Debra Webb - No Darker Place

Bobbie consciously relaxed her shoulders once more, and then her facial muscles. Whatever Forensics found on that computer, her only reactions could be surprise and disbelief. She hoped the chief was about to give her something she could use rather than more questions. Deep inside a new fear trickled its way into her bones. Don’t let Gwen be in trouble.

“Evans’s most recent internet search history showed he had been reading everything he could find on you, Bobbie.”

Bobbie pretended to mull over the news, and then she turned her hands up in a so-what gesture. “Who hasn’t? I’ve been the local freak show for a while now. Returning to the job put my name back in the news. Gwen probably mentioned me.”

“Your medical records—specifically the ones from this year,” the chief went on, his tone reflecting his unhappiness with her indifferent attitude, “were on his computer. We believe those records were provided to him by Adams.”

Damn. Bobbie blinked and hummed a sound she hoped suggested confusion rather than the slow, icy climb of uncertainty up her backbone. “Maybe Evans intended to sell info about me to some reporter or one of those publishers who’s been pestering me about a book deal.” She lifted one shoulder in a stilted attempt at a shrug. “I can’t see Gwen being involved in something like that.”

The chief nodded. “Those were my first thoughts, considering around the same time he transferred the files to one of those personal cloud storage services, a one-hundred-thousand-dollar deposit was made into his bank account.”

Bobbie gave another wooden shrug. “Well, there you have it. The man had a sick child, and he needed money. Is there any way to tell who bought the files?”

Her blood pounded in her ears. It was him! Any doubts she had were gone now. One way or another she would make him pay for what he had done to her...for all the lives he had destroyed. She would not rest until he was dead.

Again the chief studied her for several seconds before responding. “Mrs. Evans mentioned something her husband said this morning that we believe sheds a little light on the other party involved—the buyer.”

Anna Evans had been too devastated at the scene to give a statement. Whatever the chief had learned, he couldn’t possibly know what Evans said to Bobbie before blowing his brains out.

“Before getting up this morning Evans tossed and turned, according to his wife. He kept muttering the same phrase over and over. He wants to finish her story.”

Bobbie flinched. Damn it. She clenched her jaw against the anticipation, fury and determination twisting inside her. Do not let him see.

“That’s it?” the chief demanded, making no attempt to hide his outrage. “No shock? No anger or fear? Just a little tic?”

“The whole country was privy to what happened to me,” she fired back. “Carl Evans as well as everyone else in Montgomery had it shoved down their throats day in and day out for months.” Deep breath, Bobbie. One by one she quieted the emotions pressing against her chest. And then, more calmly, she added, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You might start with what Evans said to you in that house.” His gaze narrowed with blatant suspicion. “What he really said.”

“If you’ve read my report, you know what he said.” She hoped he couldn’t see the lie in her eyes. This man had known Bobbie her entire life.

The chief folded his hands atop his desk and sighed loudly. “I promised your father on his deathbed that if you ever needed anything, I would make sure you were taken care of.” Bobbie opened her mouth to protest his use of the father card, but his sharp glare had her snapping it shut once more. “Eight months ago Gaylon Perry almost killed you. If he’s back...”

The air evacuated her lungs. Just hearing his name spoken aloud set off a chain reaction of voices, sounds and images that rushed rapid-fire through her mind before she could block them. Not a day—not an hour—passed without some thought of the monster sweeping through her brain. The memory of him was imprinted on her very DNA. The way her mind worked had changed because of him. She ate, slept and breathed differently because he was with her every minute of every damned day. And still the sound of his name was like having her entire body dunked in ice-cold water. It stole her breath and shocked her system.

With effort, she steadied herself. “Surely you know if I had any insights about the Storyteller, I’d be the first to share them. We’d have the FBI in here pronto.” She produced an unconcerned expression. “Besides, he hasn’t taken a victim since my escape. The feds think he’s dead. You know and I know that if he was still alive, he would have taken one by now.”

She had damned sure tried to kill the son of a bitch. But she knew he wasn’t dead. Deep inside, she could still feel him. He was out there...waiting for the right opportunity. He wanted to finish what he’d started. Come on, asshole.

“I hope that’s true, Bobbie.” The chief leaned back in his chair. “As for the FBI, I’ve already made the call.”

Which meant she didn’t have a lot of time. Urgency hummed in her veins. “Well, then, I guess we’ll know soon enough whether it’s really him. Anything else?”

“You don’t feel the need to amend your report in any way?” he pressed.

Telling him won’t help. “No, sir.” She stood. “I should get over to the lab and pick up a copy of that report.” Once the feds confirmed a connection to the Storyteller, she wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the investigation.

“I’d like you to take a few days off, Detective.”

“What?” She should have seen that one coming. “This is my case, Chief. Maybe Gwen reminded Evans about what the Storyteller did to me, and that gave him the idea to try using it to make the money he needed. Plenty of people have offered to buy my story. Maybe he sold the info to some rag. Desperate people do desperate things. Until we have proof the Storyteller is involved—”

“Apparently,” he cut her off, “you’ve forgotten what Gwen Adams looks like.”

He opened a folder and displayed a snapshot of the nurse who had worked closely with Bobbie for six long months. Gwen’s long dark hair spilled over her shoulders. She was tall and thin, with pale skin that refused to tan. Bobbie’s heart dropped. Like her, Gwen matched the profile of the Storyteller’s preferred victim.

No. No. No. She would not believe the worst yet.

Bobbie shook her head. She’d felt confident the Storyteller wouldn’t risk taking another victim—unless it was her. “You can’t be sure Gwen isn’t in hiding. If she’s involved, she did break the law.” No matter that her intentions might have been noble. Bobbie’s head was really throbbing now. The knowledge of what the Storyteller would do to Gwen if he had taken her twisted in her gut like a wad of fishhooks.

The chief rose from his chair. “No buts, Detective. Until we locate Adams and uncover exactly who Evans was working with, you are on paid administrative leave. Now go home. I don’t want to see you here again until we understand what we’re dealing with.”

“What about—”

“Until I say otherwise,” he cut her off, “I want to know where you are and what you’re doing every minute. I’m assigning a surveillance detail. Don’t give them any grief.”

Bobbie stowed the rant she wanted to launch and squared her shoulders. “Yes, sir.”

Holding back the anger and frustration, she walked out. How could she find the Storyteller if she was on admin leave? Maybe she didn’t have to find him. If what Evans said was right, he was already here. All she had to do was make sure he had the opportunity to come a little closer.