Karen Rose - I’m Watching You

„Richardson!“ The shout came from a familiar voice.

Owen . I was bait , she thought. They’ve lured him here .

„Richardson, I’m tired of your games. Come out and let’s get this over with.“

She was torn. Owen Madden was a killer.

He was my friend. But he’s killed thirteen people . Assuming the final three were dead – Hillman, Simpson, and Terrill. There was no reason to believe otherwise.

Still, she didn’t want him to fall into Conti’s hands.

He appeared between the stacks, a dark figure half a warehouse away. It was clear when he saw her. His gasp echoed in the cavernous quiet, the pounding of his boots like booming cannon fire as he ran to her. He ripped the gag from her mouth.

„Owen, it’s a trap. Run.“

Saturday, February 28,

3:30 p.m.

Abe shot the lock off Owen Madden’s front door. The house was quiet, not a sound. Still, he moved cautiously, his weapon drawn.

He cleared each deserted room, then walked past the kitchen table and stopped. A fishbowl sat in the middle of the table, filled with folded pieces of paper. Thirteen one-by-four-inch strips were lined up next to the fishbowl, each with a typed name, one for every body in the morgue, plus strips for Hillman, Simpson, and Terrill. There was a stack of bullets and a picture of Leah Broderick. Abe recognized her from the pictures Jack and Kristen and Julia had circulated yesterday. A cup of coffee sat next to the pile of bullets. It wasn’t yet cold.

A notepad sat in front of the fishbowl, the page facing him empty. Abe flipped back a few pages and recognized the flowing handwriting from the Kaplan note. The first page in the notebook started out, My dearest Kristen . He felt the rage bubble and shoved it back down. Madden had put Kristen in danger and still had the nerve to use endearments.

He kept moving, finding the door to the basement. He took each step one at a time, his finger alongside his trigger. If Conti was waiting below, he’d be a prime target coming down the stairs like this. But there were no shots, no sounds of any kind as he reached the basement floor. Three male bodies lay lifeless, bound to tables. Each had a bullet hole in the forehead. His eyes took a quick trip around the room, noting the Craftsman vise, the bullet molds, the neatly stacked slabs of marble, the rolls of rubber standing like rolled-up carpets. There was a device of some kind in the corner and he approached, still careful. There was a fine layer of dust around the six-foot-tall box with a Plexiglas front and a pair of built-in gloves so that the user could work behind the Plexiglas. He peered in and saw a finished grave marker that read simply leah broderick.

There was a freezer in one corner, a big chest model. He lifted the lid. It was empty. There was no one here.

Conti had taken Kristen elsewhere. Viciously Abe put aside the rising panic that threatened to choke off his very breath and made his way back up to the first floor. He walked around again, stopping to stare at the photo on top of the television. Genny O’Reilly Barnett, older, more mature. She was Owen’s mother. Then back to the table where he again flipped the pages of the notepad. Three pages were filled, but the fourth stopped midway, midsentence, as if Owen had been interrupted. Frowning, Abe turned the fourth page, noting fringed remnants of a fifth page torn out. He ran his finger over the empty page, his pulse quickening. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book. Please, God, let it work .

Lightly, he fanned a pencil over the empty page and watched another handwritten note appear. He recognized the address. It was on the lake, at the port.

It was a warehouse. Conti’s. His old boss in Narcotics was certain that Conti used the merchandise in the warehouse as a cover, to hide shipments of drags. But not one police search had turned up a single gram of illicit substances and Conti continued to walk around, a free man, cloaked in respectability and wealth. Until now.

„Thank you,“ he murmured and pulled out his phone. „Mia, meet me at Conti’s warehouse at the port.“ He rattled off the address and ran for the door. „Send for backup.“

„Abe, wait for me. Don’t go in alone.“ Her voice was urgent and Abe heard male mumbling in the background and Spinnelli took the phone.

„Abe, don’t you go in that warehouse until backup arrives. That is an order.“

Abe said nothing. Kristen was in there, he was certain of it. He’d do anything he had to do bring her out alive. And untouched. His hands trembled as he jumped behind the wheel of the SUV. God, please let her be untouched .

„Abe,“ Spinnelli spat. „Did you hear me?“

Tires squealed as he raced away from Madden’s house like a bat out of hell. „Yeah. I heard you.“

Saturday, February 28,

3:45 p.m.

Owen looked up from slicing the bonds at her feet. „You knew?“

„Since about an hour ago.“

He straightened. „Who did this?“

„Jacob Conti.“ Kristen stood, rubbing her wrists. „He objected to the murder of his son.“

Owen looked down at her and she wondered if she’d ever seen that cold, determined look in his eyes before. No, but she’d honestly never looked. He was Owen, her friend. He owned a diner. He made fried chicken and cherry pie.

He’d ruthlessly killed thirteen people.

„If it wouldn’t have put you in danger, I’d do it again.“

„And for that you’ll pay.“

Unsurprised, she and Owen turned to find both Jacob Conti and Drake Edwards standing at the end of the row of boxes. Edwards had spoken and now came closer, a semiautomatic in his hand and a predatory leer in his eye.

Kristen’s blood ran cold. Abe, please know I’m gone. Please come find me. Please .

„Drake, search him for weapons. Then let’s go somewhere where we’ll all be more comfortable, shall we?“ Conti said smoothly.

Edwards patted Owen down, retrieving two large semi-automatics, one from his shoulder holster, the other from his back waistband. He then forced them to walk until they reached the wide corridor where forklift trucks normally went about creating the huge stacks of boxes. At the end of the corridor were large loading bays, deserted. All was quiet now.

Owen stopped. „Kill me here,“ he announced. „I’m not going any farther.“

„You’ll do what we say,“ Edwards snapped.

„You’ve got me now,“ Owen said as if Edwards hadn’t spoken. „Let her go.“

Conti’s lips curved. „And lose the best part of my revenge? I don’t think so.“

Again Kristen saw Edwards’s predatory leer. And understood. Owen had killed for her. Now she’d be used to make him suffer.

Edwards chuckled. „You gotta love smart women, Jacob. She’s figured it all out.“

Owen paled, but said nothing and Conti laughed. „You see, just killing you wouldn’t be enough. You’re going to suffer as you made my son suffer. Drake will have her and you will watch. Then Drake will kill her and you will watch. Then… you’ll wish you were dead.“

„Come, Miss Mayhew.“ Edwards took her arm and horrified, Kristen yanked away. Edwards’s expression grew dark and he grabbed her arm hard, his fingers digging into her flesh. „I said come.“ He pulled her to him and she struggled, pushing at his chest, twisting her head when he would have kissed her.

Conti laughed again. „So, Drake, will she be as entertaining as Richardson?“

Edwards grabbed her shoulders and shook her until she saw little white lights in front of her eyes. „I think so, Jacob. I like them with a little piss and vinegar.“

Kristen blinked hard, trying to still her swaying senses, thinking it was a trick of her imagination when Owen went down on one knee and Edwards jerked. He hung there for a split second, a neat little hole in his forehead, then crashed to the floor. Before she could draw her next breath Conti’s arm was locked around her neck, his gun at her temple.