The Scum of All Fears: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 5 Read online

  I’d found out the officer’s name was Bobby Newell, he’d been on the force for a year, and he had a very anxious girlfriend who worried about him doing police work. He had closely cropped hair, a shiny complexion, and a Roman nose. We’d offered him a burger. He’d accepted, but he’d sat in his car with the AC on to eat. Smart man.

  As everyone got lost in his or her conversations (or their computers), I turned to Riley, realizing we might have a moment alone to talk. “So, how did the task force meeting go?” I’d been dying to know.

  Riley flipped another burger. “I’m not sure I learned anything new, per se. We’re on a deadline. We have a ticking time bomb, if you will.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Jones always gave his victims six days to live. That was more than enough time to . . .” Riley shook his head, as if realizing he didn’t need to spell it out. “Anyway, Nichole was taken yesterday. We have to find her before he kills her.”

  “You sound pretty confident it was Jones.”

  “We’re operating on the assumption that it was, that somehow he got to Virginia. The details of how he got here aren’t as important at this point as finding Nichole is.”

  “How was she abducted?”

  He closed the grill. Sweat sprinkled across his forehead and wet the back of his T-shirt. “In her bedroom. He somehow unlocked the door, snuck into the house, and grabbed her.”

  “No one heard anything?”

  “Not a sound.”

  I lifted up a prayer for the woman and her family. What an awful man to encounter. What an awful situation to live through . . . or die because of.

  I shuddered.

  I remembered talking to Jones on the porch of that house.

  I remembered his voice on the radio.

  I remembered the articles that had detailed what he’d done to his victims.

  I wasn’t one to get easily creeped out, but I was feeling a little freaked right now.

  “Anyone know how Jones managed to make it across country?” I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it. “I mean, I know you said those details aren’t as important as finding Nichole, but could he have really done that without help?”

  “They’re trying to follow his trail now. Apparently, and I know this sounds cliché, but he somehow jumped on a train. From what authorities can tell, he got off in Colorado and stole a car. He drove all night. Stole someone’s wallet and cell phone in Missouri. He kept driving until he got here.”

  “As soon as he escaped, he came right for you.” Another shudder trickled down my spine. “It sounds like ya got trouble in Norfolk City.”

  “A Music Man reference? Now?” His eyes sparkled with amusement.

  I shrugged. “I know. But musicals always trump reality.”

  Riley took the burgers and dogs off the grill, placed them in an aluminum tray, and dinner began. We all settled down at the picnic table, trying our best not to get splinters, and piled our plates high with food.

  Rose seemed to take her role as host very seriously. She told us about how she’d moved here from Florida and that she’d lived in this area as a child. She rambled on about her collection of spoons. Then she talked about building her own snorkel so she could dive into Lake Drummond as a child. Apparently, her family spent time boating there and she’d been bored out of her mind.

  I knew about two of her ex-husbands, how she hated anything with celery in it, and how she once followed the Grateful Dead for a summer. She also told us that she flipped houses for a living. I was actually grateful that she was carrying the conversation, because I didn’t feel like doing it. Thankfully, no one brought up Jones.

  But as we were cleaning up, Bill pulled me aside and slipped me something.

  A gun.

  “What’s this for?” I asked. I glanced around, making sure no one else was looking, before sliding it into my purse.

  “I’ve got several. I thought you could use one.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about guns. I’d never owned one before. I’d never even shot one. Normally, I might argue and say I didn’t need it.

  But, with Milton Jones on the loose, maybe I did need it, I realized.

  I nodded “thank you” and continued to clean up.

  ***

  After the cookout, I stopped by The Grounds again to get one of Sharon’s chocolate chip cookies. Riley grabbed a butterscotch scone and retreated to a corner table to do some paperwork, so I leaned against the counter to talk to Sharon.

  “Clarice is staying with me tonight,” she muttered. “Apparently, she and her mother had a disagreement.”

  “Aren’t you lucky?”

  Sharon shook her head. “I know way more about designer clothes than I ever wanted to know.”

  “She’s not all that bad, you know. We all put on fronts sometimes, wear our little masks that we think should fit us.”

  Sharon paused and cocked an eyebrow. “That’s a change of heart.”

  I shrugged. “She’s just trying to figure life out. Most of us did at her age.”

  Sharon nodded toward Riley and lowered her voice. “What’s the word on your job?”

  This was not a subject I wanted to talk about. I had to tread carefully. “The interview is tomorrow.”

  “You’re going to take the position if they offer it to you. Right?”

  I pulled up my shoulders, which felt stiff and tight. “I don’t know yet.”

  “I’m telling you—you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

  I leaned closer. “Why are you so sure about that?”

  She shrugged this time. “Experience.”

  Now that she mentioned it, I really didn’t know that much about her past. Mostly, I’d just knew her as the pink haired lady who owned The Grounds, gave me free lattes, and offered a listening ear when I needed it. “Someone really hurt you, huh?”

  She frowned, and I knew I’d guessed correctly. “I was married once. I gave up everything to be with him. In fact, that’s how I got to this area. I grew up in Seattle, but my ex got some IT job out here that was supposed to secure a financial future for us.”

  “What happened?”

  “He started working all the time. Then his new job didn’t pan out. He was unemployed for more than a year.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “I started working as a secretary.”

  “A secretary?” I blurted. Of all the things I could see Sharon doing, being a secretary wasn’t one of them. She was too unconventional.

  “It’s true. I had been working as a graphic artist. I tried to get my old job back so we could move to Seattle again, but the position had already been filled. My husband and I ended up getting divorced, I worked that lousy office job for five more years. Finally, I decided to open this place.”

  “How’d your sister get out here?”

  “Her husband left her too, so she moved out here to be closer to me a few years back.”

  I looked around The Grounds. “At least you had your happy ending, right? You have this place.”

  She locked gazes with me. “I remember feeling small. I remember feeling like I was a second-class citizen in our relationship. No one should ever feel like that. That’s why I feel so strongly that you should make the decision that’s best for you, not the one that’s best for your relationship. I still resent my ex to this day for making me come out here.”

  I bit back another sigh. I did not want to end up resenting Riley. Were Sharon’s words true?

  I hoped not. I really hoped not.

  ***

  I checked all of my locks several times before finally going to bed. I made a mental checklist as I laid in bed.

  Locks latched? Check.

  Windows secure? Check.

  House phone under pillow? Check.

  Gun in nightstand? Check.

  Officer stationed outside of apartment? Check.

  I had no reason not to sleep. Every base was covered.

  Right?

  Now my
body was demanding rest.

  Back when I first started cleaning crime scenes, I would have worked all day and all night if I had to. But I still needed a vacation from my vacation the week before. This whole psycho-killer-on-the-loose thing was wearing me down emotionally. Then there were the messages at the crime scenes and a potential second crazy person out there.

  So, against all odds, when my head hit the pillow, I was out.

  Until I awoke with a start.

  Something had been tugging at me from my tumultuous dreams. Some kind of feeling that something wasn’t right. Some fear that started in my gut and rose to my brain with the force of a puck flying upward toward the bell after a strongman smashed into the lever.

  My eyes jolted open. Sickly fear invaded my every pore. Sweat covered my forehead.

  Someone was on top of me. His hand covered my mouth. His other hand restrained my arms, pinning me down. His body straddled me.

  Slowly, surely, a face came into focus.

  Milton Jones.

  CHAPTER 10

  I wanted to scream. My mouth was muffled.

  I wanted to run. But I was trapped.

  I wanted to fight. My limbs felt frozen.

  Jones leaned down until I could feel his breath on my cheek. An odd, earthy smell spread like a vapor into my nostrils. He said nothing for a minute.

  All I could hear was his breathing. There were no other sounds. Not the AC blowing. Not rowdy college kids out walking the streets. Not annoying dogs barking at nothing.

  Just Milton Jones.

  Just my heart beating erratically.

  I soaked in Jones’ features. His hair was short, shaved close to his head. He didn’t wear glasses this time or a weird trucker’s hat. No, Milton Jones looked like any good neighbor you could imagine having.

  That thought made him even scarier.

  “Hello, Gabby,” he finally said.

  Something about his voice ignited something in me. I began thrashing. I jerked myself back and forth, trying to get away. It was useless. The man probably weighed twice as much as me, and I had no leverage.

  The gun.

  I strained to reach my nightstand, tried to figure out a way to grab my weapon. Tried to conjure a way to grasp my phone. To scream. To do something!

  He pressed down so hard that my teeth ached from the pressure. His hand smelled dirty. It felt calloused. It made it hard for me to get my breath.

  “You mean the world to Riley, don’t you?” he whispered. His eyes were wide, crazed, too excited.

  A sickly feeling trickled down my spine.

  “He’s going to pay, you know.”

  I stared up at him. The man looked truly evil. His eyes appeared absent of a soul. He delighted in fear. That made him a monster.

  But there was more. There was vengeance in the depth of his gaze. That made him even worse than a monster.

  “Give him a message for me. Getting even will never be as fun. Understand?”

  I continued to stare.

  “Understand?” He pressed on my mouth so hard I thought my teeth would break off.

  Finally, I nodded. The intensity left his eyes, and he smiled. “Good girl.” His finger traced my jaw line. “You’re a pretty one. It’s too bad you’re going to have to die.”

  Fear rushed through me, causing my body to ache.

  I had to think, and I had to think quickly. He could kill me. I was powerless. Immobilized. Those were two things I hated being reduced to.

  Despite that, I waited for him to pull out a knife, a gun, and to carry out his threat.

  Instead, he slipped off me and slithered out the door.

  I laid there for a moment, my heart pounding, the air barely reaching my lungs.

  Then I came to my senses.

  I lunged from my bed, grabbed the gun from my nightstand, and my phone from under my pillow. I darted through the hallway just in time to see Milton Jones disappear from my Great Room window.

  He wasn’t going to get away that easily. Oh no. Not when my nightmares could end right here and now.

  I shoved the gun into my waistband and dialed 911, never easing from the chase. I climbed out the window and onto my fire escape. Below, I saw Jones reach the ground with a thump.

  I explained to the operator who I was and what had happened. Hopefully she’d alert the officer outside of my apartment.

  Just then, I stepped on a piece of glass and yelped. I’d had no time to grab my shoes. I ignored the pain and continued down the stairs. They squeaked and groaned with each step.

  I reached the last landing and jumped down to the grass. I winced when my foot hit the ground. I hobbled forward, desperate to keep moving.

  Jones headed toward the street.

  I snatched the gun from my waist. I stared at Jones. There was no way I could catch him, not with the way my foot was screaming with pain. Not with the roots and gumballs and pinecones that stretched between the serial killer and me.

  I aimed the gun. I didn’t have time to think about legalities and being arrested or if I knew what I was doing. I pointed the barrel of the gun toward Jones.

  The metal shook in my hand. My finger ached on the trigger.

  Pull it, Gabby. Just pull it!

  My finger wouldn’t budge, though.

  Jones threw me a glance, almost taunting me, like he knew I couldn’t take another life. Then he jumped into a white sedan, and the car squealed down the street.

  Someone else had been driving. Jones was working with someone. My suspicions were confirmed.

  But was that person just a driver or was this person involved with his murderous scheme as well?

  ***

  Officer Newell rounded the building. I pointed to the sedan zooming down the road. “Jones. Getting away. Go!”

  He nodded and took off.

  Riley appeared the next second. He grasped my arms, his gaze intense. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  I pointed in the distance, not caring about my aching foot at the moment. “That was Milton Jones.”

  He took the gun from my hands, his eyes wide and his lips parted. “When did you get a gun?”

  My hands trembled as reality hit fast. Milton Jones had been in my apartment. Should I have pulled the trigger and ended this whole nightmare? If someone died at his hands, would their blood be on me?

  “Gabby?”

  I shook my head, trying to get a handle on the large, overwhelming emotions that fought to overtake me. I suddenly knew what Nichole had felt like when she’d awoken in the middle of the night.

  She’d been terrified.

  More terrified than any scary movie could ever prepare you for.

  More terrified than you could imagine in your worst nightmares.

  More terrified than any person ever should be.

  Riley pulled me into his arms. He stroked my hair. Rocked me back and forth.

  He mumbled things I couldn’t understand, but I was pretty sure they were something like, “It’s going to be okay,” “I’m so sorry,” and “You have cheesy toes.”

  Okay, maybe not the cheesy toes one. I hoped not.

  My heart still raced as the reality of what had almost just happened settled in.

  Jones could have killed me if he’d wanted to. But that hadn’t been his plan. No, he wanted to send a message. He wanted to send fear.

  People like that wanted to have a certain amount of control in people’s lives. Simply killing me would have been too easy; it wouldn’t have been as much fun as making me constantly look over my shoulder, wondering when he’d strike. Wondering what he would do.

  He wasn’t going to win, though. I was going to prove myself stronger than any of his threats, if it was the last thing I did.

  That’s right. “Girl on Fire” would be my theme song. When I got tired of that tune, I’d turn up “Eye of the Tiger” and start practicing some boxing moves Rocky Balboa style.

  Because I wasn’t going down without a fight.

  ***

>   A team of investigators had shown up and was now meeting in Riley’s apartment. The small space seemed to be becoming an unofficial headquarters for this investigation. It was a good thing Riley always kept it nice and tidy.

  Still, my chest felt tight and my thoughts were heavy. Milton Jones had gotten away. I’d desperately hoped that the officer had gotten a license plate number, at least. But he hadn’t.

  We were no closer now than we were two days ago. I should have pulled that trigger.

  Detective Adams and L.A. Detective Dale Warren wanted me to review what had happened with them again. Riley stayed beside me, holding my hand, squeezing it every so often. My foot, now bandaged with no serious injuries, was propped on the coffee table.

  Halfway through my recounting of what had happened, Parker showed up. Of course.

  I’d known there was a great possibility that the feds would be called in. Out of the agents who worked at the local FBI field office, why did it always have to be Parker who showed up when I was in trouble?

  “I’m a local liaison for the task force,” he told me. “Why is it that every big case I get to work, you’re somehow involved with it?”

  “That’s an excellent question. I promise that this time, I was minding my own business when trouble found me.”

  He nodded. “I see.”

  He totally wasn’t convinced. I could see it in his eyes.

  Parker and I had an interesting relationship, much of it built on the infamous love/hate emotions. We either got along swimmingly or like cats and dogs. He looked like Brad Pitt, so when we’d first met I’d been willing to overlook his arrogance. But relationships built solely on physical attraction never went anywhere.

  Riley extended his hand and offered a cordial greeting to Parker. I wasn’t sure if it was simply my imagination—maybe I was seeing what I wanted to see—but I always thought there was tension between the men.