First Family (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 4)

Michelle bent lower and examined Pam’s hands. “Looks like she’s got some blood and skin under her nails. Most likely defensive trace.”

“Noticed that too. Hope they can trip something on a DNA database.”

Michelle said, “But shouldn’t there be more blood?”

Sean examined the body more closely. “You’re right. The rug should be covered. Looks like they severed her carotid. She would’ve bled out pretty fast.”

Michelle saw it first, the plastic piece protruding out from under the dead woman’s elbow. “Is that what I think it is?”

Sean nodded. “It’s an empty vial.” He glanced over at his partner. “Did they take her blood with them?”

CHAPTER 3

TALBOT’S WAS HAVING A SALE. Diane Wohl had left work at four to take advantage. A new dress, a few blouses, maybe some slacks, a scarf. She’d just gotten a raise at work and wanted to put it to good use. There was nothing wrong with pampering yourself every once in a while. She parked her car in the shopping mall garage and walked about four hundred feet to the store. She left two hours later after trying on several outfits and buying two bags full of clothing, doing her patriotic duty to stimulate an otherwise lousy economy.

She hopped in the car after tossing her bags in the passenger seat. She was hungry and was thinking about picking up some Chinese take-out on the way home. She had just put the key in the ignition when she felt the small circle of metal against her head. A strong odor made her forget about kung pao chicken with all white meat and egg drop soup. It was a mixture of gun oil and cigarettes.

“Drive,” the voice said quietly but firmly. “Or you’re dead.”

She drove.

An hour later the suburbs had disappeared. The only thing visible was lined asphalt, a harvest moon, and walls of trees. Not another car, not another person. Diane Wohl was completely alone with whatever monster was sitting in the back of her Honda.

He spoke again. “Turn off here.”

Her gut tightened and stomach acid driven by fear heaved up her throat.

The car bumped along the dirt road for a few minutes. The mass of trees seemed to swallow up the car.

“Stop.”

Diane slid the gearshift lever to park. As she pulled her hand back the woman eyed her purse with a sideways glance. Her cell phone was in there. If she could somehow turn it on. Or her keys. She had a big wad of them. She could pull them; gouge him in the eyes like she’d seen on TV shows. Only she was so terrified she couldn’t. Her entire body was trembling like she had Parkinson’s.

The monster of few words said, “Out.”

She didn’t move. Her throat was crusted dry but she managed to say, “If you want my car and my money you can have them. Just please don’t hurt me. Please.”

The monster was not persuaded. “Out.” He wedged the gun muzzle against the back of her head. A piece of her hair caught against the bump of the gunsight and was pulled out root and all. Tears trickled down the woman’s cheeks as she confronted the last few minutes of her life. It was like all the warnings had said:

Know your surroundings. Be alert. It only takes a second.

From Talbot’s to death on a lonely strip of dirt.

She opened the car door and started to slide out, her hand clutching her purse. She gasped and let go when the gloved fingers closed around her wrist.

“You won’t need that.”

She closed the door behind her.

Her hopes sank when he joined her outside the car. She had been praying that he would merely climb over the front seat and take her Honda, instead of stealing her life.

He was older, with thick, longish white hair that looked sweaty and dirty. And his face appeared carved from solid rock with rivulets running all over the surface. He was older, but he was also a big, tall man, well over two hundred pounds with broad shoulders and huge, veined hands. He towered over the petite Wohl. Even without the weapon she had no chance against him. His gun was pointed right at her head. The fact that he wasn’t wearing a mask terrified her; she could clearly see his face.

He doesn’t care. Doesn’t care if I know who he is. He’s going to kill me. Rape and then kill me. And leave me out here. She started to sob.

“Please don’t do this,” she said as he took a step forward and she took a step back, bracing for the attack.

She never noticed the other man come up behind her. When he touched her shoulder, she shrieked and turned. He was smaller and wiry, his Hispanic features clearly defined. Yet she never saw this because he held up the canister and the dense mist hit her squarely in the face.