One of the Web site’s features was the “Lil’ General’s Top Ten List,” including a note from the CEO of WH Enterprises. Tully knew what he’d find before he scrolled down to see the message ending with, “Happy hunting, General Walker Harding.”
Tully paced the conference room, walking from window to window. Walker Harding may have been going blind, but he sure as hell could see now. How else could he run a computer business like this one? How else could he be at each crime scene, helping his old pal, Albert Stucky?
“Son of a bitch,” Tully said out loud. O’Dell had been right. The two men were working together. Maybe they were still competing in some new game of horror. Whatever it was, there was no denying the evidence. Walker Harding’s fingerprints matched those found on the Dumpster with Jessica Beckwith’s body. They matched the umbrella in Kansas City, and they matched the prints left on the whirlpool bath at the house on Archer Drive.
Earlier, the Maryland authorities had finally confirmed that there was a large two-story house and several wooden shacks on the property. All government buildings had been bulldozed before the sale. The rest of the property, Tully was informed, was surrounded on three sides by water and covered with trees and rock. There were no roads except a dirt path that led to the house. No electrical lines or telephone cables had been brought in from the outside. The new owner used a large generator system left behind by the government. The place sounded like a recluse’s dream come true and a madman’s paradise. Why hadn’t he realized sooner that, of course, WH Enterprises would belong to Walker Harding?
Tully checked his wristwatch. He needed to make some phone calls. He needed to concentrate. He took several deep breaths, dug the exhaustion out from under his glasses and picked up the phone. The waiting was over, but he dreaded telling Agent O’Dell. Would this be the final thread to unravel her already frayed mental state?
CHAPTER 66
Tess woke slowly, painfully. Her body ached. Her head throbbed. Something held her down. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t open her eyes again, the lids were too heavy. Her mouth felt dry, her throat was raw on the inside as well as the outside. She was thirsty and ran her tongue over her lips, alarmed when she tasted blood.
She forced her eyes open and strained against the shackles that clamped her wrists and ankles to the small cot. She recognized the inside of the shack, could feel its dampness and smell its musty odor. She twisted, trying to free herself. She felt a scratchy blanket beneath her and that’s when she realized she was naked. Panic rushed through her insides, shoving against the walls of her body. A scream stuck in her throat, but nothing came out except a gasp of air. That was enough, however, to send a scrape of pain down her throat as though she were swallowing razor blades.
She settled down, trying to calm herself, trying to think before terror took control of her mind. She no longer had control over her body, but no one would control her mind. It was a painful lesson she had learned from her aunt and uncle. No matter what they did to her body, no matter how many times her aunt had banished her to the dark cellar or how many times her uncle had shoved himself inside her, she had retained control over her mind. It was the ultimate defense. It was her only defense.
Yet, when she heard the locks to the door clicking open, Tess felt the terror clawing at the flimsy barricades to her mind.
CHAPTER 67
Maggie swerved around slower-moving traffic, trying to keep her foot from pushing the accelerator to the floor. Her heart hadn’t stopped ramming against her chest since Tully’s phone call. All the anger she had accessed in Kernan’s office had been converted to sheer panic. It no longer ticked quietly like a time bomb. Instead, it pressed against her rib cage like some heavy weight being lowered, little by little, threatening to crush her.
She knew Walker Harding was involved. It made sense that Stucky would call on his old pal. Though she still had a difficult time believing Stucky would allow anyone to help, even his expartner—unless the two men were competing at some bizarre game. And from Tully’s description of Harding’s new entrepreneurial venture, it seemed more than possible that he was capable of the same sort of twisted, perverted evil as Stucky was.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and rolled down the window. The breeze whipped through the car’s interior, bringing with it the fumes of exhaust and the scent of pine trees.
Dr. Kernan had said she shouldn’t think so much—just trust. All her life she had felt as if she was the only person she could trust. There was no one else. Did he understand how incredibly frustrating, how…hell, why not admit it?—how frightening it was to think she could no longer trust the one person she had trusted her whole life? That she could no longer trust herself?
She had a B.A. in criminal psychology, and a master’s in behavioral psychology. She knew all about the shadow side, and she knew it existed in everyone. There were plenty of experts who debated the fine line between good and evil and they all hoped to explain why some people choose evil, while others choose good. What was the determining factor? Did anyone really know?
“Trust in yourself,” Kernan had told her. And that the decisions she made in a split second would somehow reveal her true self.
What kind of psychobabble was that? What if her true self really was her shadow side? What if her true self was capable of Stucky’s blend of evil? She couldn’t help thinking that all it would take was a split second for her to aim and fire one bullet right between those black eyes. She no longer wanted to capture him, to stop Albert Stucky. She wanted him to pay. She wanted—no, she needed—to see fear in those evil eyes. The same kind of fear she felt in that Miami warehouse when he cut her abdomen. The same fear she felt every night when darkness came and sleep would not.
Stucky had made this a personal war between the two of them. He had made her an accomplice to his murders, making her feel as though she had handpicked each woman for his disposal. If he had somehow managed to coerce Walker Harding into his game of horror, then there were now two of them who needed to be destroyed.
She glanced at the map spread out on the passenger seat. The toll bridge was about fifty miles from Quantico. Tully was still making arrangements. It would take several hours before he had everything ready according to his careful, by-the-book standards. There would be more waiting. They’d be lucky to make it to Harding’s property by nightfall. Tully was expecting her back at Quantico in the next ten to fifteen minutes. Up ahead a sign indicated that her exit was just ten miles away.
She pulled out her cell phone and slowed the car to the speed limit, allowing her to maneuver more easily with one hand on the steering wheel. She punched in the number and waited.
“Dr. Gwen Patterson.”
“Gwen, it’s Maggie.”
“You sound like you’re on the road.”
“Yes, I am. Just coming back from D.C. Can you hear me okay?”
“Little bit of static, but not bad. You were in D.C.? You should have stopped in. We could have done lunch.”
“Sorry, no time. Look, Gwen, you know how you’re always saying I never ask anything of my friends? Well, I need a favor.”
“Wait a minute. Who did you say this was?”
“Very funny.” Maggie smiled, surprised she was able to amidst all the internal tension. “I know it’s out of your way, but could you check on Harvey this evening—let him out, feed him…all those dog things that a real dog owner normally does?”
“You’re off fighting serial killers, and you’re still worried about Harvey. I’d say you already sound like a dog owner. Yes, I will stop and spend some quality time with Harvey. Actually, that’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time as far as spending an evening with a male companion goes.”
