Karl had brought Gideon a change of clothes so that he could clean up before leaving the hospital, and now he sat at her little dining table, freshly showered and shaved, with his arm in a sling. His jeans and UC Davis sweatshirt made him look so much younger, despite the silver strands threaded among his thick dark hair.
She now knew what it felt like to rake her fingers through his hair. She wanted to do it again. She wanted more of what they’d done Saturday night. A lot more.
But it would have to wait until they were truly alone, if that ever happened again.
She shook her head at her own dramatics. Rosemary was right. It had been only three and a half days. She needed to slow it down. Do it right.
Besides, one of them would have to go to the drugstore for more condoms. She wasn’t sure what had happened to the contents of his car. She’d taken both of their laptops, but Gideon’s gun, his rifle, and their overnight bags were still AWOL.
Probably in an evidence locker somewhere.
Thus, no condoms. Thus, no fun. Well, maybe they could have other fun.
“Daisy!” Irina called. “Do you need help, dear?”
“No, thank you.” She tossed enough clothes for a few days into the bag, then packed her toiletry kit and zipped the suitcase.
“I’ll take that,” Frederick said. “Karl got food for Brutus. Is everything unplugged?”
Daisy nodded, looking around to be sure she hadn’t left anything plugged in or turned on. Her father used to check every electrical outlet three times before they left the house and that was before they’d gone into hiding.
All the signs for anxiety had been there. Why hadn’t anyone helped him?
That, she supposed, was a discussion for another day. Because even though he’d shown improvement, he still wasn’t whole. And that hurt Daisy’s heart far more than his disapproval ever had.
“I’m ready, Agent Hunter,” she said, taking another coat from the closet. The one she’d been wearing had been caked with Gideon’s blood the last time she’d seen it. She didn’t think she’d be able to wear it again, even if the dry cleaner worked a miracle.
He ushered Daisy, Gideon, and Frederick to the SUV he’d parked in Rafe’s garage, making sure they were all buckled in before he lifted the garage door. Daisy and Gideon were in the middle seats, her father riding shotgun with their escort.
The Sokolovs were in Karl’s Tesla, also parked in the garage.
Both vehicles had begun to back out as soon as the garage door opened, when, from the corner of her eye, Daisy saw a woman running toward them. “Excuse me!” the woman called, waving her arm.
“Down!” Gideon barked, popping his and Daisy’s seat belts. As soon as they were free, he grabbed her by the coat and hauled them down.
“I think it’s just one woman, Gideon,” Daisy said quietly.
“She could be armed,” he bit out, his face gone pale. He’d moved his arm awfully fast. He was probably in pain. “You stay down.”
“He’s right,” Frederick said, his voice gone steely. “We’ll take care of the woman.”
Daisy pitied anyone who got on the wrong side of that voice. “Okay. Just saying.” She touched Gideon’s face. “Did you hurt your arm?”
“Yeah,” he admitted gruffly. “So don’t make me have hurt it in vain. Stay down.”
Daisy raised her brows. “Guilt trip much?”
Gideon’s lips quirked in a fast smirk before pressing together. “Will it work?”
“Probably,” she grumbled.
She heard a cough—her father covering a laugh. “Well played, Gideon.”
Agent Hunter rolled his window down. “Stand back, ma’am. And keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Um . . .” the woman stammered. “You have a gun. Pointed at me.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Special Agent Hunter. Who are you?”
“My name is Nina Barnes.”
“She’s from the TV news,” Daisy said. “She interviewed me on Friday.”
“Get her ID,” Gideon instructed. “If her ID’s a match, she’s legit.”
“It’s a match,” Hunter reported. “It’s your call, Miss Dawson.”
Daisy sat up slowly, rubbing her neck. Nina Barnes was staring at Agent Hunter’s gun with wide eyes. “Can I roll down the window and talk to her myself?”
“No,” both Gideon and her father barked at the same time.
Well, okay then. “I can’t open the window. Sorry. You’ll have to talk loudly.”
“What happened yesterday in Macdoel?” Nina asked through Hunter’s window.
Daisy sighed. “Look, Miss Barnes, we are exhausted and we need to rest. If you give us your card, I’ll call you and give you a phone interview. How’s that?”
The woman tilted her head cagily. “Exclusive?”
“For now, yes.”
She nodded and gave Hunter her card. He handed it back and Daisy snatched it before her father or Gideon could. “Thank you. I’ll be calling you within a few hours.”
“Thanks. Look, interview aside, I’m sorry for the loss of your friend. Miss Hart was a really nice person, from all I’ve been able to glean.”
Daisy swallowed. “Yeah, she was nice. Thank you.”
“How is Mr. Senegal?” Nina asked.
Daisy frowned at her. “Who?”
Nina frowned back. “Miss Hart’s boyfriend. He showed up at the crime scene looking for the police. I told him to contact Sokolov or Rhee.”
Daisy’s breath caught. “Trish didn’t have a boyfriend, Gideon.”
Gideon leaned between the two front seats, angling his body so that he wasn’t knocking his sling. “Tell us about the boyfriend, please. What did he look like?”
“About six feet tall, red hair, gray eyes. Mustache. He was very upset. Said he needed to find out what was happening. Like I said, I told him to call Sokolov and Rhee, because they were lead detectives.”
“Did you see what kind of car he drove?” Gideon asked quietly.
“Yeah. Beige Chevy.” Her eyes narrowed speculatively. “This is important.”
“Could be,” Gideon deflected.
“Tell her to avoid him,” Daisy whispered. “Tell her that he’s dangerous. Or I will.”
Gideon nodded. “Did you give him your card, Miss Barnes?”
“I did. Why?”
“Has he reached out to you?”
“Not yet.”
“If he does, call Sokolov or Rhee right away. Don’t try to approach him yourself.”
Her eyes grew round as saucers. “That was him?”
“We don’t know. But he could be dangerous. Please, don’t go after him yourself.”
Nina nodded slowly. “Got it. You’ll give me the interview? For real?”
“For real,” Daisy said. “Exclusive.”
“We’ll both call you,” Gideon promised. “Thank you.”
Nina stepped back. “Thank you. Be careful.”
“You too,” Daisy called as Agent Hunter drove them away, Karl and Irina following close behind them all the way to the Sokolov house in Granite Bay.
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 5:15 P.M.
His hot, fetid breath was in Zandra’s face, and she didn’t even care. Not anymore. At least her eyes could close again. The tape had fallen off long before. As soon as it got bloody, it had stopped sticking.
Bellamy, Anna. Pennsylvania. Fiddler, Janice. Washington. Orlov, Nadia. Illinois. Stevenson, Rayanna. Texas.
“Say you’re sorry,” he snarled, beyond fury.
She’d begged him to stop, begged him not to hurt her. But I’m sorry were two words she would not say. As soon as she did, she was dead. She knew it. She didn’t know how she knew it, and she didn’t care about the why of it anymore, either.
DeVeen, Rosamond. Minnesota. Borge, Delfina. California. Oliver, Makayla. New York. Danton, Eileen. Oregon.
“Say. It.” His voice was guttural. Like an animal. “Say you’re sorry.”
Martell, Kaley. California. Hart, Trisha. California.
He put his hands around her throat and tightened. She couldn’t breathe.
But she couldn’t fight. Not anymore.
“Say it. Say it, damn you.” He clamped his hand over her windpipe and shook her hard. “Say it, Sydney,” he screamed. “Say you’re sorry. Say it!”
Spittle flew from his mouth as he screamed at her, spraying her face. And she didn’t care anymore. She was floating. He was killing her. I’m dying. Right now.
And then something clicked, far back in her mind. Say it, Sydney.
He’d called her “Sydney.” He’d carved most of those letters in her body. He had all of them but the final “Y.” She opened her mouth, tried to speak.
Releasing her throat, he backed away, crowing triumphantly. “Say you’re sorry. Say it. Say it and I can end it. You’ll be done. No more pain.”
“I’m . . .” She hacked, her throat dry as a desert and nearly swollen shut. She opened her eyes. “I’m . . .”
He leaned in, smiling. “You’re?”
“I’m not Sydney.”
His face contorted in vicious rage. He grabbed the largest of the knives and brought it up over her body in a smooth arc.
But then he stopped midswing and dropped the knife back with the others on the table. “No,” he said firmly, his voice rough from screaming at her. “You will say you are sorry to me.”
“For what?” she asked for the hundredth time, her voice pitifully weak.
“It doesn’t matter!” he yelled in her face. “Just say it!”
“No.” Bellamy, Anna. Pennsylvania. Fiddler, Janice. Washington. Orlov, Nadia. Illinois. Stevenson, Rayanna. Texas. DeVeen, Rosamond. Minnesota. Borge, Delfina. California. Oliver, Makayla. New York. Danton, Eileen. Oregon. Martell, Kaley. California. Hart, Trisha. California.