Chapter 30
Thirty
Time and place unknown . . .
Vivian still felt groggy. Fincher had given her a shot of something to sedate her once they had gotten into her SUV. She couldn’t be sure how long ago that had happened. He had taken her cell phone . . . her weapon . . . everything but the clothes on her back.
But how had he gotten her fob? She’d left her purse upstairs. The only other fob was in her kitchen . . . at home.
She felt her way around the walls of the pitch-black room.
Ten by ten feet, she calculated. Walking around it so many times, she was fairly sure of the measurements.
The walls felt like metal. Cool, ribbed.
Corrugated metal maybe. No windows. No door.
Wait. She backed up a step. There was something else attached to the wall.
A metal . . . track that went from the floor to a point above her head and then curved horizontally.
An overhead door? She dropped to her knees and felt around the lower half of that section of wall that was in actuality a door. She found the handle. Her heart skipped a beat. She pulled at it with all her might. Wouldn’t budge. But it was definitely a garage-type pull-up door.
What she would give for a flashlight or McBride’s damned Zippo. She sat down on her butt, leaned against the door that wouldn’t open, and closed her eyes.
She couldn’t let this bastard win.
He was responsible for Worth’s death, dammit. No matter how painful his own past, murder was murder.
Get up and think, Grace!
She scrambled back to her feet, swayed a little, then started feeling around the walls in case she had missed something else.
Overhead door.
Small space.
Smelled stuffy . . . like a used-furniture store.
Metal construction.
Storage unit?
Her pulse picked up its pace. Yeah. A storage unit. It was deadly quiet. Probably deserted. Could be security somewhere on the property.
She rushed back to the overhead door and banged her fists hard against it. “Hey! Is anybody out there?”
For ten or fifteen seconds she listened. Nothing.
“Hey!” She started banging again. “My name is Vivian Grace. Special Agent Vivian Grace of the FBI! If you can hear me, please call 911!”
There were a lot of storage facilities around Birmingham. Some were close to businesses, gas stations, and convenience stories. Someone could hear her . . . maybe.
“Hey!” She banged some more.
“Vivian Grace?”
She froze. Listened.
Where the hell had that come from?
“Is that you, Vivian?”
Cocking her head in that direction, she moved toward the wall that separated her cubicle from the next one. The voice was a little muffled but definitely real.
“Talk to me some more,” he whispered.
Male. Vaguely familiar. Too low to tell for sure.
“Who’s there?” She touched the metal wall standing between her and the voice. Leaned her ear close to it. “Is Fincher holding you too?”
“It’s good to hear your voice,” he said, loud enough for every single nuance to filter through the wall.
Vivian drew back sharply. “Who . . .” She moistened her lips. “Who are you?”
A quiet laugh. “Surely you haven’t forgotten me already. I know it’s been a long time, but we knew each other so well. Didn’t we, Number Thirteen?”
Vivian stumbled away from the wall. Impossible! Oh my God. She fell back another step. Oh no. Oh God, no.
“Only in my head,” she murmured, her body quaking. “Only in my head.” Not real. Not real. Please, God. Not real!
“When I close my eyes, I can still see your lips. Such perfect, beautiful lips,” he murmured through the wall. “I want you to do to me all those things you did for him. Only this time, after I’m done, I’ll kill you.”
She shook her head. This had to be a sick joke. The story. Goodman. This was her fault. Fincher had gotten the idea from her story, and he was playing a trick on her.
But the voice . . . Oh God, the voice was the same.
“I know you’re there,” he singsonged in the breathy voice she remembered all too well. “Come closer to the wall so I can imagine touching you.”
Her feet tripped over each other as she backed as far away as possible . . . all the way to the metal wall on the other side. Her chest verged on rupturing as the organ inside slammed against it mercilessly.
No. She knocked the fear away. Grabbed back her courage. She was not that same hopeless, helpless seventeen-year-old girl. She damned sure wasn’t a victim. Not anymore.
“All we ever wanted was for you to make us happy, Number Thirteen. Was that too much to ask?”
Fury hurtled through her, and she charged back to the thin metal wall that separated them. Yeah, she was in trouble here. But, by God, he would have to kill her first to keep her from killing him.
Vivian bit back her rage and forced a soft, calm voice. “Let me tell you what I’ll do for you,” she warned.
“Tell me,” he urged, his voice excited. “Please tell me. Just thinking about those lips has me hard.”
Another eruption of rage roared through her. She gritted her teeth to hold back what she really wanted to say. “I’ll suck you just like I did him. I’ll make you come so fast your head will spin.”
“Oh . . . yes . . . yes . . . that would be nice.”
“And then I’ll tear out your jugular with my teeth just like I did your fucking friend’s.”