Chapter 42 #13
Rachel Four watched the man who walked past the library for the third time.
The first time he walked past, she had been calling the train station and hung up before anyone came on the line.
She didn’t need to talk to anyone, just needed to have a call listed at the time when the other Rachels would be taking care of their tasks.
A human predator. She was sure Rachel Nightingale was the intended prey—which meant she couldn’t delay the phone call to the police any longer.
“Penwych police, thirteenth precinct,” a voice said. “How may I direct your call?”
“I need to speak to Beth Fahey.” She made her voice sound breathless, tinged with fear. “Detective Fahey.”
“One moment.”
The man cruised past again, noted that she was on the phone, and kept going. Not far. Barely a few buildings down the street. He wouldn’t try to grab her while she was talking to someone. No, he’d wait.
She wasn’t worried about the human predator.
He wasn’t a danger to her unless he carried a weapon that could kill her from a distance.
She didn’t think that was the intention.
Nightingale was needed alive until she could be raped of everything that mattered to someone—first her money, then her freedom, then her life.
So he would have to get personal, get his hands on her.
One on one, that would be a mistake. But there could be more of Alistair Hampton’s hirelings watching, prepared to assist the adversary she could see.
Then she spotted Jack Frost on the other side of the street, standing next to a building. She relaxed. Even if the human predator had a weapon, with Jack around, that man would become prey.
“This is Detective Fahey. How may I help you?”
“This is Rachel Nightingale.” Breathless. Fearful. “I’m at the library, the main branch. There’s a man following me. I’m afraid…” She gasped as if someone was rushing toward her.
“Ms. Nightingale? Are you inside the library? Can you stay within sight of other patrons or the librarians until we can reach you?”
Rachel Four turned away from the street and tucked the phone behind the lion’s front paws where someone would find it.
She didn’t end the call; still heard Detective Fahey asking questions as she hurried down the steps.
She dashed across the street and walked swiftly in the direction that would take her to the river and the river bus’s nearest stop.
The human predator dashed across the street to follow her.
And Jack Frost followed him.
23
Beth’s hand tightened on the receiver. “Hello? Can you hear me?”
Tom Castelletti and Ian Kuhn pushed away from their desks. Captain Forrester came out of his office.
“A woman in trouble,” she said. “At the main branch of the library. She hasn’t ended the call, but she isn’t responding.”
“In Penwych?” Kuhn asked.
Beth hesitated. “She didn’t say.”
“Hello?” A different voice. Younger.
“Hello.” Beth pitched her voice toward friendly. “I was talking to a lady, but she’s not answering. Can you see her?”
“There’s no lady—just the library lion.”
“Library lion?” Beth looked at the men.
“Main branch of the public library,” Castelletti said. “In King’s Hill.”
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” the young voice said.
“Very wise,” Beth replied, “but I’m a police officer, and I could use your help.”
“Really?”
“Really. Could you take the phone inside the library and give it to one of the librarians? A police officer is on his way to pick it up. It’s very important.”
“Okay.”
“You stay on the phone with me until you hand it over to a librarian.”
“Okay.”
“Casey!” A woman’s voice, sounding irritated. “We have to go now. You have your books for the week.”
“I can’t, Mom! I have to give this phone to the librarian. The police said so.”
“What police?”
“The one on the phone.”
Sounds. Then another woman’s voice. “Who is this?”
“This is Detective Fahey at the thirteenth precinct in Penwych. The woman who owns that phone may have been abducted a few minutes ago. We need you to take that phone inside and leave it with a librarian until we can retrieve it. Will you do that?”
“Abducted? A few minutes ago?”
“Ma’am, that’s all I can tell you at this time. Please stay on the phone and go back inside the library until the detective and responding officers arrive.”
“Yes. Yes. Come on, Casey.”
More sounds. More voices. A woman identified herself as a librarian and promised to keep the phone under a counter until the police arrived.
Beth thanked her and ended the call.
Forrester looked grim. “King’s Hill is in Westwood County, but anything that might be connected to Wyrd is within our mandate.”
“We don’t know this is connected to Wyrd,” Kuhn said.
“Don’t we? Fahey, go with Castelletti to retrieve the phone. The child and mother will recognize your voice, and that will help. Also, if the woman who initially made the call is running, she might hide from a male police officer.”
“I know where that King’s Hill branch is located,” Castelletti said. “I’ll drive.”
“No, request the patrol boat to take you around the southern end of Wyrd. You’ll reach King’s Hill faster that way, and time is of the essence.”
Beth looked at the three men. “Rachel Nightingale. Why did she call me? She specifically asked for me.”
“Interesting question,” Forrester replied.
“Go. Get the phone. Find out what you can about Ms. Nightingale’s reason for being at the library.
Maybe someone has an idea about where she went—if she went voluntarily.
I’ll call the King’s Hill police after you confirm that you’re on your way back here. ”
“Yes, sir.” Beth hurried to catch up with Castelletti. She waited until they were in the patrol boat and the officer at the wheel was heading downriver. Then she asked the question that had been bothering her. “Do you think we’ll find anything? That we’ll find her?”
Castelletti didn’t say anything, just looked at the river. Finally, “I think we’re meant to find something. That’s why the call was aimed at you.”
24
Rachel Four hurried down the street, glancing back every time she turned a corner.
The human predator followed her, making no effort to hide the fact that he was following her. He maintained the distance between them, running when she turned a corner and then slowing when she was in sight again. Playing with her.
She played with him, too, by taking what would seem to be wrong turns that led away from the river bus stop and would take them to a commercial area where businesses had loading platforms to receive goods from vessels on the river—an area of King’s Hill that would have fewer possible witnesses if there was an accident or an abduction.
Because her task was the simplest one and she would be alone, Rachel Four had consumed just enough of Rachel Nightingale’s flesh for a short transformation.
She felt herself changing as she walked quickly down another street.
The jeans and hooded sweatshirt she’d worn hadn’t matched anything in Nightingale’s overnight bag, but the Rachels had decided that it would seem like a costume that was being worn in an effort to hide, especially because the clothes had been baggy on the Nightingale body.
Now, as she transformed back to herself, the clothes felt a little snug.
She was close to the river. She could see water beyond where the street ended. She could…
A hand grabbed her, yanked her around.
“You’re coming with me, bitch.”
“Who are you?” she demanded in a voice that held anger instead of the expected fear. “What do you want from me?”
He looked surprised. Confused. Must have been wondering how he could have lost sight of his intended prey. Then…“Where is she?”
“Who? Why have you been following me?” She tried to break away from him.
He seized her throat and squeezed. “You’re going to tell me—”
As Jack came up behind him and slipped the thin steel blade coated in ice between the man’s ribs and twisted it into a lung, Rachel Four lunged forward and took a big bite out of the man’s cheek.
She swallowed the flesh and smiled at the man as he gasped for air and saw her change into his own image.
“We’d better clean up and go.” Jack sheathed his blade, which was no longer coated in ice.
After emptying the man’s pockets and leaving the items where he fell, they each grabbed an arm and half dragged the dying man to the river’s edge. A hard shove and he was in the water, caught in the currents.
Rachel Four, now looking like the man who had hunted for Nightingale, pulled off her shoes.
The jeans were too short but fit the leaner male body well enough, and the hooded sweatshirt fit just fine.
Only the shoes were suddenly too small, but the athletic socks were thick enough for her to walk to the river bus stop.
Security cameras would see a man boarding the bus.
The cameras weren’t likely to show his feet, and even if they did, there could be reasons why a person wasn’t wearing his shoes.
“You go ahead; I’ll follow,” Jack said. “You know where our boat will be waiting for us when you get off the river bus?”
She nodded. Then she looked at the river. “Do you think he’ll find a boat before he drowns?”
Jack looked at her—and laughed.
25
Jeremy Swayne struggled to breathe, struggled to keep his head above water. His flailing hand touched coarse netting. Grabbed. Held on as he was hauled up to the deck of a fishing trawler like some stranded fish.
“Well, now, lads. That looks like a fine catch.”
Jeremy gasped for the next breath. Still difficult, but not as bad as a minute ago when that bastard—whoever he’d been—had stuck a knife into him.
“My name is Jeremy Swayne. You need to get me to a hospital.” Jeremy got to his feet, then staggered until he found his balance.
The burly, bearded man smiled at him. “I don’t have to do anything. Besides, you’re already past needing a hospital.”
“I work for an important man!”