Twisted (37 page)

“I was about to call you,” the computer tracer said. “I ran down Edgar Moss—DMV records, utilities, the works. Came up dry.”

“He goes by Ed Moss, too. Did you try—”

“I tried all of it. What I’m working on now is the geoprofile. If you pull the van out of the equation, now that we know it was borrowed, we lose specific addresses, but I’m getting a big red hot zone in the rural area southwest of Waynesboro.”

They were driving through that area right now—low hills and ranch land as far as the eye could see.

“We need something more specific,” Mark told him as Jonah’s phone buzzed beside him. Mark darted him a look, but he checked the caller ID and shook his head. Not Allison.

“Keep looking,” Mark told Ben. “This guy’s got to make a living somehow. There’s a record of him somewhere. You tried construction? Paint?”

“Checked everything with an online presence, but you know some of those outfits are just a guy and a truck.”

“Find me the truck, then.” Mark clicked off. He could see from Jonah’s face that his call wasn’t good news.

“What?”

“Dispatch had a call from Allison about an hour and a half ago,” Jonah said. “She was running a vehicle plate.”

“And?”

“Tag she requested comes up as a white Dodge van, registered to Erika Phelps.”

A white van. Mark pounded his fist on the door. This was exactly what he’d feared. She was out there alone, following up on some lead.

“Registration’s expired,” Jonah continued. “Dallas address, which doesn’t help us right now. No one’s heard from Allison since that call.”

“What about the GPS on her unit?”

“She’s in the pickup.”

Mark cursed again. He stared grimly ahead at the highway as the new information sank in. Ed Moss was at large after his latest attack, and Allison had been tailing a white van when she suddenly fell off the radar.

“Any chance she’s mad at you?”

Mark looked at him.

“Maybe this isn’t about work.”

The suggestion set Mark’s teeth on edge, but the man had a point.

“Let me have your phone.”

Jonah passed it over, and Mark called her again, hoping desperately that this
was
personal—that she wasn’t answering because she’d decided wanted nothing to do with him, not because she was in trouble. But the call went to voice mail.

“We need to talk to Damien,” Mark said tightly, handing the phone back. Silence settled over the car, and he stared out the window. Somewhere out there was Allison.

“You know, she would’ve got on the task force anyway. She’s a little pit bull when she wants something.”

Mark looked at him. He remembered her showing up at his motel that first night, demanding to hear about Stephanie Snow. It wasn’t even her case then. But would she have elbowed her way onto it if he hadn’t pushed? He’d needed an ally, and he’d zeroed in on an eager young detective with a need to prove herself.

If anything happened to her now, it would be Mark’s fault. He’d involved her in this. He’d put her at risk for the sake of the case.

Jonah’s phone buzzed again. He talked for a few moments, and Mark could tell it was more bad news.

“Okay, hold on.” Jonah muted the phone. “It’s a buddy of mine at the jail giving me a heads-up. The meeting just let out and they’re kicking Moss loose for lack of evidence.”

“When?”

“They’re doing his paperwork right now.”

Mark looked at his watch. He looked ahead at the highway. Even with Jonah pushing ninety in the unmarked police unit, they were still ten minutes away.

“Want me to try and stall them?” Jonah asked.

Mark looked at the rushing landscape. He thought about Allison alone with Ed Moss.

“Get a list of Damien’s personal effects when they booked him into jail,” Mark said.

“He wasn’t carrying ID.”

“Have your buddy read the list out.”

Jonah made the request. A tense silence filled the car.

Mark thought of Allison warm in his bed last night.
He thought of that ambulance speeding away with Lauren Reichs inside, holding on by a thread.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Jonah looked at Mark. “One leather belt. One pair athletic shoes. One plastic comb.” He paused. “Sixteen dollars cash. One pack Camel cigarettes. One disposable lighter. One cell phone. What’s that?” Another pause. “Okay, cell phone is the throwaway kind.”

“What about car keys?” Mark asked.

“No car keys.”

“Have your buddy toss the smokes,” Mark said. “And tell him to call us as soon as Moss leaves.”

Mark leaned against a graffiti-covered wall of the gas station and waited. With each minute that ticked by, his brain invented more twisted scenarios. Not for the first time, he regretted knowing the mind-numbing depths to which people could sink. Mark’s fists clenched at his sides and he thought about how it would feel to wrap his hands around Edgar Moss’s neck.

Cars and pickups glided up to the pumps, bought fuel, and continued on their way. Gasoline fumes hung in the air and sounds from the nearby lube joint echoed off the pavement, reminding Mark of his father’s garage. He’d spent most of his adult life trying to forget about that place, but right now it helped to remember it. He needed the right mix of rage and control and was surprised to learn that his dad’s example was good for something.

Mark felt the anger pulsing through his veins. He was on the precipice again, looking out over the abyss. He was in danger of losing all those things he’d struggled to build for himself, all those things that made him different from his father, but he honestly didn’t care. The only thing he cared about at this moment was Allison.

The phone sounded, and he snapped it to his ear.

“He’s coming down the steps,” Jonah said.

“North or east?”

“North. Crossing the street. Looks like he’s headed my direction—whoa. Nix that. Think he spotted my vehicle. He’s headed to you.”

Mark scanned the sidewalk until the man came into view.

“Got him,” Mark said, and hung up.

Damien Moss approached the gas station. His gait was sloppy, careless. He walked like a man who had nowhere to be and not much reason to make an effort.

Mark made his breathing even. He waited beside the ice machine with his arms loose at his sides. Damien reached for the door, and Mark stepped out. Recognition flickered in his eyes as Mark clamped a hand on the back of his neck.

“Picking up some smokes, Damien?”

“Hey, what the fuck? They just let me go.”

Mark dug his fingers in like meat hooks and steered him around the corner of the building. “We’re not done yet.”

Damien glanced around and quickly registered they were alone. His gaze darted to Mark’s gun. He decided to play it cool and slouched against the wall.

“You got questions, ask my lawyer.”

“This one’s for you.” Mark stepped forward, forcing him to stand up straighter. “I’m looking for Edgar. Where is he?”

He stared back at Mark blankly.

“Damien?”

A shrug.

“I know you’ve seen him. And I know you lent him your boss’s van last year.”

He looked blank.

“Tell you something else, Damien. We’ve got a policewoman missing, and I think your brother knows where she is.”

Another shrug.

“And I think
you
know where your brother is. See how this works? You help me, I help her.”

The corner of his mouth curled up in a smile. “If Ed’s got her, there’s no help for her.”

Mark gazed into those insolent blue eyes. Then he looked away at an empty parking lot. “Maybe you’re right.”

He jammed a knee into the man’s gut. Damien crumpled forward, gripping his stomach. He swung out with a wild right hook—just as Mark had expected. He caught Damien’s wrist and used his momentum to pull him into a solid blow. Damien howled and reached for his lip.

“Fuck, man!”

“One more time. Where is he?”

“I don’t know!” he rasped.

Mark smashed his jaw with a brutal uppercut. He followed with a jab to the abdomen. Damien swung out, but Mark grabbed his fist and twisted his arm behind his back. He shoved his face against the brick and heard the
thunk
of a tooth.

“Listen close, Damien.” He spoke right in his ear. “Patience isn’t my strong suit. I want answers or your teeth are going to be all over this sidewalk.” Mark increased the torque on his arm. “After that I haul you in
for accessory to murder, and I will
personally
make sure you never see the light of day.”

“Okay, okay.” His words were muffled against the wall. “There’s a house.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know. He lives with some girl.”

Mark jerked his arm higher, until he was up on his tiptoes.

“
Shit, all right!
Route . . . Twelve. I swear, that’s all I know!”

Mark released him and stepped back. The man slumped against the wall, wheezing. He spat blood onto the ground and glared up at him.

Mark crossed the street without a backward glance and slid into the waiting police unit.

“Route Twelve,” Mark said, and Jonah peeled away. In seconds, they were back on the highway and racing toward the juncture.

Jonah cut a glance at him. “That’s gonna bite you in the ass, you know.”

Mark looked at his hand and flexed his fingers. He thought of Allison.

“Ask me if I give a damn.”

Allison kneeled beside the pipe, frantically trying to loosen it from the wall. Her head throbbed. Her knees stung. Her fingertips were raw and slick, but still she fought with the metal. She’d done her best to ignore the darkness, the smells, the ominous silence. But she hadn’t been able to ignore the growing certainty that the man up there planned to kill her.

He was Damien’s brother. And David’s. The realization
had come to her, along with Mia’s words, as she’d clawed and pulled at the pipe joint.
Full matches are one thing. Partials are a whole different ball game.
Allison had been so certain they had who they were looking for, she’d stopped looking. She’d
assumed
—they all had. It was an inexcusable mistake, and now she was going to suffer for it.

Allison twisted harder. If she could just get this pipe—

A loud creak as a door swung open. A yellow beam of light fell over some wooden stairs, and Allison blinked up at it. A man was silhouetted in the doorway, holding something in his left hand. Her Glock. Bile rose to the back of her mouth as she thought of being killed with her own weapon.

Those heavy boots clomped down the stairs.

He crouched in front of her and reached for her head. Allison winced as he tugged the rubber band from her ponytail and her hair spilled over her shoulders. He picked up a lock of it, and his gaze met hers as he brushed it over his lips.

Allison jerked her head away. He smiled.

“Where’s Erika?” she asked, and her voice sounded rusty. The only advantage she had here was information, and she couldn’t waste any time using it.

“What do you care?”

So it
was
Erika.

“People are looking for her. An entire team of investigators is on its way here right now.”

He laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re wrong.”

It was a gamble. He could turn around and shoot her right now, get it over with. But she got the feeling he wanted some foreplay. Mark was right. The man got off on terror.

At the thought of Mark, her heart hiccupped. God,
why had she left this morning? Why hadn’t she been brave enough to stay and tell him how she felt?

Moss sauntered across the room and switched on a lightbulb that dangled over a workbench. Allison’s gaze went to the tools there—hammers, screwdrivers, a wooden mallet. Against the wall was a Peg-Board with hooks spaced evenly apart. Suspended between each pair of pegs was a hunting knife.

Moss smiled when he caught her looking at them. He pulled something from his belt and she noticed the sheath there. He held up a knife so that it caught the light. He walked over to a deep porcelain sink and started rinsing off the blood.