Killer Within (7 page)

Chapter
Fifteen

AT EIGHT O’CLOCK THAT NIGHT
I’m in the computer room at the public library, staring at the screen, waiting.

“My” site is the only link I have with j_d_l, and he hasn’t contacted me since the garbage-can episode.

Thirty minutes ago I sent him a
THOUGHT YOU WANTED TO PLAY
message that he hasn’t bothered to return.

It pisses me off.

Of all the times I need Reggie, it’s now. I want to know who’s maintaining this site and who the hell j_d_l is. But how would I even explain to Reggie that I want that information? There is no lie I can immediately think of.

I stand up, pace away, stare back at the screen. The lights blink in the library, indicating it’s closing.

Well, damn.

I log off and head out and stand in the library parking lot, looking around. I take a deep breath and blow it out, trying to settle myself. But it’s in there, deep inside, this anxiousness that needs out.

My brother is scared of the Masked Savior. Which just irritates me all to hell. I want to get out and prowl and figure out this j_d_l and copycat mess but I know the smart thing to do is lay low.

The problem is, I’m not feeling like I want to be smart. Plus . . . Gramps is coming.

I close my eyes and blow out another breath, but it’s not working. I need something.
Now
. I imagine this is why people turn to drugs and alcohol. Release. With this thought Zach floats into my mind. . . .

Followed by Tommy. I could use another ride on his bike. That will help with this energy festering in me. Yes, Tommy. I jump in my Jeep and peel out.

If you ever want to do it again, I hang out mostly at Tysons.

Ten minutes later I park at the mall and head inside. I hate it here. The crowds. The crying babies. People packing the walkways with shopping bags. Music blaring out of stores. Way too many smells: perfume, food, herbs.

Yeah, I hate the mall.

But it’s where Tommy likely is, so I start walking around, looking in stores, up and down the corridors, and repeat on all the levels.

If only I had his cell number.

Back on floor one I finally give up, buy a cup of coffee, and wander into a bookstore. I round the nonfiction aisle, heading to the pet section, and there he is, sitting in a chair, his blond head ducked as he reads a book on . . . Charles Manson. Huh.

I check out his arm tats again. They’re not the typical vine thing most guys wear. They’re colorful and patterned. “Hey,” I say.

Tommy glances up and pure surprise widens his dark blue eyes. “Well, hey.”

“I was looking for you,” I honestly tell him.

He closes the book. “Need to get out of here?”

“Yes.”

He slips his arms into his black leather jacket. I throw my full coffee away. Without another word we walk out to his motorcycle. He wedges the spare helmet on my head and, holding my gaze, snaps the chin strap. We climb on. My arms find their way under his jacket and around his warm stomach, and I cling as he heads through the night.

I lift my face and stare at the stars, close my eyes and breathe in the cold. I smile and my lips vibrate on a gust of
wind. I wonder where he’ll take me tonight. Hopefully, like last time, switchbacking on a winding road.

He accelerates onto the interstate, and I duck behind him to hide from the freezing wind. He whips to the right and around a van, then cuts in front and swerves to the left.

Wait, what the hell is he doing?

He picks up speed, flies back to the right, slides into the emergency lane, and zips past a semi.

“Tommy!” I yell, but he doesn’t hear me.

Several people honk as he zigzags between the semi and a dump truck, hovers over the yellow dotted line, and peels straight down a row of cars.

My stomach clenches and I squeeze him tighter, hanging on for what feels like my life.

More people honk, a siren pierces the air, and Tommy slices back to the right and off the ramp. He runs a red light, peels into a parking lot and down and around an empty office building. He cuts his engine and waits.

What an asshole.

The cop dashes past, not even seeing us.

Breathing heavily, Tommy finally turns to me. “Was that awesome or what?”

I sniff my frozen nose. “No! No, that
wasn’t
awesome. Take me back right now.”

His face falls.

What was I thinking? This isn’t what I wanted. This isn’t what I was looking for. This isn’t anything like the other night. This was reckless and stupid. He could’ve killed us!

Tommy turns around, flicks his engine back on, and slowly, normally, takes me back to Tysons. I don’t say a word as I hand him his helmet and charge off.

As I’m unlocking my Jeep, a car cranks, and then revs. The rev is what has me glancing up to see a dark BMW all the way on the other side of the almost empty aboveground garage.

I don’t think twice before I take off in a full sprint straight toward it. I want to know who the hell’s following me! The car peels out and I keep running. Its tires squeal as it races down the ramp, and I increase my pace, staring at the license plate. I get a partial. A1B. It speeds through the exit, gets honked at, takes a left, and is gone.

I come to a stop, panting, watching it until it disappears from sight.

A1B. At least I have that much. I know now that I didn’t imagine the threat of the BMW and the woman driver who is highly probably j_d_l.

Chapter
Sixteen

I DON’T NORMALLY SIT IN
the cafeteria and look around. I typically read while eating and then head to the library. But today I linger over my taco salad and take the time to watch, to observe. How many of them have been on “my” site?

Over to the right sits Kyle with his other buddies, laughing, talking, seemingly having a grand time.

Straight ahead is Daisy, hanging with a few of her cheerleading friends and a new guy I don’t recognize. She’s flirting with him, and by the way he’s grinning, he loves the attention.

To the left is Zach, with some of his soccer pals and a girl I recognize from the sophomore class. The girl giggles and tosses a fry at him, and he laughs and dodges it.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons Zach decided he can’t be my friend anymore. Because I don’t giggle and toss fries.

Way over near the soft-serve machine is a girl crying. Her friends console her, looking at each other, lost as to what to truly do. A few people in the cafeteria glance their way, then dismiss it. Drama.

I watch her for a minute, puzzling over her freedom of emotion. This is why I’m happy I am who I am. I don’t ever want to be that way. That open. That out there. That exposed.

Daisy walks straight toward me, and I snap out of my staring. “Lane, I want you to meet Hammond.”

I nod. “Hello, Hammond.”

Daisy smiles at him and it’s a true smile, not the fake flattery she used to give. “Hammond just moved here from Kentucky. He’s a junior.”

Hammond shakes my hand. “Daisy’s told me a lot about you.”

This surprises me.

“All good!” Daisy clarifies as if reading my mind.

“Your sister says everyone calls you Slim?”

“Yes. You can call me Lane if you want.”

“Well, anyway”—Daisy nods over her shoulder—“I’ll show you where your next class is.”

They head off, and I’m not sure why, but my gaze tracks back over to Zach to see him looking at me. He gives me a very tiny acknowledging smile, and I return the gesture. How do I
look to him, sitting here alone eating a taco salad and staring at everybody else?

I hope not pathetic.

The bell rings, we all clear out, and I go through the rest of my day. Dark blue BMW. A1B. Reggie could narrow that down for me. But then I’d have to come up with a reason why.
I’m being followed
would freak her out, and the perfect lie is just not coming to me right now.

I’ll have to think on it.

When we get home, Gramps has arrived sometime during the day and is already settled in. Daisy and Justin launch themselves at him while Victor watches, laughing. After they all disengage, Gramps turns to me for the obligatory welcome hug. I step up, give it to him, and let go of him just as quickly as he does me.

Just once I’d like him to be as excited to see me as he is my siblings. But that never has happened nor will it probably ever.

We sit through an early dinner of the Daisy and Justin Show while Gramps laughs and talks. I don’t say anything. If I do, it’ll just earn a grunt from him. I volunteer to clean, mainly because I need something to do.

Victor comes up beside me in the kitchen. “I finally cleared out your mom’s personal things from her locker. I’m bringing the box home tomorrow. I want all of us to go through and decide what we do and don’t want to keep. Plan on that. Okay? Next I want to do the whole house.”

I nod. “Absolutely.”

“Dr. Depof recommended it,” he rationalizes, like he thinks it might bother me.

It doesn’t.

I’ve already combed through her stuff here, but I definitely want to see what she kept in her office. She was certainly sneaky enough to hide something right within the walls of the FBI, knowing no one would think to look there. Frankly, she would have gotten off on it.

Gramps settles down in front of the TV, simultaneously reading the newspaper, and sometime later says, “Who is this Masked Savior person?”

I bring my head up from the pot I’m scrubbing to see him staring at the TV. The reporter is going on about the local task force, the vigilante acts, if anyone has any information, and on and on.

“Huh,” Gramps grunts. “Seems to me this guy is doing everyone a favor around here.”

What do you know, maybe ol’ Gramps and I have found common ground.

The reporter ends with “. . . and although the chief hasn’t specified, an inside source confirms there has been a big break in the case as to the true identity of the Masked Savior.”

Big break? Well, damn, what the hell would that be? Clearly, they must not think the Masked Savior and Aisha are one and the same and already behind bars. So what am I missing?

Chapter
Seventeen

I WORK MY PATCH AND
Paw shift, and unfortunately “I’m” all anyone can talk about. Masked Savior this and Masked Savior that. It’s annoying. When Dr. Issa starts in, I give up, grab Corn Chip, and go outside.

“You okay?” Dr. Issa asks some thirty minutes later.

No, I’m not okay. I’ve created a monster of a problem with this copycat of mine, and I have no clue how to make it go away.

On top of that there’s supposedly a “big break” as to my identity.

Worst-case scenario: The cops somehow know it’s me. I just don’t see how that’s possible, though. I’m always so careful. Plus, they would’ve arrested me by now.

Best-case scenario: They’ll find my copycat, the Masked Savior website will go away, and I can resume my life.

“Lane, you okay?” Dr. Issa repeats.

I nod. “Just thinking about this Savior character. What’s your take on it?”

“Good versus evil versus ridiculous.”

I turn from Corn Chip to look at him. “Interesting analysis.”

“That teen prostitute,” he elaborates, “sure she made some bad choices, but did she deserve to be beaten? No. That’s the evil side of this guy.”

I agree.

“Then there’s that rapist and that guy who tortured animals—that’s the good side of this guy. They deserved what they got.”

I agree. The Weasel and Marco, both done
before
Mom died. “And the ridiculous?”

“Shaving that girl’s head. Ridiculous. Seemingly juvenile, if you ask me, and beneath our guy’s abilities.”

Again, agree. Something I did
after
Mom.

“Either our hero is confused with his game plan, or he has a split personality.”

The side door opens, and the receptionist sticks her head out. “Lane, there’s a guy here to see you.”

That’s odd. “Okay.” I toss the ball back to Corn Chip, don’t look at Dr. Issa, and head straight out to the parking lot to find
Tommy standing next to his bike holding his helmet. My stomach muscles twitch.

He doesn’t smile. “Hey.”

“How did you know I work here?”

“I ride by here a lot on my way to school. I caught sight of your Jeep and decided to stop.”

I wait for whatever it is he wants.

“I’m sorry about the other night. I get crazy sometimes. Ever since my sister died, I’ve been lost, looking for something, anything to make me feel again. Sometimes I find it, but then it’s gone. I know what I did was stupid. Hell, I knew it as I was doing it, but I can’t seem to stop. The adrenaline. The pumping blood. At least it makes me feel alive. If even for a few seconds.” He lays his hand over his heart and rubs it. “There’s this huge emptiness in me and I want to fill it, but I don’t know how.” He stops, takes a breath. “Anyway, there it is. That’s got to be the most I’ve said to anyone in a very long time.”

I don’t immediately respond to his words that make too much sense. I take in his wind-messed blond hair and honest, yet lost and confused eyes. And then I decide to be just as honest. “For me it’s darkness. It’s an itch I need desperately scratched. It’s a craving that once satisfied keeps coming back.”

He nods, and I find myself perplexed by the fact I just told him all that. Yet it feels so good that I did.

“Maybe you and I need to try some adrenaline sports,” he suggests. “Bungee. Parachuting. Shark diving.”

Actually, that doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea. “I went to church,” I tell him, as long as we’re sharing. “Found some clarity.”

“Church.” He mulls that around. “Haven’t tried that yet.”

“Maybe we’ll go sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Tommy takes a tentative step toward me. “So can we try again? At being healing friends?”

Healing friends.
I kind of like that choice of words.

“Yes,” I say, even though I know deep down I’ll never heal. I’ll always be who I am.

Tommy gives me a hug that at first starts out awkward and slowly turns into being okay. He smells like leather. Zach always smells like boy-scented body wash. Why am I comparing their smells?

Tommy brushes a kiss across my cheek and steps back.

My insides do the fluttery girlie thing, and I frown.
Fluttery girlie thing?
That’s not me. But I
liked
that kiss. He has whiskers, and they feel good.
Real
good.

Then why am I frowning? If I like something, shouldn’t I be smiling? Yes, but I don’t want to be fluttery and girlie. I want to be focused.

He doesn’t look at me as he rumbles off on his bike. After he’s gone, I turn to head back into Patch and Paw and catch Dr. Issa
still standing in the side yard, watching us through the fence.

He quickly turns away, trying to make it look like he wasn’t staring, and I find this oddly amusing. So Dr. Issa is snooping about me and biker guy. Isn’t that something?

When I get home, Daisy and Hammond are sitting on our front steps, holding hands and talking. He sees me getting out of my Jeep, gives Daisy a good-bye kiss on the cheek, sends me a wave, and walks off.

Daisy sits there, watching him, and when I finally reach her, she glances up. “I’ve got it bad.”

This is where I normally brush her off, but with us being more sisterly now, I take a seat. “Yeah?”

Her face curves into a dreamy smile. “Yeah,” she chuckles. “He doesn’t believe in sex before marriage. He doesn’t drink or do drugs. I mean, where’d this guy come from, right?”

“That sounds great.” So different from what she’s ever done before.

She looks at me, like she’s completely perplexed with her own self. “Yeah, it really does.”

We share a smile, and the front door opens. Victor takes a second to look between us, like he can’t believe his daughters are having a “moment.”

“Ready for our help?” Daisy asks, then turns to me. “We’re clearing out some of Mom’s stuff for storage.”

“Yeah, Dad told me.” I can’t wait.

He tosses me a key. “That’s to our file cabinet. The whole bottom drawer is full of stuff she threw in there. Just put it all in the box I brought from work and leave it in the office. I’m going to go through it tonight.”

I already picked the lock on the filing cabinet. I know what’s in there. Nothing really.

He turns to Daisy. “You hit the bathroom and clear out all her makeup and products. Both you girls go through her jewelry and clothes and see if you want anything. I’ll be in the basement with Gramps.” With that he walks off.

Daisy looks at me. “This is morbid.”

“I know.” I give her an understanding smile. “But it has to be done. Why don’t you wait for me, and I’ll help you do their bedroom.”

“It’s okay,” she reassures me. “I’ll get started.”

“Hey.” I stop her as she’s getting up. Three months ago she would’ve never been this mature. I’m proud of her. “I like being your sister,” I tell her.

Playfully she rolls her eyes. “Don’t go getting all mushy on me, Lane.”

I laugh with her and we head inside. I go straight to the office and look around. In the corner of the room sits a box I assume is the one Victor brought home from work. I lift the lid.

Inside are things you’d find on a person’s desk. Stapler. Hole
punch. Family picture. Along the side are several files. I glance at their tabs:
TRANSCRIPTS, INSURANCE, PERSONAL.

I thumb through the transcripts and insurance ones, don’t see anything of interest, and then slide the personal one out. I give the hallway a quick glance, see it empty, and open the file.

Right on top sits a stack of old report cards with straight As. Not surprising.

Next are a bunch of drawings, and according to the initials and date in the corner, Mom did them when she was a teenager. Drawings of people I assume must have been her high school friends. I never knew she got into artsy stuff. One catches my eye and I slip it out.

It’s of a dark-haired girl, and something about her seems very familiar. I study it for a second, thinking, and then it occurs to me . . . the two pictures Victor gave me of Seth and Mom. There was a dark-haired woman, and, yes, her hair, her eyes, her long face—they’re one and the same. The drawing’s just a younger version of her.

Whoever she is, my mom knew her when they were teenagers.

I keep that drawing out and continue going through the rest of the file. There are newspaper clippings announcing her achievements throughout the years: childhood, teenage, and older. Clippings of her making the honor roll or later with her FBI cases.

I riffle through the rest, and at the very back of the file,
taped to the inside, is a small yellow envelope. I peel it off, open the flap, and shake the contents into my palm.

A key. With no tag. The numbers 963 are engraved on the square head.

I hold the key up and study it. It doesn’t look like any of the keys to this house. Or to any of the filing cabinets in here. Maybe it’s to something at FBI headquarters.

Or perhaps 4 Buchold Place. Or that house in Maryland where she held Zach.

I rotate the key, giving it a good solid study. But the more I stare at it, the more I convince myself whatever it unlocks is not going to be good.

Victor and Gramps come up from the basement, and I quickly fold the drawing and slide it and the key into my pocket. I go back to what I’m supposed to be doing and unload the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. I wedge the lid on the box and set it on the desk for Victor to go through tonight like he said.

When I come out of the office, Victor and Gramps are talking in the kitchen. I give them both a little smile and head straight up to the master bedroom to find Daisy sitting on their bed, staring at a card.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“An old birthday card of mine I found in Mom’s stuff.”

I sit down beside her. “You okay?”

“Actually, I just had this really strange memory.” She waves the card in the air. “It happened on my eighth birthday.”

“What’s the memory?”

“Mom and Dad were arguing. Here in their bedroom. The door was closed. I stopped to listen. Probably because I never really heard them go at it before.”

“What were they arguing about?”

Daisy’s brows come together. “Marji, I think. Do you know that name?”