Normally, though opportunities to travel were few and far between, Fiona liked to fly. She enjoyed the ritual, the people-watching, the sensations, the anticipation of leaving one place and hurtling through the air to another.
But in this case, the flight was simply one more necessary part of a means to an end, just something to get through.
She’d thought carefully about what to wear, and hadn’t been able to figure out why her appearance, her presentation, took on such importance.
She considered and rejected a suit as too formal and studied. She contemplated jeans, her usual and most comfortable choice, but decided they were too casual. In the end, she decided on black pants, a crisp white shirt and added a jacket in strong blue.
Simple, serious and businesslike.
And that, she realized when she sat between Tawney and Mantz on the plane, had been the importance. What she wore, how she presented herself indicated tone.
Perry thought he was in charge, she reasoned. Though he currently resided in a maximum-security prison, he’d made a strong bid for alpha position.
He had something they wanted, something they needed, so that gave him power—power she intended to countermand.
The clothes would help remind her—and him—at the end of the day, she’d be the one walking out, going back to her life, to freedom.
He’d be the one going back to a cell.
Nothing he had to trade changed that. And that, she reminded herself, was her power. That was her control.
“I want to go over some of the procedure with you.” Tawney shifted toward her. “You’ll go through security, and there’ll be some paperwork.”
She knew by the way he studied her face he wondered if her nerve would falter. “There always is.”
“We’ll be escorted to an interview room rather than the visitation area. Perry will already be there. He’ll be secured with wrist and ankle shackles, Fee. You will never, not for one second, be alone with him. He won’t be able to touch you.”
“I’m not afraid of him.” That, at least, was true. “I’m not afraid of that. I’m afraid all this might be for nothing. He’ll get what he wants, get his rocks off on that, and not tell you anything that can help. I hate giving him the satisfaction of being in the same room with me, looking at me. But at the same time I’m getting the satisfaction of doing the same. And knowing I’ll walk away, go home—and he won’t.”
“Good. You keep that in your head. Keep it front and center, and know that if you want to break it off, at any time, it’s over. It’s your call, Fee. All the way.”
He patted her hand as they shimmied through some choppy air.
“He’s refused to have his lawyer there, he made a point of it. He thinks he’s in charge, in control.”
“Yes, I was just thinking about exactly that. Let him believe whatever he wants. Let him get a good long look at me.” Her voice hardened, edged with challenge. The turbulence, she thought, was all outside.
“He’s not going to see someone who’s afraid or subservient. And later today, I’ll be playing with my dogs. I’ll eat pizza and have some wine, and tonight, I’ll be sleeping with the man I love. He’ll go back to his cell. I don’t give a damn what he thinks, as long as he tells you what you need to know.”
“Don’t give him anything he can use against you,” Mantz added. “No names, no locations, no routines. As much as you can, keep your reactions steady. He’ll play you if he can, either to scare you or make you angry—anything to get under your skin. We’ll be in the room the entire time, and so will a guard. The entire session will be monitored.”
She let their reassurances, their instructions slide over her. No one, not even Tawney, could know what she felt. No one, she thought, could know that in some dark, closed part of herself she reveled in the idea of seeing him again, of seeing him restrained, as she’d once been. When she faced him again, she’d do it for herself, for Greg, for every woman whose life he’d taken.
He couldn’t know he’d given that dark, closed part of herself a reason to celebrate.
How could he, when she hadn’t known it herself ?
She considered it all a journey. The early morning ferry, the plane, the drive. Every leg brought her the comfort that she’d traveled farther and farther from home. That Perry would never know or see what she knew and saw every single day.
Southeastern Washington wasn’t just a trip away, but almost another world. These weren’t the fields and hills of home, the villages busy with tourists and familiar faces, the sounds and the sea. These weren’t her streams and woods and deep green shadows.
The red brick and thick stone of the penitentiary struck her as formidable and intimidating. The square, squat, unadorned block of the Intensive Management Unit that housed him added stark and cold. And that dark place inside her hoped his life had been, would continue to be, equally stark, equally cold.
Every length of iron, every foot of steel added to her comfort, and her secret celebration.
He believed he’d caused her pain and distress by bargaining for this meeting, she thought, but he’d done her an enormous favor.
Every time she thought of Perry now, she’d think of the walls, the bars, the guards, the guns.
She submitted to the security, the search, the paperwork, and thought Perry would never know that by forcing her to open this door he would help her, finally, to close it—lock off even that tiny chink she’d never been able to shut out.
When she walked into the room where he waited, she was ready.
It pleased her she’d worn that deliberate touch of bold color, that she’d worked her hair into a complicated braid and had been meticulous with her makeup. Because she knew he studied her when she came in, knew he took in those details.
Eight years since he’d locked her in the trunk of his car. Seven since she’d sat in the witness chair facing him. They’d both know the woman who faced him now wasn’t the same person.
“Fiona, it’s been a very long time. You’ve bloomed. Your new life obviously agrees with you.”
“I can’t say the same for you and yours.”
He smiled at her. “I’ve managed to find a tolerable routine. I have to tell you, up until this moment, I doubted you’d come. How was your trip?”
Wants to run the show, take the lead, she concluded. Requires a small correction. “Did you ask me to come here for small talk?”
“I rarely have visitors. My sister—you remember her from the trial, I’m sure. And, of course, in recent days our favorite special agent and his attractive new partner. Conversation is a treat.”
“If you think I’m here to offer you a treat, you’re mistaken. But . . . the trip was uneventful. It’s a beautiful spring day. I’m looking forward to enjoying more of it when I leave. I’ll enjoy it particularly knowing when I leave you’ll be going back into—what do they call it?—segregation.”
“I see you’ve developed a mean streak. A shame.” He offered her a sorrowful look, adult to child. “You were such a sweet, unaffected young woman.”
“You didn’t know me then. You don’t know me now.”
“Don’t I? You retreated to your island—condolences, by the way, on the death of your father. I often think people who choose to live on islands consider the water surrounding them a kind of moat. A deterrent to the outside world. There you have your dogs and your training classes. Training is an interesting endeavor, isn’t it? A kind of molding of others into your likeness.”
“That would be your take.” Lead him, she told herself. Lull him. “I see it as a method of helping individuals reach their potential, in my particular area of interest and expertise.”
“Reaching potential, yes. On that we agree.”
“Is that what you saw in Francis Eckle? His potential?”
“Now, now.” He sat back, chuckled. “Don’t segue so ham-handedly when we’re having such a nice time.”
“I thought you’d want to talk to me about him, since you set him on me. Of course, he’s made a mess of it. He’s diminished your legacy . . . George.”
“Now you’re trying to both flatter and annoy me. Did the agents prep you? Tell you what to say, how to say it? Are you a good little puppet, Fiona?”
“I’m not here to flatter or annoy you.” Her voice stayed flat, her eyes steady. “I’ve got no interest in doing either. And no one tells me what to say—or what to do or when to do it. Unlike your situation. Are you a good little puppet in your cage, George?”
“Feisty!”
He laughed out loud, but it wasn’t only humor that sparkled in his eyes. She’d hit a switch, she knew, and turned on the heat.
“I’ve always admired that about you, Fiona. That classic, and clichéd, redhead’s spunk. But as I recall you weren’t so feisty after your lover and his faithful dog took bullets.”
It hurt, brutally, and she held on to the pain.
“You needed medication and ‘therapy,’ ” he added, putting quotes in the air. “You needed your own fatherly special agent to protect you from me, and the drooling press. Poor, poor Fiona. First a heroine through a stroke of luck, then a creature of tragedy and frailty.”
“Poor, poor George,” she said in the same tone, and saw the temper flash, for just an instant, in his eyes. “First a figure to be feared, and now one forced to recruit the inferior to finish the job he couldn’t. Let me be honest. I don’t care if you tell the FBI anything about Eckle—a part of me hopes you won’t. Because he’ll try to finish what you couldn’t. You took mine, now I’ll take yours. If they don’t find him first, he’ll come after me, and I’m ready for him.”
Now she leaned forward, letting him see it. Letting him catch a glimpse of her will, and the secret inside her. “I’m ready for him, George. I wasn’t ready for you, and look where you are. So when he comes for me, he’ll lose—and so will you. Again. I want that more than I can say. You’re not the only one who sees him as a proxy. So do I.”
“Have you considered he wants you to feel so confident? He’s manipulating you into this sense of power and security?”
She let out a half laugh as she leaned back again. “Who’s being ham-handed now? He’s not what you thought he was. Judging character and abilities is one of the traits of a good trainer. Not just teaching, instructing, but recognizing the limitations and the pathology of those you train. You missed that one. You know you did, or I wouldn’t be here.”
“You’re here because I demanded it.”
She hoped she pulled off an expression between bored and amused because her heart thumped riotously. She was beating him.
“You can’t demand anything of me. You can’t scare me, and neither can the vicious dog you’ve set on me. The only thing you can do is try to make a deal.”
“There’s no telling who a dog might attack. No telling how many he may bloody along the way.”
She cocked her head, smiled a little. “Do you really think that keeps me up at night? I’m on my island, remember? I have my moat. I’ll only be sorry if he screws up before he gets to me. Feel free to let him know that—that is, if he’s still listening to you. I don’t think he is. I think your dog’s off the leash, George, and going his own way. As for me?” Deliberately, she glanced at her watch. “That’s really all the time I have to spare. It was good to see you here, George,” she said as she rose. “It really made my day.”
“I’ll escort you out.” Mantz got to her feet.
“I’ll find another. Sooner or later, I’ll find another.”
Fiona glanced back to see his chained hands fist on the table.
“You’re always in my thoughts, Fiona.”
She smiled at him. “George, that’s just sad.”
At Mantz’s nod, the guard opened the door. The minute the door closed behind them, Mantz shook her head, held up a hand. “We’re going to be escorted to a monitoring area where you can wait.”
Fiona held on to her composure, following Mantz’s example, saying nothing, keeping her eyes straight ahead. The sound of the thick electronic doors opening, closing, made her want to shudder.
They entered a small room holding electronic equipment, monitors. Mantz ignored them and the officials running them and gestured to a couple of chairs set up across the room.
She poured a glass of water, handed it to Fiona.
“Thanks.”
“Do you want a job?”
Fiona looked up again. “Sorry?”
“You’d make a good agent. I’m going to tell you, I had my doubts about this, about bringing you here. I thought he’d play you. I thought he’d twist you up and wring you out to dry, and we’d walk out empty-handed. But you played him. You didn’t give him what he wanted, and you sure as hell didn’t give him what he expected.”
“I gave it a lot of thought. What to say, how to say it. How to . . . wow, look at that,” she said when she saw her hands shaking.
“I can take you out of here altogether. There’s a coffee shop not that far away. Tawney can meet us there.”
“No, I’ll stick. I want to stick, and I know you want to be in there.”
“Here’s fine. He’s not going to take another woman in his face after that. Tawney’s better finishing this up without me. How did you know what to say, how to say it?”
“Truth?”
“Yeah, truth.”
“I work with dogs, and do one-on-ones with dogs and owners with behavioral problems—some of them fairly severe and violent. You can’t show fear—you can’t even feel it, because if you do it will show. You can’t let them get the upper hand, even for a minute. You don’t want to lose your temper, but always maintain the position of power. Alpha position.”
Mantz considered a moment. “You’re saying you thought of Perry as a bad dog?”
Fiona let out a shuddering breath. “More or less. Do you think it worked?”
“I think you did your job. Now we’ll do ours.”
PERRY STRUNG IT OUT, dribbling out information, stopping to request a meal, dribbling more. Fiona fought off a rising sense of claustrophobia from being shut up in the small room for so long, and wished—more than once—she’d taken Mantz up on her offer to leave the prison and wait elsewhere.
In for the whole shot, she reminded herself, and sat, sat while Mantz listened on an earpiece, when Tawney came in to confer with her. To wait it out, she thought, refusing an offer of food she wasn’t entirely sure she could keep down.
They approached the time Tawney had predicted she’d be home before they left the prison behind. Fiona kept the window of the car open, breathed in the air.
“I can use my phone now? I need to let Simon and Sylvia know I’m delayed.”
“Go ahead. I contacted your stepmother,” Tawney told her. “I left Simon a voice mail. He didn’t answer his phone.”
“Between the machines and the music in his shop, he never hears the phone. But Syl would let him know. She’s taking my classes this afternoon. I’ll wait until we’re about to board the plane.”
“Erin said you didn’t eat.”
“Still a little unsteady in that area. You have to tell me something. You have to tell me if this helped.”
“You’re going to be disappointed.”
“Oh.”
“Disappointed that Erin’s back there on the phone right now, checking out some of the information Perry gave us, coordinating agents to various mail drops Perry said he lined up to contact Eckle over the next few weeks. He gave us locations, trolling sites they agreed on and the two alternate identities Eckle’s using.”
“Thank God.”
“He wants Eckle to go down. One, because he’s no longer subservient, no longer obedient. And two—and I believe this cemented it—he doesn’t want you to win again. He doesn’t want to risk you going up against Eckle and winning. You convinced him not only that you could, that you would, but that you were looking forward to it. Hell, you convinced me.”
“I’d just as soon not have to try to prove it.”
Mantz returned. “We’ve got agents on the way to the locations he gave us, and a team to the trolling site, which geographically should be next on Eckle’s list. We have another taking Kellworth’s college, as that should have been his target for this time frame. He could repeat there if he decides to go back to Perry’s game plan.”
“I don’t see that,” Tawney said, “but it’s better to cover it.”
“We’ve issued a BOLO for Eckle, including his aliases. And we got a jackpot, Tawney. We have a 2005 Ford Taurus, California plates, issued to one of those aliases. John William Mitchell.”
Tawney reached over to lay a hand briefly on Fiona’s. “You’re not going to have to prove anything.”
MIDAFTERNOON , MY ASS , Simon thought. At this rate, they’d be lucky if she made it home by six. Hearing her on his voice mail helped, but he wasn’t going to be able to relax until he saw her for himself.
He’d kept busy, and having Syl pinch-hitting on the classes saved him from a trip to town as she’d hauled off the new stock he’d finished. Plus, she’d made him lunch. Not a bad deal.
He set the last of the window boxes he’d spent most of his day making on its bracket, then walked back into the front yard, surrounded by the pack of dogs who’d rarely left his side all day, to view the results.
“Not bad,” he murmured.
He hadn’t used the design Fiona cadged from Meg—what would be the point in making something you could buy in a damn catalog? Anyway, his were better. He liked the marriage of mahogany and teak, the slightly rounded shapes, the interest of the Celtic design he’d carved into the wood.
Needed hot colors in the flowers, he decided. And if she tried to do some wussy pastels, she’d have to try again.
Strong, hot colors—nonnegotiable. What was the point in planting flowers if they didn’t make a statement?
When the dogs turned as one, he swung around himself. He thought, Thank God , when he saw the car on his drive.
He had to force himself not to race to the car, pluck her right out through the window and check every inch of her to make sure she was untouched, unhurt, unchanged.
He waited, with roiling impatience, while she sat, speaking to the agents. They’ve had you all day, he thought. Say good-fucking-bye and come home. Be home.
Then she got out, walked to him. He barely noticed the car drive away.
He heard her laugh as the dogs surged to greet her, watched color bloom in her cheeks as she stroked and ruffled. My turn, he thought, and moved toward them.
“Back off,” he ordered the dogs, then just stood looking at her. “Took you long enough.”
“It feels even longer from this side. I need a hug. A really long, hard hug. Crack my ribs, will you, Simon?”
He put his arms around her, gave her what she needed short of snapping bones. Then he kissed the top of her head, her temples, her mouth.
“Better, better.” She sighed it out. “So much better. You smell so good. Sawdust and dogs and the forest. You smell like home. I’m so glad to be home.”
“You’re okay?”
“I’m okay. I’ll tell you all about it. I want to shower first. I know it’s completely in my head, but I feel . . . I just need a shower. Then maybe we can toss a frozen pizza in the oven, crack a bottle, and I’ll . . . You made window boxes.”
“I had some spare time today since you weren’t around interrupting me.”
“You made window boxes,” she murmured. “They’re so . . . just exactly right. Thank you.”
“They’re my window boxes on my house.”
“Absolutely. Thank you.”
He yanked her back into his arms. “Making them kept me from going crazy. Syl and I worked on keeping each other from going crazy. You should call her.”
“I did. I called her, my mother and Mai from the ferry.”
“Good, then it’s just you and me. And them,” he added as the dogs sat at their feet. “Have your shower. I’ll deal with the pizza.” But he caught her chin in his hand, held it while he searched her face. “He didn’t touch you.”
“Not the way he hoped, no.”
“Then I can wait for the rest. I’m hungry anyway.”
THEY ATE OUTSIDE on the back porch with the sun beaming through the trees and the birds trilling like mad things. Outside, Simon thought, where it made a point. They were free. Perry wasn’t.
Her voice stayed steady as she took him through it, step-by-step.
“I don’t know where some of it came from. I’d worked it out in my head, the approach, the tone, the basic thrust, but some of it was just there, coming out of my mouth before it really seemed to plant in my head. Telling him if Eckle kills other women it has nothing to do with me. I’m usually a lousy liar. It’s just not natural to me, so I tend to fumble it. But it just flowed right out, smooth and cold.”
“And he bought it.”
“Apparently so. He gave them what they were after: locations, mail drops, aliases. They tracked a car and plates with one of the aliases. They’ve got agents scrambling out to do what they do.”
“And you’re out of it.”
“Oh God, Simon, I really think I am.” She lifted her hands, pressed her fingers to her eyes for a moment. “I really think I am. And more, it was so different from what I expected, what I’d prepared for.”
“How?”
“He was so angry. Perry. I expected him to be smug, full of himself and his ability to pull all these strings even from prison. And he was, on one level. But under it there was all this anger and frustration. And seeing that, knowing that, seeing where he is, how he looks, it felt—feels . . .”
She fisted a hand on the table, studied it. “Solid. It feels hard and strong and solid.” She lifted her gaze again, the soft blue clear again, calm again. “It feels over. What was between him and me, still there in the shadows and the dark, it’s done now. We’re finished.”
“Good.” He heard the truth of it, felt it—and realized that until that moment, he’d carried those shadows inside him, too. “Then it was worth it. But until Eckle is in the same place, things stay the same here. No chances, Fiona.”
“I can live with that. I’ve got window boxes, and pizza.” She unfisted her hand, reached for his. “And you. So.” She took a long breath. “Tell me something else. What did you do besides window boxes?”
“I’ve got a few things going. Let’s take a walk.”
“Beach or woods?”
“Woods first, then beach. I need to find another stump.”
“Simon! You sold the sink.”
“I’m keeping that one, but Syl got a look at it and says she’s got a client who’ll want one.”
“You’re keeping it.”
“Half-bath downstairs needs a bump.”
“It’ll be fabulous.” She glanced over at the dogs, back at Simon. Her guys, she thought. “Come on, boys. Let’s go help Simon find a stump.”
ECKLE FELT SOMETHING, too. He felt freedom.
A new task, a new agenda. New prey.
He knew he’d severed the strings that held him to Perry, and rather than falling limp, an untethered marionette, he stood strong and vital. He experienced a new sense of self, one he’d never felt before, not even when Perry had helped him reach inside to the man he’d hidden for so many years.
He owed Perry a debt for that, and one he fully intended to pay. But the debt was one of student to teacher. A true teacher, a wise teacher knew the student must step away, must carve his own path once the roadbed was laid.
He’d read, with interest and pride, the article in U.S. Report. He critiqued the style, the voice, the content, and gave Kati Starr a solid B.
As he would have done in his other life, he edited, corrected, made suggestions in red pen.
He could help her improve, he had no doubt of it. And he’d considered communicating with her, collaborating, so to speak, to give her series of articles more depth.
He’d never realized how addictive notoriety could be, how piquant the flavor once tasted. But his new self wanted more sly licks and nibbled bites before the end. He wanted to feast. To gorge.
He wanted to sate himself on legacy.
As he’d studied his potential student’s habits, routines, read her other articles, researched her personal and professional data, he detected in her what he’d often seen in his own students.
Particularly the females.
Whores. All women were whores at their slippery, wet roots.
Bright, clever Kati was, in his opinion, too headstrong, too rash, too sure of herself. She was a manipulator, and wouldn’t take instruction or constructive criticism well.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be useful.
The more he observed, the more he learned, the more he wanted. She would be his next and, in a very real way, his first even as she might be his last. His own choice, rather than a mirror of Perry’s needs.
She was older, not particularly athletic. More inclined to hours at a desk, a keyboard, a phone than physical pursuits.
Playing in her fancy fitness club so she could show off her body.
Yes, she showed off her body, he thought, but didn’t tend it, didn’t discipline it. If she lived she’d grow soft and fat and slow.
Really, he’d be doing her a favor, ending it while she was still young and smooth and tight.
He’d been busy during his time in Seattle. He’d changed his license plates twice and had the car painted. Now when he returned to Orcas any cops watching the ferry traffic wouldn’t note the return of the car—not that he gave barely educated hayseeds that much credit.
Still, Perry had schooled him carefully on precaution.
He considered the best time and location to take her, then simply waited for Seattle’s weather to give him the final element.
KATI SHOT UP her umbrella and stepped out into the drenching rain and gloom. She’d worked late, polishing up some details on her next article. For now, she didn’t mind inhabiting a cubicle in a small building in the rainy Northwest.
It served as a stepping-stone.
Her series was gaining her the attention she wanted, not only from readers but from the powers that be. If she could keep the heat turned up, just a little longer, she had every reason to believe she’d be packing her laptop and looking for an apartment in New York.
Fiona Bristow, George Perry and RSKII created and stamped her ticket out of Seattle and into the Big Apple. And it was there she’d shop her book.
She needed to crack Fiona open a bit, she thought as she dug for her keys. And it wouldn’t hurt for RSKII to take another coed, keep that flame high—and her byline front and center.
Of course, if the feds broke the case, that wouldn’t hurt either. She had sources primed, including the one who’d fed her the information that the Tawney-Mantz team had interviewed Perry again that day—and the fresh, hot juice that Fiona had joined in.
Face-to-face with the man who abducted her, killed her lover. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall in that room. But even without the access, she’d gotten enough from her sources for a solid piece—above the fold—for tomorrow’s edition.
She hit the unlock button on her key ring and in the flash of lights saw the flat rear tire.
“Crap. Crap!” She hurried closer to make certain. Even as she turned, digging into her bag for her phone, he boiled out of the gloom.
Out of nowhere, no more than a blur.
She heard him say, “Hi, Kati! How about an exclusive?”
The pain shot through her, an electric bullet that sizzled in every cell of her stunned, seizing body. The rainy gloom burst into blinding white as a scream gagged in her throat. In some shocked part of her brain she thought she’d been struck by lightning.
The white sliced to black.
IT TOOK LESS than a minute to bind her, to lock her in the trunk. He stowed her bag, her computer, her umbrella in the back, for now, carefully turned off her phone.
Filled with power and pride, he drove off into the rainy night. He had a lot of work to do before he slept.
