Cause For Alarm (38 page)

J
ulianna's description of John's apartment had been disturbingly accurate. Naked, Kate thought, taking a step farther inside. Bloodless and cold. Like the man.

She moved her gaze over the room before her, taking in the leather couch and wine-and-forest print side chairs, the perfectly appointed and organized bookshelves, the generic prints on the walls. John Powers didn't live here; no one did. It was a shell, like a furniture store display, decorated with expensive and classic items, yet with none of the human touches that made a dwelling a home. The only exception was a framed photo on the sofa table.

“Julianna,” Luke said, turning to face her, “you've done this before. Any ideas where we should start?”

The young woman stood just inside the front door. She shook her head.

“What should we be looking for?” Kate asked, setting Emma's carrier down, her daughter sound asleep in it.

“Correspondence,” he answered. “Phone bills, credit card receipts, or anything else that might help us link him to a place, date or event. Of course, the big find would be the key to his code, though I'd bet he carries that around in his head.” Luke turned to Kate. “Why don't you and Julianna search here and in the kitchen. I'll start in the master bedroom.”

Kate nodded. “Sounds good to me.” She glanced at Julianna—the younger woman hadn't moved from her position just inside the door. She looked as if she might bolt at any moment.

“You okay?” she asked.

Julianna looked at Kate. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

Julianna blinked, her gaze suddenly focusing on Kate. “Fine. Ready?”

“I'll start in here, why don't you take the kitchen?”

Julianna nodded and made her way past Kate. Kate watched her go, her eyebrows drawn together in concern. The other woman's movements were halting, as if her legs weren't completely cooperating with her brain, and her cheeks were pasty, as if she might be sick at any moment.

It might not be such a good idea for her to be here. Kate glanced toward the bedroom, wondering if she should discuss it with Luke. She shook her head, deciding that she was overreacting. The best thing to do was get busy so they could all get out. Being here gave her the creeps, too.

Kate started with the piece of furniture closest to her, one of the print side chairs, a wingback. She checked under the cushion, then turned the chair over, inspecting the bottom lining carefully, looking for a gap in the stitching, a flap that could be pulled away and some small item tucked inside. Finding nothing, she went to the next chair, then the built-in bookshelves.

While she worked, she heard Julianna in the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers, rummaging through the freezer. Every so often, she would say something to herself, though Kate couldn't make out what.

Luke emerged from the master bedroom, crossing to her. “Take a look at this.”

It was a copy of the New Orleans
Times Picayune,
dated two months before. Kate stared at it, a queasy sensation in the pit of her gut. She met Luke's gaze. “This means that—”

“Two months ago he had discovered Julianna's whereabouts and was planning his trip to New Orleans.”

Kate sucked in a sharp breath.
How long had he been watching them? Stalking them, waiting for just the right time to strike?

Gooseflesh crawled up her arms, and she rubbed them. “Anything else?”

He shook his head. “Unfortunately not. This guy makes spartan look cluttered. How about you?”

“Nada. Let's check with Julianna.”

They did, but she'd had the same results as Kate.

Luke made a sound of frustration. “You're checking inside containers, aren't you? Pulling things out to look behind them?”

“What there is to check behind and inside, I am. Take a peak.” She swung open one of the cabinets. It was empty save for a half dozen plates, glasses and bowls. “Check out the fridge.” Except for a bottle of champagne, it, too, was empty. “Same with the freezer and pantry.”

“Was it always like this?” Kate asked, moving her gaze over the room, taking in the white cabinets, walls and tile floor. The surfaces were all so clean they gleamed.

“Not so empty, no. I mean, he always had to have things just so. John hates any kind of dirt or clutter, won't tolerate them, but he used to have food in the refrigerator and pantry.”

“Even the trash cans are empty,” Luke murmured, checking the one under the sink. “I wonder what it means?”

“Maybe he thinks of this as a kamikaze mission,” Kate offered.

Luke considered that a moment, then inclined his head. “Or maybe this is a further sign of him coming unglued. A compulsion gone haywire.”

“Interesting,” Kate murmured, “he can't stand a mess but kills people for a living. What does he do when he gets blood on his hands?”

For a moment, the three were silent. Then Julianna sighed. “We're not going to find anything here, are we?”

“We don't know that,” Luke said. “We're here, let's finish what we started.”

They agreed and returned to their respective rooms. Kate finished the bookshelves, disappointed when her exhaustive and painstaking search yielded nothing out of the ordinary. Frustrated, she turned toward the sofa. Her eyes landed on the framed photo. Perhaps John had hidden something between the photo and the frame's back? Maybe even the key for his code?

She went to the photo, bent and studied. It was a picture of a much younger Julianna, standing beside a man she presumed to be John Powers. He was wearing a baseball cap; his face was partially in shadow. Still, he looked familiar. She tilted her head, studying the man, certain they had met before.

And then she knew.

John Powers and Nick Winters were the same person.

Kate took an involuntary step backward, her mind spinning with the ramifications of it. As Nick Winters, John had been stalking her and Emma for weeks now. He had flirted with her and bounced Emma on his knee.

He had been in her home. She had invited him in. The night Richard had been murdered. The night
he
had murdered Richard.

It all made sense now, the way he had acted that night, the things he had said. Horrified, Kate brought a hand to her mouth.
It'll all be over soon, Kate. Sooner than you can imagine.

He could have killed her then. He could have killed Emma. Easily. They had been alone, defenseless.

Obviously, he had known that.
Obviously.
She brought the heels of her hands to her eyes. Why hadn't he? He'd had them both where he wanted them.

Because he didn't work that way, she thought, dropping her hands. He was a methodical bastard. Everything in its time and place, first things first. Oh, yes, the John Powers she had come to know through Nick Winters always crossed his
T
s and dotted his
I
s.

With hands that shook, she picked up the photo. Gazing at his image, she recalled other things he had said—about loyalty and trust, about honor.

Tess.

She wasn't like us, Kate. She wasn't loyal.

Kate sank to the couch. Tess's boyfriend had always proclaimed his innocence. He and Tess had been arguing, he'd said. He had dropped her at her car, parked behind The Uncommon Bean, then furious with her, he had torn off without waiting to make sure she had gotten safely into her vehicle and on her way.

That, he had sworn, was the last time he'd seen her. Kate, like everyone else, had thought him lying. Even though she had always wondered why he had smashed her stained glass. To her, that had seemed such a personal act of rage, one directed at her, not Tess.

That afternoon, Kate remembered suddenly, she had asked Nick Winters if she could buy back her piece of stained glass. She remembered their conversation about artists and the act of creation and how creepy he had seemed, how uncomfortable his words had made her feel.

“How do you feel knowing I own a piece of your soul?”

That's the way he had wanted her to feel. He had been toying with her. Enjoying his game of cat and mouse, enjoying that the poor little mouse didn't have the first inkling she was about to be eaten.

John had killed Tess; she knew it without proof. He had destroyed her stained glass. But why? Kate wondered, searching the photograph as if it would yield a clue. What could he have had against Tess? Why would he have wished her ill?

Maybe her employee had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe she had caught him snooping around and…

Her Rolodex. Dear God.

Kate leaped to her feet. The photo slipped from her fingers. It hit the floor; the glass shattered.

With her address file, John knew everyone Kate knew. He knew where they lived, their phone numbers and from the notations beside each listing, whether they were friend, family or business associate.

Luke's address was there, she realized, panic taking her breath. John knew about Luke. And as Nick Winters, he had not only access to her employees, but to their trust as well.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember exactly what she had told Blake and Marilyn when she'd called from Luke's that first day. She had talked to both her managers; she had told them she was in Houston. Visiting a friend. That it had been too painful for her at home, so she had taken Emma and gone. She had asked them not to discuss her whereabouts with anyone.

A hysterical laugh rose from her throat. When had Marilyn and Blake ever been able to keep quiet about anything? How long until John Powers discovered who she was with, then her whereabouts?

Or had he already?

She swung to face the door, heart thundering, half expecting the man to walk through.

“Kate?” Julianna came in from the kitchen, her expression concerned. “What's wrong?”

Kate wheeled around to face the other woman. “I think we're in trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“He might know where we are. He might know we're with Luke.”

Julianna frowned and came around the couch. She saw the picture frame and stopped short. The blood drained from her face.

“We need to get out of here, quick.” Kate dragged a shaking hand through her hair. “Have you finished the kitchen?”

Julianna didn't answer, and Kate frowned. “Julianna? Are you all right?”

“I gave that to him,” she murmured after a moment, her voice curiously flat. “I wanted to make this house nice. Like a real home.”

“I'm sorry,” Kate said softly. “I didn't mean to break it.”

Julianna knelt and with her bare hands began sweeping the shards of glass into a pile. The fragments cut her fingers, and they began to bleed.

“Julianna, you're hurting yourself.”

She acted as if she didn't even hear Kate. “He would bring me here. Mama said it was all right. She didn't know.”

Kate squatted beside her, reaching for her hands. “Julianna, stop. You're bleeding.”

She knocked Kate's hands away, and reached for the crystal frame. Though it had cracked in half, Julianna carefully opened the back, slid out the photograph then set the frame gingerly down. She passed her hand over the photo, as if brushing away the splinters of glass, leaving a red smear in its wake.

Kate jumped to her feet and took a step backward. “Luke,” she called softly, afraid to raise her voice. “Could you come here, please?”

“I was pretty, don't you think?” Julianna studied the picture, head cocked as if trying to remember something. “Was I ten or eleven here?” She lifted her face to Kate's. “Do you know?”

Ten or eleven. Dear God.
Not trusting her voice, Kate shook her head.

“It doesn't matter, I guess.” She touched the photo again, this time with the tip of her index finger. “But I was pretty?”

“You were beautiful,” Kate murmured, pressing a hand to her stomach, sick with what she suspected had been the true character of Julianna's relationship with John Powers. “You still are.”

“No,” Julianna said, her tone taking on a singsong quality. “Mama's beautiful and Julianna's pretty. Be a good little girl, mustn't forget.” Her voice cracked slightly. “John's good little girl.”

“Luke,” she called again, louder this time, not taking her gaze from the other woman. “You'd better get out h—”

“I'm here.” He laid a hand on her shoulder and bent close to her ear. “Take Emma to the bedroom.”

Kate looked over her shoulder at him, uneasy. “Why? What do you—”

“I don't know. Do it, just in case.”

She nodded and went for the car carrier and Emma, skirting wide around Julianna. She needn't have worried. The other woman didn't even notice her.