Kristen took a step back. „Becca, I – “
Becca silenced her with another hand wave. „Hush, Kristen. You and Abe I planned for. It’s the rest of my brood that I wasn’t anticipating.“
Becca’s insistence was reflected in the faces of the other Reagans. They weren’t throwing her out. She felt the knots in her stomach slide free. She was still part of this amazing family. „Then let me peel some potatoes.“ She glanced at Annie. „If you don’t mind.“
With an encouraging smile, Annie handed her a knife and they got to work.
Tuesday, February 24,
7:00 p.m.
The sun had gone down and still he sat, thinking, wondering, remembering in the darkness of his kitchen. The picture of Leah was to his left, the stack of bullets to his right, and in the center of the table, the fishbowl, still filled with names. So much evil in the world. He was only one man whose time was drawing to a close. Three cards sat in front of the fishbowl. He didn’t need to turn on the light to be able to see their names. Their names were permanently etched in his memory. A judge, a defense lawyer and a serial rapist. He closed his eyes, remembering the look on Leah’s face the last time he’d seen her alive. So very, very alone. Because of the judge, the lawyer, and the rapist. They all deserved to die.
And they would. But he’d have to be careful. Once he killed the judge, they’d start to narrow it down. Once he killed the defense attorney, they’d figure it out. The rapist himself would suspect and run away. And he’d be left without his vengeance.
That could not happen. So how to kill them all so that the others didn’t suspect they were next? But he wanted them to suspect, just a little. He wanted the lawyer to hear the judge was dead and be afraid. He wanted the rapist to feel hunted, to feel terror as had his Leah.
He wanted each man to know why he was being killed.
And he wanted each one to feel a great deal of pain.
He sat there in the dark, running through various scenarios, finally returning to his original plan. He would hunt down each one like the dogs they were, disable them, then bring them here. He would hunt them quickly, efficiently. But once captive, he would kill each one slowly, until they begged for mercy.
The mercy they received would be equal to the mercy they showed Leah.
In other words, there would be none.
Tuesday, February 24,
10:00 p.m.
Kristen’s eyes widened when they pulled into her driveway. The cruiser was conspicuously absent. „What happened to Truman?“
„They needed to pull him back onto patrol. Half a dozen guys called in with the flu and Central was scrambling to fill their shifts. I told them it was okay.“
There was silence for a moment from the passenger seat. Then quietly she said, „Because you said you’d stay with me.“ They hadn’t discussed it until now. In his mind it had been a given, but he could practically see the wheels of indecision turning in her head and he understood. The other two nights he’d stayed had been special cases. Both times she’d been attacked. Last night, his own father had stayed, a respectable guard. But tonight was different. Just a man and a woman alone in her house. To say he hadn’t fantasized the possible outcomes would be a lie. One part of his brain was fantasizing at this very moment and he was grateful for the darkness that surrounded them. „I’ll sleep on your couch.“
She leaned back, turning only her head to look at him. „You would, wouldn’t you?“
„Yes,“ he replied without hesitation. „Until you decide otherwise, yes.“
One side of her mouth lifted. „So it’s up to me?“
He didn’t smile. „Totally.“
„Will you at least kiss me good night?“
He did smile at that. „Just don’t ask me to tuck you in. My principles are only so strong.“ Without giving her time to comment, he helped her down, then reached for the laptop bag she had in one hand and the Marshall Field’s shopping bag in the other. „What’s in the bag?“
„Magazines,“ she said over her shoulder. „Annie and I were talking about redoing my kitchen while we were peeling potatoes. She loaned me the magazines so I could get some ideas. I’m thinking about tearing out a wall and doubling the size. Maybe doing a French Provincial style. You can take a look at the pictures and tell me – “
She broke it off with a startled exclamation and a second later he saw why. The side of her house by her kitchen door was covered in black spray paint. Blade graffiti, six feet tall. A long horizontal line trailed toward the back of her house, a stylized arrowhead at its end.
„I’ll get a light. Stay here.“ He deposited the bags at her feet, got a heavy flashlight from the SUV, then carefully walked along the edge of her house, his weapon drawn, shining the light on the snow until he found what the gang had left behind. „Shit.“
„What?“ she said from behind him and he jumped.
„Dammit, Kristen, I told you to stay by the door.“ But it was too late. His admonition was interrupted by her sharp intake of breath.
„Oh, Abe, no.“
„Hold this and don’t move.“ He handed her the light and pulled out his cell phone and hit Mia’s speed dial. „Come to Kristen’s,“ he said. „We just found Aaron Jenkins.“
Chapter Eighteen
Wednesday, February 25,
8:00 a.m.
„Let’s get started,“ Spinnelli called from his position by the whiteboard. The side conversations ceased. There was a subdued energy in the room, Kristen thought. They finally, finally had a lead to follow, but they also had a new body in the morgue. Aaron Jenkins’s throat had been slit, his body left to freeze in the shadows of her backyard. The gang members must have driven by her house and seeing no cruiser in front, seized their opportunity. The threat was clear. Anyone helping the vigilante was fair game for gang retribution. And Kristen was still at the top of their list.
The conference room table was filled. The core team was there plus Julia, Todd Murphy from Spinnelli’s department, and Miles Westphalen, their staff psychologist. „What do we have, people? Abe?“
„A name to go with our bullet,“ Abe said. „Hank Worth. Problem is, he’s been dead for sixty years.“
Spinnelli’s marker squeaked as he wrote the name. „And?“
„Genny O’Reilly, his intended,“ Mia said. „She up and married someone else two months after he shipped out. I may have seen too many old movies, but that sounds like she fell for the old I-may-not-come-back-from-the-war line and found herself eating for two. If that’s the case, their child would be about sixty.“
Spinnelli considered it. „Sixty seems a bit old for our humble servant.“
„Many sixty-year-olds are quite fit,“ Westphalen said mildly.
Spinnelli smiled. „Point taken, Miles.“
„Well, whoever we’re dealing with,“ Jack said, „has to have above-average strength. How much did the heaviest victim weigh, Julia?“
Julia pulled out her notes. „Ramey weighed 220. Ross King, 251. The others were all lower. But I think he used a cart or gurney or something with wheels.“
„Why?“ Abe asked sharply.
„There were no signs of dragging the bodies. No scratches on their backs, no bruising at the ankles, wrists, or under the arms that would be consistent with grabbing and pulling with any force. There were marks from the rope he used to bind their wrists and ankles, but that looks very different from a grabbing bruise. If he used a gurney, he wouldn’t need that much strength. He’d just need to roll them.“
„But could a sixty-year-old even roll a man that big?“ Jack asked.