The Third Victim Part 54

Quincy was not the kind of man who would settle for less. d.a.m.n him for grabbing her like that, making her breath catch in her throat and her stomach turn tiny flip-flops.

One more inch and her body would've been pressed against his. She could've run her hands all over the lines of his face. She could've felt the steel bands of his arms and legs. She could've been just a woman and he could've been just a man and maybe that would've been easier in the end.

She could've crept out of the room the minute he fell asleep. Some habits were hard to break.

Rainie went back inside. She found every picture of her mother that she owned. She turned them all facedown. It still wasn't enough.

Tonight she didn't think anything could be enough.

She finally curled up on the sofa, fully dressed and desperately needing sleep. She was thinking of Quincy again and his intense gaze.

She was thinking of Charlie Kenyon and Danny O'grady and all the things that wouldn't give her peace.

She finally fell asleep.

And an hour later she woke up screaming. She was on the floor and her mother's body was splayed out in front of her and someone was standing on her back deck staring in at her. The man in black! The man in black!

Rainie bolted for her bedroom. She needed a gun. The CSU had taken her Clock .40. She tore through her closet until she found her old 9 mm in a s...o...b..x, then went storming out into the night. But the deck was clear and the air was cold and it was all in her mind after all. No man. No intruder. Just the lingering effects of a very bad dream.

She went back inside shakily. She kept her 9 mm. She curled up with an afghan. And she stared at the white ceiling of her family room and willed the blood to stay away.

You're too smart to be doing this to yourself, Rainie.

But apparently she wasn't, for the night went on and on.

She finally fell asleep around five. At six-thirty, the phone woke her up, ringing shrilly. Sandy O'grady sounded frantic on the other end.

"I have to talk to the FBI agent," Sandy said at once. Oh G.o.d, Rainie, I don't know what else to do."

Rainie got up to face another day.

Twenty minutes later, walking out to her patrol car, she found a note tucked under her windshield wipers. It said:

Die, b.i.t.c.h.

She crumpled it up and threw it away. Friday, May 18, 7:18 a.m.

Ed Flanders had been a bartender for thirty-five years. He hadn't meant to do that. In the beginning it had been just a gig, a mindless summer job that would let him hit on girls while making a ton of money in tips. He was pa.s.sing down the Oregon coast on his way to L.A."

where he was going to make it big. Hanging out in Seaside to catch a community play, he'd first seen the Help Wanted sign and decided what the hey.

It had been a long time since.

In the beginning, he told himself he stayed for his art. Seaside had a decent community theater program and enough tourists pa.s.sing through to make it worthwhile. Each summer he'd audition for a lead role and work on building his resume. Then, when he never moved beyond parts such as Peasant #3, he told himself he stayed for the money. A bartender could make a little dough during the wild summer months. Then he told himself he stayed for the benefits, because he'd finally hit thirty and realized the true joy of a good HMO. Truth was, he'd met Jenny by then and, stick a fork in him, he was done.

Next thing Ed Flanders knew, several decades had pa.s.sed, he was now a grandpa and pretty little Jenny was still the love of his life.

Ed Flanders didn't have any complaints.

Until two days ago. That man, coming into the bar and ordering his buffalo wings. That man, getting Darren all riled up, though G.o.d knows it didn't take much anymore.

That man, talking about those poor little girls and all the things that had gone wrong over in Bakersville.

Ed Flanders had met a lot of people in his time, and that man bothered him.

Not the questions, he decided after a bit. Everyone in town was talking about the shooting that happened just an hour and a half away.

Some people claimed to know Shep personally. Lots of people had some sort of family Oh, people talked about the shooting, all right. In the bars, in the churches, in the streets.

But not that many locals, let alone strangers, went around spouting some junior officer's name. Lori .. . Liz .. . Lorraine. Lorraine Conner. She wasn't even the one on TV. That was the mayor, and some state guy named Sanders.

So how'd this guy know Conner's name like that?

And worse, why did Ed Flanders think he'd seen the guy before?

Something about the eyes, or maybe it was the nose. Take away the years, maybe soften the hair .. .

d.a.m.n, he couldn't quite place the face.

That strange, uncomfortable man who had walked into his bar and made everything wrong.

Ed didn't like him. Didn't trust him. He just didn't know what to do about that yet.

Back in the hotel room, the man finally allowed himself to collapse.

d.a.m.n, he was tired. The pace of the last few days, the things he still had to get done .. . People who thought murder was easy had obviously never tried it.

The man fished around in his pockets until he dug up a cellophane wrapper of pills. He ripped it open with his hands and downed four herbal diet pills, one after another, then poured a gla.s.s of water. The caffeine made him a little light-headed, but he needed the pick-me-up.

Lots of things done, lots of things left to do.

Last night he'd almost botched the whole affair. Lorraine Conner had looked so wiped out when she'd finally returned home, it had never dawned on him she'd wake up. One minute he thought he'd safely made it from her bedroom closet to the back deck, the next she was flying off the couch like some banshee.

Holy s.h.i.t, he'd barely cleared the deck railing in time. Even then he'd been about to crash through the woods like a maniac, when something about her movements drew him up cold. She was acting stilted, surreal, looking at things that weren't even there. A second later he figured it out. She was still asleep, chasing some phantom in her twisted dreams.

Maybe he'd triggered something. Maybe night turned her into a raving loon. h.e.l.l if he knew. He'd taken cover in his normal spot and simply waited her out. After another moment she'd gone back into the house and he'd been free and clear.

He'd gotten a little giddy after that. He even remembered laughing, one of those high-pitched sounds like you hear in movies. He'd have to watch that. Can't lose control.

Not just yet.

Today, after all, was the funeral. And then .. .

He was a very smart man. Someday soon Lorraine Conner would get to appreciate that.

Lorraine Conner, Pierce Quincy, Shep O'grady, and little Becky.

Now this, he told his old man silently, this is how you have some fun. Friday, May 18, 7:53 a.m.

"Danny called me this morning. I know it was him." Sandy O'grady sat on a metal folding chair in the task force's HQ, twisting her hands on her lap and trying very hard to sound calm.

"I could hear clanging in the background and people talking.

Inst.i.tutional noises. But the caller was silent. I said, "Danny, I know it's you. Please talk to me, Danny. I love you."

"What did Danny say?" Quincy asked. He was sitting in a chair beside her, impeccably dressed, which immediately made her think of Mitch, her boss. She pushed the thought to the back of her head.