Authors: Nancy Bush

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Nowhere to Run (25 page)

BOOK: Nowhere to Run

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Pulling the baseball cap from her backpack, she smashed it on her head and down her forehead so she could scarcely see.

“Put your hand through my arm,” Auggie said once they were parked and on the street. “Lean in. More people will remember you if you’re alone.”

“You know a lot of tricks for a fisherman.”

“Human nature,” he said, and then they were inside the building and pulling back the bar on the elevator. Auggie closed the door and they rattled their way to the third floor.

“Della won’t like this,” Liv warned. “She might even turn me in as soon as we leave.”

“We’re going to the police tomorrow anyway, right?”

“That’s the plan,” Liv said, but the lack of conviction in her voice caused him to put his hands on her shoulders and turn her toward him.

“I mean it, Liv. You’ve been playing a dangerous game with a killer. I’ve been playing it with you. But the best thing we could do is go to the police.”

“
After
we go to Halo Valley.”

“Just don’t tell me something different after we’ve been there.”

Liv was no proof against those intense blue eyes staring down at her. She twisted away and knocked on the door. He made her heart race. From the fear of taking an irreversible step, like going to the authorities, but also at a more feminine level.

Della answered after a few moments, her own icy blue eyes raking over Liv and landing on Auggie. Her blond hair was pulled back into its ubiquitous bun and her expression was hard to read.

“Liv,” she said after a moment, her voice just short of a sneer. “Did you forget to tell me you were wanted by the police last time you were here?”

“I’m still wanted by the police,” Liv snapped back, “so, go ahead and call them and let’s get it over with. I want to see my brother.”

“Well.” She reared back at Liv’s tone.

“I’m Auggie,” Auggie said, reaching out a hand.

Della took it in hers and seemed to thaw a bit. “Where did she find you?” she said with a lilt.

Oh, brother
, Liv thought, seething. She realized maybe there was some fierceness there after all, which helped restore her humor a little. “Auggie’s a friend who’s been helping me on my quest to find out what happened to Mama.”

“Really.” Della stepped back from the door, allowing them entry. The three of them walked to the back toward Hague’s room where he was sitting in his chair, glaring at some loose-leaf pages in his hands.

“Who are you?” he demanded of Auggie.

“Auggie Rafferty.” He started to put out a hand to him as well, but Hague didn’t set down the pages so he dropped his arm.

Hague regarded Auggie suspiciously and rubbed his scruffy beard as if he were comparing himself to him. Auggie had shaved in the morning but was, like Liv, looking a little used up after their long day. Still, compared to Hague, he could have been heading for the board meeting of a major corporation.

“Hague, I need to talk to you,” Liv said.

“I don’t think I want to.” His eyes never left Auggie.

“It’s about the doctor. The one with the rigor smile?”

Hague’s gaze jumped to Liv. “The doctor doesn’t have a rigor smile.”

“You said, ‘They keep their hands in their pockets and wear rigor smiles.’ That’s almost verbatim. And you said we both knew him from when we were kids. Did you mean Dr. Frank Navarone?”

Hague’s eyes slid around in their sockets, as if he were trying to look around the room but couldn’t control the motion. “The zombie,” said Hague.

“The zombie stalker is Dr. Navarone,” Liv said. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

“I can’t talk with him here.” He slapped the papers onto a table by his chair and gestured in Auggie’s direction. Then, in an about-face, he turned to Auggie and said, “I saw you at the Cantina. I saw you.”

“The Cantina?” Auggie repeated.

“You were watching me. Listening. You were with the others. You want to hurt Livvie, don’t you?”

“No,” Auggie said, surprised.

“No, Hague. He’s with me. He wasn’t at the Cantina. Was Dr. Navarone at Grandview when you were there?”

“Out of the sides of my eyes . . . he’s there . . . he’s watching me, but he wants you, Livvie. He wants you.”

She blinked, feeling tense. “Dr. Navarone?”

“He wasn’t my doctor. My doctor was Dr. Tambor. He was Jeff ’s doctor, though, and he was Wart’s, and some other guys. They were all zapped.” Hague gave a huffing laugh, then said in a lower, conspiratorial voice, “It’s the government, you know. He worked for the government. That’s what happens when you work for them. They put receivers inside the folds of your brain. In the creases, where they can’t be found. The mindbenders, they’re at the hospitals. That’s where they are. At Grandview and everywhere.”

“But Dr. Navarone worked at Grandview when you were there,” Liv repeated, seeking to clarify and keep Hague on track.

He suddenly sat up straight, slamming back the flipped-up leg rest and jumping to his feet in one motion.

“Hague,” Della said uncertainly, shooting Liv a look.

He grabbed Liv and dragged her to the other side of the room so fast, she stumbled and had to cling to him for support. “Sister,” he said on a breath near her ear. “RUN!!!!”

His bellow reverberated throughout the rooms and Della’s head whipped back and forth between Hague and Liv, as if she couldn’t decide whom to handle first. She chose Hague, rushing to him and tugging on his arm. “Hague, Hague! Don’t let her upset you!”

Liv was shaking inside. She stared at her brother in horror. Then Auggie was there, on Liv’s other side, watching Hague intently. “Let’s all take a deep breath, here,” he said.

Hague croaked out, “He’s coming,” and then his eyes rolled back and his knees buckled. Auggie caught him and Della slid under one of Hague’s arms. Together they took him back to his chair.

As soon as he was settled, Della whipped around and glared murderously at Liv. “You always do this! It always happens! I don’t want you anywhere near him anymore! I told your father the same thing. He came here to talk to Hague about
you.
Like Hague knew where you were and would talk you into turning yourself in!”

“Did Hague go into one of his fugue states then, too?” Liv asked, looking down sorrowfully on her brother’s unconscious form.

“Yes! Just the mention of your name and
poof!
He’s gone.” She threw a glare at Auggie, too. “I’m not going to call the police. I’d never hear the end of it from Hague, if he found out. I don’t know what you’re doing with her, Mr. Rafferty. Maybe you can get through to her. No one else can.”

“Someone is after her,” Auggie stated tersely. “Even Hague feels it.”

“You’re as bad as she is!” Della stalked to the door and held it open. “Don’t come back,” she said tautly as Auggie and Liv walked into the outer hallway. The slam of the door was a sharp report in the otherwise quiet building.

They stared at each other tensely for a moment, then Liv said through her teeth, “What was your complaint about your family?”

A spark of amusement entered his eyes, and he drawled, “I’m having a hard time remembering right now.”

“Yeah.” She headed for the elevator and he climbed in beside her. Liv was torn between laughter and tears, but Auggie crowded her to one side, pulled up the brim of her hat and kissed her hard on the mouth while they descended. When she came up for air, she said, “I don’t think public displays of attention are a good idea.”

“Don’t care,” he said, and kissed her again.

By the time they reached the first floor Liv felt flushed and weak and some of her hurt and fury had receded. In the Jeep, he reached over and cupped her chin, forcing her gaze to his. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna figure this out.”

“Why is it that you feel more like family to me than my own brother and father?”

“Because I’m on your side. Remember that. No matter what happens.”

She gazed at him through eyes filling with liquid. He was a gift. “How did I get so lucky when I picked you?” she whispered.

“Meant to be, I guess,” he said hoarsely, then he dropped his hand and dragged his gaze away, turning his attention to the Jeep and the trip back home.

Who is he? How did she get with him?

She came to see her brother. Is she onto me?

I have to run to keep up with them, to see where they’ve parked. I have to hurry to catch up with them in traffic. But I’ve found her again!

Something’s wrong inside my head and I thump the steering wheel with my palm in frustration. But there they are. In a gray Jeep, moving through the streets and over the bridge to the west side.

It’s hard to keep them in my sights, but I will . . . I will . . .

I should have never shown my hand and killed all those people. Killed them all with a fucking
gun
! I wanted her . . . to take her with me . . . but they were all staring at me with dead eye sockets and slack mouths. I took them out quickly, one by one.
Bam. Bam. Bam-bam.

But Olivia wasn’t there! I couldn’t have her!

And then her neighbor came after me. He saw me. The gun was with me and I shot him.
Bam. Bam-bam!
I had to. He was in the way.

It doesn’t matter . . . I’ve confused them all and they can’t find me. It’s not my pattern. They can’t find me, because it’s not my pattern!

But Olivia, I’ve found you again.

Who is this stud you’re with? Are you fucking him? Lovely, crazy Liv Dugan . . .

I can smell the sex from here.

I follow them at a distance and wind through the west hills behind them, keeping a vehicle between us at all times. Luckily, there are cars ahead of me when they finally turn into a driveway and I speed on past, two cars back, unnoticed.

I turn around a few blocks farther on and drive past the house once more. They are out of the car and unlocking a back door, crowded together in an embrace. Kissing!

My rage blinds me. A few miles later I pull over into the empty parking lot of a church, burning up inside. I am shaking all over. I sense liquid running from my mouth. Spittle.

My brain is full of worms. I will have to kill her soon.

Like the other one, she asks questions. Questions and questions and questions. I inhale, remembering with a sizzle of pleasure her face turning purple beneath the pressure from my hands.

My hands . . .

I look down. She scratched me and there are angry red lines on the back of my right hand.

But Olivia . . . he’s fucking her, isn’t he? Sticking his cock inside her?

Moaning, I unzip my pants and stroke, stroke, stroke.

I see her throat. The ridges of her windpipe.

I close my eyes and hear the questions. More and more questions! She can’t stop! I must kill her soon, like the last one whose life escaped in a sigh through blue lips.

Suddenly I come. It’s a release, but not enough.

“Lllliiivvv,” I whisper.

I know where you are now.

Chapter 18

September gave Guy Urlacher the evil eye as she entered the station around seven on Monday morning. She whipped out her badge and silently dared him to ask for more as she passed by. It looked like it took a good deal of self-control for him to just let her pass, but he did. It felt good to win that battle of wills; she wasn’t the newbie she’d been last week. A lot of things—
a lot of things
—had happened since, practically none of them good.

She’d slept poorly and had fallen asleep hard around four, blasted awake by her alarm clock at six. She’d woken up slowly in the shower, then had wolfed down some strawberry yogurt and half a bagel with cream cheese. Coffee she would get at the station, sludge that it sometimes was. Still, it had the power to jolt you awake and she was counting on that as everyone involved with the Zuma case was attending an impromptu meeting in D’Annibal’s office around ten.

Foremost in September’s thoughts was Trask Burcher Martin. It appeared he’d stumbled into something involving Olivia Dugan, and it seemed likely whatever it was had something to do with the Zuma Software massacre, too. The press had gotten hold of that angle last night; they’d interviewed Jo Cardwick and managed to get her to scream that it was Olivia Dugan’s fault her boyfriend was dead. She’d come to the station directly afterwards and broken down. That bit had been breaking news at eleven last night.

It was a damn good thing Auggie was bringing her into the station today.

Gretchen was yawning at her desk, cradling a cup of coffee. September went straight to the staff room and poured herself a cup, too. When she returned to her desk Gretchen was standing beside it.

“I called the hospital,” she said. “Jessica Maltona’s taken a turn for the worse. Upjohn isn’t doing much better.”

“That’s depressing,” September answered glumly.

“Weasel wants to run on the Decatur killing, since it looks like the same doer killed Sheila Dempsey and he feels connected to her.”

September nodded. “Fine by me.”

“I want to make an arrest on the Zuma shootings. The press is already calling it a massacre, as are we, but if Maltona and Upjohn or either one of them dies, it really will be.” She looked angry. “God damn. I hate these bastards who go in shooting. The carnage.”

George had joined them, catching her last remarks. “You’re still on Zuma? I thought maybe you got moved to the serial strangler since D’Annibal sent you out there.”

“Yeah, we’re still on Zuma,” she snapped back. “Why wouldn’t we be? Somebody’s gotta keep looking under rocks for this slimeball.”

“I thought it was Rafferty. Isn’t he with Dugan?”

“He’s bringing her in today. Maybe we’ll finally learn something.” She went back to her desk and slammed open a drawer, reached inside and pulled out some ChapStick, rubbing the waxy end over her lips. “Sunburn,” she snorted.

They went over the case and what they had so far. By a process of elimination they’d crossed out Kurt Upjohn and Paul de Fore as the target of the Zuma killings. They just didn’t seem to fill the bill. Add Jessica Maltona to that list, although Gretchen still felt her boyfriend, Jason Jaffe, deserved a second look.

Aaron Dirkus and his stoner buddies were still being considered, and Camille Dirkus was still floating around the periphery.

But the missing Olivia Dugan had risen up the “prime suspect” list with Trask Martin’s murder.

Yes, when Auggie brought in Olivia Dugan, September had a lot of questions to ask her.

Auggie lay spooned up next to Liv, his face in the cloud of her light brown hair, his naked body touching hers, one arm possessively slung beneath her breasts. They’d made love twice and he was surprised at how much of a thrill it was to feel her soft breath on his face, her warm body pressed urgently to his, her eager tongue and exploratory caresses. He struggled for the right word to describe the way she reached for him so eagerly. Insatiable was all wrong; it sounded sleazy and borderline psychotic. But there was a hunger inside her, a need, that had been there a long time, he suspected; maybe all her life. Something she couldn’t disguise when they were making love; something she didn’t try to.

It also made him afraid. Not because it scared him away. No . . . afraid because when she learned the truth about him, the betrayal might be too huge for him to explain away. What had started out as a tiny omission, a small gap in the truth, had turned into a gaping abyss.

He tried to think how to tell her. Just come out with it and rip off the Band-Aid? Or, ease her into the station and let it come out after her fear of authorities had lessened a little. He wouldn’t be able to do the latter without the cooperation of D’Annibal and the other detectives, and that wasn’t going to happen.

He was going to have to tell her. Today. This morning.

She stirred and turned in his arms, her eyes lazy with sleep and satiation. “I like this,” she said. “It’s a fake world where I feel safe. I’m trying to stretch out the minutes before I have to get up.”

Dread filled his heart even while he kissed her forehead and temple and eyes. “I don’t want to get up either,” he said regretfully.

She picked up the tone of his voice and pulled away slowly, reluctantly. “It’s Monday,” she said, and then added on a note of wonder, “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

“Liv . . .”

When he didn’t continue, her eyes searched his face. Whatever she saw there shut her down and she climbed out of her side of the bed and picked up her clothes, holding them to her breasts as she skirted the bed. “I’ll take a shower first,” she said, and she was into the bathroom and running the water while he stared at the ceiling, watching a thin slice of summer sunlight sneak through the curtains of the bedroom and streak across the walls.

She sensed something was coming. While they were on their quest, they hadn’t discussed their own relationship at all. They’d just gone head down and worked like an investigative team, something he understood completely. But after two days of going headlong into her past and on the trail of the sinister Dr. Navarone with his unorthodox medical practices, they had slowed down long enough to look at each other.

Everything would shift today, and Auggie wasn’t eager for that to happen.

He threw on his jeans and pulled his cell phone from the pocket. He’d charge it in the car as they drove to Halo Valley Security Hospital.

And after that. After Halo Valley. Then he would take her in. They were on the same page on that. That’s what she’d said, and there was no more time to fool around. The police needed to debrief her and get her take on the Zuma killings and Trask Martin’s murder, and Auggie needed to be brought up to date on the case. It hadn’t been a full three days since the shooting, but a lot had happened.

When she was finished she came into the bedroom with a towel around her torso and one around her head.

“I like this look,” he said. “Drop the towels and I think I’d like it better.”

She almost did. He could see the twitch of her lips and the glint in her eyes. But her built-up walls of reserve won and she merely arched a brow at him. “Nope. We have things to do.”

Growling, Auggie climbed to his feet, naked, and grabbed his clothes and cell phone and headed into the bathroom, but not before squeezing past her and running a hand across her bare shoulder.

When he was through in the shower and had shaved and brushed his teeth, he examined himself in the mirror.

You’re a coward,
he told his reflection silently.

His own blue eyes were full of accusations.

“Shit,” he said softly, under his breath, then he walked back to the bedroom where Liv had finished putting on a pair of black pants and a dark green blouse, which she was yanking on, trying uselessly to pull out the wrinkles.

“Have you got an iron?” she asked.

“Uh-uh.”

“I’d like to look a little more presentable.”

“The police aren’t going to care. Trust me.”

She stopped tugging. “I was thinking of the hospital.”

“Oh.”

While Auggie put on his jeans and a gray shirt, she pulled off the blouse and grabbed a black, short-sleeved T-shirt, which she yanked over her still damp hair. When they were both dressed, he said, “You want to catch some breakfast on the way?” though he could scarcely stand making her always pay.

“I don’t think I could bear more fast food,” she said.

“I’ve got cereal. And the milk’s still good, I think.”

“Let’s do that,” she said.

Ten minutes later they were sitting at the table, each with a bowl of cereal in front of them. She didn’t have much of an appetite, as usual, and this morning he didn’t have much of one, either.

The effect of a guilty conscience.

It was nine
A.M.
when they hit the road and began the hour-and-a-half drive to Halo Valley.

The detectives all squeezed into the lieutenant’s office along with a researcher and the uniform who’d been with September when they’d found Trask Martin’s body, Don Waters. It was crowded enough that D’Annibal shooed them all back to the squad room and they moved as if choreographed toward Wes Pelligree’s desk, where he had the photos of the two female strangulation victims on a bulletin board with their names and the dates and locations of where they were found.

“County giving you Dempsey?” George asked D’Annibal, who answered tersely, “We’re working with them. But I want to concentrate on Zuma. I just got word from the hospital. Jessica Maltona died this morning and Up-john’s still in critical condition. The press are going to be all over this.”

Died,
September thought with a wrench.

“When the hell is Rafferty getting here?” Gretchen demanded.

D’Annibal looked like he was going to say something rude, but pressed his lips together instead. “Today,” was his clipped response.

September surfaced from her funk. For once she was in complete agreement with Gretchen. What was Auggie doing? She could scarcely stand to wait one more minute!

They reviewed the case quickly, but there wasn’t much they didn’t already know, apart from the ballistic report that proved the Glock used in the Zuma massacre and the one that killed Trask Martin were one and the same. The researcher added a few more documents to the pile concerning Zuma Software’s business. Don Waters related what he and September had found at Olivia Dugan’s apartment, which was little more as well, apart from an empty box of ammunition for a .38. George commented that he was getting pretty darn eager to interview Olivia Dugan, which D’Annibal ignored. At the end of the discussion Wes pulled out the file that had been on his desk, which looked to contain an old case with its typewritten pages. He handed it to D’Annibal and told the lieutenant about the trip he took to Rock Springs to gather the information he’d asked for.

D’Annibal didn’t open the file, just said, “Thanks.”

It was George who asked, “That got to do with any of our cases?”

“Detective Rafferty requested it,” the lieutenant answered flatly.

They all looked at September, who wagged her head slowly from side to side and asked carefully, “My brother wanted information on the strangler? Why?”

D’ Annibal lifted a palm. “I took it to be something to do with Olivia Dugan. She’s originally from Rock Springs.”

Gretchen made a strangled sound in the back of her throat, and demanded, “What’s he doing?”

“We’ll know soon enough,” D’Annibal said, effectively ending the meeting. He was clearly bugged about Auggie’s failure to bring Dugan in and was reacting to the tacit feeling of the detectives that the lieutenant had been too lax in this regard.

“Has Jason Jaffe heard about Maltona’s death yet?” Gretchen asked.

“The hospital’s waiting for us to deliver the news.” D’Annibal walked back toward his office, opening the file as he closed the door.

Gretchen said to September, “Let’s go see how Jaffe takes it.”

“So Auggie did ask for the file,” September said, more to Wes than anyone else. “Damn it. He’s off on some tangent and thinks that makes it okay not to bring her in!”

“Hey, ruleser. You sound like Urlacher,” Gretchen observed on a drawl.

“He’s my brother. I can go there.” She opened the drawer to her desk, pulled out her Glock and ID, and slammed it shut. “Are you ready?” she demanded of Gretchen, who got her gun and ID and waved September ahead of her in the universal “let’s get moving” gesture.

September could tell her partner was getting some secret enjoyment out of her pique with Auggie. Go right ahead, she thought, as they climbed into the Ford Escape.

“This case bugging you?” Gretchen asked as they wheeled out of the lot. “Or, the other one.”

“Both.”

“You know, since you’ve been here, we got a lot more than our quota of homicides.”

BOOK: Nowhere to Run

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