Ted Dekker - The Bride Collector

But now she was blushing, as she had several times over the last half hour.

Her white cheeks were flushed with just a hint of red to match her ruby lips. She smiled, perfect white teeth. It made him wonder if she’d ever been kissed. She was frail and fair, as innocent as a broken dove. She had no fashion sense, choosing today to wear button-fly Levi’s that were wrinkled and an inch too short, and a sleeveless yellow collared shirt that was tucked in. Also wrinkled. The outfit was accessorized with a pink vinyl belt.

She’d dressed up for him, he thought, and ninety-nine out of a hundred people would think of her as fool for doing so.

He couldn’t do this.

“H and O,” Andrea said. “Ho.”

“Who’s the ho?” Roudy came back. “He isn’t killing whores.”

“No, ‘h’ and ‘o’ then ‘perfect twice.’ Fourteen.” She spoke quickly, drawing a shaky finger along the line. “… ‘join him in the hole. Perfect twice. Me. Paradise lost.’ That’s fourteen letters, perfect twice.”

Andrea’s mind was lost in numbers, but her voice carried an urgency that made Paradise turn and face the board. “What’s fourteen letters, Andrea?”

Brad’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket and he slipped it out. The screen read NIKKI HOLDEN. She was checking in as agreed. He thumbed the green talk button.

Andrea was clearly excited now. “‘Ho,’ then fourteen letters. Then ‘me.’ It happens twice, here and here.”

Brad lifted his phone to his ear. “Hello, Nikki. How goes it?”

The small speaker on his cell phone hissed. Then another sound popped softly. The sound of someone trying to speak and unable to get words past raw emotion.

There are times in life when that dreaded phone call comes, making real the stuff of nightmares… a car accident, a broken back, a death… and Brad knew immediately that this was one of those dreaded calls. His heart thumped hard once, then seemed to seize up. But his mind was racing, desperate to know that he was wrong.

“Nikki?”

She was trying to speak. Brad shivered.

“What’s wrong?” He couldn’t move. “Nikki?”

She found her voice, but it came out tight and stretched to the breaking point. “Brad…”

“What is it? What’s going on?”

She was crying. “Brad, he…”

That was all she got. He. There was only one “he” that came to mind.

And then “he” spoke. “Hello, Rain Man. Did you find my jack in the whole? It wasn’t supposed to be her, you know? Come and get me, Rain Man. Time’s running out.”

The connection ended.

“Nikki! Nikki!”

His world compressed around him. Andrea was talking about perfection and Paradise was asking something, but all Brad could hear was the dead silence on the phone.

He had Nikki. The Bride Collector had Nikki.

That couldn’t be right. There was a mistake, Nikki was at her mother’s! She wasn’t even on the case today. But…

Brad couldn’t breathe. The phone was still pressed against his cheek, silent. Everything seemed to have stalled and he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do.

Then training and instinct dropped into his mind and resumed a semblance of control.

He jerked the phone from his ear. “It’s Nikki,” he said.

They stared at him, unsure what was expected of them.

“The Bride Collector has Nikki.”

“We’re too late?” Roudy asked. “What did I say, what was I saying? Hurry, hurry, and now look at this!”

“Nikki,” Paradise said, unbelieving. “He’s taken Nikki?”

“Yes.” Brad was punching in James Temple’s number, hand shaking like a leaf in the wind. Get control, calm down. Take a deep breath, just calm down.

The special agent in charge answered on the third ring. “Temple.”

“He’s got Nikki. I just got a call from her cell phone. The killer’s got her-”

“Slow down. She had a protective-”

“Call the unit. Get a car from Castle Rock PD out to her mother’s house immediately. I’m going to call her back.”

“You’re sure-”

“Get out to her mother’s house!” Brad snapped. “Now!” He disconnected, brought up recent calls, and selected Nikki’s number. Hit send.

The phone rang him right into her voice mail.

Think. Think!

Andrea was speaking again, sweet and soft. “Home,” she said. “‘Ho’ followed by fourteen letters then ‘me.’ That sequence occurs twice. That’s perfect seven times two, perfect twice, and that happens twice. Perfect, twice. H… O… M… E… Home.” She had the pattern underlined in red.

The snake waits in the garden, seeking a new bride to join him in the hole. Perfect twice. Me.

Paradise lost. It takes one to know one. To know the insane. When the jack is in the w hole. Does jack want meto hide from you?

“That’s it,” Roudy said. “The jack in the whole! Home. He wrote this note after he planned on taking her. He has her at home.”

Silence gripped the room.

Paradise looked up at him and blinked. “Where does Nikki live?”

The pattern filled Brad’s mind like fireflies, almost impossible to see now that Andrea had illuminated the darkness.

Home.

“How do we know it’s her home?” he asked aloud.

“He wouldn’t hide a key in his message unless it unlocked meaning,” Paradise said. “His home would have no meaning to us unless you know where it is. Nikki’s home would. The killer has Nikki in her home.” She paused. “And if you were just on the phone with her, she’s still alive.”

Brad was already running for the door. Roudy was demanding to be taken along, but Brad didn’t have the presence of mind to respond. He entered the hall at a full sprint, mind spinning with one question: What was the fastest way?

He tore past a dozen bewildered residents in the great room and raced across the yard.

Or was it his home? Or her mother’s home?

Nikki lived in a two-bedroom apartment on Simms Street west of Denver. He’d taken her home after the Christmas party last year rather than allow her to drive after one too many drinks. A cruiser might be closer-he’d put out a call. But he was less than fifteen minutes away himself, assuming traffic didn’t hold him up.

Brad hit seventy by the end of the driveway, honking for the guard to open the gate, which he did, but only after Brad slid to a stop with two inches to spare.

If the killer had reduced Nikki to the woman he’d heard on the phone, he had to assume that the Bride Collector now knew everything Nikki knew, including the fact that Brad was at the Center for Wellness and Intelligence, only fifteen minutes away without traffic.

But the killer said he believed Brad hadn’t found the jack in the whole tipping them off to his location. He might not feel any urgency.

Nikki was alive. If the Bride Collector intended to kill her the same way he’d killed the others, the operation would take some doing. Even after the drilling, he would have to get her up on the wall and unplug the wounds before her blood would drain. Kim had said it would take up to ten minutes for the heart to pump out five liters through the anterior tibial artery.

With any luck, Brad still had time to reach her. Dear God, help me.

He got Temple back on the line as he hit Highway 170, doing ninety. “No time to explain now, but he’s got her at home. Either my condo, her mother’s house, or her apartment on Simms. Get Frank down to my condo now, send backup to Nikki’s apartment. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“There’s no answer from the squad car that followed her. ETA two minutes.”

“Just send the cavalry out to Simms. Now, Temple. Now!”

SHE WASN’T COOPERATING the way Quinton had hoped. Her spirit was too strong and she had a rebellious nature, making him second-guess his choice to take her. The psycho-sedative was starting to kick in now, but he always preferred to get at least a nod of appreciation for God’s plan before he gave the brides the rest of the drugs. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been easily convinced of her opportunity.