Ames turns away and cloaks his conversation with the GCPD. Julian nods at Darcy, a subtle prod of encouragement.
“Tell me what you were doing at the cove the day I saw you fishing.”
“What do you think? Relaxing under the sun and catching fish.”
“Seems strange you showed up on a private beach bordering my neighborhood after you figured out where I live. You could have gone to the public beach or the river.”
“And miss a chance encounter with the pretty woman from class?”
“You admit you were there to find me?”
“I wanted to get to know you outside of class. Shoot me for pursuing a good looking woman. You act like I committed a heinous crime. Next you’ll say I murdered those girls.”
“Did you?”
Silence. Darcy glances at Ames, who mouths keep talking.
“You’re a sick bitch, Darcy Gellar. No wonder you failed as an FBI agent. Now you see killers in every shadow.”
“You didn’t answer the question, Bronson. Explain how the killer knocked out my power, unhooked the generator, and jammed the camera signals under your nose. Or did you do it?”
“The only mistake I made was not snapping your neck. Stop blaming me for all your problems.”
The line dies. Darcy’s hand trembles as she lowers the phone. From the frustration on Ames’ face, she knows they didn’t trace the call. She wants to reach through the phone and slap the taste out of Bronson’s mouth for playing on her fears.
“He ditched his listed phone and switched to a pre-paid,” Ames says, scanning the list of suspects. “You don’t do that unless you have something to hide. We’re sending an officer to his address, but I’d bet anything Bronson is in the wind.”
Darcy cocks her head into the hallway. The kids’ doors are closed.
“You think Bronson is the killer?”
“He had opportunity. But what’s his motive?”
Darcy almost drops her phone when it rings again. Julian points at Ames to begin the trace, but Darcy waves him off. It’s Gilmore Systems.
Clamping the phone between her cheek and shoulder, Darcy takes the call in the kitchen.
“Ms. Gellar, this is Scott with Gilmore Security Systems. Sorry it took so long to get back to you. We had a rush of orders this week, and it was all I could do to keep up with installations.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“I want you to know I talked with Marylin about the camera issues. Given the amount of problems you’ve experienced, I’m prepared to offer a full refund, if it pleases you.”
Darcy sits on the edge of the table.
“That’s a kind offer, but I believe someone tampered with the cameras. I can’t blame Gilmore.”
“Marilyn mentioned a device attached to the breaker box. Did you ever get a resolution on the item’s origin?”
“The police says the device disrupted the power and caused the generator to switch on. As far as the cameras go, the working theory is an intruder jammed the signal.”
Scott lowers the phone and says goodnight to one of his employees.
“My apologies, Ms. Gellar. I’m concerned because our signal is proprietary. Jamming a Gilmore system is no small task. You’re not dealing with an ordinary criminal.”
“I appreciate the concern, Scott. For what it’s worth, your team was professional and thorough from the day you installed the system. I was especially impressed by the gentleman who stopped by a few days later to ensure I was happy with the work.”
“That’s good to hear, Ms. Gellar. If you need anything else…” Scott goes quiet. “Did you say one of my tech crew checked on your installation?”
“Yes.”
“We don’t do follow-up visits. The Gilmore systems are plug and play and work right out of the box. Let me check our records.”
A hollow sickness burns inside Darcy’s stomach as Scott types at his keyboard. Voices rise in the living room, prompting Darcy to check on the commotion. Julian runs out the door as Ames talks on the phone and writes something on his notepad.
“As I figured,” Scott continues. “We installed five systems that week. I don’t see a repair order or anything to indicate one of our technicians visited your house. We worked from dawn until dusk. I don’t know where we’d find the time. Do you remember the technician’s name?”
“No. He was a younger man. Red hair. I remember he had a small scar above his eye.”
“Nobody matching that description works here. Are you certain?”
“He wore one of your uniforms.”
“Ms. Gellar, somebody stole one of our uniforms from the back of the van during—”
Darcy ends the call and rushes to catch Ames before he leaves. She gave the killer a tour of the house and invited him to look inside the kids’ bedrooms.
“I need to go,” the detective says. “Remember, Officer Faust is right outside.”
“I met the killer, Detective.”
He’s torn between what she tells him and his need to rush to the cruiser.
“Give me a name.”
“I don’t know his name. He came to my house disguised as a Gilmore technician.”
“You’re certain of this?” Ames runs his hand through his hair. “This is Officer Faust’s phone number. Tell her everything you remember about the man.”
“There’s another body, isn’t there?”
“I need to go.”
Darcy watches the whirling lights of the cruiser as it speeds toward the coast road. She’s too focused to notice Aaron’s sedan take its place. This time the boy doesn’t come alone.
As she turns away from the window, the glass implodes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The brick blasts past Darcy’s ear and gouges a fist-sized hole in the wall. Yet she does not escape unscathed. Glass shards lacerate her skin and leave her bleeding on her hands and knees. Tires shriek as the sedan disappears down the block.
Her ears ring from the sudden blast, and it surprises Darcy when Jennifer crouches beside her and touches her bleeding arm. But Darcy’s daughter hasn’t come to her aid. Jennifer yells incomprehensible words, something about Darcy needing to stop him. It’s too late when she makes sense of Jennifer’s screams. Hunter blurs past and sprints out of the house before she can struggle to the entryway to stop him.
“Call the police, he’s going after Aaron and his friends! Please, they’ll kill him!”
But another murder investigation ties up the police. Somewhere, a young girl’s body bleeds out on the sand.
She’s forgotten about Faust before the female officer pushes the door open, her gun drawn. Faust scans the room and pockets the weapon.
“Are you injured, Ms. Gellar? I’ll radio for an ambulance.”
“My son went after the car. You know what those boys will do if Hunter catches up.”
“I already called in the plate number.”
Faust tries to ease her onto the couch, but Darcy pulls her arm away.
“We both know you don’t have the numbers to pursue a vandal. The FBI and the rest of your officers are at another murder scene.”
Darcy shrugs into a leather jacket and zips it over her sweatshirt. Faust doesn’t spot the concealed gun, but the officer’s eyes follow Darcy from the closet to the kitchen, where she gathers her keys.
“Let’s go,” Darcy tells Jennifer.
“Don’t leave,” Faust says. “Let us handle Aaron Torres.”
Faust’s admonitions follow them through the door and into the driveway. Darcy backs the Prius past Faust’s vehicle and follows the path her son took.
The road between Darcy’s neighborhood and the village center is shadowed and twisting, the curves serpentine. Darcy thinks she is skilled enough to maintain highway speeds. She isn’t.