“I’m just trying to keep you safe and play by the rules as much as possible.”
Morrisette snorted at that. “We don’t have any time for mollycoddling. You do what he says or we take you home.”
“That’s not an option.” Reed’s gaze fastened on Nikki’s. “Just go to the station. I promise, the minute I know anything, I’ll call. And as soon as we’re done with Chevalier, I’ll be back.” He squeezed her upper arm. “Work with me for once, okay?”
“I don’t like this.”
“Neither do we,” Morrisette said.
“Fine. I’ll go to the station.” Where I’ll go out of my mind waiting for news about Simone.
“Good. We have to work fast.” Pointing at Morrisette, he added, “We need to contact everyone who was on that jury. Offer protection. See if anyone strange has contacted them, staked out their homes. Get the most recent picture of Chevalier that we have, print out a million copies, then fax one up to McFee and Baldwin in Dahlonega. Have one of them show it to the kid who fell down the cliff. He’s the only person we know who’s seen the killer’s face.”
“You mean the only one who’s still alive,” Nikki whispered as she stared at her friend’s home with its cheery, pastel décor. Everything was neat. Tidy. In its place. Just the way Simone liked her life.
“I meant he’s the only one we can talk to readily,” Reed said. “But I want a BOLF bulletin sent out throughout the state, maybe even farther. Every cop on the southeastern seaboard needs to be on the lookout for this fucker.”
“Amen,” Morrisette agreed. “We need to find this sick bastard and shut him down. Now.”
But Nikki had the feeling it was too late. Too many hours had passed. What were the chances that Simone was still alive? She picked up Mikado again and held him close. Hearing the little dog’s heart beating was some comfort. “I’m taking him with me,” she said, and for once, neither cop objected.
It’s dark.
And cold.
So dark and cold and…I can’t breathe.
And I hurt. Worse than I ever have in my life.
She was floating, trying to wake up and not aware of anything other than the darkness and some awful smell that made her want to retch. She felt a dull ache all through her body and her arm…God, her arm hurt like hell. Her mind was so damned fuzzy and…and she couldn’t move, could barely breathe. She tried to turn over and her shoulder hit against something. Pain ripped down her arm. Had she hurt it? She couldn’t remember. She coughed. Tried to sit up.
Bam! Her head thudded against something hard. What the hell was it and why couldn’t she drag in a breath to save her soul? And the stench…Her stomach quivered as the cobwebs in her mind were cleared away by panic.
She suddenly realized why she couldn’t move, why she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Oh, God…oh, no…She felt the cold, rotting flesh against the back of her bare legs and buttocks and shoulders.
She was in a coffin.
With a dead person.
Terror shrieked through her.
She screamed as if being impaled. Pounded frantically on the sides and top of the coffin.
It seemed to shrink around her, pressing against her, creating a space so small she could barely move.
“No! Oh please, no! Help! Someone help!” She was crying and coughing, the fetid air burning in her lungs.
The son of a bitch who had captured her was the damned Grave Robber! Why, oh, God, why? Within minutes, possibly seconds, she’d run out of air. “Let me out,” she yelled frantically, wailing and shrieking and pounding at the sides of the coffin with her good hand. She kicked. Hard. But the steel liner didn’t give, only clanged dully as intense pain rocketed up her ankle. Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no…Now she understood. Now she remembered jogging to the gym, thinking of the class, not sensing the evil that had been lurking, not realizing that the monster had set her up and tripped her.
She’d seen his face as he’d wrestled her to the ground and thrust the needle into her arm. That’s when she’d recognized him, when she’d realized the depths of the evil she faced. Though he’d aged and his looks had altered, she knew who had done this to her.
Fleetingly she remembered the trial. The testimony. The horrid pictures of the crime scene. The chilling murders of a woman and her children.
Leroy Chevalier was an animal. He’d beaten Carol Legittel and her kids mercilessly. He’d raped them all, then forced them to have sex with each other, with their mother. There had been hospital records submitted at the trial, which only seemed to prove how sick and twisted he was. He’d deserved prison. Or hell. Or both.
She’d known when she’d learned of his release that there would be trouble.
But she hadn’t expected this.