Kerry’s eyes immediately lost focus and her legs gave way seconds after the hot liquid scorched through her veins. Her rear hit the muddy ground, and a cruel, insidious laugh invaded her mind. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she banged against something hard and sharp.
When she awoke, she was sitting in some kind of portable potty. The heat and the stench of feces overwhelmed her, though the foul odor was the least of her problems. Her mouth was taped shut and her wrists were tightly bound behind her back with duct tape. Kerry looked down. Sweet Jesus. The bastard had stripped her bare.
Shit. Shit. Double shit.
Blood sped through her veins at warp speed. The four females at the gravesite had been naked too. The finality of that act hit her hard. There was no burning between her legs, so he hadn’t raped her—yet—but no telling what his future plans entailed. Steven had acted interested in her as a woman. Now it seems his flirty looks were all lies. Could he kill her in cold blood?
Damn him.
To make matters worse, Steven had put her right ankle behind her left and wrapped them together, making walking impossible even if she’d been able to escape. And her head pounded like a bitch.
Breathing hard through her nose, she tried to assess the situation. As John Ahern always said, “Tell me what you see.”
Kerry attempted to keep the bile from rising up from her gut as fear short-circuited her ability to think. She had to get out of here, wherever here was.
Soft light eked its way through the semi-translucent plastic sides, but the illumination didn’t bring much comfort. Gray light snuck in between the cracks where the door hinged on the confining tomb. Two rolls of toilet paper were lumped on a shelf next to her.
Why the hell had Steven kidnapped her? Surely he wasn’t responsible for all the mass gravesite deaths.
Kerry closed her eyes to concentrate on the sounds around her. She wanted to find something to help identify what was going on. The tree limbs banged together, but no breeze dared to sneak into her neat little closet. If she could manage to stand, she might be able to turn around and push open the door.
Then what? She couldn’t walk. Kerry slumped back down on her perch. Kind Steven had left the seat up. Guessed he didn’t want her soiling her cozy home.
Wait.
The sound of a tractor roared to life. Tractors dug things.
Dear God. Was Steven digging a grave? Kerry’s heart nearly jumped out of her skin. Sweat trickled between her breasts and crotch, and tears slid down her cheeks. Her nose clogged. Not being able to breath was the last thing she needed. With her hands behind her back, she was unable to remove the tape from her mouth.
There had to be something she could do. The urinal on the side wall had a ragged edge. She leaned over and dragged her face across the sharp edge. Ouch. In the process of trying to free the tape, she scraped some of the skin off her face. One end lifted. Progress.
She repeated the process. Before she’d got the entire piece off, the door flew open, and panic clawed her insides.
“I see you’ve awakened from your nap.”
The rumbling engine was silent. Damn it. When had he stopped digging?
She refused to answer him. She wanted to cover her breasts, but her hands were tied behind her back.
“You have any last requests?” He had the balls to smile as he ripped off the tape from her mouth.
Last requests? Like he’d grant them? She gasped for air, and then swallowed hard. Her gaze ran the length of him, assessing the situation. Even with her legs tied together, she could kick him, but what good would it do? She’d never get away.
Kerry tilted her head, refusing to let him see her beg. “Tell me why? Why this? I thought we were friends. What did I do to you?”
“To me? Nothing.”
“Then why...” The word, kill, stuck in her throat, “take me?”
“It’s a long story.” He held up a needle and squirted out a few drops.
Her thoughts jumbled as her blood pressure soared. She had to stop him. Had to convince him killing her would serve no purpose. “I’ve got time.”
He laughed. “Not much.”
Kerry squared her shoulders. “Give me one reason why I have to die.”
“So I don’t.”
“That makes no sense.” She kept her voice low and non-threatening.
“You want to know why? I’ll tell you why. My uncle, the one and only Paul Dalton, is blackmailing me.”
“Your uncle?”
“Yeah. It was only a matter of time before you figured it out. My last name is Dalton.”
“I never paid attention.”
“I know.”
She shifted in the seat. “Why is he blackmailing you?”
“I killed my father, and he knows it.” He laughed, only this time his voice was filled with self-loathing.
She sucked in a breath. Steven was a murderer. “How old were you when you...”
“Killed him? Eighteen.”
Of legal age. Her insides turned to liquid. He couldn’t let her go after confessing. Think. “My father abused my sister. I know she wanted to kill the bastard, and she would have too if he hadn’t died of a heart attack first.” A lie, but she was desperate to connect with him, convince him he didn’t have to kill her.
“I wish mine had died by some flesh eating disease.” Steven’s lip curled. “God, but I hated him. My dad wouldn’t leave me alone. Ever. Like his dad before him, he had to take out his hatred of life on me.” Steven spat on the ground.
She bet his dad didn’t rape him like her father had done to Susan. “How did he hurt you?” She leaned forward, acting as horrified as she could.
“He’d beat me whenever he got drunk, even tied me up, and locked me in a closet when he didn’t want to deal with me.”
Despite her fear, sympathy tugged at her. Steven basically was doing to her what his father had done to him. “I’m so sorry. Surely, the law would take your circumstances into consideration. You could claim self-defense.” Please let him see reason.
He laughed again, his eyes wild. “Won’t wash.” He snarled. “Besides, I killed two other women—on Uncle Paul’s request. I’m not buying your little sympathy ploy.” He leaned inside the tomb and stabbed her with the needle again before she had a chance to react.
“And if I don’t kill you now, he’ll kill me. Goodbye, Kerry.”
All hope vanished of seeing Hunter again. She wanted to cry out for what would never be, but her eyes rolled back into her head.
Hunter glanced at his watch for the fifth time and tapped his desk with his yellow pencil. Kerry should have phoned by now to pick her up. She’d told him she wouldn’t have a full day of work. Damn it. He’d left several messages on her cell, but she hadn’t returned his calls.
Phil rushed over to him with a smile on his face. “We got him.” He slapped a folder on Hunter’s desk.
“Got who?”
“Dalton.”
Hunter straightened, adrenaline spearing his heart. “Tell me.” Two phones on nearby desks rang and an unruly prostitute made a racket fifteen feet from his desk.
“We received the lab results back from the shovel Gina and I found at the cemetery.”
“You think it might relate to the shovel mark in the dirt Kerry found?”
“Yes. Her mark showed a bent edge, as did ours, so I had the lab process it. Not only are Willie Wyble’s prints on the handle, but Dalton’s are too.”
“Holy shit. Dalton’s prints must be on file then.”
“Yup. He works at the shelter, which means he’s a county employee.”
“You know his prints alone don’t put him at the scene of the crime. They just mean he touched the shovel.” There was always a catch. “Though how or why Dalton would be using a shovel located at the cemetery is anyone’s guess.”
Phil leaned on the edge of Hunter’s desk. Hunter always left the right corner bare for him. Chairs weren’t Phil’s thing.
“True, but coupled with the fact the belt loop we found near one of the gravesites matches the missing belt loop on Willie’s jeans, I’m thinking we got Dalton.”
“You might have Willie Wyble at the scene but not Dalton. The evidence is purely circumstantial on the good doctor, but it might get us a warrant to seize his records just on the fingerprints alone.”
“I’m hoping.”
“Let me know the moment you hear.”