I’m Watching You (Richmond Novels #1)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Friday, July 11, 6:00 A.M.

Richard Braxton sat on the edge of his bed. The whore who’d showed up in his room late last night lay under the rumpled sheets. Her dark hair swept over her face. He imagined that in the right light, she could look like Christina.

He rose and pulled on his trousers. He handed her several hundred-dollar bills.

A sly smile lifted her lips. Now that his desire had cooled, he could see that the woman had coarse features made worse by layers of makeup. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her naked breasts bobbed and she pulled a tight T-shirt over them. She wriggled into her skirt and slipped manicured feet into four-inch heels. ‘It was fun. You in town long?’

Richard slipped on his shirt and buttoned it. ‘Long enough.’

She slid her hands seductively down her thighs. ‘If you want another romp, call me.’

Now that his desire had been satisfied, the whore disgusted him. Like yesterday’s trash, she needed to be dealt with. ‘I need for you to make a phone call.’

She traced a long finger down his chest and looked directly into his eyes. ‘Sure, baby. You want Mama to talk dirty again?’

‘No.’ Richard handed her a disposable cell phone and a piece of paper with a number and a message on it. ‘This is what I want you to say.’

The whore shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed. She crossed her legs and dialed. She grinned up at him and ran her tongue over her lips suggestively. One ring. Two rings. ‘It’s going to voice mail.’

Damn. ‘Go ahead and leave the message.’

She nodded and he heard a distant message: ‘I can’t take your call right now …’

The whore sat straighter. She followed the script. She’d said she’d wanted to be an actress.

Richard moved to the other side of the bed and pulled a length of rope out of his back pocket. He leaned over the bed and kissed the back of her neck as she closed the phone. ‘That was nice.’

‘You want me to be anyone else? I could be her again. What was her name? Christina?’

Hearing his wife’s name made him cringe. ‘I’d like that,’ he said silkily.

She started to turn, but he stopped her as he leaned forward and kissed her neck again. She tipped her head back, her long black hair falling over his hands. He fisted his fingers in the hair. He’d chosen her because of her hair.

As he continued to kiss her neck, he freed his hand from her hair and he carefully wound the ends of the rope around both hands and fisted his fingers around it.

In one swift move, he raised the rope over her head and wrapped it around her neck. He jerked hard, forcing her back. Immediately, she started to gag and her hands went up to his. She scratched his skin.

Her cheap perfume swirled around him as he tightened the noose. She tried to wriggle free as she thrashed her arms backward toward his face. Her fist connected with the side of his cheek. The pain pissed him off and he squeezed even harder. He could feel the vein in her neck pulsing wildly against his hand. Her body screamed for oxygen. His erection returned.

‘Christina,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘You said you wanted to be Christina.’

The fight slowly drained from her as her face turned bluer and bluer. Her hands dropped to her side, limp and lifeless, and finally her body slumped back against his.

To be extra careful, he held the rope in place several extra minutes until he was certain she was dead. Finally, he released her and she dropped to the carpeted floor in a heap.

Richard flexed his fingers. Now it was time to go to the hospital and wait.

Lindsay woke to the sound of her cell phone ringing. She sat up in bed, confused and disoriented. Her head throbbed and her body ached. She glanced at the phone number and didn’t recognize it. Assuming it was another reporter, she let her voice mail take it.

She swung her legs over the side of the twin bed. Brianna Dillon slept in the other bed. Lindsay had called Ruby late yesterday and her friend had welcomed her into her home without question.

Rising, she pulled her jeans on beneath the T-shirt she’d worn last night. She combed her fingers through her hair and pulled it up with the rubber band she’d tucked in her jeans pocket.

Quietly, she slipped out of the room. A light in the kitchen and the smell of coffee lured her down the hallway.

In the kitchen, she found Ruby standing next to the gas stove scrambling eggs.

Lindsay stifled a yawn. ‘Good morning.’

Ruby’s green housecoat skimmed her dimpled knees. Pink slippers warmed her feet. ‘Come in and have some coffee, baby.’

Her head felt like it was filled with cotton. ‘Bless you.’

Ruby poured a cup and handed it to Lindsay. ‘You look exhausted.’

‘I didn’t sleep well.’ She sipped the rich brew. It tasted so good. ‘Too many dreams.’

Ruby planted a hand on her hip. ‘You dreaming about that crazy man or that husband of yours?’

‘My husband.’

‘Was it a bad dream?’

‘Not really. It was nice.’ The coffee warmed her chilled fingers.

Ruby pulled a cigarette out of her pocket, placed it between her lips, and lit it. ‘There have been a couple of men in my life that weren’t good for me, but that didn’t stop me from loving them. And I’ve got to say, your detective ain’t so bad. I saw the way he looked at you yesterday. He really does care about you.’

‘I know.’

Lindsay’s phone beeped, reminding her of the voice mail message. She set her cup down and played back the call. She sighed. ‘It’s a nurse at Mercy. There’s a battered woman in the emergency room. Domestic.’

Ruby shook her head. ‘Do you have to be the one to take it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I promised Detective Kier – your husband – I’d keep an eye on you after he told me that that Richard Braxton guy might have killed that poor Carmichael woman in San Francisco. There’s no telling where he is. He could be in Richmond now.’

‘Last word on the street was he was in Canada. And I won’t be afraid.’

‘If you had a lick of sense you’d be terrified.’

‘Don’t look so worried. I’ll be at the hospital. It’s safe there.’

Kendall Shaw woke and realized she was on a cold, damp floor. She shifted her weight and found that her hands were bound over her head and tied to a chain that linked to the wall. The rope around her wrists was so tight her fingers felt numb. How long had she been there? All night?

The gag in her mouth had left her mouth and throat dry. She could moan but not scream loud enough for anyone to hear.

Think. Think. Don’t freak out. She twisted her hands against her restraints and discovered there was enough slack in the chain for her to move. Her body was stiff and weak but she managed to roll on her side and up into a sitting position. She tugged at the rope and chain. Neither budged.

She looked around the small, dimly lighted room that smelled of mold and rust. As her eyes adjusted she looked through an open door into a larger room. To the left, a rickety staircase led up to a closed door. On the far side, a workbench with multiple television screens.

Where was she? A basement? A root cellar? In a darkened corner a rat squeaked and scratched against the floor. She drew her feet up.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat in the darkness, but her mind became clear as the drugs dwindled from her system. Her back started to ache from sitting up, but she didn’t dare sit close to the wall for fear of the rat.

And then she heard the steady thud of shoes on the floor above. Someone upstairs was pacing. The footsteps sounded as if they were getting closer, and then she heard what sounded like a dead bolt scraping free of a lock.

Her heart pounded in her chest. The door at the top of the stairs swung open. Light rushed down to the room. She blinked, her eyes unaccustomed to any light. At the top of the staircase a man’s silhouetted figure appeared. He flipped on the overhead lights.

Immediately, she winced against the brightness and ducked her head. The footsteps moved closer to her as she opened her eyes slowly and allowed them to adjust.

She realized the dampness wasn’t water. It was blood. She struggled to move free of it and couldn’t.

‘Good, you’re awake.’ The familiar rusty voice had her straightening. He took a few more steps and stood over her. Then he crouched and pulled the duct tape off her mouth. She spit out the gag.

‘Who are you?’ she whispered. Her tongue was swollen and it was difficult to talk.

‘I thought you’d figured it all out.’

The man before her looked so ordinary, so regular. Kind even. ‘The Guardian?’

‘Very good.’ The man seemed pleased she was awake and alert. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. I was afraid that I’d overdosed you last night in the van.’

She remembered the needle pricking her arm. ‘What are you going to do with me?’

‘You have to die, Kendall. You crossed the line.’

A sob burned in her throat. But she kept her chin high. ‘What line?’

‘You didn’t know when to quit. Your reports were hurting Lindsay.’

‘I was just following the trail of evidence.’ She moistened her lips. If she could keep him talking, maybe she could delay or change what was to come. ‘Tell me what I did wrong.’

He rose, wincing. He was injured. ‘There’s no time for that.’

It had been her experience that ego drove everyone. People loved to talk about themselves. ‘But I want to get the story right. Don’t you want the world to know the truth?’

‘They will soon enough.’ He moved to the workbench and studied the monitors.

Only two screens were on. They televised images of a living room. ‘You’ve been watching her.’

‘Watching over her. Protecting her.’ From the bench he lifted up a machete. The blade glinted in the light.

Half his face was in shadows, but she could see the intensity behind his gaze. He was going to kill her. The realization was so clear. She didn’t want to be chopped into bits and watch the blood drain from her body, but she’d not lie there passively. She struggled against her binds.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. ‘Why are you watching Lindsay?’

‘I’m her only family. And family takes care of family.’

‘Who are you?’

He smiled. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Keep him talking. ‘It does. I can set the record straight.’

His face crinkled in disgust. ‘You’ve done enough damage.’

Keep him talking. ‘Why did you kill the others?’

‘They were evil.’

The brick wall now dug into her spine. ‘What were their crimes?’

‘They hurt the innocent.’ He ran his thumb along the edge of the machete blade. Blood appeared.

‘How did you choose your victims?’

‘They hurt Lindsay.’

She pulled against her restraints. They didn’t budge. ‘Lindsay doesn’t appreciate what you’re doing. She hates violence.’

His face hardened. ‘You don’t know her.’

‘I know her better than you think. We spent long hours talking when I interviewed her. I’ll bet I’ve spent more time with her than you have.’

A pained look darkened his eyes. ‘You talk too much.’

Kendall had only just begun to talk. ‘Does it bother you to know she doesn’t approve of what you do?’

‘She’s glad those men are off the street.’

Kendall knew she was playing with fire but the longer she strung him along the better her chances of getting out of this. ‘You killed two boys. Children. She hated that.’

Guilt shadowed his stony features. ‘Every war has collateral damage.’

‘Lindsay will never forgive you for hurting those boys.’

He jerked a gun from his waistband and pointed it directly at her. ‘Shut up!’

She stared into the barrel. All she could seem to think about was that no one was going to miss her when she died. She struggled to keep her voice even and soothing. ‘Lindsay would hate this. She would want you to let me go.’

‘Liar. Lindsay despises you. Your lies and half-truths have ruined Sanctuary.’

He cocked the gun.

‘No!’ she shouted.

He fired.

The bullet struck her in the shoulder and she fell back against the hard floor. Pain seared through her body. Her vision blurred and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She’d prayed the bullet would kill her outright but realized now death would not come quickly to her.

The Guardian moved toward her. He grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back. ‘Take back all you said about Lindsay.’

The pain dulled her mind. He had the machete in his hand. ‘Monster.’

The Guardian raised the machete over his head. Through the pain she heard the phone ring. She nearly wept with relief as he released her and backed away toward the workbench. He snapped up the phone.

‘It took you long enough to call me back,’ the Guardian growled. ‘Now, who is the woman Lindsay is going to see at Mercy?’

A slight tense pause had Kendall struggling to stay conscious.

‘I don’t care if you’ve lost your stomach for helping me. And I don’t care about your gaming debts anymore. You’re in too deep. Now tell me what you know.’

The Guardian listened, his body tensing as he gripped the receiver tighter. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes. Be waiting for me in the garage at the regular place.’

The Guardian slammed the phone down and whirled toward Kendall, the only one to absorb his rage. He grabbed a handful of her hair. His eyes were as black as Satan’s.

Pain from her shoulder overwhelmed her. Her world went blank.

Lindsay swung her car around and brought it to a stop in a space close to the elevator. She took a moment to scan the deck to make sure there were no press or shadowy figures. Satisfied that the area was clear, she got out of the car and locked it with her keyless remote. She crossed quickly to the elevator, punched the button, and tapped her toe as she waited.

Thoughts tumbled through her mind. The Guardian. Richard. Nicole. The abused woman she was about to meet. And even Sam. Where was Sam? He hadn’t called her and that wasn’t like him. She was beginning to think that all this trouble with the Guardian might have scared him off.

There was a time his possible rejection might have hurt her feelings. But not now. If he couldn’t accept her for who she was – the good and the bad – then so be it. She had to give Zack credit. He’d seen the dark side of her past and he hadn’t been scared away.

Lindsay leaned forward to push the already lit elevator button again when she heard footsteps behind her. The sound had her nerves tightening like a bowstring. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. She jabbed the elevator button again before she turned.

A man appeared from the shadows. He was dressed in a green jumpsuit and was pushing a canvas laundry cart. He touched the bill of his Minton’s Laundry hat and nodded. ‘Morning.’

Lindsay nodded stiffly, her nerves on alert. With the Guardian’s identity still unknown, she wasn’t taking any chances. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

She stepped back. ‘You first.’

The guy shrugged. ‘There’s room for us both.’

‘Thanks. I think I forgot something in my car.’ She backed away from the elevator.

‘Suit yourself.’ He started inside the car and she immediately relaxed, chiding herself for being so sensitive. But still, she was going to play it safe.

She decided to get back in her car and drive around to the front entrance of the hospital. She’d pay for parking on the street.

Lindsay had taken five steps when a damp cloth clamped over her face. The sick, sweet scent of chloroform invaded her senses. Her hands rose up to the ones clamped over her mouth and nose and she tried to pry them away.

She struggled to hold her breath, and when she couldn’t any longer, she inhaled a lungful of the chloroform. The drug invaded her system. She couldn’t move. Was helpless to scream or fight.

She heard the rumble of male laughter. It was a frightening sound. Evil. Malevolent. He was enjoying her helplessness.

Her brain spun. Her knees buckled.

As she began to lose consciousness, she was aware that the man scooped her up and dumped her into the laundry basket.

He dropped her purse beside her and covered her with a handful of towels. ‘Now the fun begins, Lindsay.’

She passed out completely.