01 Only Fear (20 page)

The research and preparation had filled her afternoon, but with this topic, Maggie’s thoughts inevitably turned to Julia. And Sam. And the other victims of Fearmonger.

She shook away memories for the hundredth time as David came into her sound booth. He set down a glass of water with a twist of lime, just how she liked it.

She looked up and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Anything I can do to help.” He dropped his voice, looking away. “And I think this will help a lot of people.”

She was going to address victimization on a wide scale. Not just murder, but other violent crimes. And still it would just be the tip of the iceberg. “Thanks,” she said again.

“I’m sorry I flaked out on you the past couple days.”

“It was your right. You cared deeply about Sharon.”

David swiped the back of his hand across his nose, hiding evidence of his emotions. “I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend.”

“Me, either. She kept it to herself.”

“If maybe I’d gotten up the courage to ask her out…”

He was blaming
himself
for this? Maggie closed the distance between them and hugged him tight. “You couldn’t have known and neither could I.” He sniffled as she stepped away. “But we’ll do the best we can to put on a good show and help others. And maybe give Sharon justice.”

He gave her a wobbly smile. “Your parents are in the break room when you’re ready.”

“Thanks. You can tell them we’re about to start. It’s almost eleven.”

He nodded and joined Becca and Ethan where they waited in the production booth. It reminded her of the last time she’d been on the radio. The same crowd was gathered—minus Sharon.
This is for you, and victims like you, Sharon.

As her parents took their seats beside her, in front of another microphone, her mother reached over to squeeze her hand and her father gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

The intro music for her show began, and she refocused as David cued her to talk. Blowing out a breath, she switched on her microphone.

“Welcome to a special edition of
Live with Levine
. I’m Dr. Margaret Levine. In light of what’s been occurring in our community, and in my own life, we’re doing a broadcast on a topic that is close to my heart.

“You may have heard about the murder that took place on the university campus. What happened to Sharon Moss shook up a lot of people, including me, but most especially her parents and siblings. This show is dedicated to victims of violent crime and their loved ones. It’s not about fear. It’s about awareness, and empathy. It’s meant to be a place to share with the community what they’ve experienced—and still endure—as a result of someone’s violent behavior. It is my hope that this will, at the very least, make you aware of the dangers that lurk out there, so that we can prevent horrors like this from happening to others.”

She paused to take a drink of water, grimacing when her hand shook. She felt shaky on the inside, too, but if she was to ask her loyal listeners to participate in this exercise, she had to set the example. She met her mother’s gaze, saw her smile of encouragement and felt that familiar ache in her chest ease.

“What some of you might not know is that I was the victim of a stalker. About a year ago, a woman, a former patient, became obsessed. It evolved into something dangerous, something in which she hurt me both physically and emotionally. She killed my brother, an innocent bystander, while I watched helplessly. My family and I still deal with the ramifications of that one person’s actions.”

Her gaze sought Ethan at the window and he gave a nod. She knew he was also thinking of last night, when her body had frozen under his gentle caresses. Yes, Deborah’s actions had resulted in all kinds of scars.

Her voice hardened with conviction. “But I am determined to overcome my fears. One of our listeners, a man who calls himself Owen, called in earlier this week to profess his beliefs about fear. To taunt us with his theory that fear is the basis of everything. He believes that the only true emotion is fear. Well, I want to prove him wrong. Letting go of those fears, facing the pain, embracing love and hope, will free us.”

She broke eye contact with Ethan as David flagged down her attention. He grinned as he pointed to the board of glowing lights in front of her.

“It looks like we have several callers, but first, I’d like to introduce my special guests, my parents, Nancy and Walter Levine.” She gestured to them to say something into the microphone.

“We’re pleased to be here,” her father said, “though the topic is, of course, a difficult one.”

“Our family has been through so much,” Nancy added. “But if we can help others in similar circumstances, I’m happy to help. When Brad died—” Her voice broke but she quickly cleared her throat. Maggie saw her father’s hand clasp her mother’s and knew they had gotten each other through that tough time. They had wanted to share their strength with her, and yet she had pushed them away. “That was an extremely difficult time. We questioned our faith, our future. We questioned everything.”

“But we had the love and support of those around us,” Walter added. “And we knew that it was nobody’s fault but the killer’s.”

Maggie swallowed the lump in her throat. Her parents were obviously speaking to her as well as to the listeners. She hoped Damian Manchester was listening, too. He’d spent decades hunting monsters, and going it alone. Maggie had almost followed in his footsteps. But Ethan, her parents and her sister were persistent enough to stick with her when she tried to push them away.

“And what would you say to the people left behind, the victims’ families?” she asked.

“Be open to the healing process. What I want people to understand is that nobody can ever be totally safe.” Her mother took her hand where it lay on the table and squeezed. “And what kind of life would it be if we lived in giant bubbles, never able to touch each other or share ourselves for fear of hurt and rejection? There are enough good people in the world to make reaching out to others and living an open life well worth the risk.”

“Everyone is touched by tragedy at some point in their lives,” her father added. “But the beauty of the human condition is survival, the desire to overcome the pain and live again.”

Her mother’s gaze held her own. “And if you’re lucky, you have people around you who are willing to help. That’s why we’re so proud of you, and what you’ve become. You help so many people.”

Maggie smiled. “Thank you both for sharing that.” She sincerely needed to hear it. She’d spent too much time lately focusing on the ones she hadn’t helped—like Deborah. She’d forgotten the good in the world, and that she’d been a positive influence on many other people. “And we’d love to hear from some of our listeners out there who have similar tales of grief and survival.”

The time flew by quickly, and Maggie was amazed by the number of phone calls—some with tragic stories and others just wanting to contribute words of support—that she received.

So many people out there were in pain. And so many people had found so much to live for. They had found strength in their families and loved ones and comfort in everyday pleasures. Or, like Damian Manchester, they’d found solace in doing valuable work.

It made her all the more certain in her decision to live again. To let go of her past, or to deal with it. With Ethan’s help, she believed she could.

But after an hour of fielding calls, there was still no call from Fearmonger. Nothing about Julia. And despite the hope she felt listening to others, despair made her heart heavy again as she closed the show. It was as if she was closing off her opportunity to reach her sister.

“Thank you to everyone who called in tonight. I truly appreciate you sharing your stories. I hope that people see them for the inspirations they are, and you—the ones who trudge on in the face of adversity—as the everyday heroes you are. And thank you to my parents,” she added. “You are my own personal heroes. In the meantime, everyone, please treat yourselves gently.”

She sat, begging another light to blink, another call to come in. Hoping, for once, that Owen—Fearmonger—wouldn’t be able to resist. And her heart ached in desperation for Julia and the fear she must be feeling. If she was even alive.

Strong, familiar arms wrapped around her shoulders and she leaned back in her chair, into Ethan, closing her eyes against the pain. “He didn’t call.”

His arms tightened. “It doesn’t mean anything. He might not have even known about the show’s topic. It was such short notice.”

“He knew.” Fearmonger was following her every move so closely, he probably knew Ethan had his arms around her at this very moment. “He wants me to suffer. He wants to make me sweat it out. He’ll call, but he’ll wait until he can have me to himself. And until he can hurt Julia the most.”

The sound of Sharon’s cries resounded in her ears. He’d made her listen to the young woman’s final moments. She’d barely survived that. She didn’t think she could bear hearing Julia’s useless cries for help.

She shivered.

“You okay?” He squatted down beside her and spun her in her chair until she faced him.

“I am now.” She smiled. So caring. So gentle. This man would never hurt her. He’d chosen to guard people as his career, but it was also in his nature to protect. She touched a hand to his cheek. “Take me home.”

Passion and need flared in his eyes. “Yours or mine?”

“Yours. I feel safe there.”

With a nod, he rose and pulled her out of the chair with him. Suddenly realizing they were alone, Maggie turned to him. “Where’s everyone? My parents?”

“Noah was waiting to take your parents to Damian’s house. I assured them I wouldn’t let you out of my sight. Becca escorted David home.” He laughed. “He put up a stink about it—a man being protected by a woman—but she batted her eyelashes and twisted it so it seemed
he
was protecting
her
.” He chuckled again and it warmed Maggie’s heart. “I admit I haven’t given her enough credit.”

“You should tell her, not me.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “I suppose I should.”

“Definitely. Your opinion matters to her.”

“And you? Does it…do
I
matter to you?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice husky under his heated gaze. “You definitely do.”

“What happens after we find Fearmonger?”

Was he worried about what she’d demand from him when the chaos of her life settled? Though they’d opened to each other like two flowers surviving a long, hard frost, she didn’t kid herself that their relationship was more than based on the needs of the moment. Ethan had needed someone to unburden himself with, and she had needed the same. “I promise, no strings.”

“And if I want them?” Ethan asked.

Her eyes widened. Could he really be thinking long-term? “It’s not the time to be making these kind of decisions.”

“Bullshit.”

Her jaw dropped as he called her bluff.

“You’re avoiding the question,” he said, gently. It was too much too soon. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “Forget I asked.”

“No. I won’t forget.” She pulled away and touched her hand to his cheek. “After we find Julia, after she’s safe, we’ll talk about it.”

“I haven’t told you how proud I am of you. Fearmonger didn’t take your bait, but you tried.”

She’d laid her heart on a platter and served it up to Chicago on the air. But it all seemed for nothing now. “He wants me to stew about it. To spend every hour—awake or asleep—wondering what he’s doing to my sister.”

Ethan’s bent to place a soft kiss on her lips. “We’ll find her. I promise.”

Yeah, but in what shape?

“Sawdust?” Maggie repeated, looking around the SSAM meeting room in confusion. She’d slept fitfully the night before, settling only when Ethan wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. Still, she’d heard screams in her sleep, followed by Fearmonger’s horrible taunts. Damian’s call this morning, requesting that they come in for yet another meeting because of some new evidence, had been the only thing that had her hanging on.

And now they were talking about sawdust. It was surreal.

Ethan leaned forward. “Maybe you can explain further, Sandy, because I’m not getting it.”

“Of course.” Sandy Mitchell’s mocha skin glowed with enthusiasm for the subject. Whatever SSAM’s lead criminalist had found, the woman thought it was important. “We were going over the bloody smear in Miss Levine’s apartment and the few hairs that were stuck in it. Apparently, when she made that handprint on the wall she left behind some pretty amazing evidence. Evidence other than the hairs, I mean.”

“Sawdust,” Ethan repeated.

Sandy nodded vigorously, her springy dark ringlets bouncing around her round face. “The DNA in the hair didn’t match anybody in the system, but the sawdust should lead us to the killer.”

“How?” Ethan asked.

“There was no other trace of sawdust in Miss Levine’s house, which leads us to conclude it came in with the suspect. As it was in his hair—not simply on his shoes like some kind of mulch byproduct—I believe Fearmonger works with wood.” Sandy sat back and let the room digest her information.

Maria shrugged. “So the guy is doing some renovations on his house. That only narrows it down to the suburbs or one of those lofts they’re renovating downtown. Or maybe he works at a lumberyard or do-it-yourself home store.”

“Or maybe he just likes to whittle when he’s not kidnapping and murdering,” Ethan added, his jaw set tight with frustration. Maggie understood the emotion well. They’d been counting on this breakthrough to lead to something concrete.

“Or he could be an artist,” Lorena pointed out. “He does like to make a statement on the walls where he kills his victims, but it’s more crude than artistic, I would say. Then again, art
is
subjective.” She shot Maggie an apologetic look, but Maggie was too intent on finding out why Sandy’s smug smile was still in place.

The criminalist leaned forward, regaining everyone’s attention. “But do any of those places, with the possible exception of an artist’s studio, have ready access to African mahogany?” Sandy, who may have been an actress in a previous life, paused for dramatic effect. “I have a friend who owed me a favor. This friend just happens to be a specialist who knows how to identify woods. The sawdust is from African mahogany, a rare wood. Only specialty furniture factories—or artists,” she qualified with a nod of acknowledgement to Lorena, “would use it. It’s very expensive and hard to come by. And distinctive in its pattern. And because it was in the suspect’s hair, he had to have been around it. The most likely guess is that he works with it.”

Ethan spoke up next. “So we’re looking for someone who works in, what, an artist’s studio or a fine furniture factory?”

“That would be my guess.”

“Great,” Maria said, grimacing. “We’ve narrowed it down to all the furniture businesses and their employees and—oh, yeah—all the artists within the great state of Illinois.”

Sandy scowled. “Not at all. Fearmonger is obviously within listening range of Dr. Levine’s show, and all his recent activity has been within thirty miles.”

“But he could just be on vacation or something. It
was
a holiday. We don’t know he lives or works in this area. In fact, he could attend the college as a commuter and only be in the area on certain days.”

“But we can start in the area and spiral outward, targeting only the furniture factories where they build custom furniture,” Ethan said.

Damian cleared his throat. “At least we have a new direction to pursue. I’ll have Catherine pull together a list of furniture factories and artist studios. Noah and Maria will be doing some of the footwork.” He turned to Becca and Ethan. “I thought you two might be added resources today and check out some of them. Maggie can stay here with me.”

“No,” Ethan said.

“No way,” Maggie blurted at the same time. “Damian,” she continued, “it’s Saturday. I have nothing to do anyway, no classes to teach. I really want to be out there, looking for Julia.”

“And if Fearmonger sees you?” Damian asked. “You’ve just blown our chances of catching him.”

She felt the blood drain from her face but was determined. “I can wait in the car and observe. Maybe I’ll notice something or recognize someone. Please, I have to do something, or at least feel like I am. Besides, if you think you’ve found him, I can recognize his voice.”

“And he knows that, Maggie. He’s obviously disguised it before, if Sharon didn’t recognize him as Owen.”

“I won’t be any safer here than I would be out there. He doesn’t seem to have any problem getting to me, or people I care about.”

Ethan touched her arm in a supportive gesture, then spoke to Damian. “Sir, it’s my job to protect her. With all due respect, I can’t leave her here and go out with Becca. On the other hand, I don’t want to put her in more danger by taking her with me.”

“Quite a dilemma.”

“I insist on going with Ethan,” Maggie said. “Besides, I think I might be more of an asset than a hindrance. The way Fearmonger’s behaved, I don’t think he’d run if he saw me. On the contrary, maybe he’d even approach me.” Ethan’s hand stiffened on her arm and she reached out to lay her other hand on his. “But I promise to be careful.”

“Lorena? Your thoughts?” Damian invited his mindhunter to share.

“I think she has a valid point,” Lorena conceded. “And I can pair up with Becca. We can cover more ground if there are three teams looking.” A spark lit Lorena’s eyes. Maggie got a glimpse of the FBI agent she must have been. Tough. Formidable. Intelligent. Of course, that went without saying. Damian only hired the best.

“You two can look into the artists who work with wood. I’ll have Catherine compile a listing, and get the list of furniture factories to Noah and Ethan.”

“You stick with me,” Ethan said in Maggie’s ear as chairs were pushed back and each pair left to see to their assignment. “You do what I say, when I say it. No arguments. No questions.”

She nodded, sensing the urgency in his voice. Was it fear? For her? The thought warmed her blood. She already knew the stakes. “I will. I promise.” She wasn’t looking to lose her life just after she’d seized hold of it again.

Damian approached and embraced her. “Be careful.” His voice dropped so that only she could hear. “And I’m glad to see you took my advice.”

Maggie felt her cheeks heat. Was it so obvious that she and Ethan had grown close? Damian’s rusty chuckle warmed her and had several heads turning to stare in surprise. The man obviously didn’t laugh much. When all this was over, she’d have to talk with him about that.

“Can I come in this time?” Maggie pleaded, aware this was their last stop, and Ethan had had no luck going into the last four furniture factories on his own.

He gave her a no-arguments look. “No.” Firm and immovable. Then he reached out to touch her face, turning in the front seat of the car to face her. “It’s my job to—”

“Keep me safe. I know.” Maggie sighed. “I just have this cramp in my leg. It would be nice to stretch. And I’m starving. Maybe they have a vending machine or something.”

“We’ll stop for dinner after this. It’s the last one on our list.” His look was so full of compassion that Maggie had to turn away.

“Okay. Be safe.” It was the same thing she’d told him before each of the other stops. She hoped to heaven that Noah and Maria or Becca and Lorena had experienced better luck narrowing the field. The pleasant smell of freshly hewn wood filled her senses as Ethan opened his door and climbed out, dipping his head back into the open doorway to say the same thing he’d told her at each of the stops. “Lock the doors.”

Nodding, she did as he asked as his retreating form disappeared through the building’s front door. It was another hot day, and he’d left the air-conditioning running for her. She pulled her shirt away from her skin to let the air circulate against it until she shivered.

This factory exuded more charm than the others had. Two stories of solid brick located near an old industrial section of Chicago, the building was a character in itself. Obviously constructed many decades ago, it stood proud and square among newer, less interesting buildings.

A knock on her window startled her. A man stood on the other side, and she hesitated until he smiled. His dark hair was in need of a trim, and his skin was tanned as if he’d spent some time out of doors. She rolled her window down a crack. If this handsome, boy-next-door type of guy was Fearmonger, she’d know it by his voice. And his eyes. The eyes always told.

“Hi,” he said, not indicating that he might find it odd that he was speaking to her through a one-inch gap. In today’s world, and in this part of town, people were probably considered smart to be on guard. For Maggie, it was a way of life now.

She felt some relief that the man’s accent was Southern. It didn’t have the smooth, cultured polish of Owen’s voice. It wasn’t even close.

“You lost?” he asked.

“No. Just waiting for my friend. He’ll be back any moment.” She hoped that was true. The man seemed friendly enough, but you never knew. She’d let the man chew on her response and decide what to say next.

The man jerked his head toward the building, a lock of hair falling in his eyes. “Place is about to close up for the night. We hate working Saturdays, so we try to get out quick.”

Maggie forced a pleasant smile. “Then my friend will be back even sooner.”

His eyes studied her a moment before he shrugged and nodded. “Okay. Just trying to help.” He turned to walk away.

She didn’t care if she’d offended him. It was a small price to pay for one’s life.

“That your friend?” he asked, once again jerking his head toward the building.

Maggie, startled the man was still by her window when she’d seen him turn and take a few steps away, looked toward the entrance where, sure enough, Ethan strode in long, purposeful strides toward the car.

“Who are you?” Ethan’s look was black enough to make her new friend back away, his hands raised to his chest, palms out.

“Hey,” he drawled, “I was just keeping your lady company. Making sure she was okay.”

“And you are?”

“J. P. Randall. I work here.”

“Then you’re on your way home.” It was a statement intended to push him along his way.

J. P. just grinned. “After a drink at Sullivan’s, down the street. Just thought I’d look for company.”

“I hear bars are great for that—finding company.”

J. P. laughed, then rapped his knuckles against the roof. Maggie, who’d been watching Ethan through the window where he stood in front of the car, jumped at the noise.

“That they are,” J. P. said. “Goodbye, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary hat to her—a cowboy hat, no doubt. With his Southern accent, he only needed a piece of hay sticking out of his mouth to complete the picture of smooth Southern boy. “Hope to see you again sometime soon.” He turned and sauntered toward a truck parked across the lot, with the employees’ cars.

Ethan climbed in and glared at her. “Put your window up. Are you crazy?”

She complied. “It was only a little bit.”

“Enough to stick a gun barrel through.”

“If it were a gun, he wouldn’t need me to roll down the window in order to hurt me. Besides, Fearmonger prefers a knife,” she pointed out, but that only made him scowl all the more. “What did you find out in there?”

Ethan’s jaw tensed. “Nothing. The boss had already left for the day. There was just a worker or two cleaning up. One didn’t speak English and the other hadn’t seen anything unusual. Couldn’t think of anyone we’d be looking for.” He ran a hand over his face. “Sorry. Looks like we’ll have to continue the hunt tomorrow.”

Maggie slumped against her seat, emotionally drained.
Oh, Julia, I hope you’re hanging in there.
Her sister was tough. Maggie just hoped she was tough enough to withstand Fearmonger’s so-called lessons. Of course, he’d always said Maggie was his pupil. What he wanted was her. He wanted to teach her about fear. And, God help her, if it meant saving her sister, she would offer herself to him, wrapped in a big red bow.

Of course, with Ethan determined to keep her safe, that self-sacrifice would be difficult to achieve. And it wouldn’t be smart, anyway. Fearmonger wouldn’t let her sister go, no matter what Maggie did.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan continued when Maggie didn’t respond. “I know you had your hopes up. Maybe the other teams found something.” But they left the reality unspoken. If anyone had found Julia or Fearmonger, Ethan would have received a call immediately. “I’ll check in with Damian and see if anybody else had some luck.” Damian must have picked up right away, because Ethan was suddenly talking to someone on his cell. “We’re done for the day. Have the other teams checked in?…Where are they?…That’s not too far from here. We’ll meet them at—” He pulled the phone away from his mouth to talk to Maggie. “What was that bar that guy mentioned—the one nearby?”

“Sullivan’s. Just down the block.”

He nodded. “Tell them to meet us at Sullivan’s.”

When he hung up, Maggie pinned him with a look. “Why there? I thought J. P. was kind of creepy.”

“Me, too.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t hurt to check him out a little more. He’s probably just an average Joe. Or Joe Bob,” he drawled, mimicking J. P.’s accent.

“That would make him a J. B. not a J. P.,” she pointed out.

“Noah and Maria are only a few miles from here, and it’ll give us a chance to compare notes. Damian’s calling them for us now.”

He drove the short distance to Sullivan’s, which, judging by the number of beat-up trucks in the parking lot, was already doing a decent amount of business on a Saturday evening.

He climbed out and Maggie followed suit. The heat of the Chicago summer day rebounded off the parking lot, radiating through her thin-soled sandals. A sidewalk sign in front of the corrugated-tin-roofed bar proclaimed Saturday’s special featured half-price wings, fries and draft beer. Her mouth watered. She felt the warmth of Ethan’s hand at her back as he guided her down the sidewalk, the touch at once protective and proprietary. Maggie didn’t mind.