I’m Watching You (Richmond Novels #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Thursday, July 10, 5:30 A.M.

Warwick was operating on next to no sleep. Zack had been up half the night running down leads on the Turner/Saunders murders. He’d been going over Saunders’s phone record and studying Kendall Shaw’s news tape from Monday. So far, he’d come up empty-handed. And the brass was getting very antsy. If an arrest wasn’t made soon, jobs were going to be lost.

They’d left the office at four A.M. Warwick had headed to the gym for a quick forty-five-minute workout that he hoped would at least get his blood flowing and sustain him through the day.

The gym had been dark when he had arrived, so he had used his key and let himself in. Now he pounded the punching bag, driving the full weight of his frustration into it. Kendall Shaw had called him four times yesterday, trying to get a quote for her next report. He had refused her once and had told her not to call again. But she had.

The woman didn’t understand the word no. She was a pain in the ass. And still he’d imagined Kendall Shaw walking toward him with her hair flowing around her shoulders and wearing only a red silk robe. He’d pictured her dropping the robe in a puddle around her feet and in the soft moonlight lying down for him and opening her legs. Moaning with pleasure, he had straddled her and cupped her full white breasts. She had smiled up at him, begged him to take her, and he’d driven his hard cock into her.

The fantasy had left him hard and restless.

‘Shit,’ Warwick grumbled before he smacked the bag one last time.

He finished his workout and hit the showers. After a quick shower, he dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and slicked back his still-wet hair. Gym bag in hand, he headed into Pete’s office. He’d promised to spar with one of Pete’s fighters on Saturday, but at the rate things were going, he wasn’t going to make it. Everyone would be living at the station until the killer was found.

He moved down the dim hallway past the dozens of black-and-white photos that spanned two decades. The images were of Pete’s fighters. Some were taken during fight matches, others were publicity head shots, but all of Pete’s fighters were on the wall. Pete took pride in his fighters – his family, as he’d often called them. Warwick glanced at his own picture taken when he was eighteen. He grimaced, amazed he’d ever been that young.

He knocked on the office door, which was ajar, thinking maybe Pete had slipped in while he was working out. ‘Pete?’

The door swung open. The lights were off in the office. Warwick flipped them on.

Like always, Pete’s dark wooden swivel chair sat in front of a large desk that butted against the wall. The desk was a mess, covered with papers, newspapers, books, and, in the center, a state-of-the-art computer, his only concession to the modern world. Pete updated his computer every year and had the latest software on it. Above the desk on the wall hung a bulletin board covered with news clips covering the charity events Pete had hosted in the last few years. And there were more photos.

Warwick found a pencil and a Post-it pad. Quickly he scratched out a note begging out of the bout scheduled for Saturday. As he pressed the note to the computer screen, he caught sight of a framed picture nestled on the far-right corner of the desk. He never remembered seeing the picture before. Curious, he picked it up.

Unlike the others, this picture was of a twentysomething Pete holding a young girl not more than five. She had yellow hair, fair eyes, and a big gap-toothed grin. Pete stared down at the girl, his gaze tender and full of love.

Did Pete have a kid? In all the years Warwick had known Pete, he’d never talked about having any other family. He’d always said Warwick was all the family he’d needed.

But who was Warwick to criticize the old guy for having a few secrets.

God knows, Warwick had his share.

Richard Braxton arrived at the posh Richmond Hotel suite just after seven. His back was stiff and his head pounded as he watched the bellboy set his overnight bag on a luggage rack at the foot of the bed. Richard set his computer bag on the bed, pulled a fifty from his pocket, and handed it to the bellboy. ‘Thanks.’

The kid glanced at the fifty and his eyes brightened. ‘Anything else I can do for you?’

‘Where can I set my computer up?’

The bellboy pointed to a table by the large window that looked out toward the river. ‘Just call down to the front desk and they’ll give you the password for the wireless hookup.’

Richard handed the kid another twenty. ‘Do me a favor and get the password for me. There should also be a package for me at the front desk. Deliver both back to my room in thirty minutes along with an egg-white omelet, orange juice, and whole-wheat toast dry.

The bellboy pocketed the bill. ‘The package arrived before you did.’ He walked into the sitting room. ‘Here it is.’

Richard took the twelve-by-twelve-inch box. ‘Thanks.’

‘I’ll take care of the password and omelet right away.’

‘Good.’

The kid was annoyingly bright eyed but useful. ‘Is this your first time in Richmond?’

Richard managed a smile. ‘Yes.’

‘Business or pleasure?’

‘A little of both.’ He hated travel. It threw off his routine and generally put him in a foul mood.

‘If there is anything else I can do for you, just ring. Ask for Johnny.’

‘Thanks, Johnny. I’ll do that.’

When Johnny closed the door behind him, Richard turned to the window and loosened his tie. This city was as hot as blazes and the humidity was so thick he could cut it with a knife. He missed California, his views of the Pacific Ocean, and he couldn’t wait to return.

But he was willing to put up with all the inconveniences if it meant finding his Christina. His home hadn’t felt right without her.

He opened the box. Inside was a strand of nylon rope, a .38 pistol, a switchblade, vials of sedatives, and syringes. Lessons would have to be taught to Christina. She would have to understand that running from him was wrong.

‘Soon, Christina, soon I will find you and soon you will come home with me, where you belong.’

Greenland’s body, now wrapped in tarp, was heavier than the Guardian had anticipated. Add to that the pain of his cracked rib and it was a struggle to haul the body out of the white van as the sun rose.

The Guardian grabbed the rope around the tarp and jerked hard. Pain scorched through his midsection and shot up and down his spine. For a moment he had to pause and catch his breath.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. He’d gotten sloppy last night. He’d underestimated his enemy and he’d nearly screwed everything up. He rubbed the sweat from his brow. He’d not slept in four or five days and his reflexes were off. But to sleep would mean a break from the killing and he wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

He could have left the body in the woods but it was important to display his work. People needed to know that monsters like Greenland weren’t safe from him.

After wiping more sweat from his forehead, he gritted his teeth and pulled the body to the ground. He dragged it across the dry earth toward a tall oak by the mountain bikers’ trail in Deep Run Park. Few traveled the path this early, but by midday it would see enough traffic that someone would find the body.

With a grunt he pulled the body upright. Quickly, he unwrapped the tarp, uncovering Greenland’s head and torso. He’d position the body and then deliver the hand – the trophy – to Lindsay.

The cracking of twigs had him stiffening. Damn. Who the hell was out this early?

‘Holy shit!’

The strained voice had the Guardian whirling around. Two teenage mountain bikers paused on the trail as they straddled their bikes. The taller one was a male, no more than seventeen. Long stringy hair accentuated oily skin and acne. The shorter one, also male, had blond hair and a KISS T-shirt. Each wore bike helmets and gloves.

The Guardian’s heart hammered. Jesus, why did they have to find him? He released Greenland’s body and reached for the gun tucked in his belt at the small of his back. ‘Hey, guys, it’s not what it looks like. I’m a cop.’ To prove his claim, he flashed a badge.

The taller teen’s eyes narrowed. ‘What the hell is that?’

‘A dead body.’ There was no hiding what they’d seen and there was no disguising his own face as he tucked the badge back in his pocket. They had seen him. Damage control was his sole option. He didn’t want to sacrifice them. Shit. They didn’t deserve to die. But the Greater Good was at stake here. Hadn’t God tested Abraham by asking him to kill his only son?

He smiled. ‘I’ve just called for backup. More cops are going to be here soon.’

The shorter teen laid his bike down and took a step closer. ‘What happened to that guy?’

‘Shot, by the looks of it. We won’t know until the medical examiner gets here.’ Hand still behind his back, he pulled the hammer back on the gun.

‘Damn,’ the teen said. ‘I’ve never seen a dead body before.’

‘It’s rough.’

The other teen had made no move toward him. ‘Hey, Mark, come on back. You shouldn’t get that close.’

Mark shrugged. ‘He’s dead, Jeff. He can’t hurt me.’

The Guardian smiled. ‘Naw, he can’t hurt you. Have a good long look.’ As Mark moved even closer, the Guardian jerked the gun free but his ribs pinched hard and slowed what should have been a fluid motion.

Mark saw the gun and immediately started running toward his friend.

He fired. The first bullet went wide and missed Mark. He fired again and this time hit him in the leg. Mark fell to the ground, screamed, and clawed at the dirt. He cried for his mother.

For a split second, the Guardian froze like a deer caught in the beam of headlights. ‘Jesus, please forgive me. Forgive my sins.’

Jeff stared in horror at the Guardian and his wounded friend. Fear turned to shock and then anger. He dropped his bike and scooped up a branch. Screaming, he rushed toward the Guardian.

The branch tip caught the Guardian on the shoulder and drew blood. Pain jerked him out of his own funk. Instinct took over and he fired.

The bullet hit Jeff in the chest. He stood stunned for a moment as if not quite sure what had happened. And then a plume of blood began to stain his shirt and he dropped to his knees. Air gurgled from the hole in his chest.

The Guardian’s ribs ached and his shoulder burned as he staggered over to Mark, who was crying and calling even louder for his mother.

The Guardian stared at him. ‘Damn it, kid. Why did you have to be here?’

Tears streaked Mark’s freckled face. ‘Why are you doing this to me? Me and Jeff never would have told.’

‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t take that chance.’ Tears filled the Guardian’s eyes. ‘Dumb, damn kids. You shouldn’t have been here.’

He raised his gun and shot Mark in the head.

Frank Hines’s angry voice echoed through the house. His wife, Deb, was crying. He’d been drinking again, and judging by the sounds, he’d been hitting Deb again.

‘I told you I don’t want that worthless brother of yours coming around here!’ Frank said.

‘Why, Frank? He’s my brother. He’s family.’

‘I am your only family!’

Lindsay was ten. And she was hiding in the darkened closet of her bedroom. She was too old for teddy bears and yet she clutched the threadbare one she’d had since she was a baby.

Her father began to yell again. She had grown to hate her father, and though her mother had told her to hide, she could no longer stay cowered in the dark closet in her room. The shouting and the crying was driving her insane.

She wiped the tears from her face and stood. Slowly she opened the closet door and moved through her room down the hallway to her parents’ bedroom. She opened the door and peered inside. Her father stood over her mother, his arm raised in the air. He brought the back of his hand down. The blow connected with her mother’s jaw and it sounded as if it had shattered some of her mother’s teeth. Her mother cried and ducked her head low.

Rage filled Lindsay. She pushed open the door and ran toward her father. She wanted to make him stop. ‘Leave her alone!’

He turned and glared down at her. ‘Brat!’

The ferocity in his gaze made her hesitate with fear. He was so tall.

Her mother raised her head. ‘Lindsay, go away. Run.’

She fisted her fingers. ‘Leave my mother alone!’

Her father grabbed her and twisted her arm so hard she felt flesh and bone tear and break. She dropped to her knees. Anger collided with a deep feeling of helplessness that seared her soul.

Lindsay awoke with a start. Her body was covered in sweat and she could barely breathe. She glanced around the dark room trying to get her bearings. For several seconds she didn’t know where she was. And then she saw the sewing machine in the corner, the flowered wallpaper, and the chair with her purse slung across it. She was at the Kiers’ house.

‘I can’t hide. I’ve got to get out of here.’

*

Zack walked into Warwick’s office just after seven. Warwick gently set the telephone down in its cradle. He wore a deep, pensive frown.

‘What’s happening?’ Zack asked.

‘That was a Detective Rio from the San Francisco Police Department. I was returning a call in response to a teletype he sent me late last night.’

‘About?’

‘Your wife.’

Zack tensed. ‘What does San Francisco PD have to do with Lindsay?’

‘Rio is investigating the death of a Claire Carmichael. She was killed two days ago in San Francisco. She owned a New Age bookstore. The murder was grisly and the killer burned her place to the ground.’

‘I don’t see the connection.’

‘Claire placed a phone call from her store to Lindsay the night she was murdered. The call was logged in at eleven P.M. pacific coast time, or two A.M. eastern standard.’

Zack’s mind turned. ‘Lindsay knows a lot of women in high-risk relationships.’

‘Claire wasn’t involved with anyone. And witnesses report that she closed her shop early on Tuesday. Around lunch. Friends say Claire never closed early. And she also volunteered at a local women’s shelter from time to time.’

Zack’s stomach clenched. ‘Richard Braxton is from San Francisco.’

‘Yeah.’

Warwick’s phone rang and he snapped up the receiver. Immediately he cradled the phone under his chin and started to write notes on a pad. ‘We’ll be right there. And keep a tight clamp on the entire area. I don’t want the media to even get a whiff of this.’

‘What is it?’

Warwick hung up and grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. ‘Marcus Greenland’s body was found in Deep Run Park. He was at the top of that list Lindsay reviewed with C.C. He’s one violent SOB.’

‘Lindsay was at my folks’ place last night.’

‘There’s no pinning this one on her.’

‘Why?’

‘Two teenagers came upon the killer as he was dumping the body. He shot them both.’

Zack felt sick. Damn it. ‘How are they?’

‘One is dead and the other is in a critical condition at Mercy Hospital. He’s the one who called in the shooting from his cell phone.’

‘Can he give us a description?’

Warwick shook his head. ‘He’s in surgery right now. It’ll be a couple of hours.’

Tension tightened the muscles in Zack’s back. ‘I’ll drive us to the park.’

‘Fine.’

Zack tried to call Lindsay several times on her cell but she didn’t pick up. He called his parents’ house and got Eleanor, who told him Lindsay had just left in a cab. ‘Damn it. Can’t the woman listen just once?’ he muttered.

He covered the ten-plus miles to Deep Run Park in rush-hour traffic in less than twenty minutes. He wove in and out of traffic, one hand on the steering wheel and a cell under his ear as he called Ayden.

He pulled into the park entrance and rolled down the hill to the back parking lot near the soccer fields, where ten police cruisers were parked.

Zack got out of the car. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the front seat. Rolling up his sleeves, he moved toward Sara, who was squatting by Greenland’s body as she photographed it. She stood and moved to the edge of the yellow crime scene tape.

Sara looked pale and grim. Any death involving a kid shook everyone to the core. She pulled rubber gloves and booties from the pocket of her white jumpsuit and handed them to Zack and Warwick. They put them on and ducked under the yellow tape.

Zack yanked off his sunglasses and squatted by Greenland’s body. Greenland’s dark skin had turned a pasty gray and his lips blue. His eyes were half open. The tarp had been partially removed and he could see that Greenland’s right hand had been chopped off.

‘He didn’t finish his job,’ Zack said.

‘The boys interrupted him.’ Warwick muttered an oath as he glanced at the covered body of the teenager. ‘Sara, did he leave anything else behind?’

Sara pointed to an orange flag sticking from the ground. ‘A forty-five shell casing. And I found traces of blood on the tip of a stick the dead boy was holding. I’ve already bagged it and sent it to the lab.’

Zack rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. ‘Let’s hope he’s in our DNA database.’

‘Any sign of the hand?’ Zack said.

‘None.’

Zack glanced at Warwick. ‘The last two hands were delivered to Lindsay. We need to find her.’

Warwick nodded. ‘Right.’

Dressed in yoga pants and a tank top, Kendall had been up half the night listening to the police scanners. There’d been nothing out of the ordinary. The piece she’d done on the killer had been priceless. The fact that he was mutilating his victims and sending the hands to Lindsay was more than she could have hoped for.

She’d received five times the usual number of e-mails from viewers. But there’d been no response from the killer or the network producers to whom she’d overnighted tapes.

Exhausted and hungry, she’d reached her limit of listening to the routine police calls: loud music, drunk teenagers, an overdose in a convenience store parking lot, and a speeder on the interstate.

She rose from the varnished kitchen table and opened the refrigerator. Eggs, a half carton of milk, and a salad left over from the salad bar at the grocery store. When she’d been a kid, her mother had kept this refrigerator stocked.

Crap. She needed to get out of this house and start fresh away from Richmond.

She set a pan on the stove, clicked the burner dial to medium high, and cracked a couple of eggs in the pan. Eat first and then catch an hour or two of sleep. She and Mike needed to be at the station by noon.

‘Dispatch, this is 8021.’

Kendall was only half listening now. ‘Dispatch, over.’

‘Dispatch, the mutilated body found in Deep Run Park – ’

‘8021, Homicide has requested this communication be handled on a secure channel. Switch to …’

‘Shit.’ Kendall’s mind reeled. Mutilated body. The eighties were the western end of the county, which was near her and the shelter. She ran to the avocado green wall phone and dialed her cameraman’s phone number.

On the fourth ring, a gravelly voice heavy with sleep answered. ‘What?’

‘How soon can you pick me up?’ She paced the kitchen, frustrated that a phone cord tethered her to the wall.

‘Kendall?’ He swore. ‘Why?’

‘Body at Deep Run Park. I think it’s our guy.’

He cleared his throat. ‘Give me twenty minutes.’

‘Make it fifteen and I’ll be out front waiting.’

‘Right.’

Fourteen minutes later, she stood outside, briefcase in hand. She didn’t have the time to shower, so she’d swept her hair up with a French twist comb, quickly applied her makeup, and slipped on a simple blue sheath and heeled sandals.

‘So where we going?’ Mike said when he pulled up. Thick stubble covered his square jaw, and his thinning shoulder-length black hair was loosely bound at the nape of his neck. His Hawaiian shirt flapped in the air from the AC vent.

She flipped through her notes. ‘To Lindsay O’Neil’s house.’

Mike sipped the last of yesterday’s Big Gulp as he put the van in reverse and backed out of the driveway. The faint smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air. ‘I thought the body was at some park. I know the other news teams will be there.’

‘And I know the cops are going to have the area locked up tight.’

‘So why Lindsay’s again?’

‘Because after the last two murders, there was a disturbance just a few hours later near Lindsay. If our friend Steve is correct, the killer is sending hands to Lindsay. My guess is, the killer is going to send her something now and I want to be there when he does.’

‘Why send her a hand?’

‘Who knows? Who cares really? He’s like a cat that dumps a mouse at its master’s feet.’

He considered what she’d said. ‘The killer thinks of Lindsay as his master?’

‘Maybe. Or maybe he’s fixated on her. Whatever his motivations, we’ve got three murders now. Richmond has a serial killer.’ She tapped her foot. ‘If I could find a way to draw this guy out, I could write my own ticket.’

Mike looked at Kendall as if she’d lost her mind. ‘You want to draw out a serial killer.’

‘I sure do.’

‘How are you going to do that?’

‘Go after Lindsay. If I can make her miserable enough, hound her with the cameras, I’m willing to bet our guy gets pissed and shows himself.’

‘Or he just kills you.’

The thought didn’t frighten her enough to change her mind. ‘I’ll be fine.’

This story was going to take her places. She dug her cell out of her purse and punched in her news director’s number. She relayed the information and told him to call the network. This was the stuff of national news.

Mike drove by Lindsay’s town house. ‘I don’t see her Jeep.’

‘Park the van down the street out of sight.’

‘And?’

‘Get your camera and come with me. We’ll wait out of sight. Five’ll get you ten the fireworks explode sooner than later.’

Lindsay wasn’t going to hide anymore, from anyone. She needed to reclaim her home, her life, and she needed to prove that she was in control.

It had been easy to be brave on the cab ride over. But now as she stood alone and stared at the yellow crime scene tape by her front door, she found herself searching the bushes and the surrounding terrain. He could be out there watching her.

No one lurked nearby and there were no grisly packages waiting for her. And still her nerves danced with tension. She had hoped the worry that had kept her up most of the night would vanish once she was back at her own place. But it didn’t.

Digging her keys out of her purse, she moved up the sidewalk, careful to step around the spot where she’d dropped the bloody hand wrapped in the newspaper. Sucking in a breath, she moved toward the front door. As she shoved her key in the lock, she realized the door wasn’t locked.

Immediately, she backed away, leaving her keys to dangle in the lock. Heart hammering, she dug in her purse for her cell phone.

Her hands trembled as she punched in Zack’s cell phone number. Her front door opened.

Steve, her maintenance man, came out. He was frowning.

Her thumb on the ‘send’ buttons, she paused. ‘Steve, what’s going on?’

He held a screwdriver in his hand. ‘I thought I’d check the place out for you. After what that creep left you yesterday, I wanted to make sure your place was secure. And then I figured I’d go ahead and fix your AC.’

She noticed his white van across the street and felt foolish. She closed her phone and dropped it in her purse. ‘Oh. Sorry, I’m just a little on edge.’

‘Understandable.’ He smiled. ‘I was just on my way to the van to get a different screwdriver.’

‘Right.’ Lindsay waited as he retrieved a large flat-head screwdriver. ‘What do you think caused the AC to go?’

He shrugged. ‘Part blew. Looked like an overload. And the power outage the other day sure couldn’t have helped.’

She followed him inside to the living room. The house was quiet and the drawn shades blocked out almost all of the morning sun. She moved into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. She’d left so early from the Kiers’ that she’d not had any. And now she felt so exhausted. She needed something to get her moving.

Steve went to the AC utility closet sandwiched between the living room and the kitchen. ‘Sorry it’s taken me so long to get to this.’

‘Believe me, I’ve got bigger problems than no AC.’

Steve unscrewed the front panel of the unit and then pulled out the filter. He clicked on his flashlight and stared into the comb of wires. He frowned. ‘Have a look at this.’

‘What?’

He reached inside the air conditioner and pulled out an electronic box with an antenna on top. ‘I didn’t see it before because it was tucked in the back.’

She frowned. ‘It looks like a transmitter.’

‘Why would there be a transmitter in your place?’

‘I’ve seen pieces like that before, at a security conference I attended last year. It can be used to boost the signal of a camera.’

He looked puzzled. ‘I service every unit in this complex and I’ve never seen this.’

‘Is there a wire attached to it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Where does it go?’

He shined the flashlight into the unit. ‘The wire snakes out a small hole in the back of the unit and crosses to another hole drilled in the wall.’

Lindsay glanced behind the unit and saw the wire. ‘It vanishes into the wall between the closet and living room.’

Steve shined the flashlight into the hole in the wall. The wire rose up and vanished into the darkness. He moved out of the utility closet and into the living room. Above their heads was a grate. ‘That’s odd.’

Lindsay didn’t like the concern in his voice. ‘What?’

‘That grate on your living room ceiling shouldn’t be there.’

She stared at it. She’d never noticed it before.

‘Let me get a ladder.’

Lindsay folded her arms around her chest. ‘Sure.’

He was back in less than a minute and on the ladder. He undid the screws and popped off the grate. Drywall and paint tore. He peered into the hole.

Lindsay stood on tiptoe. ‘What do you see?’

He removed a small electronic device. ‘A camera.’

She felt sick inside. She’d heard about cameras like this. They were easily found on the Internet and were used by people to spy on other people.

Someone was spying on her.

Someone was watching her.

Steve climbed down from the ladder. He handed her the camera. It was small, compact, and state-of-the-art. She knew this model could send a signal up to seven miles away.

Lindsay rolled the device between her fingers as she glanced behind her trying to imagine the angle of the camera. ‘It would have recorded everything happening in the living room.’

The Guardian. He’d been watching her.

Steve shook his head. He looked worried. He had full access to the units and he’d be the first questioned by the police.

A deep sense of shame washed over her. She felt violated. The Guardian had been spying on her during her most private moments. She remembered the other night when she’d been awakened by the phone. She’d had the creeps then and sensed she was being watched. Had he been watching her then? Had he been the one to call her?

Lindsay dug her cell out of her purse and dialed Zack’s number. He answered on the first ring. ‘Where are you?’ He sounded terse, and in the background she thought she heard tense voices.

Her hand shook as she shoved it through her hair. ‘I’m okay. I’m at my town house. My maintenance man found a camera in my AC vent.’

A heavy silence followed. ‘Don’t move, I’m only five minutes out.’

‘Thanks.’ She wanted him close, wanted his protection. She could have listed seven reasons off the top of her head why it was wrong to depend on him, but right now she didn’t care about reason. She needed Zack. And she knew he would be there for her.

Steve held the screwdriver in his hand in a tight grip. ‘I didn’t have anything to do with this.’

‘It’s going to be okay,’ she told Steve. ‘The police are coming.’

Steve looked worried and he started to pace. ‘I didn’t do this.’

His agitation caught her off guard. He’d always been so easygoing and quick with a joke. ‘No one said you did.’

He shook his head. ‘They might think I’m guilty when they discover that I have a police record.’

Lindsay stared at him and her concern grew. Truthfully, she knew nothing about him. Steve could be the Guardian. ‘What were you in jail for?’

He shoved out a breath. ‘It doesn’t matter. I have a record.’

Lindsay glanced toward the open door of the town house. ‘I’m going to wait outside.’

He nodded. ‘Me too.’

Hugging her arms, she ran out into the sunshine and moved away from Steve.

Instead of waiting with her, he moved quickly toward his van.

‘Where are you going?!’ she shouted.

‘Away. I’ve seen those tabloid news shows. I’ll be tried and convicted on the news before I even get to court.’

‘The police are coming to talk to you.’

‘Screw the police.’ He got in the van and fired it up. Gravel kicked up as he punched the gas and drove off.

Lindsay stood on the corner, counting the seconds until Zack arrived.

Minutes later, the white Impala pulled around her street corner. The wheels had barely came to a stop when Zack hopped out of the vehicle. He strode directly toward her. He stared at her for a long moment before asking, ‘What did you find?’

‘My maintenance man found a camera in an AC vent. He swears he didn’t put it there.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He drove off. Said he had a police record.’

Zack’s jaw tensed. Warwick got out of the police car as Zack moved toward him. He relayed what she’d said and Warwick grabbed the radio. He called in a description of the van and Steve.

The sound of sirens echoed in the distance. More cops were coming.

Zack moved toward her. ‘Lindsay, there’s been another murder. Marcus Greenland.’

Her brows knitted as she stared back at her house. ‘I was on the phone with Aisha Greenland the other night. I sat right in my living room and talked to her about her divorce. She was scared. The Guardian must have been watching and listening.’ She felt sick. ‘He calls himself the Guardian. Does he think he’s helping me?’

‘In his mind, it might have started out that way, but its grown way beyond that.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘While the Guardian was dumping Greenland’s body early this morning, two teenagers came upon him. He shot at them. One is dead and the other is at Mercy undergoing surgery.’

‘My God.’ Her voice hitched with sadness and tears pooled in her eyes.

Zack worked his jaw. ‘He’s not helping anyone.’

Two teenagers – children – shot.

‘Did you find any other cameras?’ Zack asked.

‘We haven’t looked yet.’

Warwick strode up to them. ‘I’ve called for the cavalry. They’ll be here in the next few minutes to sweep the place. With any luck, we can link this system to the guy who installed it.’

Her skin felt clammy. ‘The Guardian is taking over my life.’

‘Who’s the Guardian?’ Kendall Shaw’s voice caught them all off guard.

They turned, stunned.

‘Where did you come from?’ Zack demanded.

Kendall ignored him. The light on the cameraman’s camera clicked on, and like a lioness looking for prey, Kendall shoved a microphone toward Lindsay’s face. ‘Is the Guardian the guy who’s been killing those men? Has he been secretly videotaping you as well?’

Lindsay stared, stunned. Warwick frowned.

Zack raised his hand and blocked the lens of the camera. ‘This is not the time or place for this.’

Kendall didn’t flinch. ‘Come on, Lindsay, Detective Kier. I know this killer has been on a rampage since Monday. And it’s the anniversary week of Lindsay’s mother’s death. Lindsay lost her job because of him. He’s killed four, maybe five people.’

‘No comment,’ Zack said.

But Lindsay’s temper roiled. Not at the reporter, but at the Guardian. He had invaded her life, ruined her job, and watched her while she moved around her home. She’d promised herself this morning she’d not hide anymore. If the Guardian wanted her, he could come and get her.

Lindsay said in a loud voice, ‘I don’t know who the Guardian is.’

‘Lindsay,’ Zack warned.

Mike stepped sideways so that he had a clear shot of Lindsay. Kendall moved closer. Her eyes gleamed with hunger.

‘I can tell you this,’ Lindsay said. Zack grabbed her arm, squeezing a gentle warning for her to be silent. But she wouldn’t stay silent. This creep wasn’t going to hurt anyone else if she could stop him. ‘I’ve grown to hate and resent whoever is doing this to me.’

‘Why is he sending you the severed hands of his victims?’ Kendall asked.

‘I don’t know. He’s got a twisted form of justice that I want no part of. If the Guardian is watching, back off. Leave me alone. I don’t want your help or anything else to do with you.’

Zack slapped his palm over the camera lens. ‘Enough.’

Kendall smiled. ‘That was excellent, Lindsay. Really excellent.’ She’d gotten the quote she wanted. ‘We’re going. I’ve got to hurry if we’re going to get this edited for the noon news.’

Zack’s expression was harsh as he watched Kendall and Mike leave. ‘Get them out of here.’ He shook his head. ‘You could very well have turned yourself into a target, Lindsay.’

She dug her hands through her hair. For the first time since she was a child she felt oddly in control. ‘Good. Better me than another child.’

Richard Braxton sat in his rented Mercedes down the street from Lindsay O’Neil’s town house. The place was swarming with cops. There was no sign of Christina, but in the center of the cops stood two women. He glanced at the photo of Lindsay O’Neil and then back at the two women. The shorter one was O’Neil.

He twisted his wedding band around his finger. ‘Where are you hiding my wife, Ms O’Neil?’

The cops wouldn’t surround her forever. Soon there’d be an opportunity to get her alone. And when he did, he would make her regret that she’d ever interfered with his marriage.

Patience.