Girl, Unraveled (Ella Dark #32)

PROLOGUE

‘Pick up, Hawkins! Answer the phone!’

‘Goddammit! Redial,’ she shouted.

It rang again. One ring stretched to seven rings.

‘You’ve reached the voicemail of Luca Hawkins, please-,’

‘Agh!’ Ella screamed and jabbed the END CALL button on the dashboard.

She’d pieced fragments together in her head, and she still wasn’t sure how or why this could have happened, but she knew in her gut she was right.

And even if she wasn’t right, alive-but-embarrassed was preferable to the alternative.

Alarm woman is here. Thanks for sorting it out. See you soon.

That was the message Luca had sent her five minutes ago. The alarm woman was at their apartment to fix their broken alarm, and that would have been perfectly logical if Ella had actually sent for an alarm woman.

She hadn’t. Luca couldn’t call for an alarm woman because he wasn’t the administrator. So that meant there was an uninvited stranger about to be alone with Luca in their apartment, and Ella had a good idea who that stranger might be.

It was the same stranger who’d damaged her alarm in the first place, and the same stranger who’d killed three of Ella’s friends.

Lindsey Doyle.

Ella had made Luca stare at pictures of Lindsey Doyle until he knew her face better than his own, but Lindsey Doyle wouldn't be wearing her own face.

She was a master of disguise, so she was probably wearing a wig, contact lenses, or prosthetics.

And once she had Luca alone, once his back was turned, she could put a bullet in his head before he had a chance to blink.

Another redial. Another voicemail.

‘Luca, call me back. Right now. Do not let that woman into the apartment. Do you hear me? Do not let her in. Call me.’

Her message felt pathetically inadequate, but she was four hours from home and short of teleportation, she had no way of getting there in time.

What about her neighbors?

No. She didn’t know any of them, nor did she have their numbers.

Only one other option.

‘Dial 911,’ she shouted at her console. It dialed. The operator picked up on the first ring.

‘911, what’s your emergency?’

‘This is Special Agent Ella Dark, FBI. Badge number four-seven-seven-one-six. I need a unit at my apartment immediately.’

‘Of course, ma’am. Connecting you now.’

God, she hoped she’d done this in time.

***

‘I don’t know much about alarms. I don’t have admin access either. Is that going to be a problem?’

The slight brunette woman was tinkering with the alarm panel in what Luca called the shoe cupboard.

She’d brought a toolbox and what looked like a giant calculator, and Luca had never seen such a contrasting sight.

He’d never seen a woman handyman in his life, and he’d called out a lot of them back during his farm days. Maybe it was a product of city living.

‘Not at all. Do you live here alone, Mr… Hawkins, is it?’

‘It is Hawkins, but I don’t live here alone. My girlfriend lives here too.’

‘Expecting her back any time soon?’

Luca raised his hands. ‘This isn’t one of those visits, is it? I’ve seen films that start like this.’

‘What, you mean like when women get their head stuck in the dryer? Or I bend over to get my screwdriver and something falls down?’

‘Ah, so you have seen them.’

The woman laughed and said, ‘Only in parody, and unfortunately, the reality is never as good as the fantasy.’

‘Whoever’s fantasizing about that needs their head checked. Do you want a drink? I’ve got a coffee machine that needs using.’

She reached into her toolbox and pulled out a pair of pliers. For what reason, Luca didn’t know, nor dared ask for fear of coming across as a man who didn’t know anything about DIY, which was far from the truth. You didn’t grow up in rural Massachusetts without knowing how to build a shed.

‘You know what, I’d love a coffee if that isn’t too much trouble.’

‘Sure.’

Luca went into the kitchen and left the woman out in the hallway. He found a clean mug – Ella’s favorite one – switched on the coffee machine and loaded the pod. ‘You want anything specific?’ he shouted.

‘Anything wet and not too sweet is fine.’

Another discrepancy. Luca had never met a tradesman that didn't take at least two sugars in their drink.

It was a brave new world out there, he reasoned.

A world where tradesmen were women and didn't need a bucket of sugar to get through the morning.

But progress was progress, and Luca was nothing if not progressive.

He slotted the pod into the machine and hit the button. While the coffee poured, he leaned against the counter and listened to the woman working in the hallway. Metallic sounds next. Then a screwdriver on a plastic panel. Then a thud of something being set down on the floor.

Luca frowned.

A strange feeling crept over him, but it wasn’t something he could articulate.

Ella called it the cop’s gut, and the guys he’d spent the week training with at the DEA called it the sphincter sense, because apparently your asshole sensed danger before your brain did.

Luca didn’t know how much faith to put in such science, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t familiar with it.

Your body reacted quicker than your brain every time.

Why hadn’t Ella mentioned calling an alarm technician?

She had the memory of an elephant, and one of her many uses was as a human diary.

Sure, she’d been up to her eyeballs in work in Virginia, but he’d talked to her thirty minutes ago and she’d usually mention something like this, what with the Lindsey Doyle situation and everything.

His phone buzzed on the table beside him.

Ella’s name flashed on the screen.

He reached for it, but the woman appeared in the doorway before his fingers touched the screen.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she said. Her smile was apologetic, but her eyes were fixed on the phone. ‘Before you grab that, could you show me where the mains are?’

‘The mains?’

‘Yeah, the panel. The electrical board.’

‘I know what the mains are. Why do you need the mains for an alarm system?’

‘I need to kill the power to the unit before I can open it up properly. If I don’t, I’ll fry the board and you’ll be looking at a full replacement. Trust me, your girlfriend won’t thank me for that.’

The phone stopped ringing.

It started again almost immediately. Ella’s name flashed on the screen.

Two calls in a row. Ella never called twice in a row. She called once, and if you didn’t pick up, she sent a text that said call me when you can, or not urgent, or need milk. She didn’t ring back within seconds like something was on fire, unless something was on fire.

‘Mr. Hawkins? The mains?’

Luca looked at the woman. Looked at the phone. Why would she need to isolate anything? She was working on a panel that was already disconnected. Wasn’t she?

His phone started ringing again.

‘She really wants to talk to you,’ the woman said lightly.

Luca stared at the name, then back at his alarm woman. ‘She?’

‘I can see her name from here. Why don’t you answer it?’

The phone stopped ringing, but then it beeped. Luca looked over and saw a notification.

1 new voicemail.

Ella had never left him a voicemail.

He needed to hear it.

‘Utility closet,’ Luca said. ‘In the hallway, behind the coats. Gray panel. Should be labeled.’

The woman didn’t move.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Am I sure where the mains are in my own apartment?’

‘Some buildings have more than one.’

‘Not this one. It’s in the closet.’

She stayed in the doorway. One hand on the frame, one hand holding the pliers.

‘Take your call,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait.’

‘You don’t need to wait. The closet’s right there.’

‘Take your call, Mr. Hawkins.’

Mr Hawkins.

Now that Luca thought about it, he hadn’t told her – either in here or out in the parking lot when he’d first met her – that his name was Hawkins.

His hand was already on the phone, but now he didn’t want to pick it up. Didn’t want to turn his back on this woman. Didn’t want to look away.

‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll call her back.’

‘No, really. Take it. I can wait.’

The voicemail icon sat there on his screen. One message. Thirty seconds ago.

Luca lifted the phone to his ear and tapped the notification. His eyes stayed on the woman.

Ella’s ragged voice came through.

‘Luca, call me back. Right now. Do not let that woman into the apartment. Do you hear me? Do not let her in. Call me.’

Each word hit a little harder than the last.

Do not let that woman into the apartment.

He looked up.

The pliers were gone. In their place was a compact and matte black Glock 19, held in a hand that wasn’t shaking even slightly. The barrel was level with his sternum. Center mass. Her aim said I've done this before, and I'll do it again, and neither time will cost me any sleep.

Luca's thumb was still on the screen. Ella's voicemail had ended, but the phone was warm against his ear, and for one absurd moment, he didn't want to take it away, because the phone was Ella and Ella was safety.

The second he lowered it, he'd be alone in this kitchen with a woman who was not here to fix the alarm and never had been.

This woman was Lindsey Doyle.

He’d studied her face at Ella’s request in preparation for this very moment.

She looked much different than the photos – different hair color, different length, even taller – but Ella had assured Luca that Doyle was a master of disguise.

Luca had stupidly believed he would be able to see through any disguise, but now this serial killing woman was standing in his kitchen with a face he didn’t recognize and a Glock 19 that probably had sixteen bullets ready to go.

And Luca had let her in.

His own gun was in the bedroom, because he hadn’t been allowed to take it with him to Philadelphia. There was nothing between the two of them but empty air and imagination, and the only sound in the room was the gurgle of the coffee machine heating up.

‘Hang up the phone, Luca,’ said Doyle.