Chapter Twenty-Eight
George muttered under his breath as he strode back up the driveway toward the detached garage, irritation prickling beneath his skin with every step. He’d been gone far longer than he’d intended.
Mrs. Pennington had tested the limits of his patience yet again.
First, it had been the burned-out hallway bulb.
Then she’d noticed a dripping faucet and insisted he take a look.
After that came the request to haul her Easter decorations into the attic.
By the time he’d climbed back down through the trapdoor, dust clinging to his clothes and cobwebs brushing his face, he’d come dangerously close to shoving her up there and sealing the hatch behind her.
Then she’d asked if he’d mind dragging her garbage bins to the curb.
Of course she had.
He’d smiled and agreed because that was what helpful neighbors did, all while imagining how peaceful the street would be if she simply stopped existing.
One day, perhaps.
The thought soothed some of his aggravation as he reached the garage. There were far more satisfying ways to rid himself of it all, and they waited upstairs.
He stepped inside, slid the deadbolt into place, and headed for the staircase. Taking the steps two at a time, he sorted through his keyring until he found the one for the upstairs lock.
The moment he opened the door, a scream pierced the room. “Help! Somebody! Help!”
George slammed the door shut behind him and turned the lock. The sound scraped across his nerves.
Crossing the room in three quick strides, he backhanded Grace across the face. “Be quiet.”
Her head snapped to the side. Tears sprang to her eyes as she stared up at him, her breathing ragged. “Who—who are you? Why are you doing this?”
He let the question hang there as he studied her. Fear had transformed her face. Gone was the composed physical therapist with the polished smile and calm confidence. In her place lay someone small, vulnerable, and helpless—exactly as she should be.
“I’m your worst nightmare,” he said, his voice low. “And your last.”
The terror widening her eyes sent a thrill through him, but there were preparations to make first. He crossed to the cabinet against the wall and opened it, finding the jar exactly where he’d left it. His fingers closed around the cool glass. Inside sat dozens of pennies, each one dated 1993.
That year mattered.
It was the year he’d rid himself of the woman who’d spent his childhood poisoning every corner of his life. Killing his mother had been the moment everything changed—the moment he’d stepped free of her ruin and claimed control of his own future.
Years later, fate had confirmed he’d done the right thing.
He could still picture that dingy motel room. The prostitute’s body sprawled across stained sheets. A lone penny glinting from the floorboards.
When he’d picked it up and seen the date, understanding had flooded him.
It was a sign. A message. Proof he’d found his purpose.
He’d placed that penny on her forehead before leaving and had been collecting them ever since, choosing only the brightest for each masterpiece.
Behind him, Grace’s voice trembled through the silence. “Please tell me why you’re doing this. If you’re going... going to kill me, I have a right to understand why.”
George went still.
Slowly, he turned.
Her face was streaked with tears, but there was something else there beneath the fear. Curiosity. Not the frantic demands he was used to hearing. Not hysterics.
She wanted to know. She wanted to understand.
That gave him pause.
None of the others had ever asked that way. They’d screamed and begged and demanded answers, but none had spoken to him with that strange softness, as if trying to reason with him.
He’d known from the moment he took her that she would be different. She wasn’t like the others who stumbled out of bars and clubs into his path. There was something quieter about her. Something almost thoughtful.
Still, she had chosen Sean Malone. That made her just as guilty.
Perhaps this once, though, he would indulge his victim. Perhaps he would let her hear the truth before she became his next work of art.
The idea pleased him.
Setting down the jar of pennies, he stuffed a silk scarf into his back pocket and picked up his knife. Then he took a slow step toward the table and smiled.
Sean’s tactical training kicked in the moment he turned onto Pelican Lane.
Instead of pulling into George Wallace’s driveway like an amateur announcing his arrival, he parked a house down and killed the engine.
Brad’s sedan and a marked deputy’s cruiser slid in behind him.
Doors flew open, and within seconds the group converged beside the Mustang, their faces grim beneath the setting sun.
Before Sean could issue orders, his phone rang.
Matt Griffin.
He answered at once. “What?”
“Judge Sellers says you have reasonable cause to search for Grace and nothing else. Don’t open anything or look where she can’t be hidden. For everything else, you wait for an official search warrant, or it’s inadmissible. Got it?”
Sean forced himself to breathe through the frustration clawing at him. Every instinct screamed to kick in the front door and tear the place apart until he found her. Following procedure grated on him when Grace was somewhere inside that house.
But if they found evidence the wrong way, Wallace could walk. And Sean refused to let that happen. “Yeah, got it.”
“I’m about five minutes out, but don’t wait for me.”
Sean disconnected and looked at the others. “Grace only. Everything else waits.”
He pointed to the two uniformed deputies. “Go around back and stay out of sight. Check for anything unlocked or any clear sight lines through the windows, but don’t go in without my say-so.”
The deputies nodded and moved at once, slipping up the neighboring driveway before disappearing behind the houses.
Beside him, Rafe glanced toward Wallace’s front porch. “Want to play dumb and ring the doorbell or go in like gangbusters?”
He opened his mouth to answer when a soft voice piped up behind him.
“Excuse me.”
Turning, he found himself looking down at a tiny elderly woman peering up at him through oversized glasses.
“Yes, ma’am?”
She pointed across the street. “I live over there. Is everything all right?”
Sean flashed his badge. “Ma’am, I’m Special Agent Sean Malone with the FBI. Do you know your neighbor across the street, Mr. George Wallace?”
Her lined face brightened at once. “Of course. Such a nice man. He was just visiting with me. He always comes over to help with the chores this old body can’t manage anymore.”
Sean had to clamp down on the disgust that rose in him. The man had Grace tied up somewhere, and this woman thought he hung the moon.
“Why do you ask?”
Sean ignored the question. He needed details. “You said he was just at your house. When did he get there, and how long ago did he leave?”
“Oh, he helped me for about half an hour and left just a few minutes ago. He took my trash to the curb, then went into his garage. I think he has a workshop upstairs because whenever he’s home, he’s either fixing things in the house or up there tinkering.”
Adrenaline surged through Sean.
“Not sure why he’s renovating, though,” she continued. “Susan—his aunt, God rest her soul—kept the place updated and spotless. She had it decorated so beautifully and—”
Rafe stepped in. “You’re sure he’s still in the garage, ma’am?”
“Oh yes. He went in just before you all arrived.” Her smile broadened. “As a matter of fact, I’m baking him a cake right now to thank him for all he does for me.”
Sean bit back what he wanted to say. If all went according to plan, George Wallace wouldn’t enjoy cake anytime soon.
“Thank you, ma’am. Why don’t you head back inside? You don’t want that cake to burn.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, goodness, you’re right. There’s nothing worse than burnt food. Now don’t tell George I’m making it for him. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“Our lips are sealed.”
Sean almost believed they’d succeeded in sending her on her way. Then she frowned. “Why did you say you were looking for George again? He’s such a nice man. If you’d like, I could introduce you—”
Another patrol car rolled up behind them. Sean caught sight of the deputy climbing out and waved him over before the woman could continue. “Ma’am, this deputy needs your contact information and has a few more questions. He can do that inside your house while you check on that cake, all right?”
She looked from Sean to the approaching deputy. “Oh. Well, of course. Are you sure you don’t need me to introduce—”
“No, ma’am, we’ve got it covered. Thank you.” Sean tipped his head toward her house. “Deputy, if you could take care of that, I’d appreciate it.”
The deputy coughed into his fist, and Sean could’ve sworn it sounded suspiciously like a muttered protest, but the man slapped on a polite smile and gestured toward her porch.
As the woman shuffled off toward her house with the deputy beside her, Sean turned his focus back to Wallace’s property. The others moved with him in tense silence, converging at the top of the driveway just as the two deputies returned from circling the house.
Before either could report, Sean cut them off with a sharp hand signal and pointed toward the detached garage. He motioned for them to continue around the back of the building and to cover any rear exits or windows. The deputies peeled off at once.
Sean’s heart hammered against his ribs as he stared at the garage. From the outside, it looked harmless enough—a tidy suburban outbuilding tucked behind a respectable inherited home. Nothing about it suggested the nightmare he was certain waited inside.
Grace was in there. He could feel it.
Brian moved to the pedestrian door along the side of the structure. The overhead doors were out of the question unless they had no other choice. The rattle of one opening would announce their presence before they ever got inside.
He tested the knob—it was locked.