If they all survived when it was over.
Frankie swept the kitchen, ate a hearty lunch. Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she returned to the huge leather chair that had belonged to her long-dead grandfather. She pulled her grandmother’s quilt tight around her.
Too wired, she knew she wouldn’t sleep again. The locked and loaded pistol that’d belonged to her father lay on her lap beneath the quilt.
Frankie had no intention of letting someone take her unaware again.
She jumped when the cell phone buzzed on the end table. She picked it up quickly.
“It’s Cruz,” he said before she could speak. “How is everything?”
She updated him on Cole’s condition. “When he – when Cole recovers, what are we going to do with him?”
That wasn’t the most important point, she knew, but the words had erupted from her mouth as though her brain had no control over her lips and tongue.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that,” Cruz answered. “Right now we have to consider safety.” He hesitated, thinking. “When do you think it’ll be okay to move him?”
“A few days probably, but he’ll still need nursing care.”
“Right.” A long pause filled the space like the calm before a storm.
“Cruz?” She asked the really important question now. “How did they find us? How did they know about this house? It’s owned by my father. My official residence is in Crescent City – ” She interrupted herself when she heard the rise of hysteria in her voice.
It was funny how doctors could contain the panic and chaos of trauma during triage, but when it was your own life threatened, you lost yourself to terror.
“I’m scared,” she admitted reluctantly. “Someone has connected this house – my safe house – to me. It’s where the lawyer told me to go.”
The thought flitted through Cruz’s mind: what lawyer? What was she talking about? But like an annoying fly, it buzzed away. There were too many immediate concerns to consider.
“We’ll figure it out. Sheriff Slater will help us. We can trust him. He’s got a deputy watching the house. For now, keep the weapon close by. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The phone went dead and she carefully placed it on the table. A sense of warmth came over her, knowing that Cruz was thinking of her, worrying about her.
Throwing off the quilt, she moved steadily and quietly around the downstairs, checking every lock, every window, every point of entry. She conducted the same systematic patrol upstairs. Satisfied, she finally returned to the chair, determined to keep watch over herself and her patient.
No point in telling Frankie about Angie Hunt, Cruz thought. She didn’t know the Jesus Saves woman personally, and she would only worry about another person in danger, possibly targeted for murder.
In fact, they hadn’t discussed the case Detective Flood was putting together – the murders of two homeless people, the investigation. An uneasy suspicion gripped his gut. The whole tangled web of death, missing organs – it had to be connected somehow.
Throw in a man like Anson Stark, a powerful gang leader, the attack on Frankie. He was sure she’d gotten involved unwittingly in something far more dangerous than he’d initially thought.
Additionally, there was the murder of the woman in Sacramento County. How did she fit into the puzzle?
The answer came sooner than he expected. Cruz was still talking to people loitering around Jesus Saves. Had they seen or heard anything about Angie? How late had she worked last night? The blowsy blonde, Sharon Fasser, claimed she knew nothing and clearly had decided to be unhelpful.
Slater rang through while Cruz continued to ask questions. “Good news from Sac County,” he said.
“It’s about time for some good news.”
“Their M.E. did a complete autopsy after a little pressure from homicide division. The homeless woman they found in Battery Hill Park was missing both kidneys.”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah, and according to the coroner after examining her lungs and other internal organs, she was unhealthy, probably well into the final stage of cirrhosis.”
“So the kidneys would be no good.”
“Yep.”
“I’ll bet someone is royally pissed off about that,” Cruz mused aloud.
“Yeah, enough to kill because of it,” Slater agreed.
“And how does that death fit into the overall scheme?” Cruz asked. “We’ve got to talk to someone we can trust at the prison. Walt Steiner?”
“The visitation officer at Pelican Bay?”
“Yeah, Frankie trusts him.”
“Not sure it’s wise to trust anyone right now,” Slater muttered as he hung up.
Chapter 51
The killer saw from the scuffed dirt on the cave’s floor that she’d crawled from the spot he’d dropped her, back toward the entry. She lay unconscious near the mouth of the cave. He looked around, wondering if anyone could see the opening this far up.
Bitch!