Allison Brennan - Killing Fear

Robin shook off her frustration and regret and ate more from habit than because she was hungry. She noticed the mail she’d picked up when Mario brought her home earlier. Absently she went through it, tossing the junk right into the trash can at the end of the counter. Junk, junk, junk, bill, junk, ju-

She stared at the envelope. It was blank. No return address, no stamp, no postal insignia whatsoever.

The handwriting made her hands shake. Sweat broke out on her forehead. It was Theodore Glenn, no doubt about it. She’d burned dozens of unopened letters he’d sent her from prison. But they’d all been sent to the Sin. She’d always taken some comfort that he didn’t know where she lived.

Not anymore.

How had Theodore Glenn gotten past security? How had he put a letter in her box with no one seeing him?

She pushed the soup away, bile rising up her throat. In the back of her mind, she knew she should call 911 right now, not even open the letter. But what if she was wrong? What if it wasn’t Theodore Glenn’s handwriting? What if she was overreacting out of lack of sleep and fear?

Holding the envelope only with her fingernails, she carefully slit it open with a sharp knife from the butcher block next to the stove. Hands shaking, she extracted a single sheet of paper. In small, perfect handwriting, it read:

Robin:

You are even more beautiful now than you were removing your clothes for me at RJ’s. But beauty doesn’t buy you a life.

I know you’re working with the police. I could threaten anyone, and you would still go to them. Your mother? Pathetic woman. But it appears she’s not home. Another vacation? I know you drained your savings account to get her house out of foreclosure because she spends all her money shopping on television. You’d have been better off without her.

Maybe you still would be.

Your father? You never met him, but I did some research. It’s amazing what kind of access I had in prison. But if I killed him, you wouldn’t care. You have no attachment to him, he’s only a name on your birth certificate.

And your friends, well, we all know what happens to people you care about, don’t we? Have you considered that your affection is toxic? That perhaps your tainted love kills? No matter, really, because I have been keeping tabs on you. I know you live alone with Anna’s cat. I know you have no friends. I know you still sleep with the lights on.

But we both know that you’re a coldhearted bitch. You lied to put me in prison, and for that I will never forgive you. For that I will make you pay.

I have always marveled at the word love. What does it mean? Truly, how can anyone care for anyone other than themselves? The pain, the betrayal, the suffering. For what? To live as a prisoner to another’s emotions?

I would free you, but somehow I think your death would cause William far more anguish than his death would cause you. You lied. William was just doing his job.

It’s a pity, because all you had to do was be nice to me and no one would be dead. How does it feel to know you’re culpable, Robin? How does it feel to know you could have stopped all of this if you’d simply fucked me?

Bryce Descario’s house was dark. The calls to both his cell phone and house phone had gone unanswered for the thirty minutes Will had been trying. A patrol sat out front, having arrived before Hooper.

“Did you knock on the door?” Will asked.

“Yes, sir, and walked the perimeter. No signs of forced entry. I don’t think he’s home.”

Will wasn’t so sure.

Perhaps Descario had left San Diego. Chief Causey had told him to inform the department if he was leaving town, but that didn’t mean squat. Someone as arrogant and bitter as the former D.A. wouldn’t feel he had to report into the lowly police department, especially since the police union supported his opponent over him in the election he lost. Chief Causey had been the head of that cause.

Will glanced at Carina. “I have a feeling.”

“Me, too. Bad.”

He nodded, pulled his gun. He rarely pulled his weapon, relying on his ability to talk his way out of virtually any situation. He’d gone through hostage negotiation training and was often called in to handle sensitive situations. But here, now, he sensed something was amiss.

Was Theodore Glenn watching? Was he waiting to see how Will would react to whatever was inside Descario’s house?

Descario was either dead inside the house, or not home. The message Glenn left for Will wasn’t the ravings of a lunatic, but a man with a purpose. He’d wanted Will to come here. Why?

To show his power. That he could walk free when every law enforcement agency was looking for him.

“Oh, yes, Theodore, you’re very, very smart,” Will whispered. “Is that what you want? Me to acknowledge your genius?”

“Excuse me?” Carina said.

“Nothing.” But Will was getting a far greater sense of his prey now, much better than he had seven years ago.

They skirted the edge of the large, private house in Rancho Santa Margarita. The wealthy neighborhood was quiet, which wasn’t surprising. Will rarely came to this neighborhood. Crime was minimal. In fact, the last time he’d been here was ten months ago, when a prominent psychiatrist was thought to have committed suicide. Property crimes, occasional domestics, rarely anything violent. Nothing that would come to the attention of a homicide detective.

It was when he and Carina met back up at the front that he realized exactly what was wrong.

“Security.”

“What?”

“Where are the lights? Virtually every house in this neighborhood had security lights. A cat walks across the yard, and spotlights come on.”

“If the power was cut, wouldn’t the alarm company have called? Checked it out?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If the security system was activated.”

Will hesitated. If he was wrong and Descario had left town or was out with his girlfriend tonight, he’d be putting the department in a bad light. Cops breaking into homes. Still, an escaped convict had threatened the former district attorney. What more probable cause did he need?

“I’ll go around back. Count to thirty and then we both go in.”

Carina nodded. Will motioned to the uniform to back his partner up. He went around to the back, counting. Two sets of French doors opened into the backyard off the breakfast nook. He was there at count twenty-four.

Twenty-five.

Twenty-six.

Who was Glenn going after next? How could they stop him if he had help?

Twenty-nine.

Thirty.

Simultaneously, Will and Carina broke down the doors of the house.

No alarm went off.

Will searched the rear half of the house. He met up with Carina in the foyer. She’d already covered the living and dining rooms. She shook her head and Will motioned to go upstairs. She nodded, covering his back.

The master bedroom doors were closed. Will held up three fingers. One. Two. Three.

They pushed open the doors.

A piercing alarm sounded. Spotlights went on all around the house.

And no one was in the bed.

“Shit,” Will said. “He played us.”

“Human beings are so predictable,” Theodore told Sara, enjoying the spectacle down the street, a faint smile on his lips.

“You’re so smart, Teddy.” Sara rested her hand on his arm, her fingers tracing his bicep.

Not just humans in general, but William Hooper in particular was predictable. Theodore had, of course, imagined killing Bryce Descario. But in the end, when he had the chance, he let it go.

Watching William’s reaction to the setup was far more fun than killing the pathetic former district attorney. His letter to William had done exactly what he expected-sent them to Descario’s house. So predictable, and that helped him know how to handle his next few moves.