Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls) Page 27

  No!

  A second blast blew the top of the barn into the sky. Stella belly crawled on top of him. Putting her arms over her head, she used her upper body to shield his face and head. Fire roared behind them. She put her fingers to his throat. Relief washed through her as she felt the steady throb of his pulse.

  “Detective Dane!”

  She turned. Twenty feet away, one of the uniforms lurched to his feet. His body swayed for a second before he ran toward his partner. The second uniform stirred in the center of the space, flat on his back. The blast had thrown him fifteen feet straight backward. He rolled over and crawled away from the blaze.

  Stella got her feet under her body. Her legs trembled then steadied. She grabbed Carl by the ankles and leaned into the pull, but she couldn’t budge him. The two uniforms helped her drag him away from the fire and called for backup, fire trucks, and an ambulance.

  Stella glanced at the uniforms. “Are you both all right?”

  “Fine,” one coughed.

  Carl stirred and pressed a hand to his head.

  “Hold still.” Stella put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know how badly you’re hurt.”

  He moved his arms and legs. “Just cracked my head.”

  “Detective, the fire is spreading.”

  Stella followed the uniform’s finger to an outbuilding behind the barn. Embers drifted through the air. Despite the rain, the barn was burning at flash speed.

  “That’s one hell of a fire.” Carl nodded toward a nearby shed. “We’d better start clearing outbuildings.”

  She lurched to her feet and ran toward the shed. Carl staggered behind her. They cleared the property shed by shed but found no one.

  Fifteen minutes later, Stella sat on the bumper of her vehicle staring at the inferno of a barn. Where was Gianna? If she’d been inside the barn . . .

  Stella refused to believe Gianna was dead. Needing to hear Mac’s voice, she turned on her cell phone to call him and saw that he’d sent her a text. As she read the message, she was lightheaded with relief. Gianna hadn’t been in the barn. Mac was picking her up at Bridge Park. Stella called him. The line rang five times before switching to voice mail. Stella left a message and then tried texting him. He didn’t respond.

  Where was he?

  A prickly sensation crawled up the back of her neck and choked her. She tried Gianna’s number, but the call went immediately to voice mail. Gianna’s phone was off again. Stella ran over to Carl, who was talking to the fire chief. Carl met her halfway across the barnyard.

  Soot streaked his face. “The fire chief thinks the barn was full of fertilizer and other explosive materials. The door was booby-trapped. They won’t be able to look for remains until tomorrow, but it seems Spivak and his pal were making explosives.”

  She quickly explained Mac’s text. “I can’t get either one of them on the phone. I have to find them. Can you handle things here?”

  He glanced back at the barn. Fire hoses rained water on the blaze. The scene crawled with emergency responders. “We’re shorthanded. Do you need company?”

  “Not necessary. I’m just driving out to Mac’s house. If I don’t find them there, I’ll head over to Gianna’s apartment.” But considering Gianna’s odd behavior, she doubted he’d take her home and leave her. No, Mac would stick with the girl. He’d make sure she got whatever help she needed.

  He was a good man. The kind of man she wanted.

  She climbed into her car and sped toward his house. Pulling into the clearing, she looked up at the dark cabin. Not here. Just to be sure, she jogged onto the porch and rapped on the door. When he didn’t answer, she returned to her car and tried his cell phone again. Still no answer.

  Could he have taken her to the hospital? He would have called Stella. Maybe his phone was dead. She drove to Gianna’s apartment, but it was also dark and empty.

  She called Mac’s sister.

  Hannah answered. “Stella?”

  “Have you heard from Mac?” Stella asked.

  “No.” Hannah’s voice hesitated. “What’s wrong?”

  “Maybe nothing. I’ll try your brother.”

  “Grant is here at the hospital with me. He hasn’t heard from Mac either,” Hannah said.

  “This is Grant. Tell me what’s going on,” a deep male voice said.

  “Mac messaged me earlier that he’d heard from Gianna and was going to get her,” Stella explained. “Now he’s not answering his phone.”

  Grant was quiet for a few seconds. “Don’t panic. He’s not good about keeping his cell charged.” Chair legs scraped. “But I’ll start looking for him.”

  “I’ve already been out to his cabin. He’s not there,” Stella said. “I’m going to check Bridge Park. I’ll let you know if I find him. Please let me know if you hear anything.”

  “Will do.” Grant ended the call.

  Stella called for a backup unit and drove toward the park. On the way, she called Lance’s cell. He answered on the first ring.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I’m at your house,” Lance said. “I thought, since I didn’t have anything else to do, that I’d hang out here and make sure everything was OK. The patrol car got called away to the explosion.”

  “Thanks, Lance.”

  “I’m sorry. I—I just didn’t trust myself to keep my shit together tonight.”

  “Carl said you quit.”

  “Stella, don’t worry about me or your family. I have them covered. Focus on the task. Keep safe, Stella.” Lance ended the call.

  Stella put Lance’s emotional state out of her mind. Rain poured onto Stella’s windshield, and the bridge loomed dark. She checked the surface, but there was no one on the bridge. Turning into the entrance, Stella reported her location to dispatch. Six inches of water flooded the grass around the memorial. The river churned well above its normal level. Her high beams swept across her grandfather’s Lincoln parked next to the bridge supports, and ice balled up in her belly.

  Where was Mac?

  She pulled up next to the Town Car and scanned the area, but the torrential rain limited her visibility. Headlights swept down the entrance ramp, but they were too high to be another SFPD cruiser.

  A pickup truck parked next to her, and Grant Barrett got out. He walked to the side of her vehicle. Stella stepped out of her car. Grant didn’t seem to notice the rain soaking his cargo shorts and T-shirt. Within seconds water plastered his short, blond hair to his head. His only response was to blink.

  “A backup unit is on the way.” Stella wiped water from her forehead. “He was driving my grandfather’s car.” Stella turned toward her grandfather’s vehicle.

  She took a pair of gloves from her pocket and put them on before opening the Lincoln’s door. Mac’s cell phone sat on the console. She grabbed the phone and slid it into her pocket under her jacket.

  Grant was headed toward the bridge support. Stella ran to catch up. She grabbed his arm. “Be careful where you step. This could be a crime scene.”

  Please let me be wrong.

  He nodded grimly, stopping as soon as they were under the protection of the stone arch. The dirt was disturbed.

  “Here are footprints.” Grant crouched and pointed to the ground. “Stella . . .”

  She bent low. Scattered in the dirt were tiny colored discs the size of confetti. “Taser confetti.”

  Her vision fuzzed as the implication settled in. “He was lured here with a message from Gianna’s phone. Then someone tased him.”

  Grant’s face went hard. “And took him.”

  She nodded, emptiness sliding through her body as if her blood was thinned with anesthetic.

  The killer had Mac.

  The best man she’d ever known. The man who made her heart thump and her pulse thicken with one blink of his clear blue eyes. The man who would kill or die for her.

  “I have to call this in. We can trace the serial numbers on the Taser confetti.”

  As she ran for th
e car, she saw another equally frightening sight on the muddy edges of the dried earth under the bridge: wheelbarrow tracks.

  He had to work quickly. Succinylcholine was a fast-acting paralytic commonly used for emergency intubation. The injection would only last fifteen minutes, and he most definitely did not want Mac Barrett able to fight back.

  Which was why he’d used the Taser.

  He wouldn’t stand a chance if the fight was fair. Cheating was his only option.

  Getting a full-grown man in and out of the trunk proved challenging, and one of the reasons he’d limited his subjects to women until this point.

  But this would be worth the effort.

  Mac was The One.

  Not a victim, but a deeply flawed hero.

  He could feel it in his bones. He sped toward his house and opened the bulkhead doors. The specially built ramp led straight down to the basement. He pushed the wheelbarrow through a growing puddle past the heavy wooden door. He didn’t have time to put Mac in the cell. No, he’d have to go straight to the reception room. Mac had to be restrained by the time the drug wore off. Pushing the wheelbarrow through the doorway, he lowered the treatment table and transferred Mac to it, sliding his upper body across the gap first, and then following with his legs. He carefully secured his wrists to the handrails with handcuffs. He didn’t trust simple rope with a strong, healthy man. Leather medical restraint straps buckled across Mac’s hips and around his ankles.

  The Hulk couldn’t break those binds.

  Satisfied, he stepped back and mopped the sweat from his forehead. The cool of the basement was a welcome reprieve from the muggy summer temperature above ground.

  Now to prepare for the first stage. He wheeled the rolling tray to the side of the bed. Mac’s fingers twitched.

  “Oh good. You’re waking up.” He mopped his forehead with a cloth. “Got you here just in time.”

  He took a pair of scissors from the blue sterile cloth and cut Mac’s T-shirt up the center to reveal a square bandage taped to his ribs. “What’s this?”

  Mac grunted. He’d be able to talk soon.

  He peeled back the medical tape and exposed a long, stitched wound that wrapped round Mac’s side. “What happened?”

  No answer, but Mac’s eyes were angry.

  Anger was new. He’d never had a victim get mad. It was a very good sign that he’d finally made the right choice.

  “Where should we start?”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Stella paced the conference room in front of the murder board. Grant was in his truck making a phone call, probably to his sister. Horner was gathering more forces while Stella desperately tried to eliminate possible locations where two victims could be held prisoner.

  He had Mac.

  He had Gianna.

  Visions of the two tortured victims assaulted her mind. She tried to push them away, but every time she pivoted, autopsy photos pinned to the board pummeled her: fresh, full-color reminders of what had happened to his previous victims. Terror scraped through her, its icy talons tearing at the hope inside her chest. What was he doing to them right now? Were they even still alive?

  Chief Horner walked into the room, his impassive face showing unusual signs of fatigue and frustration. “Noah Spivak and his buddy were picked up in the woods not far from the farm, and a unit stopped by Adam Miller’s house. A friend was pouring him out of his car, nearly passed-out drunk. The friend said they’d been drinking together all evening and the bartender over at The Pub verified his statement.”

  “Then we have no idea who has them.” Head spinning, Stella closed her eyes. Was Mac or Gianna being tortured right now? Having their fingers smashed with a hammer or their flesh cut with a knife?

  But there was no way to compartmentalize this horror. If she wanted to save them, she would have to face it.

  She turned and gave the board her full attention. Horner walked around the table and stood next to her. They faced the case board side by side. The answer had to be here somewhere.

  “What do all the victims have in common?” Horner asked. “Why would he take Mac when his previous victims were all women with former drug addiction problems?”

  “They all have a history of drug abuse.” Stella stopped, nearly tripping over her own momentum as the pieces fit into place. She’d been so afraid for Mac and Gianna that she hadn’t questioned the killer’s motivation in taking him.

  “But what about Mac? Did he find something?”

  “No.” She whirled. “He’s one of them.”

  “Seriously?” Horner’s brows stretched upward.

  “When he was a teenager,” she explained.

  “Who would know that?”

  “I don’t know.” What other suspects did they have? Her eyes went back to the board.

  “What about Lyle Jones?” Horner asked. “He has a record.”

  “Domestic squabble. It sounded personal.” Stella shook her head. “Plus, he was Dena’s physical therapist. He has no connection to Missy or Gianna.”

  “Both Dena and Missy were treated at the New Life Center,” Horner said.

  Stella thumbed through her file. “I already cleared Dr. Randolph of any criminal record. I wanted to check the story about his brother dying of an overdose.”

  “What was his name?” Horner opened the laptop on the table.

  Stella scanned her report. “Lucas Randolph. It happened approximately fifteen years ago.”

  Horner scrolled. “Did he live in this area?”

  She flipped to Josh’s background report. “He’s from Manchester, New Hampshire.”

  He typed.

  “Josh said his brother was mentally ill,” Stella continued.

  “Here’s the story.” Horner turned the screen. “Lucas Randolph, age nineteen, died of a heroin overdose.”

  She skimmed the text. “Everything is exactly as he said.”

  Horner flipped through one of Stella’s detailed reports. “What about his assistant, Reilly Warren?”

  “I was waiting for the report on his assistant. Let me see if it’s in.” Stella hurried to her cubicle, grabbed the report from her inbox, and returned to the conference room. She flipped through the pages. “No criminal record here or in Atlanta.”

  Horner typed Reilly’s name into the Google search bar and scrolled through the list of hits. “Here’s something.” Horner paused. “Three years ago in Atlanta, a Reilly Warren was the victim of a brutal beating, sexual assault, and robbery. The perpetrator was caught and convicted.” Horner looked up. “His attacker was a crack addict and was later found to be HIV positive.”

  “That would certainly give Reilly motivation to kill some drug addicts.”

  “How did he know Gianna Leone?” Horner asked.

  “I don’t know. But if he’s targeting drug addicts, he could very well have staked out the NA meetings. We did.”

  “Let’s get an address and a warrant on Reilly Warren.”

  Stella read the address. “He lives at the center.”

  “You realize this lead is thin,” Horner said. “If you’re wrong, we’ll be raiding a medical facility for no reason.”

  Stella was well aware that they were acting on a hunch, but the possibility of the department getting egg on its reputation didn’t factor into her decision.

  If she was wrong, then Mac and Gianna were both going to die.

  Brave Gianna had been through so much already. And Mac . . . At the thought of losing him, pressure built in Stella’s chest until she could barely breathe. No! Mac was going to be all right. She had to believe that. Otherwise, fear would cripple her, and then she’d be useless.

  She forced a deep breath into her lungs. “It’s the best—and only—lead we have.”

  Horner nodded. “Then let’s follow it. It’ll be daylight in an hour.”

  “We can’t wait.”

  “Sir, you can’t go in there.” Cecily’s shout came through the open door.

  “Like hell.” A deep mal
e voice boomed in the hallway.

  Stella turned to see Grant in the doorway, his wide shoulders filling the space.

  Horner rounded the table and confronted Grant.

  Good luck stopping him, Horner.

  Grant might be retired from the military, but he still wore battle-fit like a uniform. Horner rode a desk, not a tank.

  As predicted, Grant plowed past him. He turned laser focus on Stella. “So you think he’s at the center. What’s the plan to get him out?”

  Grant must have overheard their conversation.

  “Grant, you’re a civilian. I can’t let you participate. This is going to be dangerous.”

  “You need all the help you can get,” Grant said. “And I’m going in, with or without you. So don’t shoot me. FYI, my sister will probably be there, too.”

  Frustration filled Stella’s throat. “Grant . . .”

  He crossed his arms. “I can be in and out of there before you even get your official operation underway.”

  Stella thought back to Mac helping her with a search the previous November. The Barretts had specialized skills that had proved useful in the past. And the only way to ensure Grant stayed out of the way was to keep him with her. Grant had been an infantry officer. His military experience could be invaluable.

  “With Chief Horner’s permission, I’d love to have your input. There isn’t any time for elaborate planning.”

  Horner threw his hands into the air. “Why the hell not? We don’t have enough bodies for the op anyway. Let’s get a map.”

  In the next twenty minutes, Grant proved to be the master strategist Mac had claimed. Horner called for assistance from the state police and county sheriff’s office. The rehab property backed onto a national park. Horner called in every officer that wasn’t already on duty handling the fire and the flood issues.

  “I can’t imagine him keeping a woman prison at the center. There are people there all the time. He’d have to be very concerned with screaming.” Especially while he tortured them. Picturing Gianna or Mac being cut made Stella lightheaded. She put a hand on the tabletop to steady her legs.

  “Basement?” Horner suggested.

  Stella straightened, an image popping into her head. “There was an old barn a short distance from the main building.”