She raised her shoulders. “I’m doing just fine. Don’t worry.”
“I can’t help but worry.”
Vivian frowned. “The paper said today that Lulu died because of you. The paper said whoever is killing these women is killing the ones that know you.”
“The writer made some terrible assumptions that are not based in fact.”
“It’s got to be true or it wouldn’t be in the paper.”
Resentment burned. “The papers don’t always get it right.”
“Sounded convincing to me.” She stared down at the bag in her hand. “It’s better you stay away from us. I don’t want nothing to happen to David.”
“I would never do anything to bring harm to that boy.”
“I can’t take that chance. Now if you don’t mind, you’d better leave.”
“What about the legal work?”
“I’ll find another attorney.”
He followed Angie from King’s to Vivian Sweet’s house and then back to the pub. As he stood in the shadows across the street from the pub, he watched the top attic light turn on and then finally off. He imagined her sliding off her clothes before slipping under the cool sheets of her bed.
Absently, he rubbed his hands together, anticipating what it would feel like to take his knife and drag it across the tender flesh of her neck.
“Sleep tight, Angie Carlson. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”
Chapter 27
Thursday, October 13, 7 A.M.
Briefcase in hand, Angie disarmed the alarm at the office and pushed through the front door. She’d not called for a police escort this morning. She should have. But after last night with Malcolm, she’d simply not wanted to deal with anyone—especially a cop.
She’d spent a restless night at Eva’s. Her mind had tossed between Malcolm and David, and no matter how much she tried to distract her mind with other thoughts the two haunted her.
She savored the silence of the office and kicked the door closed. The phones weren’t ringing, the fax machines weren’t buzzing, and Charlotte or Iris wouldn’t be standing in her doorway with a question. She crossed to Iris’s desk and set down her briefcase.
She heard the door settle into the frame but didn’t hear the lock click closed. Turning to close the door, she watched the door push open. A tall man, his face obscured by a hoodie, stood in the doorway.
She screamed and backed up until she bumped into Iris’s desk. Thoughts scrambled to the mace buried on the bottom of her purse and the phone behind her. But she didn’t dare move her gaze from this man. “Get the hell out or I’m calling the cops.”
How could she have been so stupid and careless?
The man raised his hands and pushed the hoodie from his face. “Angie, stop. I just want to talk.”
Martin!
“Stay away from me!”
“I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk.”
Her hands trembled, and she fumbled for the phone receiver behind her. “If you want to talk, come back later when there are people here.”
“I need to talk to you. In private.”
Her fingers blindly skimmed the desk and grazed over the top of the receiver. She held it up to her ear. “Later today, Martin.”
He remained in the doorway, seemingly more afraid than her. “My last name is Rayburn. I’m Blue’s son.”
Angie held the receiversotightly her knuckles whitened. “What?”
“I’m Blue’s son. Eva’s half brother?”
The information stunned her. “Why are you here now?”
“I finally screwed up the courage to talk to you.”
They’d first spoken days ago, and yet he waited until now when she was alone. “I don’t believe you. How long have you been stalking Eva and me?”
“I’m not stalking you. When you didn’t show up at the gym I figured you were here. I’d hoped we could talk at the gym this morning.”
Every nerve in her body tightened to the point of snapping. “Where is your father?”
“Please, I’ll tell you everything. Just relax.”
“Relax! Have you read the papers lately?”
“Yeah.”
“Where is your father?”
He rubbed his hands over his worn jeans. “Dead. He died a couple of years ago.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Yes.”
She moistened her lips. “Why not just contact me the normal way? Why are you here now?”
“I was afraid. I want to meet Eva. She’s my sister. And I want your help.”
Angie’s protective urge rose up strong. “There are better ways, Martin. You’ve handled this badly.”
A heavy silence followed, and for a second she thought he’d leave. “I’m not so good with words or the conventional approaches.”
“No shit. Come back later, Martin.”
Another pause. “When?”
“After eight.”
“Okay. I’m going to leave a book on the front steps. It’s Blue’s diary. It will explain a lot.”
“Come back later, Martin.”
She watched him leave and close the door behind him. She heard the soft footfalls of his feet on the steps, and then utter silence followed. She waited, held her breath, and then shoved out the air trapped in her lungs.
She waited several more tense minutes before she slammed down the receiver and crossed to the front door. She opened it. There was no sign of Martin, but as he’d said a slim red book rested on the top step. She picked it up and thumbed through the pages. Blue’s scratchy handwriting would take time to decipher, but immediately she recognized her father’s name. Would Blue be able to tell her what had happened so long ago?
Shoving out another breath, she tried to regain her composure. Martin was gone, and yet … she sensed something, someone.
Abruptly she turned to her right. A man raced out of the darkness and up the steps. She turned to run back into the office, but as she turned to slam the door he shoved a large, booted foot into the doorjamb. He quickly used his weight and jerked the door open.
The man’s familiar features were almost rendered unrecognizable by the dark menace burning in his eyes.
She screamed. He lunged and shoved a needle into her belly, pushing the plunger with a violent force that radiated through her body.
“Bitch.”
Immediately, her strong muscles turned to jelly. Her mind spun as if she were on a merry-go-round. She dropped to her knees, and the book slid from her fingers. She hit the floor, but fought to stay conscious as she looked up at him.
“Why?” she whispered.
“I’ve been dreaming about this moment for a very long time.”
“No.”
He knelt beside her and grabbed her chin, straightening her face so that she was forced to look at him with her dimming gaze. “Now the fun starts.”
Charlotte had always considered her super paranoia to be a curse. She’d grown tired of the worrying, the double-checking. and the sleepless nights. She was a woman ruled by logic, and needless worrying was beyond any reasonable logic.
But when she realized the front door to Wellington and James was u
nlocked, her mind tripped from fear of an intruder, to anger that her office manager had forgotten to lock the door, and back to fear that something was terribly wrong.
She dug her cell phone out of her purse and put her finger on the speed dial for 911. “Angie! Iris!”
Instinct told her to call the cops, but she’d overreacted in the past, and her terrified calls had earned her annoyed and angry glares from the responding officers. She’d made great strides in the last couple of months, and she didn’t want to lose ground now.
“Analyze and look before you call,” she muttered. The front office appeared fine. There were no signs of trouble, and yet …
“Angie! Iris!”
A heavy silence hung in the air.
She spotted Angie’s briefcase and purse on Iris’s desk. Damn. Angie had left the front door open. Not good. She lowered her cell. “Angie!”
But the lingering silence nagged. Angie was good about locking up and being a calming force. She spotted the slim red book on the floor. It was old, faded, and the edges were beat up from wear and tear.
The book was a journal, written in a thick, scrawling handwriting that grew shakier with each new entry. On the last page, written in a clear firm handwriting, was the name Martin Rayburn.
Rayburn. That was Eva’s last name.
Charlotte quickly swept the offices, bathroom, and conference room in search of Angie or Iris. She found neither.
Her nerves kicked up into such a high alert that no calming mantra would ease it. She called 911.
* * *
Malcolm and Garrison arrived at the medical examiner’s office just as Dr. Henson was pulling into her parking spot. Dr. Henson worked long hours, and even on a regular day she arrived early.
“Doc,” Malcolm called out.
She carried a small cooler for her lunch, a large black purse, and a workout bag. Turning, she looked a bit harried. “Detectives. I’m just heading to my office now.”
“So you left a message for me,” Malcolm said. “You have something?”
“I am ninety-five percent sure the body in that facility is Dixon. His dental x-rays showed a pronounced crack on his back tooth and so did my John Doe. There were also fillings in the left molars, which was also consistent.”
“Ninety-five percent sure?”