Edge of Midnight

38



The silencer muted the noise, making a satisfying thwap as the man toppled. Blood poured from the wound in his skull, soaking the bristle-blond hair. Allan swung the barrel toward Mia. She looked exquisite—hair disheveled around her face, her mouth open in shock and horror.

With a choked cry, she sprinted down the hallway, her only free path. Allan launched after her, wedging his shoulder into the door she tried to slam closed. He rammed it open with such force she fell backward onto the carpet. His excitement spiked at the terror he saw in her eyes.

Crawling, she reached the rumpled bed and pulled herself up. What was she searching for? Her purse. It lay on the comforter. She was going for her cell phone. Allan lunged and tore the bag from her hands. Cornered, she picked up a brass lamp from the nightstand and threw it at him. He deflected it with his forearm but felt the bruising contact. She’ll pay for that. She dove across the bed, still trying to escape. He caught her by the waistband of her shorts before she made it off the mattress. Screaming, she turned and kicked, her bare heel catching him painfully in the thigh and missing his groin by inches.

He grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her back across the bed, jerking her up. If he didn’t quiet her, the other deputy would hear from outside. Warding off her small fists, he slapped her hard across the face with the back of his hand, a bone-jarring blow. She fell back onto the mattress.

Allan leaped on top of her and wrapped his hands around her slender throat. He began to squeeze, thrilling at the bob of her small Adam’s apple under his thumbs. Mia kicked and scratched, gasping for air. He continued choking her, kept his fingers clamped around her throat until her movements grew clumsier and her eyes finally fluttered closed, her hands dropping limply onto the bed.

Breathing hard, he loosened his grip. He wanted her out, not dead. At least not yet. He ran his hands over her soft skin.

His eyes latched on to the bedroom closet. There was a collection of men’s silk ties—tasteful, expensive—hanging inside. Allan went over and removed two. He used the first to bind her wrists together. Already, she was starting to come around. She resisted weakly, coughing as he knotted the second one and forced it between her teeth, tying it at the back of her head.

Then Allan scooped her up and carried her to the closet. Dumping her onto its floor, he slammed the door closed and put a chair under its knob. That should keep her quiet long enough to dispose of deputy number two.

He couldn’t help but smile. Things were going so much better than he’d ever imagined. Before, his only hint of a plan had been to somehow kill the guardsmen and burst through the bungalow’s door, spiriting Mia away as the alarm screeched like a banshee. It would have been a haphazard approach. So much could have gone wrong. Here, hidden snugly inside the house, he had the element of surprise and so much more to gain.

Reentering the living room, he pulled the gun from his waistband and stepped around the deputy’s body that lay facedown in a spreading pool of blood. He was just in time, he thought, as a knock came at the door. Allan peeped out from behind the curtain, liking what he saw. The other deputy stood with hands full, bearing two plastic soda bottles, chips and hot dogs.

He swung the door open, his gun pointed. The man startled.

Thwap.

He fell backward onto the porch. Bright crimson bloomed on the tan uniform. He’d shot him in the chest. Allan looked around for witnesses as the deputy writhed and gasped for air. He saw no one.

“Who sent you inside the house?” Leaning over him, Allan nudged him hard with his shoe and wielded the gun. “On whose orders?”

“Macfarlane,” he managed to croak out. Pink froth formed on his lips. Pleased, Allan shot him a second time, putting him out of his misery.

He picked up the man’s booted feet and dragged him over the threshold and inside, lining him up next to his partner. Then Allan went back out to the porch, noticing the bloodstain on the thick, woven doormat. He flipped it over to hide the mess, then picked up the drinks and food and went back inside.

Looking around the quaint but comfortable interior, Allan removed one of the hot dogs from its paper packaging and took a bite, smiling to himself as he thoughtfully chewed. He had some time to play with her before Macfarlane returned.

And then he would have them both.

Monsters lived in the dark closet. Her mother had told her they liked to eat bad little girls.

Mia banged on the inside of the door, her face wet with tears. “Please, Mommy. I’m afraid! Let me out!”

But all she heard in return was silence.

Mia awoke with a start, disoriented and in blackness, her right cheekbone throbbing as it pressed into the carpeting’s scratchy pile. It took a few seconds for her mind to flash back to what had just occurred.

He was here, inside the house. He’d killed the deputy in front of her.

She couldn’t stop her rising panic. Hot tears leaked from her eyes. All of it came flooding back to her. Her windpipe felt raw and bruised. She’d expected to die right there with him straddling her and his big hands squeezing her throat, but she now realized he was saving her for something far worse. The thought caused a cold sweat to break out on her body. Desperate, she twisted her wrists, trying to loosen the binding as her tongue pushed against the hard knot of fabric in her mouth. She was panting and not getting enough air through her nose, the lack of oxygen feeding her terror. It took all of her willpower to concentrate on her breathing, to force it to slow down or else lose consciousness again.

Good, Mia. In and out.

Managing to get to her knees in the cramped, unlit space, she pushed at the door but it wouldn’t budge. What had happened to the other deputy? Was he dead, too? Or maybe he was looking for her. She had to make some noise. Whimpering through her gag, she pounded on the wooden panel with her bound fists. She prayed for someone to find her before the real-life monster returned.

The low voice that came through the door sent ice water trickling down her spine.

“I can hear you crying, Mia.”

Her heart stopped. Oh, God. No.

“You’ve been a very bad girl. Running away from me. Twice.” He chuckled. “That’s not going to happen again.”

The closet door swung open. His bland face studied her, his pale blue eyes curious and cold. Then he grabbed her by her bound wrists, hauling her to her feet. Mia’s head swam at his closeness. There were spots of blood on his shirt from where he’d shot the deputy at point-blank range. The gun was tucked into the waistband of his chinos.

“You and I have some catching up to do.”

He walked her into the hall, keeping a hand braced firmly on the back of her neck. Her skin was damp with perspiration, and her knees felt like gelatin as he pushed her forward into the living room where the nightmare had begun. Mia cried out, the sound muffled by the cloth in her mouth. The two deputies lay on the floor side by side, a large circle of blood beneath them. More of it flecked the white wall.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to a spindle-back, wooden armchair he’d moved from the dining area. The chair now faced the sofa. When Mia hesitated, he dragged her over and shoved her down hard.

She trembled as he strolled around behind her, unsure of what he was about to do.

“If you start screaming, it goes back in. Do I make myself clear?” When she gave a small nod, he untied the gag. She took a quavering breath, filling her lungs with air. He then dropped down on the couch facing her, appearing smug. He pulled her chair closer so their knees touched.

“Do you know who I am?”

She blinked back tears, struggling to find her voice. Mia knew the answer in her gut.

“Your name…is Allan Levi.” The words were rusty in her damaged throat. When he seemed to be waiting for something else, she added, “You abducted Joy Rourke in front of me twenty-five years ago.”

A chilling smile spread over his face. “You do remember. I was at the group home that day to drop off papers for Mother. I never made it inside. I was too entranced by the little girls sitting on the sidewalk holding hands. So sweet and innocent.”

She wanted to add “helpless.” It was why he’d started out on a child. He reached out and ran possessive hands over her forearms. “You still remind me of a little girl. So small and delicate.”

Biting her lip, she closed her eyes, her skin crawling at his touch.

“Joy was an easy mark. Trusting. But you ran from me. Imagine my surprise when I recognized you in the newspaper all these years later, covering my…work. It was as if it was meant to be. Well, I had to take you, didn’t I?”

She thought of the dead women. Disgust filled her. “How…how did you find me?”

“You mean at this run-down beach shanty? I suspected you weren’t at your apartment, since there were no lights on and you’ve been keeping the place lit like a church on Christmas Eve. But a call to your office receptionist confirmed you were still working, even though I haven’t seen your name in the paper lately. What did they do—bump you down to obits because of me?”

He indicated the two dead men. “When I saw the squad car leaving the employee parking garage yesterday, I suspected you were inside it, being delivered to wherever the FBI had stashed you. I trailed it here, and I’ve been watching and waiting ever since for the right opportunity.”

Her desire to keep working had gotten those men killed.

“You should have come to me that day outside the foster care home.” His clammy hand squeezed her bare thigh. It was all she could do not to use her bound hands to shove him away, but his size and the gun at his side were a constant threat. He leered at her. “I’m not a fan of disobedience.”

He leaned closer, his face inches from hers. “I can forgive a frightened child, but running away from me three weeks ago…that’s going to cost you.”

Allan looked into her eyes, searching for her fear. Mia did everything she could not to give it to him. She tried to sound brave.

“Did you steal another car to abduct me in?” she asked blithely.

The light huff of his laugh fanned her face. “Sorry. I won’t be carrying you off into the night this time. I have a better plan. We’re going to wait right here for Agent Macfarlane to arrive. He is staying here at night?”

The words chilled her to the bone as she suddenly understood. Eric.

“He radioed, apparently. He sent the two deputies in to sit with you. They were on their way when I dispatched them.” He smirked. “Pardon the pun.”

Then he would find nothing unusual about the squad car being unoccupied in front of the house. He would think the deputies were inside. Mia felt her pulse race. Eric would be walking into an ambush.

Allan stood and went around behind her again, forcing the gag back into her mouth despite her resistance. Then he returned to his seat in front of her. He took her bound hands in his, paying particular attention to the left one with its two scabbed nail beds. Mia felt nauseous. Fresh perspiration broke out on her skin. She wished for a drug to sedate her, but she was painfully alert.

His cold eyes pinned hers. “It might be a while before he arrives. But I have an idea of how we can pass the time. Shall we continue where we left off?”

The cloth stifled her agonized scream as he used his thumbnail to dig into the first of the healing wounds.