”
Dutch yawned. “It was terrible. But don’t tell them that. I spent most of the night missing you.”
I squeezed the receiver. “I know, cowboy. Me too.”
“You’re gonna stay away tonight again, huh?”
I opened my mouth to tell him to hell with tradition, that I’d be home in the next hour, but what came out was, “Yeah. Don’t want to tempt fate by seeing you before the wedding on our special day.”
Dutch yawned again. “Well, at least you’re mine at the rehearsal dinner tonight.”
I smiled. Yes. At least there was that. “Listen, I actually called to see if you could give me the name of that detective from APD who’s been your little buddy lately.” Dutch had been quasi-mentoring a young rookie from APD who thought FBI special agent Dutch Rivers walked on water.
“Gavin?”
“Uh…yeah. Him.”
“Gavin Spivey. You want his direct line at APD?”
“Please?”
Dutch gave it to me and we chatted for a little longer before promising to see each other later. I then pushed all melancholy and troubled thoughts out of my head and dialed Detective Spivey’s number. The phone was answered by a woman. “Grayson,” she said, in a voice full of authority.
“Uh…hello?” I was confused. Had I misdialed?
“This is Detective Grayson,” she replied. “How can I help you?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m looking for Detective Spivey.”
“He’s off today,” she told me. “And I’m covering his desk. Is there something I can help you with?”
I hesitated. I was hoping that I could talk Spivey into looking up any record associated with Mimi Greene that might link her to Jed Banes. I was pretty sure the young rookie detective would do it if he thought that the request had come through Dutch, but the fact that he was off that day put a bit of a monkey wrench into things.
“Ma’am?” Detective Grayson said. “You still there?”
I made a snap decision. She had the energy of someone you could trust, so trust her I did. I identified myself and told her that I was a civilian consultant with the FBI investigating a few leads connected to the bombing cases, and said that I was running down a lead on a possible connection between Mary or “Mimi” Greene and the retired detective Jed Banes.
“That old bastard’s involved in this?” Grayson said, but there was a touch of humor in her question.
“You know Banes?”
“I do, although I haven’t seen him in a while. He got a bad rep and in my opinion a bad rap for some bullshit that went down a few years ago. But he always looked out for me, so I guess you could say I’m partial to the old geezer.”
“Did you know he’s currently in the hospital?” I asked.
“In the hospital?” she repeated. “Is he sick?”
“My partner and I went to see him last week and he wasn’t well. Emphysema, I think. When we came back to reinterview him, we found him unconscious and in a really bad way. He’s had a stroke and he’s now in a coma and isn’t expected to live much longer.”
Grayson was quiet for a time. “Well, damn,” she whispered. “The poor old geezer…” There was a little pause, then, “You say you’re trying to run down a lead between him and someone else?”
I could hear her fingers clicking on a keyboard. “Mary Greene,” I told her. “But she went by Mimi. I doubt there’s a connection, but we just want to make sure that we’ve covered all our—”
“Here it is,” Grayson interrupted. “Banes filed a report on a Mary Greene about a year ago. Looks like she had made some sort of comment to a friend about wanting to harm herself, and Banes was working some overtime out on patrol when the friend contacted police. Banes responded to the call, checked on the girl, talked with her for an hour or two, and determined that the threat wasn’t imminent. The report also shows that he followed up with her two days later to check and see that she was okay, and to drop off the name and address of a local support group. He says here that Greene was distraught over a breakup with her fiancé.”
I was sitting forward on my chair, holding my breath, while Detective Grayson spoke. When she finished, I said, “Is there anything else in the report?”
“Nope. It ends there.”
Holy freakballs. We’d just closed the loop, but with Banes in a coma, we were helpless to get any more information out of him. He’d talked to Mary at length. He had to know something about her fiancé—this elusive “Buzz.”
“Does it say in there who called in the report to APD?” I asked.
“No,” Grayson said. “It says an anonymous male caller phoned it in and that he refused to give his name, saying only that he’d received a disturbing e-mail from a friend of his named Mary Greene, and then he gave her address before hanging up.”
My skin tingled. I had a feeling that Buzz had been the “friend.”
“Can you send me a copy of that report, Detective Grayson?” I asked.
“Not without a formal request from the FBI.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll have my boss call you. Will you be at this number for a bit?”
“I’ll wait on the call, Miss Cooper.”
I thanked her profusely, hung up, and did a quick hobble step into Candice’s office. After filling her in, we both called Brice, who promised to call Grayson. “It explains why this Buzz guy may have called Banes,” I said to Candice after we’d hung up with Brice. “He was the only person in this whole chain of people who took the time to try to help Mimi.”
Candice tapped her finger to her lips. “But why call him at all?” she wondered aloud. “I mean, if Buzz thought Banes had tried to help Mimi, then why call him to taunt him with the threat of an explosion going off in two hours?”
I felt I knew the answer. “Because Buzz is creating a ritual. He was the one who originally called APD to report that Mimi might harm herself, and Banes responded to that first call.”
“How do you know that?” Candice asked me.
“It’s a gut feeling,” I told her, knowing deep down that I was right. “I bet he got Mimi’s e-mail, sensed she was feeling depressed and guilty, and maybe there was even something in there about wanting to die, so he called nine-one-one. We know that Buzz has a history of keeping close tabs on the women he’s been abducting—I bet he was watching Mimi’s apartment that night after he called, and I bet he tracked down which officer responded to the call.”
My partner still looked doubtful.
“Buzz is repeating history, Candice,” I pressed. “He’s eulogizing Mimi by repeating certain things that led up to her taking her own life. The two hours on the timers of the bombs represent the two hours he waited for Mimi at the altar. The women he’s choosing are all connected to her. The venues he forces them to go to are all wedding vendors they may have used for their own wedding. The call to Banes is just another part of that narrative.”
Candice sat quietly for a moment, taking all that in. At last she nodded. “We have to find Salisbury,” she said. “If Buzz knows the photographer is one of the few people that can identify him, he may try to kill him again.”
“Any ideas where to look?” I asked, already sensing she’d come up with a lead.
She held up a piece of paper. “Salisbury’s younger sister lives on the east side of town.”
“What’re we waiting for?” I asked, already turning to head back to my office for my purse and Fast Freddy.
We arrived at a low ranch home with burnt-orange shutters and white trim about twenty minutes later, and the moment Candice put the car into park, we knew we’d hit pay dirt.
In the driveway was a silver Ford F-150 with the license tag PHOTOG. “Well, hello, Mr. Salisbury,” Candice whispered with a satisfied smirk.
We got out and approached the front door just as it opened and out stepped the elusive photographer. He seemed truly startled to see us coming up the front walk, and I saw him tuck a duffel bag behind him protectively. “Hey, Simon,” Candice called breezily.
“Who’re you?” he asked, his eyes darting warily between us.
“You don’t recognize me?” I asked. “Aw, Simon, and here I thought we shared something special the other day.”
He squinted at me. And then he glared hard. “You’re the bitch that had me put in that cop car and taken in for questioning.”
I smiled and placed a hand over my heart. “Guilty as charged.”
“This is harassment—,” he began, but Candice cut him off.
“Relax, buddy. We just want to ask you about this guy.” Candice pulled out the rather generic sketch of Buzz and presented it to Salisbury.
He glanced at it before lifting his gaze back to us, but then I saw his eyes flicker to the sketch again and the tiniest hint of recognition appeared on his face. “Don’t know him,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
Liar, liar, pants on fire…, went a small voice inside my head. “Bullshit,” I told him. “Who is he, Simon?”
Salisbury scowled at me, and I knew we’d never get him to cooperate. He was too mistrustful of authority. “I said I don’t know him.”
I balled my hands into fists. “Oh, cut the crap! Who the hell is he?”
Salisbury shook his head and adjusted the strap on his duffel bag. “I gotta be somewhere,” he said, attempting to move past us.
Candice stepped in his path and held up the sketch again. “Why would this guy send a bomb to your doorstep, Simon?” she asked.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” he snapped, working to move around her.
I stepped into his path too. “He’s the guy that strapped a bomb to a woman and told her to go visit you, Simon,” I said. “Why would he try to blow you up?”
Salisbury looked as if he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable…. Also…increasingly scared. “Get the hell out of my way!”
But we wouldn’t. Every time he tried to move around us, we double-teamed to block him. Finally he moved to shove past Candice and she caught his duffel bag and pulled it right off his shoulder. “Ow!” she cried, pretending to fall to the ground with the bag. “Dude! You hit me with this bag!”
“Give that back to me!” he yelled, moving to grab the handle.
Candice swung out her leg and caught Salisbury midcalf. He went down hard and she was on top of him in an instant. “How dare you attempt to assault me!” she said, pulling his arms behind his back and securing them with her knee. Then she looked up at me and added, “Call for backup.”
While I was on the phone with Brice, Candice pulled the duffel over to her and unzipped it. All the while Salisbury struggled to get up, but she had her knee jammed hard against his elbow, and every time he squirmed, the pressure threatened to dislocate his shoulder.
I was giving Brice the address when Candice unzipped the bag, and I saw her hand fly to her mouth. “Hey, hold on a sec,” I told Brice. “Candice, what is it?”
Candice lifted her chin to me and I could see a look of utter horror and abject disgust on her face. She held open the bag and I saw that it was filled with photos. Photos of young girls wearing all sorts of S&M paraphernalia but otherwise naked. The youngest girl I saw couldn’t have been older than ten. “Oh, you son of a bitch…,” I whispered.
“That’s not my bag!” Salisbury shouted. “I was holding it for a friend!”
My stomach turned and I said to Brice, “We’ve got another problem…”
* * *
Hours later we were still dealing with our encounter with Salisbury. Cox and Rodriguez had come up with bubkes. When they got the warrant early that morning, they’d noticed that the tape across the door of the photography studio had been tampered with, and when they went inside, they discovered Salisbury’s computer was missing—along with all his customer files.
Salisbury himself had completely clammed up, and wasn’t saying a word until his lawyer got there. We all knew we weren’t going to get a peep out of him about our unsub until some sort of a deal had been made on the child pornography charges, but we were days away from assessing how many crimes Salisbury had committed, and special teams from both the FBI and APD had been dispatched to his home and photography studio in search of more child pornography evidence. In the attic and in a wall safe in the back of the studio, they found plenty. The bastard.
The sun was starting to set when Candice came to wrap an arm around my shoulders while I stared meanly through the mirrored glass at the slime bucket photographer. “Rodriguez just got word that Mimi’s phone records will be available to us on Monday.”
I glanced up at the clock. It read quarter after five. “Leave it to the phone company to take their time expediting critical evidence,” I grumbled.
Candice squeezed my shoulders. “Yep. But what it really means is that it’s finally time for you to set this aside, Sundance.”
I squinted at her. “What do you mean?”
“You need to step away from this case and head off to the altar, honey. It’s time to let it go and let us take care of it. With the phone records coming next week, we’ll finally be able to put a name and a face to this Buzz by Monday afternoon. Tuesday at the latest.”
I sighed and rested my head against her shoulder. Part of me wanted to continue to work the case until Buzz was brought in, while another part of me wanted only to walk away from it forever.
“Come on,” Candice coaxed. “Let’s get you dressed and to your rehearsal. Your sister will kill us if we’re late.”
The wedding rehearsal was only slightly better than a well-orchestrated disaster. Candice and I were late; Dutch, his brothers, and Milo had hit happy hour a little early (and were thus in giggly, slaphappy form); Brice had to skip the event because he was still hard at work on the bombing case; and Cat was making everyone wince through the use of her bullhorn.
Poor Jenny Makeanote looked harried and was scribbling so fast on her iPad that I thought she’d need to have her wrist checked for carpal tunnel later, and to cap it all off, the minister arrived coughing and wheezing and in full chest cold mode. His voice would never hold up through the ceremony the next day, but he gave his best effort, and after only eleven practice run-throughs, Cat let us go, but she didn’t look at all happy.
She approached me gripping her bullhorn with fire in her eyes. “We have a problem.”
“Only one?” I asked, maybe a weensy bit too sarcastically.
Cat glared hard at me and raised the bullhorn. “I’m not in the mood, Abby!”
I winced—man, that thing was loud.
Candice came to my side in a show of support. “Hey, Cat,” she said. “Everything okay?”
Cat shoved a clipboard at me but replied to Candice. “No!” she yelled (thankfully without the use of the bullhorn). “They’re predicting rain tomorrow and twenty-five-mile-an-hour wind gusts! We might have to move the ceremony inside, which means no butterflies, swans, or cupids!”
In that moment I’d never prayed so hard for rain in my whole life.
But Cat continued. “Also, I hear that some of the guests have been leaving messages on Abby’s voice mail. I have no idea who’s coming and who’s not!”
Cat looked like she was close to having a meltdown. She’d been shouldering all of the stress of the wedding for me and I started to feel really guilty—especially since my cell indicated I had something like twenty-two voice mails on it that I hadn’t bothered listening to. “Okay, honey,” I said to her. “I’ll check it over. And don’t worry about the ceremony. Inside, outside—what does it matter?”
Cat looked at me with such fury that I took a step back. “It. Matters.”
Candice and I were quick to nod. “Yes, of course it does,” I said. “Sorry. I think I’ve got the prewedding jitters and stuff is just coming out of my mouth all willy-nilly—”
“Sundance,” Candice interrupted.
“Yeah?”
“Shut it.”
“Okay.”
Candice and I both pushed big old smiles onto our faces and squared our shoulders like good little soldiers.
Cat’s glare intensified, and then her gaze dropped to the guest list in my hands like she expected me to get right on it…and I wasn’t about to do that because it sounded like a real pain in the keister and why not just let the guests come or not come on their own?
Candice lifted the clipboard out of my hand and surveyed the guest list. “I’ll help Abby with this, Cat,” she promised, which was Candice-speak for “I’ll tell you what you want to hear if only you’ll cut us some slack, Cat.”
Cat’s glare diminished to a simple scowl before she raised her hand and snapped her fingers. Jenny Makeanote was at her side in a hot second, and with one nod from Cat, Jenny was off again, hurrying into the reception tent only to rush right back out holding two garment bags, which she gave to Cat, who in turn handed one each to us. “Here are your dresses. The limo will be at Candice’s condo at eight thirty a.m. and the driver will take you anywhere you’d like for breakfast, but you’ll need to be here promptly at ten a.m. I’ve assigned you the two dressing rooms on the ground floor. Abby, you’ll have the one at the back of the corridor straight off the main hall. Candice, yours is the second-to-last door on the left of that corridor. I have hair and makeup scheduled for both of you at ten thirty and eleven—there was some mix-up with the schedule, so you’ll each be getting makeup before hair. Please don’t put on your gowns until after you’ve had your hair and makeup applied. Abby, Jenny will be available if you need someone to help you dress.”
I felt my face flush. She was starting to sound a bit too much like my mother for my taste. “I’ll be fine, Cat, thanks.”
“The ceremony is at three, right?” Candice said.
“Yes. Promptly at three. If the rain holds off, then we’ll do the ceremony first and most of the pictures second, but, Abby, the photographer will want to get some photos of you prior to the ceremony, so be ready for him no later than two o’clock.”
“Are Dutch, Milo, and Brice getting ready here?” I asked, glancing at my fiancé, who was still laughing and joking with Milo and his brothers.
“No. They’re having breakfast together along with Dutch’s brothers, his mom, and his aunt. Then everyone will be driven here, where Dottie and Vivian will be given the upstairs dressing rooms, and the boys will be given full run of the guesthouse.”
“Guesthouse? What guesthouse?”
Cat rolled her eyes. “The one right over there.” I looked to where Cat was pointing and saw a modest-sized cottage on the other side of the lawn about fifty yards away.
“I’ve also secured the newlywed suite for the two of you for tomorrow night.”
“Newlywed suite?”
Cat’s scowl deepened. “If you’d come here and taken the tour like I told you to eight hundred times, you’d know that there is a romantic cottage up that cliff and tucked into those woods.”
I again looked to where she was pointing and very faintly I could just make out the outline of a stone cottage way up the bluff overlooking the lawn we were standing on. Holding up my cane, I asked, “How the heck am I supposed to get up there?” There was clearly no road up to the cottage, and with my cane and bad hips there was no way I could hike up the side of a steep bluff.
Cat pointed to her left at the woods that flanked that portion of the lawn. “If you go to the left of the driveway out front, there’s a little footpath that leads to a gondola made for two that takes you up to the cottage.”
“A gondola?” Was she kidding?
“It’s perfectly safe, Abby,” Cat said.
“I’ve been up in it many times,” Jenny Makeanote assured me. “It’s actually a beautiful ride through the trees.”
I wasn’t convinced until Cat said, “I thought you’d be excited to have a little cottage to yourselves up in the hills where no one can get to you. I mean, with Dutch’s brothers staying at your house…” She let the last part of that sentence trail off, and after thinking about it, and all the practical jokes Mike, Chris, and Paul might pull on us, I pushed that well-practiced smile onto my lips and nodded like a happy-faced bobblehead. “Awesome! What’s a wedding night of bliss without a gondola ride?”
Cat narrowed her eyes at me. She could sense fake enthusiasm a gondola ride away. “Anyway,” she continued, “as I said, you’ll need to be dressed and ready by two. The photographer swears that with such a small wedding party he can get all the pictures he needs in an hour, and the rest during and after the ceremony. Which reminds me, Jenny Makeanote, I need to sign the checks for the photographer, caterer, and baker tonight so that you can deliver them promptly when they arrive here tomorrow.”
A tiny thread of a thought floated up from the back of my mind, but at that moment Cat raised her bullhorn again and yelled, “Let’s go, people! We have the rehearsal dinner to get to! And Milo, please make sure the Rivers boys aren’t driving, okay?”
Just like that, whatever thought had been about to surface evaporated and I was whisked off to a celebratory dinner, wishing the whole time that Dutch and I could sneak away and avoid the next day entirely.
* * *
I woke up on the day of my wedding feeling terrible. It might have been that I’d been sleeping on a lumpy couch for five days. Or it could have been that I’d had several glasses of red wine the night before. Or it could have been that I’d had a restless and fitful night’s sleep, never really falling into more than a doze.
Mostly, though, it was probably because I didn’t want to show up to my own wedding.
I sat up blearily and listened. The clock on the far wall said it was half past five, but no stirring sounds came from Brice and Candice’s room. They appeared to be sleeping in.
I felt too restless to stay put, so I stood up, got dressed, left Candice a note in case she woke up and wondered where I was, and headed out.
I spent some time in my favorite coffee shop. It was nice and quiet on a Saturday morning, but after a while I felt too anxious and troubled to stay there too.
Getting in my car, I drove over to the new house. Several cars were parked in our driveway, but I didn’t pull in. Instead I sat at the top of the drive, staring at our new beautiful home, and simply couldn’t shake the ominous feeling I had that today was going to be awful.
Tears welled in my eyes for no reason I could identify, but I was helpless to stop them. I just felt sad. Terribly, terribly sad. And the more I tried to rationalize it as simply being overwhelmed by the wedding and the case I’d been working, the more the melancholy seemed to settle into my bones.
Finally I drove off and just meandered around the winding roads for an hour or two. I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t know that I could talk to either Candice or Dutch about what I was feeling without them thinking the wrong thing.
Around then I got a text from Candice asking where I was. Remembering the limo and our plans for breakfast, I texted her an apology and told her to go ahead without me. I’d meet her at the venue. She immediately called my phone, but I didn’t pick up. I couldn’t talk to her without completely losing it and all I wanted was a little time to myself to try to pull it together.
I drove south to a park I knew and pulled into a space near a man-made lake and just stared out the window for a while. But my emotions wouldn’t settle and the more I tried to figure out what the heck was going on with me, the more the answer seemed to elude me. I tried to think happy thoughts, that in just a few hours Dutch and I would be man and wife. I knew the idea should’ve made me happy, but it was as if some kind of a barrier had gone up inside me, and any thoughts about marrying Dutch only filled me with dread. In fact, the thought of walking down that aisle in a few hours made me almost physically ill.
Still, because so many people expected me to show up and smile like a good little bride, I eventually left the park and made my way over to the manor house, where I sat until nine, when the manager came out to let me in. She showed me to the room I’d been assigned, and then left me to go answer the doorbell. I saw that my gown had been placed on a hook next to a full-length mirror (after handing us our dresses the night before, Cat had thought better of it, and she’d grabbed them back and had them kept here).
I moved over to my dress and ran my hand down the beautiful silk. And then I burst into tears.
After having a good cry, I blew my nose, dried my eyes, and tried to find a distraction. Moving to the window, I focused on the wedding preparations. The day was gloomy, but the cold front that was supposed to sweep through Austin and bring rain and strong winds hadn’t arrived yet. In fact, there seemed to be small holes in the clouds where some rays of the sun were managing to get through.
Meanwhile, out on the lawn there was a flurry of activity—chairs were being set out, flowers were being arranged, a red carpet was being unrolled. Everyone was working hard, but I could see them all periodically give the sky a wary glance.
Cat and her bullhorn hadn’t yet arrived, but I knew she’d be here soon. In her place was Jenny Makeanote, who was talking to a man wearing Wellies with several pet carriers in tow. It seemed we were going to have swans after all. She handed him an envelope, then made a check mark on her clipboard before moving off to hand another envelope to a woman in a white apron I recognized from one of the meetings with Cat. She’d been the caterer, I thought.
With a sigh I moved away from the window and began checking out the digs. They were nice. There was a bottle of champagne chilling on a side table, along with a saran-wrapped fruit plate containing white grapes, pears, and sliced cheese. Nothing that might stain a wedding gown, I noticed.
There was also a photo album on the bureau, and curiously I opened it. Inside were the wedding photos of all the brides and grooms that had gotten married at the lovely estate.
As I was mindlessly flipping through the album, that tiny thread of a thought that I’d had in the back of my mind from the night before finally surfaced and bloomed so fully that I gasped. It had mingled with the image of Jenny handing envelopes to the swan handler and the caterer. “Checks!” I gasped. “He would have written them all checks or put down a deposit using a credit card!”
If I was right and Buzz had used Rita’s salon, Carly Threadgill’s bridal store, and Simon Salisbury’s photography studio for his own wedding, then he would have put down some sort of deposit and made a payment. We already had Carly’s and Rita’s financial statements—that’d been part of the initial investigation into the bombs at their shops—and I was certain that we’d already collected Simon’s bank statement records; that’d be useful in helping nail him as a dealer in child pornography. It would take only a few minutes for one of the agents to sort through the deposits in Rita’s, Carly’s, and Simon’s accounts for a name that was consistent on all three statements. I was certain Buzz’s name would pop up.
Whirling around, I ran to the bed where I’d thrown my purse and pawed through it to find my cell. Hauling it out, I was thumbing through my contacts list when there was a loud knock on the door and Cat sashayed in, holding tightly to her bullhorn and Jenny Makeanote close on her heels, along with Kendra, the makeup artist Cat had hired, who was carrying several small makeup bags.
“Who’re you calling?” Cat demanded right away.
At first I ignored her. I was way too excited about what I’d just figured out, but Cat was clearly out of patience with me because quick as a feline she was in front of me, pulling the phone out of my hands.
“Hey!” I yelled at her. “Give that back! I have to call Gaston!”
“Who’s Gaston?” Cat demanded, moving the phone behind her and out of my reach.
“He’s my boss, Cat, and I really have to call him! It’s important! I have a solid lead he has to follow up on!”
Cat squinted at me like she thought I was crazy. “Abby,” she said crisply, “this is your wedding day! You’re not calling anybody.”
“Fine, then let me just call Brice really quick….” I made another grab for my phone, but Cat was too fast for me.
“No!” she yelled, twisting away and handing the phone to Jenny Makeanote, who took it and dashed out of the room like a running back with a football at the Super Bowl.
I wanted to swat my sister. “Fine. Then I need to talk to Candice, Cat.”
Cat shook her head, all the while continuing to look at me like I was a nut. “Candice isn’t here yet, and I’m not letting you talk to her even when she does arrive. You are not working today; do you hear me? And you are not sending any of our FBI wedding guests or the groomsman on some wild-goose chase to hunt down some silly lead. You’re always chasing a lead, Abby. That’s your number one excuse, actually.” Cat then adopted a tone a few octaves higher than her own, which I supposed was some kind of imitation of me. “Oh, Cat, I can’t help out with all the gazillion things that need to get done for my wedding because I’m chasing a lead! Oh, Cat, Candice and I have to run out on you because we have a lead! Oh, look, the wind just blew in a new lead and now I’m going to do my disappearing act and drive you crazy!”
My eyes bugged. She had the crazy part down. “This is important, Cat.”
My sister only glared at me. “So is this wedding, Abby. Whatever this new lead of yours is, it can wait a few hours.”
I balled my hands into fists and started to protest again, but Cat wasn’t hearing any of it. Instead, she held up her hand to me before turning to the woman carrying the makeup cases, and said, “Kendra, you remember my sister, Abby? She’s impossible. Still, you have an hour to make her into a gorgeous bride. She will ask to borrow your phone. If I discover you’ve lent it to her, and it results in any of our guests dodging this ceremony, I will sue you into the ground. Do we have an understanding?”
The makeup artist paled; then she dug her phone out of her jacket pocket and handed it to my sister. “I don’t need it while I work.”
Cat took it, narrowed her eyes at me one last time, then headed to the door, tossing a “Good luck” to the makeup artist as she exited.
The door closed firmly behind my sister. I thought about chasing after her, but Cat could enlist an army of support with one swipe of her AmEx no-limit credit card.
Kendra the makeup artist smiled nervously at me. My mind spun with options. Just as I settled on one, there was a knock at the door. Kendra opened it for me and Jenny Makeanote was there. “Hi, sorry, Abby, a messenger just dropped this off for you. He said it was from Mr. Rivers and that he wanted you to read it before the ceremony.”
In her hand was a creamy envelope. Kendra took it and handed it to me. For a minute I was too distracted to think about plans of escape. Opening the envelope, I found a sweet card inside with a puppy on the cover. Opening the card, I immediately recognized Dutch’s tight script and read:
Hey, dollface,
I know things are a little insane right now, but if you have time to meet me at the new house, come by. I’ve sent everyone out for a few hours and I have a surprise for you.
Love you—always,
Dutch
I was a bit shocked by the message and turned the card over to see if there was more, but there wasn’t. And then I had the boldest thought of all. If Dutch was alone at the house, then maybe after I got through calling in my lead to Brice, I could talk to my fiancé and convince him to ditch the ceremony and run away with me. I knew that Cat would be absolutely furious, and Dutch’s family too, but deep down I just didn’t think that I could go through with this whole Cirque du Ceremony. Dutch loved me. He’d listen. He’d do it for me if it was important enough. I just knew it.
“Miss Cooper?” Kendra asked.
I jumped a little, realizing Kendra was still in the room and looking at me expectantly. I doubted she’d let me leave without alerting Cat. Smiling brightly at her (man, my smile was getting a good workout these days!) I said, “Let me just go to the bathroom and you can have at me.”
Kendra seemed to relax and she returned my smile. I almost felt sorry for her. “No problem! I’ll get my stuff set out. Take your time.”
I headed to the bathroom, making sure to take my cane, the note, and my purse with me. I then moved immediately to the window, which was thankfully on the outer side wall of the house, out of view of the wedding crew, and pulled it open slowly, careful not to let it squeak. Then I pushed out the screen and hoisted myself up and out, landing a bit indelicately on the soft grass. Squatting down low, I snuck around the house to the driveway. Looking around, I waited until the coast was clear, and then I hurried to my car; ducking into it, I started the engine with a pounding heart and raced out of the drive. I didn’t relax until I’d made it to the highway, but the thrill of escaping the ceremony was amazing. Deep down I knew I’d never go back there. As I drove, one thought prevailed—I had to get to Dutch.
Our house wasn’t far from the venue, only about ten minutes, and I pulled into the driveway and saw there were no familiar cars there, but oddly, there was a white van. I wondered if Dutch’s surprise involved a cargo van.
I was so intent to see him that I ignored the small tingle of warning my radar sent off, and parked at the bottom of the drive, shuffling quickly to the back door, which led straight into the laundry room. I turned the handle, finding it unlocked, and stepped across the threshold calling out to Dutch. Almost immediately the fumes hit me and I wobbled on my already unsteady feet. Where was my cane? Oh, yeah, it was in the car. I’d been so anxious to see Dutch that I’d left it behind. But what was in the house that was making me so dizzy? I blinked and tried to hold on to the washing machine to steady myself, but my hand missed it and I sat down hard on the floor, my head swimming so badly that I thought I was going to be sick.
My chin dropped forward and I saw stars, my vision was clouded by an encroaching darkness, and I heard myself call out to Dutch again, but my own voice sounded dull and lifeless to my ears. And then a figure stepped forward from the darkness of the hallway. But it wasn’t Dutch. Whoever it was, he wore a gas mask. I could hear the sound of his breathing filling my ears with a haunting sound.
“Wha…wha…Why?” I asked, even as I felt my head loll back toward the tile floor. A sharp pain at the back of my head told me I was now flat on my back and as I stared up, my already clouded vision was filled with the sight of that man in the mask standing over me. And then I was falling down, down, down, and I saw nothing more.
M.J. felt totally discombobulated flying through the air in a helicopter, which was nothing like riding in an airplane. Closing her eyes to fight the motion sickness, she squeezed the bar at the top of the chopper even more tightly. After a few minutes of flying blind, however, she decided it was probably better to keep her eyes open, but avoid looking down.
In the seat facing her was Dutch, his gaze trained on the ground visible through the small window next to him. His face was hard and his jaw clenched, and there was a large welt at the top of his forehead where he’d hit the ground after being Tased, but his eyes were intense and focused. M.J. didn’t know how he was holding it together, because if the tables were turned and word came in that her boyfriend, Heath, was strapped to a bomb that could go off at any second, she’d have a complete meltdown.
Sitting next to Dutch was Candice; her lovely bridesmaid’s dress now torn and dirty, her knees were both scuffed, and the paleness that’d marked her complexion earlier had returned. She held tightly to Dutch’s hand while tears rolled down her cheeks. M.J. knew exactly how she felt—the situation seemed hopeless.
Before entering the chopper, she’d learned that Abby had been seen heading down a road close to the wedding venue. How she’d gotten there from the house, she could only guess, and M.J. didn’t know if Abby was trying to make her way to the estate or was trying to avoid it. M.J. suspected that she was probably out of her mind with fear, and she simply couldn’t imagine what her friend might be going through.
The chopper made a sudden sharp sweeping turn and M.J. held her breath and fought the lurch in her stomach. “Put it down!” Dutch shouted, his body leaning forward as he stared out the window. M.J. knew he’d just spotted his fiancée.
Overcoming her fear, M.J. leaned forward too, and she caught a glimpse of a figure in white moving raggedly along the side of a railing acting as a barrier to the edge of a cliff.
The helicopter turned in another tight circle, but the pilot called over his shoulder that there wasn’t a good place to land.
“Put it down on the road!” Dutch shouted. “Now!”
Still the pilot hesitated until Brice, who was sitting in the front seat, motioned firmly for him to do it.
M.J. swallowed hard as the chopper began to lower toward the ground. She knew that if a car approached and didn’t see the helicopter in time, there could be terrible consequences, but as she looked through both windows, she didn’t see any cars coming. And then with a hard bump they were down.
Dutch was out of the chopper in an instant, and Candice was right behind him.
M.J. got out quickly too, looking everywhere for Abby. She wasn’t sure why she’d been brought along in the chopper, but she felt certain that Candice had been right to insist on her coming. Still, one look toward the other side of the road told her how desperate their situation was. Abby was perhaps fifty yards away from them, and she was gripping the side of the railing desperately. The poor thing was draped in the torn remnants of a wedding gown, covered in dirt, grass stains, and blood. Around her chest was a terrible sight—a metal cage encased her torso secured by half a dozen padlocks, and in the center of the cage was a digital clock and several black tubes that looked like dynamite.
Abby herself was covered in cuts, scrapes, and bruises, her hair a tangled mess and her face stained with tears and dirt. She was shouting at Dutch and holding up her hands as if to stop him from coming closer. M.J. was too far away and the chopper was too loud for her to hear what Abby was saying, but her body language was clearly begging Dutch and Candice not to approach her.
Still, Dutch moved steadily forward, but just as he was within reach of her, Abby did something most desperate. She swung a leg over the side of the railing, and for a moment, M.J. thought she was going to jump into the ravine below.
Dutch took three running steps and lunged—reaching her hand, he grabbed it tightly and refused to let go. Instinctively, M.J. moved closer, in spite of the danger of the bomb strapped to Abby’s chest.
Candice was much closer to Abby and Dutch, and when she was about ten yards away, Dutch put up his own hand and told her to stop. Abby cried out to Candice then, and M.J. faintly heard her say, “He’s at the wedding! Candice, he’s at the estate waiting for me!”
M.J. felt a hand on her back and beside her Brice shouted to Candice, who immediately turned around and raced back toward them, waving to the chopper pilot, who looked as if he was ready to sweep into the air again. Before she knew it, Brice and Candice were back in the chopper and it was lifting off and whisking them away.
For a brief few seconds, it was once again quiet except for the sounds of Abby sobbing, begging Dutch to get away from her before the bomb went off. And then the air was filled with the approaching sounds of sirens.