“It’s a door in the floor. He pulled a handle and it slid back. He dumped her in. He said that’s where my sister was. He said there was room for two more.”
Don’t panic, don’t panic. “We’re not going to die. How did you get over here?”
“I rolled. I didn’t want you to scream.”
“That was smart.” Eve craned her head up, but from where she lay she couldn’t see much. “Can you see anything we can use for a weapon? Anything sharp?”
“There are some drawers behind you, but they’re above my head unless I can stand up. Which I can’t.” There was a sound above their heads and they both looked up.
“He’s coming. Go back to where you were,” Eve hissed. “Play dead if you have to.”
“I’ve been playing dead. He thinks I’m catatonic, he said. What will you do?”
“I don’t know yet, but whatever happens, don’t let him know you’re awake. Do not let him see your fear. He feeds on our worst fears. Now go.” Liza obeyed, rolling back to her corner awkwardly while Eve tried to think of what to do. How to escape.
Understand him. She’d scored a direct hit on the MSP link to his manhood, but she couldn’t count on that working again. She lifted her head to look at the shoes. Most were women’s shoes, but three pairs from hers were a pair of men’s Nikes. Sticking up out of the Nikes, she could see a pair of wire-framed glasses.
Like Jeremy Lyons had worn. Kane was right, she thought. Jeremy’s dead.
She closed her eyes, fighting despair. Noah, where are you? He was looking, she knew. Look harder. She lifted her head again, made herself truly see what was before her eyes. With the exception of Jeremy’s Nikes and a pair of men’s work boots on the bottom shelf, most of the shoes were… fuck-me heels, for lack of a better term.
Dregs of society, he’d called them. Prostitutes. He’d killed prostitutes. She ran her gaze over every pair, until she came to the very first pair on the far left of the first shelf.
They were old, worn. Matronly, even. The shoes of his first victim?
Irene Black. The name rushed into her mind and she wondered if the woman had been more than a fake name for a Shadowland account.
The door opened and Pierce sauntered down the stairs, naked again. She put her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. She had to be mentally ready.
“Too late, Dr. Pierce,” she taunted. “I’m awake and you missed the show.”
“No.” He took the rest of the stairs in a giant step, throwing his trousers on the post and grabbing her hair. “You didn’t scream. They always scream.”
Thank you, Liza. “Maybe I’ve developed a tolerance. Maybe you mixed it wrong.”
“Maybe I should just carve you up anyway,” he sneered. “That scares you. I can tell. Your eyes flicker when you’re afraid.”
He had recharged. He was once again aroused. He straddled her again, hands on her throat. She bucked to try to throw him and he only laughed.
“More, Eve. The more you fight, the more I enjoy it.”
“Do you enjoy it?” she flung back. “You never had sex with any of your victims. Can you even do it?” MSP. He’d fizzled before her eyes. Make him do it again. “Or does that tiny dick of yours disappear before the main event?”
“Are you begging me to rape you, Miss Wilson?” he asked, but she’d seen the flicker in his eyes. She’d rattled him.
“I’m saying you couldn’t if you wanted to.”
His face darkened. “Soon, all you’ll be saying is ‘stop.’ ” He tightened his hands around her neck, cutting off her air. She fought to get him off, but he pressed his knees into her ribs, like a rider controlling a horse. His hands got tighter and his face got closer and his hips began to thrust. She could feel him, hard against her breastbone.
She fought harder, twisting, and heard the faraway sound of his laugh. She could smell him, the musk, the smell of sex. This is what he does. He’s almost there. In a surge of strength she forced a single hoarse syllable from her mouth. “Who?” But all that emerged was a mangled Huh.
He paused, his breath hard and hot and fast against her face. Revulsion roiled through her. The blackness was claiming the edges of her vision once again.
His lips curved in a triumphant smile, even as his muscles quivered, straining toward release. “Help?” he asked, smug now. “Was that a plea I heard?”
He loosened his grip a fraction and began thrusting again, harder, faster. “Beg, Eve, yell for help and I’ll let you breathe.”
She pulled in as much air as she could. “Who… is Irene Black?”
He stopped like a rock, shock flattening his face. “What?” he asked ominously, but against her his erection had abruptly shriveled and his hands had gone slack.
Yes. “Irene Black.” She took a deep breath. “I said Irene Black. Who is she?”
His face retreated a few inches. She watched him battle for a blank face. “Nobody.”
Eve’s laugh was hoarse and brief. “You’re a lousy liar. Who is she?”
“How did you find that name?”
“Don’t you want to know?”
He struck her, hard. “Tell me.”
“Untie me and I’ll tell you.”
He hit her again, harder. “Tell me or I’ll kill you.”
Eve’s head was spinning. “You’re going to kill me anyway, so go to hell.”
He grabbed her throat and shook her. “Tell me. Who else knows? Did Webster tell you that name?”
The white lights were back, dancing before her eyes. He let go, clutching her hair in one hand and hitting her with the other. She dragged the air in, the room now spinning. There was a greasy roiling in her stomach and she threw up.
All over him.
“Dammit,” he hissed. He leapt off her and delivered one more blow to her head. And the spinning room went dark.
Thursday, February 25, 2:45 p.m.
“Captain, two things,” Faye said when Noah and Abbott were back in his office. “We got a hit on Mrs. Ann Pierce’s plane reservation. She was supposed to leave for Los Angeles this morning and never showed up for her flight.”
“Find out how and when she paid for the ticket,” Abbott said.
“Cash and yesterday evening,” Faye replied. “She bought it at the airport counter. I already asked. Second, Lieutenant Tyndale from Fargo PD is on line one.”
Abbott contacted the Fargo PD to locate John Black as soon as they’d left Pierce’s house. Kane had traced Irene Black’s Wisconsin PO box to a mailbox store in New Germany, a rural town nearly an hour from the Cities. Because Pierce had forwarded Girard’s mail a third time and he was obsessive about order, Kane was trying to determine where the mail was being forwarded from there.
Noah had discovered that PI Hugh Robard disappeared without a trace ten years ago, about the same time the reports ended. And somewhere, Pierce still has Eve.
Every muscle clenched, Noah sat on the edge of Abbott’s desk. Abbott’s eyes were sharp. “You will not engage this witness,” Abbott said. “You aren’t here, understood?”
Abbott had sent him home, but Noah had thrown any pride he had left to the wind and begged to stay. There would be nothing at home to do but pace, and worry. And drink. “I understand,” Noah said. “Please, just hurry.”
Abbott hit the speaker button. “This is Captain Abbott. Who is this?”
“Lieutenant John Tyndale, Fargo PD. I have John Black here with me. I need to tell you up front, John’s a good man. I’ve known him for more than twenty years.”
“We appreciate his help. What can you tell us about the man in the photo we sent?”
“His name is not Carleton Pierce.” It was John Black who spoke. “It’s Edward Black. He’s my younger brother. We haven’t spoken in twenty-seven years, since our mother died.”
“Your mother was Irene Black?” Abbott asked.
“Yes. Ed made it look like she killed herself, but I always knew he did it. He hated her.” Black sighed. “He had good cause. We both did.”