Erica Spindler - Dead Run

“No…sorry I…you into this.”

“You didn’t. Rachel, I…the last time we spoke I acted like such a jerk. I’m so sorry. If I could take back the things I said-”

“I should…told you what was happen…afraid. For you. I…” Her words trailed off; a shudder rippled over her wasted body.

“You’re ill.” Liz heard the fear in her own voice and worked to hide it. “Save your strength, please.”

Her sister curled her fingers around hers, her grip as weak as a newborn’s. “Don’t you…understa…this body…just a shell. This world only a…moment in…eternity.”

She closed her eyes and for one panicked moment Liz thought she had lost her. Then she stirred once more. “My faith kept me…alive. She…didn’t understa…the more she tried to turn me away, the closer we beca-”

Another shudder seized Rachel, and Liz held her. She moved slightly so Rachel’s head rested in her lap. She trailed her fingers through her sister’s hair, gently massaging her scalp, the way she used to when they were kids.

“I’m not going to let you die.” This, Liz whispered fiercely, as if by wanting desperately enough she could will it. “I lost you once and I’m not going to lose you again.”

Rachel’s mouth moved. Liz bent closer. Her breath stirred against her cheek, but no sound emerged.

So she continued to stroke her hair and speak softly. “Remember the Christmas we spent in Vermont with Grandma and Grandpa? We’d never seen so much snow. We both stayed out so long that first day our cheeks were still pink the next morning.”

Liz smiled at the memory. “Grandpa took us for a sleigh ride. I remember the jingle of the bells, the taste of Grandma’s hot chocolate and the clouds of condensation that formed in the air as we laughed.”

She lowered her gaze to her sister. Her eyes were closed but Liz could tell she was listening. And that her words were soothing to her. So she continued, recalling other stories they shared, other sweet remembrances.

From the sanctuary came the sound of voices. Liz bent close to Rachel’s ear. “I’ll be right back.”

She eased Rachel’s head off her lap, got to her feet and tiptoed to the door. She pressed her ear against it. Heather was speaking.

“-told me he was dead!”

“He should be. He took a bullet in the chest.”

Pastor Tim? Were they talking about-

“Then where the hell is he?”

“When I left, he was sprawled across his office floor, bleeding like a stuck pig.”

Pastor Tim was alive! If he had managed to escape-

“I am not happy about this.”

“Do you think I am? If not for you, Collins wouldn’t have been a problem. You were supposed to kill her that night.” Val’s voice vibrated with fury. “Instead, you send those Rainbow Kids to lure her to you. What were you thinking? We don’t have enough problems without her?”

“Rachel Howard is not your concern.”

“Not my…but you expect me to clean up your mess. You expect me to keep making everything all right.”

“Yes,” she murmured, “I do.”

“Well, fuck you!” he shouted. “You take care of her. I wash my hands of this.”

Silence followed. Liz pressed her ear closer to the door. When Heather spoke again, her voice was different: deeper, ugly. “Let’s be clear on this, Lieutenant. You’re in so far and so deep, your trail of slime leads all over this island. I can slip away. Can you say the same?”

“I could kill you now.” He lowered his voice. “I should. Poor Heather Ferguson, another one of Rick Wells’s victims.”

She laughed. “But you won’t, will you? Because you don’t have what it takes to use the knife. And you know how it’s going to look if the pastor and her sister aren’t killed in the same fashion as the others. It’ll be a big red flag for the investigators. And suddenly, your nice neat story is anything but. Maybe I’m wrong, but a pretty boy like you wouldn’t do well in prison.”

This time it was Val who fell silent. After a moment, he spoke. “There are limits to what even I can do, Heather.”

“I don’t want to hear about your limitations. I’ve made you a very rich man, Valentine Lopez. I suggest you show me the proper gratitude.”

“Fuck you to hell and back.”

“That would be a lovely start. We can make that date after we finish this thing. Get Wells over here now.”

Wednesday, November 21

10:25 p.m.

Rick paced, struggling to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. They had four victims confirmed. Tara Mancuso. Naomi Pearson. The woman found on Big Pine Key. And now, Carla Chapman. Another woman, Rachel Howard, was missing and presumed dead.

They had one banker-dead by suicide-into bogus loans and young girls. Also in the mix was a cult called the Horned Flower, maybe or maybe not involved in satanism. Definitely into drugs and sex, probably underage prostitution.

And they had a once-honest, upstanding cop turned murderer.

Rick squeezed his eyes shut, working to divorce himself from the betrayal and anger that surged through him. He needed a cool head, his wits about him.

If he was going to escape this with his life. The way he figured it, Val wasn’t going to allow him to walk away alive. He couldn’t. Rick knew the truth.

Val, and whoever his accomplices were, had begun cleaning house. Tonight, they were tying up loose ends. They had to. He was their killer. They’d showed their hand and set the clock ticking. Time had run out on their scheme.

He thought of Liz and fear rose up in him like an icy wave. She was a loose end. Maybe their last one.

And she was alone out there.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” He jerked his hands against the cuffs; the metal bit into his wrists and pain shot up his arms.

“Settle down, Wells,” the rookie barked, trying to sound fierce but coming off prepubescent instead.

He ignored the kid and refocused on the facts as he knew-or suspected-them to be. Tara got herself involved with the Horned Flower. Her involvement included having sex with twisted old Bernhardt-and maybe others like him. She wanted out, so she goes to her pastor. Who goes to Val.

Goodbye, Pastor Howard.

He flexed his fingers. Dammit! What had transformed his friend into a murderer? Greed. That’s what turned most cops. Val had probably been in on the bogus loan scheme. Hell, he may have masterminded it. Feed Bernhardt’s sick addiction, then blackmail him with the very addiction he helped grow.

Of course. Rick stopped pacing. Bernhardt can’t take the pressure anymore and takes a swan dive out his bedroom window. Which left Naomi Pearson hanging in the wind. With Bernhardt dead, Pearson had not only outlived her usefulness but had become a liability. Island National would uncover Bernhardt’s activities, trace them to her and she would sing like a canary.

Unless she was dead.

Goodbye, Naomi Pearson.

Then there was Carla. Obviously, Becky had mentioned the message-pad incident and Val had realized she’d caught on to him.

Goodbye, Carla.

To his thinking, the unknown vic found on Big Pine Key was either Heather Ferguson or the other teenager on Bernhardt’s homemade porno. Next up, Liz Ames.

Val would have his clean house.

Rick swung to face Walters. “How long you been on the force, kid?”

“Three weeks.”

“You don’t say?” Rick eyed the boy, feeling sorry for him. “I used to be a cop.”

“I’d heard that.”

“Worked for six years with the Miami-Dade force. I tell you, I saw some shit that’d curl your hair.”

“Like what?” the kid asked warily.

“Gang wars, murder, drugs, you name it. Lots of drug trade in Miami. Lots of money in it. Some of the cops went bad.”