She wanted to argue with her sister, but that would only waste time. Instead, she squeezed Savannah’s arm once more before approaching the back door. It was splintered at the lock. Someone had pried it open.
Troopers were in the kitchen. One of them directed her to the back of the house. Avery walked through the living room on hollow legs. She took a deep breath, settling her emotions, before crossing the threshold into the master bedroom. Bedsheets were tangled and hanging from the bed. Items from the nightstand—a cell phone, a lamp, and a romance book—were scattered across the carpet. Grady and Weston turned as she entered, their conversation abruptly ending. Both men wore grim expressions.
“He attacked her while she was sleeping,” Avery said. “That’s consistent with Marianne Jenkins.”
“Yes,” Grady said. His jaw tightened. “It appears she was taken sometime earlier this evening. The neighbor spotted the back door open an hour ago and called it in.”
Avery’s chest tightened. Photographs lined the top of the dresser. She moved closer and Weston joined her. He pointed to a pretty dark-haired woman with a wide smile and a high forehead. “That’s Rachel.”
“The picture was taken during her first international trip last year,” Savannah said from the doorway. The color had returned to her face. “She went to Spain. It was one of her lifelong dreams—”
Avery’s cell phone rang, cutting Savannah off. She fished it from her back pocket. The number was blocked. “Hello.”
“Avery, we finally get the chance to speak. I’ve waited so long.”
A cold shiver ran down her spine. The caller was using a voice distorter, but the words were still clear. She waved a hand to hush everyone in the room and put the call on speaker. “Who is this?”
“You know exactly who this is. Normally I would never talk during a chess game, but we’re in between moves, so it’s permissible.” He paused. “Watching my television is very enlightening. I see from the news you’ve figured out Rachel is missing.”
Her heart leapt into her throat and a sick feeling twisted her stomach. Grady was already whispering to someone on his cell phone, no doubt attempting to trace the call. Weston used his own phone to record the conversation and waved his finger in a circular motion to indicate she should keep talking.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Ahhh, that is the question, isn’t it? Poor Avery. Must be hard for you. Not knowing why you’ve been selected to play the game with me.”
She kept her tone conversational. “Enlighten me then.”
“It’s simple,” he said. “Your father and mine were adversaries. Their battle ended in a shootout, and your father killed mine. I want a rematch.”
Avery mind raced. Was he talking about Jack Starin? Had to be. Her father had only used deadly force once during his career. But they’d done a search on Jack and hadn’t uncovered any children. “What’s your father’s name?”
“Tsk, tsk, Avery. You don’t expect me to do all the work for you. I’ve given you a clue to run down. I’m sure you can take it from there.”
She sensed he was about to hang up. Panic set in. Had Grady managed to trace the call? Think, think.
“How do I know you’re the Chessmaster?” Avery asked, stalling.
“I thought you might ask for proof,” he said. The distorted voice was creepy. “Rachel, dear, give a shout so Avery knows it’s you.”
A woman’s terrified scream came over the line, distinct and clear since the voice distorter had been switched off. The woman muttered some incoherent words before screaming again. It iced Avery’s blood. “Stop! Stop hurting her.”
The scream cut off. Savannah swayed, her face pale, and Weston wrapped his arm around her waist to hold her up. Avery met her sister’s eyes. Savannah nodded, her expression stark, answering Avery’s silent question. The woman was Rachel.
“Do you see me now, Avery?” the Chessmaster whispered. “Do you understand?”
She shook, her hand gripping the phone so tightly it was a wonder she didn’t snap the thing in two. “If you want me, then come and get me. Let Rachel go. This is between us.”
He let out a breath that whispered over the line. “Soon, Avery. Very soon.”
Fifteen
Rain pattered against the window in Avery’s office, as she escorted Greg Kilbourne to the door. The interview had eaten an hour of her time, and she was anxious to have it over with. Her entire morning had been spent dealing with the dean, arranging for the open house, and talking to reporters. The rangers were tackling the murders, but every minute in the search for Rachel counted.
Avery opened her office door. “The dean is expecting you in his office. I can have an officer escort you.”
“No need.” Greg smirked. “I know the way. You have your hands full between the murders and the open house kicking off this afternoon.”
Avery had delegated security of the open house to her deputy chief. He was capable of handling the event, although it left her shorthanded in the murder investigation. Frustration nipped at her, and she had the sense Greg knew it.
Weston came out of the break room and joined them. Greg shook his hand before heading to the front of the station.
“Something about that guy bugs me,” Avery muttered, once Greg was out of earshot.
“Me too.” Weston rocked on his heels. “Some reporters have a sense of conscience, but I get the impression Greg isn’t one of them.”
“No, he isn’t.” She went back into her office. Weston followed, and she shut the door behind him. “But Greg’s agreed to hold back the notes, along with the handmade bracelets each woman was wearing. In exchange, I agreed to admit the two murders and this recent abduction are related. He’s going to run a full-page spread and give interviews with local news stations. I pray the increased attention will yield some new leads.”
“Every little bit helps,” Weston said, setting
