In their plans, the evening would have ended with drinks all around at the Irish pub around the corner, and tomorrow morning, a front-page story in the Post listing all their names, describing them as the elite force that stopped a cunning serial murderer who turned out to be none other than a beautiful criminal lawyer-turned-psychologist. Of course, no front-page story would be complete without photos of themselves.
But it hadn’t turned out that way.
“I’m happy to do whatever will help with the case.” They began the circuitous route out through the bowels of the building, the detectives leading the way. Once on the ground floor, the short gray one pointed toward the imposing front entry.
“A right, then a left. It’ll take you straight to the front exit. Good-night.”
She continued walking down the corridor, fighting the impulse to turn back. Just as she made the first turn to the right, she glanced quickly sideways to see them still standing there in the middle of the hallway, staring at her, clearly unhappy at the sudden turn of events during the interrogation. She turned the corner and they were out of view.
Hailey made the rest of the walk alone.
Pushing the heavy doors forward, she stepped outside. The night was dark and fresh. Lights were beginning to twinkle in thousands of buildings across the city. It was biting cold; the wind whipped around her legs and blew blonde hair away from her face.
She was out, true. But for how long? She braced her body against the cold. And it wasn’t just the freezing wind howling up the street that made her shiver.
Somewhere out there in the city, blended in with nearly eight million other people, there was someone willing to wrap his hands around the necks of two young women and strangle the life from their bodies…to pierce their backs with a four-pronged murder weapon jutting from the spine all the way through their lungs…all in a twisted effort to frame Hailey for double murder.
Her silver pen was the key. The realization sunk in slow and heavy as she stood there on the top step of the jail. Two women were already dead at the hands of someone targeting not them, but Hailey. Would there be more? She had lied, true…but if she told Kolker the truth about the pen, she’d still be in the interrogation room instead of on the street.
Police were no help to her now; they wouldn’t accept defeat. An invisible weight settled on Hailey’s shoulders as the lights continued to blink through the misty darkness settling over the city. One thought burned into her consciousness.
Who planted the pen?
61
St. Simons Island, Georgia
VIRGINIA UNLOCKED THE WOODEN DOOR THAT WAS PART OF THE tall, weathered fence surrounding her house, and stepped into the yard. It was all grass, sea oats, and scrub pines growing wild and unmanicured, still wet from morning dew and sea mist.
As she approached the front door, she could hear tiny yelps and barks as the dogs hurled themselves at the door to welcome her back, their little doggie toenails digging at the bottom. When she pried through the tiniest possible opening so as not to let them escape, they leaped on her, all tongues and fur.
First, treats, and then, the guerrillas. With Sidney curled in her lap, she took out her old address book, BlackBerry be damned, and started dialing.
“Good afternoon, Radio Shack.”
“Yes, may I please speak to Ken?”
She was on hold for the duration of a Britney Spears song until, finally, she got her first lieutenant, Ken, on the other end. They spoke in agreed-upon code.
“The beach is hot. We need to cool off.”
The undercover talk thrilled Ken no end.
“When?” he whispered into the phone, and Virginia could just see him, turned away from the others and being all Barney Fife.
“Nighttime, and we go by boat. Call me tonight but start the chain.”
“Chain commenced. Over and out.”
The phone clicked off and the gig was on.
The other dogs were all sacked out on the den furniture, sleepy after their treats. Virginia pulled herself out of the chair, depositing Sidney on his paws, and started upstairs to make the bed and take a shower.
After that, she’d head back to Larry’s. She had to locate some sort of a boat they could take around the bend of the Island. Shouldn’t be hard, no water patrol that time of night. It would have to be large enough to carry the shovels and hedge-clippers they’d need to tear apart the layout.
In the back of her head, somewhere remote and tucked away, she knew it was all temporary. The money man would find a way to lay the foundation regardless of their attacks on the work site.
And then what? Chain herself to the site’s chain-link fence? Mount another petition of Islanders that opposed development?
That was beginning to wear thin as more and more Islanders got paychecks from developers.
It would be a long war, and this was simply one battle.
At the top of the stairs, Virginia turned right into her bedroom. She opened the curtains and looked out at the waves rolling in one after the next after the next.
It was beautiful and hypnotizing and worth fighting for.
“That’s what it’s all about,” she whispered to nobody. She would find a way.
A thump at the front door snapped her out of her daze.
The damn paperboy. She’d told him a million times, don’t hit the door. It would throw the dogs into a fit. But luckily, they continued to snooze off the treats.
She bent to pick up a pillow off the floor, then stood up straight, eyes wide, locked on the window.
The paper had already come.
Something wasn’t right. All at once, Virginia could feel it.
She stood absolutely still, listening.
For a moment, all she could hear was the distant sound of the ocean and her own breathing.
Then, the faint but unmistakable sound of a footstep creaking on the stairs.
She was no longer alone in the house.
Panic washed over her and she looked around for a place to hide. Knowing she was trapped, she made a futile move toward the closet.
Just before she reached it, she glimpsed, through the corner of her eye, movement in the doorway.
It was too late.
She turned around.
Two of the most massive men she’d ever seen looked back at her with flat gazes.
“Who the hell are you and what the hell do you want? Get out of my house before I call the police!” She eyed the phone on the other side of the bed, and without waiting for an answer, she lunged for it.
Diving across the bed, they tackled her. She hit the floor, her face sliding along the rug, burning. One of them kicked her hard in the backside when she tried to stand up.
“Take it…my purse. It’s over there.” When she spoke her tongue tasted blood.
The shorter one backhanded her and she flew against the wall.
“Somebody likes the beach, doesn’t she?” The pointed toe of a snakeskin cowboy boot crashed into her ribs.
The tall one yanked the neck of Virginia’s shirt and ripped it down around her hips. Her arms crossed her chest and she stayed flat on her stomach. One of them turned her over, but she couldn’t see which. A pain went crashing through her skull when a fist made contact with her jaw.
Far away, she could hear the wild barking of her dogs…and then it faded into silence. The last thing Virginia saw was the carpet under her face on the floor.
62
New York City
HE’D ALWAYS HAD EXCELLENT NIGHT VISION, EVEN AS A CHILD.
The super-heightened sense, his uncanny ability to see in practically pitch-dark conditions, had served him well in the past. On the streets of Atlanta, he’d been able to spot the silhouette of a lone woman on a darkened sidewalk blocks away, even in shadowy pockets where the streetlights had been shot out for target practice.