Читать книгу Protective Confinement - Cassie Miles - Страница 11

In the hospital emergency care unit, Cara was poked and prodded and examined from head to toe. She’d been glad to shed her filthy clothing, but the thin cotton hospital gown offered little protection from the bone-deep chill inside her. With a blanket across her lap and another around her shoulders, she sat on a hard bed inside a curtained space. Dash stood beside her.

She looked up at him. “What day is it?”

“Sunday morning.”

Russell had taken her captive on Thursday night. He’d held her all day Friday and Saturday. She counted on her fingers. “Four days.”

“I need to ask you a few questions, Cara.”

Her mind struggled toward coherency, and she remembered that he was with the FBI. In his black leather jacket and blue jeans, he didn’t look like a Fed. “Are these official questions? Like a police report?”

“Later we’ll do a recorded interview. And I’ll want you to write a narrative while the details are still fresh in your mind.”

She wasn’t looking forward to putting her memories down on paper, but she’d do anything to help. Russell had to be stopped. “Why is the FBI involved?”

“The Judge is our investigation.”

The Judge? She recognized the name from Russell’s e-mails. But Dash made him sound like a known entity. “Why?”

When he glanced toward her, Dash seemed to be taking inventory, assessing her emotional state.

Defiantly, she stared back at him. She’d been through hell, but she’d survived. Her plan was to put these four days behind her and as quickly as possible, move on with her life. “Tell me the truth. Why does the FBI care about Russell Graff?”

“You’re not his first victim.”

There were others. Other women who had been abducted. “Are they…”

“Dead.”

She swallowed hard. Inside her head, she heard the echo of shamanic drumming. A shiver went through her. She could still feel his hands sliding over her body, could see his face contorted with rage. He’s not here. You’re safe. You have to control yourself.

Her mind was strong. She wouldn’t allow herself to be ruled by trauma. “Are you telling me that Russell Graff is a serial killer?”

“If I say too much, I might prejudice your thinking. Right now, I want you to remember anything that might give me a clue to Russell’s whereabouts. Did he mention other locations?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Take your time,” he urged. “What did he talk about?”

She pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. “If he’s a serial killer, why haven’t I read about him in the newspaper?”

“Did he talk about the dig where he’s been working?”

“No.”

“Did he mention any names?”

“No.” Her memory cracked open. A torrent of confusion and fear flooded through her. She’d heard another voice. “Someone else was in the house with him.”

His blue-eyed gaze sharpened. “Tell me more.”

“I heard them arguing. It was another man.”

“Did you see him?”

“No.”

“Would you recognize his voice if you heard it again?”

“I doubt it. They were outside the door, and I was drugged. Everything is foggy.”

“But you’re certain you heard another voice?”

“Positively certain. Is that important?”

“Yes.”

Her ordeal was not yet over. In a way, it had just begun. Cara knew now that she’d be forced to relive the events of her abduction again and again. To her, that sounded like hell. She’d always been a private person, staying below the radar and concentrating on her research and her classes. Her personal life was nobody else’s business.

And she wasn’t sure how helpful her memories would be to an investigation. She’d been drugged. How could she sort reality from hallucination? “What happens next?” she asked.

“Assuming the doctors say you’re all right, you’ll be released to my custody.”

“Custody?” The word put her on edge. “I’m not a suspect, am I?”

“A witness. You’re a very important witness.”

“Why so important?”

“Because you’re alive,” he said. “And I intend to keep it that way.”

“That sounds like a fine idea to me.”

When he grinned, Dash looked like a different person. A guy who might enjoy having a good laugh now and then. His vocabulary and his attitude suggested that he was fairly well-educated. Not that it mattered. She needed to be careful to avoid thinking of him as a friend. Dash Adams was an FBI agent. Her only value to him was as a live witness.

“When can I go home?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “I should prepare you for what we’re going to find at your house. When you were reported missing, your home became a crime scene.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a mess,” he said. “Forensic technicians have been going through your belongings, dusting for fingerprints, looking for trace evidence.”

“Yazzie,” she remembered. “My cat. A big orange tom. Is he all right?”

“Your neighbor is taking care of him.”

Yazzie must be furious about all the strangers coming and going at her house, invading his territory. “Yazzie knew Russell was in my house when I got home. He hissed and snarled and ran out the door. That’s what I should have done.”

“We figured Russell was already inside,” he said. “He was waiting for you.”

What had he been doing? How had Russell passed the time while waiting to destroy her life? Revulsion tightened her gut as she imagined him touching her things, lying on her bed, using her toilet. In her mind, she could see him standing at her open closet door, surveying the clothing he’d taken such delight in describing in his e-mails. “When do you think you’ll catch him?”

“I don’t know.”

That wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. Dash appeared to be a strong, competent person. He ought to be able to give her some idea of when Russell would be apprehended. “Two days? A week?”

“I’ll do everything in my power to take him into custody.”

That wasn’t a direct answer. “Everything in your power, huh? Are you good at what you do?”

His gaze was steady and confident as he replied, “I’m the best.”

THOUGH THE DOCTORS SUGGESTED that Cara be hospitalized for observation, her physical condition checked out. She’d managed to eat something solid and had been drinking plenty of water. Apart from the occasional blur of hallucination at the edge of her peripheral vision, she was okay and demanded to be taken home.

Wearing hospital scrubs and a robe, she slipped into Dash’s rental car. She had no idea how his car had gotten to the hospital since he’d ridden with her in the ambulance. He seemed to be able to make things happen with a few words into his ever-present cell phone, and she had no doubt that it was Dash giving the final nod that caused the doctors to release her.

He pulled up to the curb outside her house and parked behind her car. Though he’d warned her that she might not like what she found at home, Cara shuddered at the sight of yellow crime-scene tape tangled in her shrubs. Oh, God, this is embarrassing. All her neighbors would know what had happened to her. She’d be the center of gossip and speculation.

Dash circled the car and opened the door for her. She was determined to walk into her house without leaning on him. If she moved slowly, it wasn’t too painful.

At the porch, Dash tore off the seal and used a key to open her front door. Inside, she faced the chaos of broken pottery and kachinas—the aftermath of her struggle. Her gaze went from the shelves to the floor where her favorite possessions lay shattered.

Anger exploded in a red burst behind her eyelids. “I want this to be over. Let’s do the formal interview now. Then I can write out my narrative on my laptop.”

“We’ve confiscated your computer.”

“You can’t do that.” She glared at him. “I have a lot of information stored on that laptop. Papers that I’m working on. Research.”

“We’ll make sure we don’t lose any of your files. Everything will be backed up.”

“I need my computer.” Though it was the end of the semester, there was still a lot going on at the university. “I have my students’ grades on spreadsheets.”

“Your laptop is evidence. We used it to trace e-mails from the Judge. That’s how we knew about Russell Graff.”

“You could trace those e-mails?” She felt incredibly foolish. If she’d reported the threats right away, she would have known Russell’s identity. The authorities would have been alerted. “I could have prevented this whole thing.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Even if you had known Russell’s identity, you couldn’t guess his intentions.”

She picked her way carefully through the shards. Her meticulously arranged life was falling apart before her eyes.

“My mother,” she said suddenly. “Does my mother know what happened?”

“I spoke to her yesterday,” Dash said.

Oh, God! “I need to call her right now.”

WHILE SHE WAS IN THE SHOWER, Dash filled in reports and made arrangements. A chopper would be waiting for them at the airport. All he had to do now was convince Cara to go along with his plans.

He turned off the ringer on her telephone. Even though he’d warned the other officers, agents and firemen to keep the abduction quiet, it was only a matter of time before the news leaked. The media would be all over Cara. She was an attractive woman—one who would play well on television.

When she emerged from the bedroom wearing jeans and a soft white tunic, she looked a hundred percent better. In her sneakers, she was even walking with more confidence. The gray of her eyes was less murky.

Her recovery would have been miraculous…if he believed it. Cara was putting up a damn good facade, pretending that she wasn’t in the least traumatized. Later, he knew, she’d crash. Maybe not today or tomorrow. But soon.

She beamed a huge smile, but it wasn’t for his benefit. The big orange tomcat had sauntered into the room.

“Yazzie.” Cara squatted down to his level. “Come here, baby.”

Whipping his tail, the cat bulldozed his way into her waiting arms and allowed himself to be lifted. When he glanced toward Dash, he bared his sharp teeth and hissed.

“Stop it,” she chided the cat. “Dash is one of the good guys.”

Yazzie hissed again.

“Fine with me,” Dash muttered. Pets were a pain in the rear. “I don’t need to be friends with a furry Jabba the Hutt.”

Defensively, she said, “He has a healthy appetite.”

“Obviously.”

She sat at the end of the dining table with the cat sprawled over her lap. “When I talked to my mother in Denver, I convinced her that everything was fine and she didn’t need to come down here and take care of me.”

“That must have taken some convincing.” If he’d had a daughter who’d been held captive by a serial killer, he’d walk through fire to be with her. “Are you and your mother close?”

“Fairly close.” An involuntary grimace tugged at the corner of her mouth. “She was married to my father for only five years. For most of that time, he wasn’t around.”

“She remarried.”

She shot him a curious look. “How do you know that?”

“FBI,” he reminded her. “We know everything.”

“Well, yes. She remarried. My stepfather is a great guy. A doctor. And I have three half sisters. All blond.”

Which made Cara the outsider. He was beginning to understand her need to prove herself. “How much did you tell your mother?”

“Not everything.” She straightened her shoulders and said, “I’m ready to do that formal interview and written report. Let’s get this over with.”

“There’s something we need to discuss first.” There was no easy way to break this news. “Like I said before, you’re an important witness, and you need to be protected. I want to take you to an FBI safe house.”

“Is this one of those protected witness programs? Where you give up your identity?” She shook her head, sending ripples through her thick black hair. “That’s unacceptable.”

“It’s the only way to be sure you’re safe.”

“I can’t pick up and leave. I have responsibilities.” She stroked Yazzie vigorously. “This is the end of the semester. Next week are final exams. I have a ton of papers to be graded.”

Denial was one thing. This attitude was insanity. “We’re dealing with a serial killer. Make no mistake, Cara. He’ll come after you again.”

Her forehead pinched in a frown. “Of course, I don’t want to take risks, but there must be another way. I don’t want to be at a safe house. I want my life back.”

“He’s a serial killer.” Though Dash was trying to be sensitive, he grew impatient. “Trust me. I know what’s best.”

“What if you don’t find him for weeks? I have places I need to be. There’s a Navajo tribal council meeting this Thursday that I can’t miss. My half sister is getting married and I need to go up to Denver for a fitting on my bridesmaid dress.”

“Neither of which is important compared to your personal safety.”

“There must be some other way. I could hire a bodyguard.”

Dash wasn’t about to leave her protection to some half-baked rent-a-cop. He stood and picked up his car keys. “Come with me, Cara. There’s something you need to see.”

IT WAS A SHORT DRIVE to the Broken Bow Resort. In the morning light, the place looked even more seedy and dilapidated than the night before when Dash and his men had charged into an empty bungalow.

“Why are we here?” she asked.

“Russell rented one of these bungalows. We thought he was holding you here.” He shoved open the car door. “Come with me.”

Her gait was halting, and he could see that she was half-exhausted though she wouldn’t admit her weakness to the paramedics or him. Or even to her mother.

As they approached, he nodded toward a motor home. Inside were a couple of agents who were keeping an eye on the place in case Russell returned.

Last night, they’d gone through this door with a battering ram. Though it appeared to be closed, the lock didn’t work. Dash pushed it open and walked into the dingy little room. “Russell isn’t going to give up easily. He wants you, Cara.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

“He’ll do anything to get his hands on you again. Anything.”

In her eyes, he saw a healthy glimmer of fear; she was beginning to comprehend the danger that surrounded her.

In the bedroom, he directed her toward the mirror. “Take a look.”

Taped to the mirror were fourteen snapshots of Cara in various settings. In the classroom. Walking across the campus. Laughing. Poring over a textbook. Each picture was carefully annotated with time and date. The center photo was inside a lipstick heart. Above it all was a neatly printed banner that read: Mine in Life. Mine in Death.

“He’s obsessed with you,” Dash said. “He won’t give up until he has you.”

She turned on her heel and walked out of the bedroom. Her hand covered her mouth, and he thought she might vomit. Her shoulders trembled. In a quiet voice, she said, “We need to return to my house. I’ll need to pack a few things before I go with you.”

“Smart decision.”

“And I want to take Yazzie with me.”

“Fine.”

If it meant getting Cara to safety, he’d agree to a dozen furry orange beasts.

RUSSELL GRAFF WATCHED from the parking lot in front of the diner down the road from the Broken Bow Resort as Cara emerged from the bungalow. She’d found herself a protector, but it wouldn’t do any good. She belonged to him. They were meant to be together.

He pulled his black cowboy hat lower on his forehead. As they drove past, he started his engine. It was a good thing that he was using a rental car. A good thing that he’d burned down the deserted house off Route 24, leaving no trace of evidence.

He merged into traffic and followed them. She was his property. Why didn’t the bitch understand? It looked as if he needed to teach Professor Cara a lesson.

This time, he wouldn’t be so gentle.