Afraid to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

As she cut the engine, her cell phone buzzed, indicating she was receiving a text, and though she thought about ignoring it as this was her personal time, she couldn’t. O’Keefe might be sending her a message, or there could be a break in the case, or ...

She

touched the screen and froze as a picture appeared. A picture of Gabriel Reeve. But, no ... it wasn’t just a picture, it was a small recording. She pressed the play button and he became animated.

“You have to help me,” he said as her heart nearly stopped. “You have to do what he says ...” He glanced to the side and there was a whisper, a man’s chilling lowered voice. “Tell her to drive to Cougar Pass. No cops. Just show up. If she doesn’t, you’ll be dead.”

Gabriel, ashen-faced, eyes round and scared to death, repeated the message. “You have to come to Cougar Pass. Please. He says he’ll kill me.” His voice broke and again the man said, “Tell her ‘no cops.’ If she has any kind of backup, you’re dead. You got that?”

“D-Don’t tell ...” Gabe repeated, looking panicked, and Alvarez saw a movement behind him, a shadow. Her heart froze as she recognized the sharp blade of a knife poised right above her son’s left ear. And ... oh, God, it had blood on it. The sharp blade glinted silver and dripped red. Oh, sweet Jesus.

Was he going to slit Gabe’s throat right now?

No! Don’t!

Panicked, fear gripping her heart in its deadly talons, she cried out, “Stop! Don’t hurt him! For the love of God!” But, of course, neither Gabe nor his abductor could hear her desperate pleas. Gabe, too, was frantic, scared out of his mind. “No cops!” he ordered, repeating what he’d been told. “Mom, he says, ‘no cops,’ or ... or ... he’s gonna kill me!”

Chapter 32

“Thanks,” O’Keefe said, accepting his glass of Scotch from a waitress whose name tag read Tiffany and who looked too young to be serving alcohol. The room was crowded, conversation humming around him, a fire in an ancient grate burning, the interior of the hotel warm and glowing with lights in the cold, winter night. “Just leave the wine there.” He pointed to a spot across the small table from him. “She’ll be here any minute.”

“Sure.” Deftly, Tiffany placed the glass of merlot where he’d indicated and then hurried off through the crowded restaurant of the hotel. Everyone, it seemed, who could get out had come up with the same idea that O’Keefe had, and he’d been lucky to get a reservation for a window table. He’d hoped for a view of the river and the falls, which were starting to freeze, but he’d taken the spot overlooking the parking lot and was just glad that she’d be showing up soon. Ever since she’d told him about the pointed card she’d received from the killer, he’d been more nervous than ever, didn’t want to think of her as the target she surely was.

So the hours spent apart from her had been difficult and all of his platitudes to himself about how she could take care of herself, trust her cop instincts, or handle any perp just didn’t cut it, not when he considered the sadistic determination of this psycho.

Swirling his drink, causing the ice cubes to dance, he told himself that he was going to quit fighting his feelings. He loved the woman—be that bad or good, smart or stupid. He couldn’t imagine living his life apart from her and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let some sick son of a bitch mess with her life.

He took a sip from his glass, tasted the smoky flavor of Scotch on his tongue and told himself to relax when he saw her car wheel into the lot to cruise into the last parking spot.

Good.

He could relax now. His heart filled a bit at the sight of her and he waited, watching her fiddle with something ... Her phone? She didn’t make a call or take one before he realized she’d received a text message. Taking another sip, he watched her through the curtain of snow. She tossed down the phone, started the engine and, as quickly as she’d cruised into the lot, she backed up and took off, snow spraying from her tires as she barely paused as she entered the street.

The case!

There had to be a break in the ice-mummy case.

He found his phone and dialed, hoping she’d pick up. She had a hands-free device, so he expected that she would answer and give him a short explanation.

Nothing.

Four rings and then voice mail.

Not good.

Rather than wait, he found his wallet, tossed several bills onto the table and strode out of the restaurant, nearly knocking over a busboy with a load of dishes, and cutting around an elderly woman with a walker. “Excuse me,” he said, though he didn’t mean it as he shouldered through the doors and around a middle-aged couple who were just entering.

Down the steps he flew, and onto the street where his Explorer was parked. After jumping inside, he started the engine and threw the Ford into gear. Within seconds he was following the road Alvarez had taken, flipping on his wipers and cranking up the defrost as well as calling her again on her cell.

No response.

It’s all right. She’s a cop. They have emergencies.

He didn’t believe it for a second. Not when the creep had called her out on that freaky Christmas card. The message, “All I Want for Christmas,” was crystal clear.

Again his call went straight to voice mail. “Hell!” He flipped on his wipers, searching, looking for her car and not seeing it. “Come on, come on.”

Relax. She’ll call you ... It’s the case ...