Chapter Nineteen

 

Gemma gripped the phone close to her ear. “Who is this? Where’s my aunt?” She spun around in a circle, but she was alone in the bathroom.

“Are you with the cop right now?” The warped sound filled her ears, frightening her even as she tried to keep her head about her.

“Yes. I mean no.” She shook her head to clear it. “I’m in the ladies restroom. Alone. Where is my aunt? What did you do with her?” Her voice cracked on that question, and she sucked in a breath and tried to steady herself.

Silence rewarded her and she nearly screamed into the phone. Maybe she should get Jack. They could trace Aunt Sylvie’s cell phone, try to get a location. She took a step towards the restroom door when she heard a sound that made every blood cell in her body freeze to ice.

A woman screamed in the background, a scream filled with pain and terror. It went on so long that Gemma had to put a hand out to lean against the stall door for fear of her legs collapsing beneath her.

“Stop it! Please stop it!” Gemma screamed into her phone. Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she ignored them. “Don’t hurt her. Please don’t hurt her.”

“Good girl, Gemma. Do as I say and your aunt might survive our little game. Of course, shall I demonstrate again what will happen if you don’t follow the rules?”

“No. Don’t. There’s no need.” She breathed deeply through her nose, willing her stomach contents down. The scream had lodged itself in her brain and wouldn’t leave.

“Rule number one, I make the rules. Rule number two, tell the cop and your aunt dies. Rule number three, follow my directions precisely or I’ll practice more of my knife skills on your aunt. Of course, when I’m done with your aunt, there’s always your niece to work on.”

Gemma began shaking. “Dana? Nooooo,” she let out on a moan. “Let her go, please. She’s just a baby. I’ll do whatever you say.”

A creepy laugh flowed across the connection. “We’ll see how worthy you are, Gemma.” In the background, Gemma caught the sound of weeping. It tore her apart to think of Aunt Sylvie and Dana in the hands of a sadistic killer.

“Please let them go,” she whispered, her gut all twisted up inside.

“Very nice, Gemma. I like hearing you beg.” The voiced paused and Gemma waited, her mouth dry, her feet glued to the floor for what would come. “You have thirty minutes to get to your house. I left you a present.”

“But I don’t have a car. Wait—” The line disconnected.

Gemma stared at her phone, unable to believe that once again her whole world was falling apart. She needed more time. She had to ditch Jack and find a vehicle. Thirty minutes would be squeezing it.

She pulled up her favorites menu and hit the number for Aunt Sylvie’s phone. It rang, once, twice, three times, four times and then rolled over into voice mail. Gemma cut the connection.

Her phone pinged. She had a text message. She tapped on the screen, and her brain had to take a moment to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. Her tormenter had sent her a photo of Jack and her entering the hospital.

The implication was clear. The killer had eyes on her.

The phone pinged again. Dread wrapped around each of her nerve endings, she clicked it open and stuffed her fist in her mouth to stifle a scream.

Dana lay on a bed, on a rumpled set of white sheets, nothing like the pale pink ones that covered her bed. The wall behind the bed was covered with faded wallpaper. There was nothing else in the photo to help her pinpoint where Dana might be.

Gemma checked her watch. She had twenty-nine minutes at this point and counting. The restroom door beckoned, but if she went out that way, Jack would see her and one look at her face and he’d know something was wrong.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror and winced. Pinched and pale with her freckles standing out and her eyes dominating her face, she had disaster written all over her.

She averted her gaze and caught sight of the large window in the wall opposite the restroom door. She’d go out that way.

She released the window latch and slid the window to the side. Since they were on the first floor, she didn’t have much of a jump. She climbed up onto the bottom ledge and confirming that no one was nearby, she let go.

She landed on both feet, wobbled a moment, and took off running. First order of business, get a car. After that, find Aunt Sylvie and Dana and do whatever she had to do to free them, even at the cost of her own life.

***

Jack stood behind the security guard, hands on his hips, and waited for the guy to cue up the footage. He wanted to tell him to hurry up, but he could tell the guy was working as quickly as he could. Still it wasn’t fast enough.

He glanced over at the restroom door, which was partially visible through the open doorway and checked his watch. He’d give Gemma another minute or so.

“Got it,” the security guard said. He pushed a button and the tape began to play.

The ICU hallway filled the screen. A nurse held the phone receiver between her ear and shoulder as she held a clipboard and took notes. An older woman walked with hesitant steps towards a room. She paused at the window to look inside. She seemed to be gathering herself before she entered the room.

Jack watched the scene unfold searching for anything unusual, anyone who did not belong. Except this killer had played it smart so far.

A time stamp ran along the bottom of the screen. Judging from the time shown, the false alarm had to occur soon.

Suddenly one of the nurses waved her arm at another nurse and ran for one of the rooms. The woman who had been visiting one of the patients emerged from the room, her head swiveling left and right as if searching for someone. A nurse hurried by only pausing long enough to say something to the woman. The woman rushed back into the room.

On the far side, the officer spoke to the male nurse. The nurse nodded at something the officer said and jogged down the hall. The officer half turned and moved away from his post to the room next door. He opened the door and stood in the entryway.

An orderly with bushy hair and wearing a mask came into view. He pushed a laundry cart in front of him. He was bent over the cart, making it difficult to see his face. He halted the cart near Candy’s door. He shot a furtive glance towards the room where the officer had disappeared from view. But he had to know where the cameras were located because he offered only bits of his profile.

“Rewind that for me, would you?” Jack watched again trying to pierce the disguise. It was no good. What the hair didn’t cover, the mask did. Still, Jack studied the guy’s movements, including the way he walked, the use of his glove-covered hands, and even the tilt of his head. No detail could afford to be overlooked.

“All right, run it through to the end this time,” Jack said.

The orderly let go of the cart and eased closer to Candy’s door. He opened it and slipped inside. Less than a minute later he was out again. He grabbed his laundry cart and moved swiftly down the hall, all while keeping his face averted from the hospital cameras.

In the next frame the officer reappeared in the doorway of the next room. He waved his arm and looked to be shouting. A nurse ran toward him while another followed with a crash cart, a doctor following on her heels.

“Get me a copy of that tape,” Jack ordered, adrenaline pumping through his system. Finally, they might be able to get this SOB before he killed again. Granted, there wasn’t a lot to go on and it had all taken place in a very short span of time, but it was their first glimpse of the killer.

Damn, the killer had a lot of nerve to take such a risk with the officer parked a few feet away. Either he’d felt safe in his disguise or he’d gotten arrogant after making his kills and evading the police. The mask and bushy hair obscured the guy’s features, but there might be something. If forensics blew up the picture, maybe they’d see something in the shape of the eyes or ears that would help them make an identification.

And if it was a case of their guy getting cocky from success, well then, he’d make a mistake soon and Jack would be there to put the cuffs on.

In Jack’s book, they were making progress. He pulled out his phone and called T.J. to update him. “Run the tape down to forensics and see what they can determine. We’ll need a photo off the video. See if Uniform can spare some personnel to question the hospital staff. Maybe someone talked to him or got a close up. He got that orderly’s uniform from somewhere. And fill O’Hara and Carmichael in on this.”

“You got it,” T.J.’s voice rumbled in his ear. “So, what’s Gemma, our star reporter, think?”

Jack immediately turned around. Gemma wasn’t in the room. His pulse accelerated and his stomach twisted. He checked his watch. Almost fifteen minutes had passed. “I don’t know. I’ll call you back.” He hung up abruptly, swearing under his breath, and shoved his phone into his back pocket.

Gemma should have been out by now. She was well beyond the time limit he’d set. He cursed himself for getting caught up in the tape. He was supposed to be protecting Gemma.

The killer had already proven he was brazen. Would he have stayed in the hospital after he’d visited Candy’s room? Could he have caught sight of Gemma and followed her into the restroom?

He pushed past one of the guards and strode to the ladies’ restroom across the hall. He gave a sharp rap on the door. “I’m coming in.”

He pushed the door open and entered. It wasn’t a large bathroom. It contained three stalls and three sinks below a wide wall mirror. The stall doors were all open, and they were clearly empty.

The knot in his gut twisted tighter. She should have been in here. She wasn’t. He didn’t want to contemplate all the reasons why she wasn’t in here.

He had to focus and think like a cop.

Nothing in the space suggested that any kind of struggle had taken place. That meant Gemma had cooperated or she’d been incapacitated.

He switched his gaze from surveying the room to the sliding window, which stood wide open.

He crossed the floor in a few strides and leaned out of the opening, careful not to touch anything.

Deep down, fear threatened to rise up and strangle him. Had the killer gotten to Gemma? He forced the panic down and concentrated on doing his job. On thinking like the detective he was.

They were on the first floor. One look out the window told him the jump to the ground wasn’t too far. The ground below had to be soft because he saw two small footprints pressed into the earth.

They were the only footprints visible, which suggested she’d acted of her own volition. That answered the question of whether she’d been incapacitated. Obviously not. So why the hell would Gemma climb out the window?

He fisted his hands on his hips and tried to work out the various possibilities, but he was having a hard time hanging on to his usual cool. Below the surface, fear and rage bubbled.

What was Gemma up to? Did it have to do with the killer? Was the killer even now closing in on her?

The killer had announced he had one more player to go. Was Gemma that player?

He stormed out of the bathroom and out of the hospital. In the parking lot he jogged towards his car. He pulled out his phone and dialed T.J. again.

“Gemma’s gone. It looks like she left on her own through a window in the restroom.” Why would she do that? Why hadn’t she come to him? He recognized suddenly that part of the anger he felt was a sense of betrayal.

But along with that feeling came worry and fear. Was she in over her head or was she simply following a lead?

T.J. let out a low whistle. “What do you want me to do?”

Jack paused in front of his car. “Get a team down here to go over that restroom and the ground outside to confirm my theory. I’m going to swing by her office and her house to see if I can track her down.”

“Keep me posted. By the way,” T.J. said in a lower voice, “someone from IA has been closeted with the Captain for the last half hour.”

Jack hit the button to unlock the car and yanked open the door. “IA is the least of my worries. I’ll talk to you later.”

He really didn’t care what IA threw at him. Right now he had to figure out what Gemma was up to. Was she pulling some kind of reporter stunt, or was she in trouble?

Jack nearly groaned when he realized he didn’t care if it was a reporter stunt. He needed to know she was all right. If it was a reporter stunt, he’d make sure she never pulled a trick like that again. And if she needed his help, then he sure as hell would find a way to protect her.

He was halfway into his SUV when a voice from behind his right shoulder stopped him cold.

“Jack?”

Jack stepped down from his vehicle and turned. His heart pounded and he’d swear all the blood in his body dropped to his feet. He stared at the man in front of him unable to believe his eyes.

“Dad?”

***

Gemma pulled into her driveway and nearly drove onto the lawn. She sat in the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the steering wheel, her brain on the edge of panic.

She’d made it with more than ten minutes to spare.

She’d been lucky to run into one of her colleagues who’d been at the hospital to cover the false alarm. He’d lent her his car and had told her he’d get back to the office another way.

She’d pushed the speed limit and raced through yellow lights, praying the cops were too busy to go after her. Though she wouldn’t mind being with one cop if she could have.

But the voice on the phone had been very specific. Tell Jack and Aunt Sylvie died.

The words in that sick mechanical voice replayed in her head and shivers crawled along her nerve endings. He’d told her to go home. That he’d left a present for her. What did that mean?

And if the killer was watching her, where was he?

But he hadn’t finished toying with her. The photo of Dana had been insurance. He made sure she knew that if she didn’t follow his rules, he had both Sylvie and Dana in his power.

She spared another thought for Jack, but she couldn’t worry about him. He was a good cop. He would make whatever decisions he needed to, just as she would make whatever decisions she needed to in order to protect Aunt Sylvie and Dana.

Loud barks penetrated her thoughts and brought her sharply back to her surroundings.

The car’s engine rumbled beneath her, while she held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip. Tears ran unchecked down her face. She had to get control of herself or the neighbors would be coming over to check on her, and she couldn’t afford that. She couldn’t afford wasting time in the car either. It hurt to peel her fingers off the wheel, but she did; then she set the engine in park and shut it off.

She grabbed her bag and scrambled out of the car, a sob escaping her mouth. Leaving the car door hanging open, she ran for the front door.

It took her three tries to get the door open, precious time she didn’t have. She rushed inside, closed the door and leaned against it. Her chest heaved as she gulped in air, her heart galloping in her chest.

The house was silent. No Dana tripping down the stairs to greet her. No sounds of pots and pans being moved on the stove, nor were there the usual delicious smells from the kitchen that always greeted her.

Gemma scrubbed the tears off her face with her sleeve and slowly stepped forward. She walked through the living room and dining room towards the kitchen. He’d said he’d left a present and her mind conjured up all kinds of gruesome thoughts.

He’d left a note in Candy’s room. Maybe that’s all he’d left her. She hung on to that thought.

She pushed the door to the kitchen open slowly. Dust motes danced in the air. The room looked exactly as it had when she’d stopped in to change her clothes this morning. She’d left Jack in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and had gone to shower and change.

That moment seemed a lifetime ago.

She held the kitchen door open standing on the threshold and, as she glanced around the room, nothing seemed out of place.

When had the killer snatched Aunt Sylvie and Dana? When Gemma and Jack had arrived this morning, Aunt Sylvie’s car had been gone and Gemma had assumed that her aunt was dropping Dana off at the preschool and then had gone shopping like she usually did.

Gemma backed out of the kitchen and headed to the staircase. She should run up the stairs and in her mind she envisioned herself doing so, but her stomach had clawed its way up to her throat and she forced each foot onto a tread, moving upward to that silent dark hallway above.

Had all the doors upstairs been closed when she’d left? Had the hallway always been this dark in the daytime or was it her imagination?

She couldn’t remember and tightened her grip on the bannister to pull herself up another step.

At the top, she started with the first door. It was a linen closet, but she could not overlook any place. She opened the door, feeling relief at the piles of neatly folded sheets and towels. She closed the door and moved to the next one, the bathroom. Sunlight peeked in through the curtains. The shower curtain lay open, so she did not have to worry about someone hiding there. She left the door open and moved to the next room.

Aunt Sylvie’s room.

Her heart beat painfully in her chest and she could barely breathe. She hadn’t bothered to check Aunt Sylvie’s room this morning. Why would she? She had thought Aunt Sylvie was dropping Dana off. Had her aunt been hurt and lying in this room all that time?

That thought galvanized her into action. She twisted the knob and shoved the door inward. Like down below, silence greeted her. She moved into the room, noting that everything was neat and tidy like the military wife Aunt Sylvie had been. ‘Everything has its place’, she could hear her aunt’s voice chiding her. She bit down on her lip to hold back the sobs welling up inside.

She dropped down to her knees to check under the bed. Nothing. She went to the closet and yanked open the door to find it empty, too.

Inside her head a clock ticked. How much time did she have? What kind of game was he playing?

She only had two more rooms to check, hers and Dana’s. She hadn’t seen anything in her room when she’d changed clothes earlier. If he’d put something in there it meant he had to have done it after she had left.

But when they had left the house, Jack had gotten the call about the attacker at the hospital. She doubted very much the killer had left the message in Candy’s room, run back here to kidnap Aunt Sylvie and Dana, and then notified her as quickly as he had.

If she’d been thinking with her brain, she would have realized that he must have snatched Dana and Aunt Sylvie before she’d arrived at the house to shower and change.

That made Dana’s room the most likely place for the killer to have left a message.

She approached Dana’s door, dread her companion every step of the way. Her fingers wrapped around the door handle and she heard the familiar creak as she pushed the door open. She sucked in a breath and forced herself to move forward.

The room showed signs of the usual morning chaos. Three pairs of pants lay on the floor in a heap, along with two tops. Dana took forever to dress and constantly dithered over her choice of outfits.

Gemma bit on a knuckle to swallow a sob. It was a constant battle to get Dana out the door on time in the mornings. Aunt Sylvie always made Dana pick up her things when she got back from school. If she didn’t, then she couldn’t play. Aunt Sylvie was a hard taskmaster, but Gemma had come to rely on her aunt.

And now both Aunt Sylvie and Dana were missing, in the hands of a madman that Gemma had most likely led to their door.

Her knees almost buckled at the thought and she threw a hand out to the wall to catch herself.

Stop it! Get a grip! You can’t help them if you fall apart.

Gemma squeezed her eyes tight and counted to ten. When she opened them, she straightened and moved into the room, telling herself to look around like the trained reporter that she was.

Aside from the pile of clothes, the closet door stood open with several pairs of shoes spilling out. Dana had probably tried on several pairs before settling on one. One dresser drawer was closed crookedly so that one end poked out at an angle.

Her toy chest sat closed with several stuffed animals on top and her bookshelf appeared untouched in the corner of the room.

Gemma switched her attention to the bed. Dana had made a half-hearted attempt at making her bed. The pink comforter covered the bed in a lopsided manner and on one side the pink sheet hung loose.

On the pillows two dolls lay next to each other. They were the kind that looked like real babies.

Gemma frowned.

She recognized the straw-colored hair of one of the dolls, but not the other. Dana had gotten the yellow-haired doll when she’d been in the hospital and she liked to have it tucked in next to her when she went to bed. She had named her Baby Bella. When had Dana gotten the brown-haired one and what were those marks on its arms and legs?

Gemma stepped closer to the bed and slapped a hand over her mouth to hold back the scream that threatened to erupt.

Someone had cut the brown-haired doll all over its arms and legs. Only its face had been spared. She dragged her gaze from the horrific sight and looked at Baby Bella. No cuts or marks marred its surface.

But it was obscene. The way Baby Bella smiled, blues eyes open and a chubby fist raised in the air with a plastic bottle clutched in it seemed childishly innocent. The other doll couldn’t be more of a contrast with the nicks, cuts and gouges in the skin, all evidence of the depraved mind that had made them.

And Dana and Aunt Sylvie were in this animal’s hands.

What was she supposed to make of this? He’d told her to come home and that he’d left her a present. The doll had to be his sick idea of a present. But now what? What was the next move?

She looked at the brown-haired doll again. She didn’t want to touch it and she knew enough from TV, books and the crime beat to know she shouldn’t handle evidence. Except none of that mattered squat if there was a chance the doll could give her a clue to where her family had been taken.

Still, she could be smart about it. She dug through her purse, bumping into her cell phone, which lit up, notifying her that Jack had called. She ignored the notification like she’d ignored Jack’s call before and wrapped her fingers around her digital camera. She often used it to take photos when she was out on a story. Moving to the foot of the bed, she snapped a photo of the two dolls. Then she took one more from the side on which the disfigured doll lay.

While she wasn’t willing to risk calling Jack that didn’t mean she would go it totally alone. She had to assume the killer had a way to monitor her email accounts or phone, maybe even her computer, through some kind of keylogger software. She left Dana’s room and entered Aunt Sylvie’s, where Sylvie’s laptop sat open on her bureau. The screensaver disappeared as soon as she touched the mouse pad. Gemma moved the cursor over the email app, only to hesitate. The killer had Aunt Sylvie’s phone with access to her email account.

Dana had an email account. They’d created it for fun one afternoon. They’d chosen Princess Bubbles for her user name because they’d had a bubble fight in the backyard and finished it off with a bubble bath. Gemma quickly brought the log in page up on the Internet and typed in Dana’s address and password.

Her gaze strayed to the bottom of the screen. Three minutes to the deadline.

She connected her camera with a USB cord to the computer and watched the clock tick down another minute as the photos downloaded. The bar at the bottom of the screen indicated the first photo was downloaded. She tapped her thumb against the bottom of the laptop waiting for the bar that told what percent of the photo was downloaded. As soon as she got the notice of download complete for the second photo, she opened a new email and attached the two photos, aware that another minute had evaporated. She put her name in the subject line and began typing. Dana and Aunt Sylvie—

Her phone rang.

Oh, God, what if it was him?

Panic pushed out rational thought. She hit the send button and snapped the laptop cover down. She pulled her phone out of her bag and saw Jack’s name. She squeezed the phone and shook her head. Jack would have to manage with what she’d sent.

Aunt Sylvie’s scream echoed in her head, reminding her not only what was at stake—the lives of two people she loved—but also the risk of any kind of contact with Jack.

She needed to go over Dana’s room before the killer called in case there was more to the present than that doll. Quickly, she ran back into Dana’s room.

The killer couldn’t have known what she’d done, could he? Her heart rate pulsed in her ear. She had to calm down. She needed to look at the doll and see if he had left any kind of clue with it.

She stretched out her hand, aware that it trembled, and picked up the doll. Simply touching it made goose bumps travel up and down her arms and her body twitched in a sudden shiver. Beneath her hand, the cuts created a rough, scratchy surface.

The doll wore a frilly top over matching panties. Gemma lifted the top and sucked in a breath at the sight of all the cuts scarring the belly.

There were dozens of cuts all over the plastic body.

Her cell phone rang, causing her to nearly drop the doll. With her free hand she searched for her phone. Her fingers closed around it and she took it out.

Aunt Sylvie’s name came up on the screen.

“Hello,” Gemma said in a flat tone.

“Do you like my present?” That mechanical voice grated on her ears and it was all she could do to hang on to the phone.

Gemma forced the mix of rage and panic down. “Where’s Aunt Sylvie? Where’s Dana? Let me talk to them. Please.”

The voice chuckled, that creepy tin-like sound that had her biting down on her lip to prevent sobs from escaping. When she had some control she managed to speak. “What do you want?”

The laughter stopped immediately. “You, Gemma. You.