Cold Fear (40 page)

“We have photographic evidence placing your van in Maysville,” Frazer told him.

Brubaker snorted. “Which proves how full of shit this whole thing is. My van was in the shop until this morning because it needed a new alternator. It didn’t go anywhere.”

Frazer’s whole body snapped to attention. “Which shop?”

“Seth Grundy’s place.”

Frazer staggered back as if he’d been shot. Tyson put Brubaker none too gently in the back of a squad car.

The clock was ticking in his head as the image of Seth driving Isadora’s SUV flashed through his mind, but he didn’t rush. Headless chickens didn’t make good law enforcement officers. Frazer made a quick call to Hanrahan. The man was in Mildred Houch’s living room. “Ask her if the name Ted Brubaker means anything to her.”

“Mildred says no.”

“Now ask her about Seth Grundy.”

Hanrahan repeated the name and Frazer heard the “Oh, yes! That’s the name I was trying to remember,” in the background.

Then Hanrahan came back on the line. “Mildred says he was one of Denker’s best friends. He almost drowned, but a teacher rescued him. One of his friends died though. This help?”

“I think we just found Denker’s accomplice.” Frazer hung up. “You can let Brubaker go. Get a new warrant for Seth Grundy’s workplace.” He pointed at the white van. “That is evidence. Impound it. Grundy is our man.”

Chief Tyson pulled out his cell. “I’ll call dispatch to put out an APB.”

Frazer’s heart pounded as he shook his head. “I know where he is. I saw him headed south on Highway 12 ten minutes ago, driving Dr. Campbell’s SUV.” His brain flashed to the image and he swallowed his frustration. He’d missed the obvious. “Put up road blocks, north and south. Let’s pin this bastard down.”

He started running, Randall on his heels as they scrambled to go after this new suspect. And suddenly Frazer realized he’d screwed everything up. He got in the car and wished he had sirens. Didn’t matter. He floored it, driving backwards along the pitted lane as Randall battled with his seat belt.

He sped out onto the highway screeching across the road, narrowly missing another vehicle. Then he put it in drive and prayed that he was in time, or that Grundy was just using Isadora’s car the way he used other people’s. To throw cops off the scent. To get rid of evidence. He dialed Isadora’s cell number, but it came back busy.

“Try Kit,” he told Randall as he concentrated on not crashing into the bridge barricades.

The thing that mattered most to him right now was a woman who had more courage than he had ever owned. She’d admitted her past mistakes, and he’d despised her. But Frazer didn’t dare risk exposing his faults or past mistakes. He had to be perfect. He’d had to be perfect since the moment he was rescued from that fleapit motel in fucking Ohio.

Perfect. Worthy. Important.

Because that’s how he’d survived those five horrific days and somewhere, deep inside, he’d associated perfection with the hope of being loved, the way a serial killer associated someone else’s pain with their own sexual arousal. Same mechanism. Different character flaw.

Isadora Campbell wasn’t perfect. What the hell would he do with anyone who was? If they didn’t bore him to death, they’d reflect his own glaring flaws so boldly a relationship wouldn’t last a week. What the hell was perfection anyway? Even the concept made no sense.

What did he really want out of life? To chase killers? To save people?

That was important, but was it enough?

And what did being
saved
matter if you didn’t live your life to the fullest extent afterwards? And what good was being “perfect” when you were too much of a coward to risk the one thing that truly mattered—your heart.

He got to the Campbell house in record time. No vehicle in the drive. Good news? Or bad? Weapon drawn, he dashed up the steps and burst through the door. But the house was empty. There was just the box of photographs on the table. If Grundy had seen them he’d realize it was only a matter of time before they tracked him down.

“Did you reach Kit?” he asked.

Randall nodded. “Yes. Izzy tried to call her, but she’d turned her phone off. She doesn’t know where she is.”

There was a slip of paper on the floor. Frazer crouched down and saw it was a check made out to Seth Grundy. He climbed back to his feet.

“Grundy was here,” he told Randall. “I’m going to get Parker looking for her phone, and we’ll block all exits off the islands. He won’t get away.” Frazer tried to swallow before his too dry throat strangled him. He’d find Isadora. The question was whether or not she’d still be alive when he did.

He was about to dial Parker when his cell rang.

“We have a 911 from Dr. Campbell’s cell phone.” Terror gripped him as he walked back out into the blustery night. The chief continued. “Can’t make out voices but it’s all being recorded in case we can digitally enhance it later.”

“Did you track the signal?”

“We have a call in to the service provider—”

“I’ll call you back.” Frazer hung up and called Parker. “911 call coming from Isadora Campbell’s cell phone. I need to know exactly where that phone is, right now.” Frazer waited for what seemed like forever.

Thirty seconds later. “Phone’s at Parson’s Point. Not sure exactly where but—”

“That’s okay. I know where he’ll be.” It was the only place that made any sense. Grundy didn’t know they were on to him. He thought he had plenty of time. Frazer got in the car, Randall throwing himself into the passenger side as Frazer drove away. “Call Tyson. Parson’s Point. Fill him in.”

His cell phone rang again, and he checked the number. Patrick Killion—the spook who was helping him hunt the Vice President’s assassin. He owed the guy too much to ignore the call.

“What is it?” he bit out.

“I think I found her.”

Shit. They’d been hunting this woman for weeks. “I’m in a situation here.”

“She might be gone in an hour. You want her, you need to make some calls now.”

Dammit. He didn’t have time, and as far as he knew, she was only a threat to the bad guys. Shit, he needed to stop being such a hypocrite. He’d made choices that should have him in prison serving life for murder. It made Isadora Campbell’s misdeeds positively tame in comparison.

“Leave her, Killion.”

“You sure?”

“We’ll figure it out later. I’ve got something more important to deal with.” Much more important—like trying to save the only woman ever to sneak past his guard and into his heart from a vicious serial offender who’d been getting away with murder for decades. He hung up. He could only assume Seth Grundy didn’t know Isadora had activated her cell phone. The guy hadn’t planned to take her. Just like he hadn’t planned to kill Helena. But Grundy sure as hell knew how to improvise.

*     *     *

Y
ELLOW POLICE TAPE
surrounded the entire dune system, but the place was unguarded. The tape was fighting a losing battle against the wind and more than one length had ripped free to dance above the lashing grass. Seth had Barney on a tight leash, the gun pointed very steadily at her poor dog as he motioned her ahead of him. There was no way he had Kit—or if he did, there was no way her sister was alive.

Izzy climbed carefully over the wooden fence, carrying the shovel. She’d been thrust back in time and was finally paying the price for her sins. Sand filled her socks, and her feet were freezing. For some reason, that felt like the most surreal thing of all—practical Izzy Campbell, walking in the sand dunes in winter without her shoes. The feeling of gritty particles between her toes made her teeth ache. She had no idea if anyone was coming to help her, or if she’d even successfully called 911.

“Where’s Mary?” she asked.

“She’s up ahead.”

“Is she alive?”

“Of course she’s alive. I tied her up is all.”

Tied Mary up and then returned Izzy’s car? Actually, she wouldn’t put it past him, but she doubted that meant the woman was alive.

Every stride brought Izzy closer to the end. She wasn’t going to just give up, but how could she get Seth to drop the gun? Her fingers tightened on the shovel.

The wind almost pushed her over when she reached the top of the foredune. A strong hand pushed her, and she stumbled down the steep slope on the other side, sprawling to the ground and drawing in a sharp breath as pain slashed her ribs.

She drew herself up, using the shovel as a brace.

“Get up,” Seth shouted over the wind. “Keep moving.” He waved the gun in her direction, and she staggered to her feet.

He was taking her back to where she’d buried her father all those years ago.

Before they’d fenced this area off, there had been a small access road that had cut through the sandy peaks. The Department of Natural Resources had torn up the asphalt and let the land take over. There was no sign of the road now.

She remembered the look on Frazer’s face when she’d told him about that awful day—betrayal, bitter disappointment. She’d let him down. Pretended to be something she wasn’t. Worse, she’d hurt him. So what if he didn’t show it? She knew the truth. He’d opened up to her, and she’d committed a cardinal sin—she’d interfered with his investigation.

She started climbing the next dune but stopped after a few feet and turned around, clutching her side as if she was hurting. If she ever got the chance she was going to tell Frazer she loved him. The emotion had snuck up on her, taken her by surprise, and he deserved to know that what she felt for him was real. He deserved to know he mattered, not just as an FBI agent, but as a man. It wouldn’t change the outcome—even if she lived through today, they had no chance of ever being a couple. But it would be closure. It would be the sort of brutal honesty Frazer could appreciate.

For now her only hope was to keep Seth talking. Make him forget she was supposed to be his next victim. “How did you know where to find the bodies, after all these years?”

“I staked a piece of wood near where I saw you digging that night, which was fine until that asshole Cromwell pulled it out a few years ago. Pastor gave me the idea of the metal detector with all the crazy treasure hunting he does. Knew more or less where to start.” He shrugged. “Didn’t take long.”

“Why? Why dig up that poor woman’s bracelet? Wasn’t it enough to kill her?”

It was almost full dark, but she saw the flash of teeth when he smiled. “A friend of mine needed a little help in prison, and I wanted to claim what was rightfully mine.”

Ferris Denker. Frazer’s revelations about the man’s crimes had shocked her. “She wasn’t yours,” she argued. “People aren’t defined by how they die.”

Seth moved closer. “She was mine when I put my hand around her throat and sent her to a better place.”

The absolute certainty in his voice made her feel ill.

They got to the place where she’d buried her father, and Seth let go of Barney’s leash. Thankfully the dog ran off to sniff grass.
Run, Barney
. Seth grabbed her shoulder and stuck the gun in her face before she could escape.

“I wish I could do the same to you, Izzy.” His fingers squeezed painfully into her flesh, as if he were imagining them around her neck. “You’d know exactly how to come back and tell me if they’re still there, waiting for me.”

“Why didn’t you just kill yourself?” she asked. He’d have done them all a favor.

He shook her roughly. “It’s a mortal sin.”

But serial rape and murder wasn’t? She didn’t say it. The guy wasn’t sane. Then she registered what he said. “Why can’t you do the same to me?” Not that she wanted that, but she wanted to know what the hell was going to happen to her.

His fingers squeezed harder, with bruising force. “It’s got to look like a suicide. Poor Izzy. Tells the Feds about the terrible things she’s done and can’t live with herself. I’ll be sure to comfort Kit for you.” His fingers started squeezing the trigger. Fuck. She used every ounce of force she could muster and hit him in the temple with her plastercast.

He went down hard, but he wasn’t unconscious. Izzy took off, dropping the shovel when it slowed her down. Running with battered ribs and a broken wrist was difficult enough. She heard a shot in the darkness, but ignored it. She wasn’t going to sit around while Seth staged her suicide.
Asshole
. There was another shot and a warm sensation on one side of her calf where a bullet skimmed her skin.

She dove right and kept running.

*     *     *

F
RAZER HAD A
reputation for being cool under pressure, but the truth was, underneath the facade, he was a raving lunatic with fantastic acting skills.

They pulled up behind Isadora’s SUV. A pushbike was in the back.

Seth Grundy didn’t know they were onto him. Frazer called Tyson. “Dr. Campbell’s car is at Parson’s Point. I don’t think Grundy knows she’s activated her cell or that we’re actively looking for him yet. He knows Cromwell and Brubaker are both in the frame for the murders and probably figures that’ll keep us busy while he has time to slip away.”

“An officer found Mary Neville in the trunk of one of the cars at the garage. I have a horrible feeling she was there the whole time we were patting him on the back this morning. Getting his rocks off.”

“Dead?” Frazer asked.

“Not yet.”

Thank God for small mercies.

“I’ll tell all units to come in dark with sirens off.”

“Good. Me and Randall are going in now.”

“My guys are five minutes out. Wait for back up.”

Frazer cut the connection. No way was he waiting. “Ready?” he asked Randall.

The other agent nodded. “Let’s do it.”

They headed into the dunes, unable to use flashlights, because it would give away their presence, unable to hear any screams or conversation because of the howling wind. The sound of a gunshot did register, then another. Adrenaline raced through his bloodstream as he and Randall ran toward where it came from.

It was tough to see anything with the cloudy sky and no moon. “Go right,” he said to Randall as he split left. A minute later a dark shadow ahead made him slow down as he tried to figure out whether or not it was Grundy.

He shouted, “FBI, put the weapon on the ground, hands on your head.” But the shadow rabbited over the far side of the dune. Dammit.