Page 38 of Fear for Her Life

“None of them know the town as far as I’m aware.” Styles unzipped his jacket so he could easily access his weapon. “Maybe he got turned around. I guess we better go and find out. It’s dark but we can’t use our flashlights. He’ll see us coming. I’m planning on sneaking up on him.”

If Romero was in the cemetery, she needed to be alone to deal with him. She’d viewed his prison photographs and the size of him was a threat, but none of that mattered once she’d seen what he’d done to Amy Clark, Elaine Harper, and Maya Brooks. He’d never pay for those horrendous crimes even if they returned him to prison. The death sentence would never eventuate. Maybe they’d tack another few life sentences to his jail time and it would mean nothing to him. Already sentenced to death, he had nothing to lose and could kill indiscriminately for his entire life… unless she stopped him. “That’s fine by me, but we’ll need to split up and use a pincer movement. If either of us flushes him out the other will catch him.”

Beth didn’t look at his face. He’d have that flash of concern he quickly smothered anytime they went into a situation. She figured by now he’d know she didn’t need his protection. She kept her eyes straight ahead, almost feeling his protest.

“This is potentially Carl Romero we’re hunting down. He kills first and asks questions later.” Styles glanced at her. “I’ve read about this place. The cemetery has no lights and it’s overgrown and there are a number of open graves. You sure you want to split up?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. I trust you to know the difference between Romero and me. I’ll be fine. It’s you who needs to be careful. Don’t creep up on me.”

“I’m not suicidal just yet.” Styles wiggled his eyebrows at her. “And I have Bear.”

Darkness didn’t worry Beth. The only thing that had unnerved her had been suffering abuse from her father and during her time in foster care. She figured that once a person had lived through something like that there wasn’t much left on the earth to frighten her. She mimicked Styles by unbuttoning her jacket as they headed along Cemetery Lane. “I’ll take the right.” She crossed the narrow blacktop and walked along the thin sidewalk. Underfoot, the uneven paving was difficult to negotiate. She tripped numerous times, falling into hanging branches. Spider’s webs caught in her hair and she batted them away, and yet Styles hadn’t made a sound. She glanced in his direction, only to see a shadow moving along, with a smaller shadow beside it. Bear had slipped into K9 mode, and if Romero was in the cemetery, Bear would find him.

The lane opened up to a fence and rusty cemetery gates that hung open. One gate had come away from the post and fallen sideways. She edged her way around the gate and peered into the darkness. Gravestones stood in rows, the ones at the front appearing now and then through the mist as if floating above the ground. Others once white had brown stains and moss covering them. As she walked, she made out the names of the beloved, but most were illegible and some stones had fallen over. A noise close by made her freeze mid-step. In a flutter of wings an owl dropped onto a gravestone with a mouse hanging from its beak not a foot in front of her. Its head turned slowly, its big eyes staring at her and then dismissing her before swallowing the mouse whole. Trying not to gag as the mouse’s tail disappeared down the bird’s throat, she slid one foot forward feeling gravel beneath her boots and continued on, following the pathway around the perimeter of the cemetery. Behind her in a flap of wings, the owl rose into the sky. She turned to look when something large loomed out of the darkness. Beth stopped and drew her weapon. She would have sworn something moved directly in front of her, or was the swirling mist distorting reality? No footfalls crunched on the gravel ahead of her. Gripping the handle of her Glock, she moved forward, feeling ahead with each step and ducking the long clawing branches of the overhanging trees. The next second, Bear barked a warning. Picking up her pace when the footpath opened up and she could see a few yards ahead of her, she made out a figure running across the cemetery. Before they reached the path on the other side, they vanished from sight.

Astonished, Beth blinked. Had she actually seen someone or was it a trick of the light and mist? She’d never believed in ghosts, but had she actually seen one? Goosebumps rose on her flesh. She swallowed hard at the sound of a low moan and glanced across the cemetery but couldn’t see Styles anywhere. Suddenly feeling very alone, like the night she’d witnessed a mother being murdered and fled to the forest, the cemetery with all its spookiness seemed to close in around her. Somewhere here, a serial killer lurked. Pushing back the wave of unease she’d rarely experienced before, she moved closer to the moaning. Ahead, she spotted an open grave and, with her Glock held out in front of her, edged closer to peer inside.

Heart thundering in her chest, she reached for her penlight and shot a small beam of light into the blackness. The light hit the face of Romero. He blinked up at her. His head was on an unusual angle. He’d likely broken his neck in the fall. Beth considered how many women this man had murdered and whether he deserved a lifetime of being cared for in a prison hospital. What he had done to women repulsed her. She moved her penlight around and through the mist found a border of rocks lining the pathway. First, she pulled a sealed tarot card from a zipped pocket in her jacket and removed the covering, which was difficult in her thin leather gloves, and tossed it down into the grave. She extinguished the penlight, bent and rolled the heavy rock to the edge of the grave, and pushed it over. The sound was like a melon being dropped from a height. She kicked gravel over the slight indents in the pathway and straightened. The sentence of death had been completed. Romero would never hurt another woman or child again. Justice had been served.

Hurrying on, Beth moved past mausoleums built long ago. The mist swirling around the dark entrances would scare anyone and played tricks with her mind. The next moment, Bear came bounding toward her. The dog leaned against her legs and then barked once. “Hello, Bear. Where’s Styles? Is he okay?”

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she pressed it to her ear. “Styles?”

“Yeah. I sent Bear to find you. There’s no one here. I’m over tripping over tree roots. Let’s get out of this place. We’ll come back in daylight and search for tracks, but I figure the call was a hoax.”Styles loomed out of the darkness, phone in hand. “There you are. I did a complete circle and found nothing. Bear barked at a cat, is all.” He pushed his phone back into his pocket. “This place is creepy, isn’t it?”

Beth holstered her weapon and pushed her phone back into her jean’s pocket. “You could say it’s not my ideal place for a date.” She grinned up at him.

“Mine either.” He held out his arm for her. “We’ll call it in and wait for the next sighting. Aunt Betty’s is still open. After all this spooky excitement, I need a strong cup of coffee and a slice of cherry pie.”

Laughing, Beth slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “I didn’t figure any of the prisoners would be stupid enough to come here. I needed to fight my way through cobwebs and low branches. The fog played tricks with my mind and had me drawing down on shadows. I’m glad I don’t believe in ghosts, although I admit tonight had me guessing.”

“Oh, I saw ghostly figures and heard moans but that was likely the wind in the trees. The shadows moving when there’s no reason for them to move questions my common sense. I guess it makes me a new believer, but I’m not the only person who sees them.” Styles stopped to grin at her. “They say they’re here in daytime too. Sightings go back decades but they don’t concern me.” He chuckled. “Like Kane says, it’s not the dead people you need to worry about.”

FORTY-FIVE

After checking in with the search parties and then meeting with Rowley, Raven stopped at Aunt Betty’s for a couple of milkshakes before heading back to the office. His concern for Jenna was growing by the hour. He understood Kane and Wolfe needed to be involved with catching the escaped prisoners, but if so, why weren’t they in town? He snapped his fingers as realization hit him. Kane had said they were chasing down the escaped prisoners, and as they weren’t with any of the search parties, he and Wolfe had been asked to hunt down Eduardo Souza. He’d heard all about the consequences Kane and Jenna had suffered due to him giving evidence against the cartel kingpin, so Kane had experience dealing with him. This would account for why Jenna never mentioned Kane’s or Wolfe’s absence. Dealing with serial killers and everything else, she would be under a great deal of stress. Being close to delivery and with her husband in danger wasn’t a good mix, especially if it caused her to deliver early. To take a little of the pressure, he’d decided to be her eyes and go personally to speak to everyone involved rather than wait for the DOC coordinator to check in.

As he stepped into Jenna’s office, she disconnected from a call and looked up at him. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. He handed her a milkshake. “What can I do to make this easier for you?”

“Bring Dave home.” She sucked on the straw and sighed. “I feel like I’ve been sleeping in my clothes. I’d call it a night but the hotline is busy. Beth and Styles just called in. They found nothing at the cemetery. It was probably a hoax.” She ran a hand through her hair and yawned. “With three serial killers murdering people right on their doorsteps, you’d figure they’d have more sense.” She shook her head. “We had a sighting of Callahan on the CCTV, but Carter and Rio checked in before. If he’s out there, the guy is a shadow.”

FORTY-SIX

JEZABEL

Blood dripped from Kane’s fingers as he walked into the saloon, his duffel hanging on his injured shoulder, but not a soul turned to look at him. He went to the end of the bar, which served snacks and coffee. Surprised to see hot cinnamon buns, he ordered a stack and two cups of to-go coffee. He looked at the man behind the bar. “I need to go out. How do I get back in later?”

“We’re open until two. By the time I’ve cleaned up, it’s usually around three before I lock up. After that you’re on your own.” The barkeep handed him a bag and two to-go cups in a cardboard carrier.

Pushing the bag under one arm and juggling the cups, he headed through the door to the stairs and back to his room. Once inside, he locked the door, pushed a chair under the handle, and then sent the images to the number China had preset on the phone. He took a sip of his coffee, removed his wig and soiled clothes, and headed for the shower. The fake tattoos could only be removed with a special solution, so he soaped up. His eyes were gritty from the explosion, but he didn’t carry any of the eye drops he needed to remove and reinsert the contact lenses. The wig, tight by necessity, had given him a headache, and he stood beneath the shower longer than necessary. His mind went to Jenna and Tauri. Being away from them was tearing a hole in his heart but he needed to do this. He’d caused this problem and couldn’t expect Jenna to live in constant danger for the rest of her life. It was his mess and he wouldn’t go home until he’d cleaned it up. His clean clothes and a few personal items were still on the bed where he left them. Wrapped in a towel, he sat on the edge, ate the cinnamon buns, and finished one cup of coffee. His motto, to eat when he could, had always kept him in good stead. He stood and unpacked the first aid kit. The jagged tear across his bicep looked clean enough, but he used the antiseptic in the kit and pulled the wound together with Steri-Strips before applying a bandage. He finished the second cup of coffee and then spent some time brushing the wig to remove the dust and dirt from the explosion. Reluctantly he pulled it back on, looking in the mirror to make sure it was sitting right. He dressed in clean clothes, put on his shoulder holster, and lay down on the bed. However long it took Souza to get back to him about the meet would give him time to rest up. He placed the phone on the bedside table, and with one hand resting on his M18 pistol, he closed his eyes.

Hammering on the door woke him at five after twelve. Kane’s ability to wake immediately and jump into action had saved him many times. He stood and pulled on the trucker’s cap before removing the chair and opening the door. He’d expected to see China waiting to take him to the meeting, but two burly men pushed their way inside. Kane didn’t offer any resistance. He took a few steps back hands raised. “What’s your problem?”

“No problem. The boss wants to see you now.” A tall wide Neanderthal of a man tried to stare him down. “Hand over your weapon.”

Always reluctant to give up his weapon, Kane shrugged. He had no idea what would happen next. “When we get to the meet, unless one of you wants to try to take it from me?” He reached for his duffel and swung it at one of the men. “Carry this for me. It’s a gift for your boss.”

The Neanderthal’s bald partner gave Kane the stink eye but caught the bag, looked inside, and whistled. Kane nodded. “Yeah, I cleaned out the rats’ nest. Now can we leave? I’ve been waiting long enough in this stinking hole.” He looked from one to the other. “I’ll follow you in my truck.”

---