I'm Watching You (31 page)

"You too."

Kendall had all but put the man out of her mind when she felt the first
sharp electric bolt rip through her body. Every one of her muscles convulsed
and gave way. Her knees buckled. She'd have hit the ground hard if the
guy hadn't grabbed her.

He smiled down at her, no hint of surprise in his warm brown eyes.
"You all right there, Ms. Shaw?"

She couldn't speak.

"Cat got your tongue?" He pulled her up and half walked,
half carried her toward a van parked next to her car.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

"I wasn't real happy about your report today. You baited
Lindsay and made her say things she wouldn't normally have said. You
called me a coward. I didn't like that either."

Her blurred senses started to scream. This man was the Guardian.

A deep moan formed in her chest. She wanted to scream, to run, but her
body refused to work. As if he read her thoughts, the Guardian touched her with
the Taser again. Her knees buckled and he now supported her weight completely.
He had surprising strength.

The Guardian opened the back door to the van. He laid her on the metal
bed of the van, climbing in, and closed the doors behind them. He clicked on a
dome light, whose light was contained by the blackened windows.

Kendall knew the grim statistics. Once a victim was trapped in a vehicle
her chances of survival drastically diminished.

Her left hand twitched. If her body would start working, she could ball her
fingers into a fist and punch him. She could still get away.

The Guardian put his lips close to her ear. "I know what
you're thinking. But you're not going anywhere." He raised
the Taser close to her face. The electrical current snapped and popped just
inches from her eye.

He jabbed the Taser into her side. Her head jerked back as she convulsed
and a silent scream clogged her throat. "You're not going anywhere.
Not until you've paid like all the other abusers."

He grabbed a length of rope and tied her wrists together and then her
ankles. Her fingers tingled as her too tight bindings constricted the blood
flow. She forced herself to meet his gaze. She wanted to memorize every detail
so that she could tell the police what this bastard looked like.

He wadded up a cloth, shoved it in her mouth, and secured it with a
piece of duct tape.

She struggled to breathe and her bravado waned. Tears welled in her eyes
and she hated her weakness. She needed to stay calm. If she was going to get
out of this alive, she needed to think. Her cell was in her purse in her car.
She had a meeting with Mike soon. Would he see her car in the side street and
launch a search for her?

The Guardian stroked her hair back off her face.
"So
soft and so pretty.
But you have a heart of stone." He sighed.
"You know what I do to my victims, don't you?"

She winced as he jabbed a needle into her arm and emptied the syringe.

"I cut their left hands off," he said quietly. He ran his
hand lightly down the length of her arm to the hands tied behind her back. His
fingers encircled her wrists. "What you may not know is that
they're alive when I take my trophy."

The matter-of-fact tone made the statement all the more frightening.
Panic could easily have tipped to hysteria, but the drugs he'd put into
her system had started to take effect. Her mind grew foggy.

The Guardian cupped her chin in his calloused hands and moved his lips
up to her ear. "I won't have any trouble snapping your delicate
wrist in two with my machete blade."

Tears ran down Kendall's face. She shook her head. This
couldn't be happening.

The Guardian got behind the wheel of the van and fired up the engine. He
calmly merged into traffic as if he had all the time in the world. "I
never thought I'd kill a woman. It just seemed wrong in so many ways. But
then I saw that broadcast of yours today and I knew you would be the exception
to the rule." He chuckled. "I never have liked you. And you know,
from the moment you started covering this story, I knew we'd clash. I
just knew it."

Her mind tumbled and her muscles went slack.

"Look at the bright side, Kendall. You'll be headline news
tomorrow when they find your body."

Lindsay sat in her car, a suitcase packed and sitting on the passenger
seat. Zack was wrapping up details at the town house, and then he was going to
escort her to Ruby's. She'd agreed that she couldn't stay in
the town house. In fact, she doubted she could ever live there again. And Zack
had understood that she felt uncomfortable at his folks' place.
They'd compromised. She was staying at Ruby's.

Before she headed out she wanted to touch base with Nicole. She called
her at the Kiers', and spoke to Eleanor briefly before Nicole picked up.
"Nicole?"

"Hey, how are you doing?" Nicole's voice sounded
stronger, as if she'd gotten some sleep.

"Been better.
But I'm hanging tough. I
wanted to let you know that I'm staying at Ruby's tonight.
I'll drive out to see you in the morning."

"Sounds good."

"Hey, have you run that test yet?"

"No. I'll do it first thing in the morning." She sighed.
"Pregnancy is a problem I don't want right now."

"One step at a time."

Nicole hesitated. "I dreamt about Richard again. I can't
help but think that he's close."

Lindsay thought about Claire. She chose not to tell Nicole. "Stay
close to the Kiers. They'll keep you safe."

"Thanks."

"I'll call you in the morning."

"Good."

Lindsay rung off and dialed Sam's number. He'd have the
results of the bloodwork by now. His phone rang five times and then went to
voice mail: "This is Dr. Sam Begley. Leave me a message unless this is an
emergency. If it is, hang up and call 911."

"Sam, this is Lindsay. Where are you? Call me. I need to talk to
you."

"Detective Warwick, this is Rio from San Francisco." Warwick
glanced at the clock on his desk. It was ten here so it was seven in the
evening on the West Coast.

"Were you able to find Braxton?"

"My partner and I went to his house. He's gone. According to
his secretary, he filed a flight plan to Vancouver. He has businesses up there.
Airport records show that he did file the flight plan."

Warwick closed his eyes and pinched the edge of his nose. He was bone
tired. "Did you find him in Vancouver?"

"Not yet. But we're in contact with Canadian authorities.
I'll let you know as soon as we find him."

"If you even get a whiff that he's headed east call me.
Anytime."

"Consider it done."

"I don't know anything about Braxton. What's your gut
reaction on this one?"

Rio sighed. "He's a tricky bastard. Looks clean and acts
clean but it didn't take much digging to find out he came up hard. When
he was seventeen he killed a man. Because he was under eighteen, he got off
with time in juvenile hall. He was linked to other violent crimes but nothing
ever stuck. I wouldn't put anything past him."

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.