Shelby's Secret (Once a Marine, Always a Marine Book 4) Page 16

  A look of horror crossed her face. “I was teasing Shelby about you, and he was on stage setting up a ladder just at that moment.” Madge crossed her arms and hugged herself. “I never thought a thing about it. We did a background on him.”

  “Your people did a criminal history check on him because he was a late arrival, but the research was right before you left so the report wasn’t even close to being complete.”

  “So why are you looking at him?”

  “Robert Charleston committed suicide a long time ago. The person using his identification is the man who’s been stalking Shelby and murdering women who look enough like her to fuel his twisted fantasies.”

  “And I hired him.” The look on her face said she took all the blame. She stumbled backward.

  Mike reached out and grabbed her by the arms. “Who on the crew knows him the best?”

  “Probably Burt, he’s the lighting supervisor, and he’s been working closely with Robert the longest, teaching him the business.”

  “Good. Get him on the line and start asking if knows where Robert goes at night or what he does when he’s not working. Anything could help. Also, what does Robert look like? We can’t find a picture of him anywhere.”

  “He’s never around for any of the crew photos. I never found that weird until now,” she mused. Then she shook herself and answered, “He’s average height, average weight. He’s a white male with sandy brown hair and brown eyes. No remarkable features or tattoos or anything. He’s just an average kid.”

  “Better description than we had before. Go ahead and call Burt, he might have more.”

  Madge pulled out her phone as Mike turned away.

  He was in a holding pattern now, waiting for information, and he wanted to see for himself the blood on the balcony. The hand on his arm stopped him. Madge was back together, but just barely. He raised an eyebrow at her in question.

  “Please talk to Rebecca,” she begged. “She really took to you, and she knows something is wrong. No one has said anything, but she’s already been through this with her mom.” Her voice caught, “She won’t even look at me.”

  Mike nodded once. He had no idea what to say to the little girl, but he’d gone through something similar. His own father had been Special Forces and was gone a lot. One day, he just never came home. Not until he himself had joined the military had he understood fully what they meant by a “training accident.” That had been the official cause of death listed for his father, but the reality was that he’d been killed on duty, in a country where he shouldn’t have been. The Medal of Honor Mike and his mother received a year later hadn’t done anything to alleviate the despair they both felt. He’d stand at the window day after day, wishing and praying for his dad to come home, even though Mike had been told he never would.

  He found Rebecca on the floor huddled in the corner of the den, surrounded by her stuffed animals. She stared off into space—no tears, no hysterics, just mute confusion and maybe a little anger. He squatted down so that he was on more of her level. “Rebecca?”

  She stared straight ahead.

  No acknowledgement that he was speaking. “Honey, look at me,” he said. By that time, the rest of the adults had moved away to the other side of the room to give them a bit of privacy.

  And still, she wouldn’t budge.

  “It’s happening again, isn’t it? Just like with your mom.”

  Direct hit. Her eyes widened, and she started blinking rapidly, coming out of her stupor. Turning her head, she looked up at him, her face full of questions.

  He recognized she couldn’t bring herself to voice them. But at least she was back in the room with him, instead of locked away inside her silent world. “And no one tells you anything. Is that right?”

  She nodded and hugged a stuffed animal closer.

  “She’s missing, Rebecca, but she didn’t leave willingly. Do you understand that?”

  A slow nod, and then her voice emerged. “Bobby took her.”

  Mike went still, but he kept his voice low and calm. “How do you know that?”

  Rebecca ducked her head and buried her nose into the soft fur of the animal in her arms. “I saw him,” she whispered.

  “And his name is Bobby?” When he saw her nod, he went on. “What did you see?”

  “I was playing in the closet ‘cause I couldn’t sleep. Aunt Shelby doesn’t mind, and she didn’t know I was there ‘cause I snuck in.”

  “What happened when you were in the closet?”

  “Bobby was outside, and he grabbed her.” Her voice was barely audible.

  Mike resisted the impatience coursing through him. He didn’t want to scare her. “How do you know Bobby?” Rebecca peeked up at him with her big cornflower blue eyes so much like Shelby’s that his heart flipped over.

  “He works with Aunt Shelby’s crew and he gave me this,” she said, holding out the toy she was hugging—an old-fashioned sock monkey. “He said he had dolls, too.”

  Her innocent comment was like an icy finger on his back. He did indeed collect dolls. Living ones that he brutalized and tortured for his own sick pleasure. Mike blocked those images and continued his questions. “What else did he say?”

  “Why did he hit her?”

  He couldn’t take it, so he sat on the floor and pulled Rebecca up into his lap. Rocking her back and forth, he ran his hand over her soft hair and down her back. He wished she would cry and get her feelings out. The stark containment and the way she held herself in check weren’t natural for a girl her age. Or anyone for that matter. “He’s not a nice man, Rebecca.”

  “But he’s always been nice to me,” she said, holding up the monkey in front of them both. “He said he’d take me to his playhouse and show me his dolls sometime, if he could get Aunt Shelby to come, too.”

  Shit. They’d been so focused on Shelby that none of them had even considered this bastard might have been watching Rebecca, too. After all, she was a miniature version of both her mother and Shelby Lynn. “Did he say where his playhouse was?”

  “No.” She fidgeted with the material on the monkey’s head. “He said it was a secret place but he liked it because of the trains.” She looked up into his face. “Bobby likes trains almost as much as he likes dolls.”

  Mike hugged her close. Their biggest clue to Shelby’s whereabouts had come from the most unlikely source. Everyone knew Rebecca didn’t talk. Hadn’t spoken a word in over a year. Larry, a.k.a Bobby, wouldn’t have known that she would begin talking again. He probably wouldn’t have said anything otherwise.

  “Did Bobby take my Mom too?”

  “I don’t know, honey. I really don’t. But when I find him, it’s something I will ask him, okay?”

  She nodded. “I miss her.”

  If his heart squeezed any harder, then the pain would wreck him. This time when he hugged her, she turned and threw her arms around his neck. “I don’t want Aunt Shelby to never come back.”

  “I’ll bring her home.”

  She put the sock monkey into his arms, and then she climbed out of his lap. “If you give this back to Bobby, maybe he’ll give Aunt Shelby back to us.”

  Mike nodded, choking on the lump in his throat and unable to speak. He got to his feet as well, leaned down, and kissed her on the top of the head, before turning and leaving the room. There was no way he was letting that little girl down. He had to bring back Shelby.

  “Is there a reason you’re choking that sock monkey to death?” Jesse asked, when Mike joined him in the foyer.

  “The son of a bitch gave this thing to Rebecca at some point.” He set it down on the closest table before he ripped it apart. “She was hiding in the closet when he took Shelby.”

  “Shit. She saw everything?”

  Mike nodded. Zach came down the stairs just then. “What did you find?”

  Zach glanced around, making sure they were alone.

  They were, Mike had made sure to close the doors to the den behind him, so no one inside that room coul
d hear anything. “He tried to get into the little girl’s room first, but she must have been somewhere else. Then he went to Shelby’s balcony. I spotted a couple of drips of blood, nothing serious, and the trail leads off the mountain to the backside where it ends. Only one set of tracks, so she was unconscious when he got her into the car.”

  “Rebecca wasn’t in her room because she was playing in Shelby’s closet,” Jesse told Zach.

  “How’s she doing?”

  Mike answered the only he could. “She’s holding up the best way she knows how. But she told me something that might help. Where’s Daniel?”

  Jesse nodded toward the driveway. “He’s out there with a map and a marker talking with that tech guy. They’re narrowing down our options.”

  Mike headed outside toward Daniel, with Jesse and Zach flanking him. “Are any of the viable warehouses near railroad tracks? Or the actual train station?”

  Daniel didn’t question him, just asked the question into his phone.

  They all looked at the map spread out before them.

  Damon came up to the table. “The license plate was stolen from a used car lot, five blocks from the stadium. I’m guessing the car is as well. That’s a dead end.”

  Mike nodded. He figured it might be, but he was covering every base they had. “Thanks for checking.”

  Daniel was talking and circling areas on the map. “Okay, great. Got it. Thanks, Lance.” He hung up and pointed. “Three abandoned warehouses are near the tracks and one is next to the train yard.”

  “That one,” Mike said. “The one next to the train yard. That’s the one.” If this guy liked trains then just being next to the tracks might not be enough, he’d want to be in a place where he could look at the trains any time he wanted.

  No one questioned him. No orders were given. No doubts expressed.

  They functioned together with a single goal.

  Find Shelby.

  What happened with Larry Ashbrooke when they found him, no one voiced aloud. But there was a good chance he would never see the inside of a jail cell.

  Chapter 18

  Shelby had never considered herself one of those pathetic shrinking-violet types that faint at the first sign of trouble. But that was before she’d been kidnapped by a deranged lunatic who spent his time cutting up women.

  Upon waking, she could only conclude her mind had shied so violently from a killer’s touch that it had just simply shut down. The last thing she remembered was the man undressing and touching her. She flinched at the memory.

  Then she realized something. Her body had moved. She’d felt that flinch.

  As slowly as she could, she opened her eyes. Her head was down, and she found she was looking at her chest. And oh Thank God, she thought to herself. She’d been redressed in one of her concert dresses. Flame red, the gown was covered with thousands of sparkly sequins. She wasn’t naked, and that seemed like a huge victory in that moment.

  Shelby became aware of everything at once. Her mind was clear of whatever drug had been used, leaving her with a throbbing head and a touchy stomach. Her hands were tied on either side of her body. The rope cut into her skin. Her feet were tied together, but didn’t seem to be anchored to anything. She thought she was in a chair, but didn’t want to lift her head just yet to check.

  And she didn’t feel—used. Not that she was foolish enough to think that wasn’t on the agenda at some point. Shelby just hoped Mike found her before that.

  Before something worse happened.

  She could hear humming in the distance, to her right. Turning her face very slightly, she saw someone lighting candles. Hundreds of them. The place was alight in the glow of so many burning wicks. Her head still throbbed, so she lifted it from where her chin rested on her chest, to ease the ache.

  “I was wondering when you’d wake up. I was worried I gave you too much of the cocktail,” he said.

  “What did you give me?” she asked, turning to get her first look at him. And fought off the surprise. “Robert? I mean, Bobby?”

  He chuckled. And it was such a sinister sound to come from such a young man. He was all of nineteen, but Shelby had seen him working with and around the crew. More recently, he’d been learning how to deal with the lighting.

  “Oh come on, Shelby Lynn, don’t play dumb. You knew those videos were from me.”

  She didn’t know what to say or do. Somehow, shouting a denial and pissing him off didn’t seem reasonable, but acting out a role in his fantasy didn’t seem wise either. So she tried to play it safe. “Where are we?”

  She looked around slowly, taking in the large space. Windows were placed up high, letting her know the sky was still dark. Small piles of crumbling drywall lay here and there, and the place had a smell she couldn’t quite place, but the odor made the hair on her arms stand up. Shelby tried not to gag at the smell of blood.

  Not hers.

  Bobby looked around as well, following her glances. Candles were lit on shelves, on the floor, and any other surface he could find. “This is my playhouse.”

  Bile rose in her throat. “What do you want from me, Bobby?”

  He stood in front of her, dressed in a long sleeve black shirt and matching pants. His hair was brushed back off his forehead. He smiled down at her.

  The slap was unexpected and rocked her head to the side before the sting hit. The strike was on the good cheek, but the force made the bruised side burn as well.

  “My name is Larry. Say it.”

  His voice was deeper than it had been. Odd. “L-Larry,” she stammered as her eyes watered. “Why did you hit me?”

  “I didn’t,” he said. Then he shrugged. “Charles did.”

  Shelby was in more trouble than she thought. The man calling himself Larry was alone with her in the room. “Who is Charles?”

  “He’s my cousin,” he answered. Then he went over to a set of cages sitting on top of a table. “These are Romeo and Juliet.”

  Inside the cage were two furry little creatures. They looked like fat squirrels with runty little tails. Shelby had never seen chinchillas in person, but she knew that’s what they were.

  “Fitting don’t you think?”

  “What’s fitting?”

  He cocked his head and sort of hissed out, “She knows. She’s taunting you.”

  Shelby’s eyes widened as the man slapped himself on the head.

  “No, she doesn’t. She’s not like the others.”

  Bobby, Larry—whatever his name was—spoke in two distinctly different voices. As if he was actually talking to someone else in the room. He didn’t even seem aware of hitting himself in the head. Larry’s voice was younger-sounding and matched his looks. The other voice was the stuff of nightmares.

  “Larry?” She hated to draw his attention back to her, but it seemed wise to keep him talking.

  He moved closer.

  “I’ve always liked those names, but I’ve never seen that kind of animal before. What is it?” If she played dumb and kept asking him questions, then maybe Larry would stay with her and the other guy wouldn’t reappear.

  “They’re chinchillas. Charles got them from a girl, but he didn’t really like them so I took them. He used to tell me about them when I was in that place, and he said I could have them. They like me better. I can tell.”

  “I bet they do,” she said. “Where is Charles now?”

  “Listening,” Larry whispered. “He’s always butting in.”

  He looked around as if he expected Charles to show up around the corner or from out of a different room. His action made her glance around the space.

  “I call him the Shadow Man.”

  “That sounds scary,” she whispered back.

  Larry nodded. “He can be, and he makes me do things. . .” He trailed off and looked back over his shoulder. “But I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about us.”

  Shelby took a deep breath and forced a smile onto her face. “Okay.”

  Larry smiled back a
nd reached out.

  Shelby flinched. The movement was reflexive but she knew instantly that she’d made a terrible mistake.

  His hands fisted and the smile twisted into something ugly. Even the sheen of his eyes flattened out. “Bitch,” he hissed in the deeper voice. He had his hand in her hair, pulling it viciously and forcing her head close to his. “Don’t ever do that again. I’ll touch you when and where I like. Got it?”

  Tears pooled from the pain, but she didn’t let them fall. She tried to nod, but his fist only tightened in her hair. “Yes, I understand.”

  “I had to teach your friend how to act too,” he said.

  The pain was momentarily forgotten as he loosened his grip. Shelby stared upward. “What did you do with Abby?”

  “Who the fuck cares? Forget about her,” he said. To emphasize his point, he punched her in the stomach.

  The air whooshed out in a rush and would have doubled her over if she hadn’t been tied to the chair. This time, she couldn’t stop the tears from falling or the cry of pain from escaping. No one had ever hit her before—not in the face, not anywhere. The pain blended with the humiliation of just taking it and being helpless to do anything. It scared her that he could beat her to death and she would just have to take it. Dear God, was this what Abby had gone through? Shelby was sick down to her soul thinking about her friend.

  “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” Larry said, his voice high and whiny—punctuated by a slap-slap-slap to his head. “You said you wouldn’t hurt her.”

  “I just want to know what happened to Abby,” Shelby wheezed. “Can you tell me, Larry? Please?”

  Larry squatted down and pulled a snowy white handkerchief from his back pocket. He gently patted her face, removing tears and black smudges. She was confused for a moment but then realized that he must have applied make-up when he dressed her. She was glad she’d been unconscious at the time.

  “He doesn’t like me to tell secrets,” he said. “But he knows how I feel about you, so maybe he won’t mind.”