The Coldest Fear. Debra Webb

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Recognizing that the safety of everyone else she encountered on the road was greatly compromised by her need for sleep, she’d parked at a truck stop with the intention of catching a twenty-or thirty-minute nap. She’d awakened two hours later to the sound of a semi’s air horn. She’d cursed herself the rest of the drive for losing so much time, but she’d done the right thing. Like soldiers, cops fully comprehended the risks of going too long without sleep. Concentration and focus went first. Cognitive impairment only worsened as the hours passed. Even after the extended nap, she was running on empty. But it couldn’t be helped. Stopping wasn’t an option.

      She pressed the doorbell and listened as the classic chime echoed through the house. No lights came on. No swishes or clatters of the owner stirring. She glanced back down at the street where she’d parked her Challenger. Nothing moved in the near darkness. Not even the distant sound of interstate traffic that wound around the city detracted from the atmosphere of beauty and wealth cocooning the elegant homes. A soft breeze kicked up, sending a handful of autumn leaves scattering across the cobblestoned porch, the deep russets and browns reminding her of all the shed blood she’d seen this week.

      So much blood.

      After another stab of the doorbell garnered no response, Bobbie reached up to give the door a firm knock. As soon as her knuckles hit the solid slab of wood, the right side of the looming entrance swung inward. Her Glock was in her hand before she’d mentally ticked off all the reasons the door might have been unlocked and ajar. She eased closer and listened. Quiet. Dark, except for the moonlight filtering over her shoulder and through the open doorway.

      Taking a deep breath and then holding it to ensure she didn’t miss the slightest sound, she stepped inside, weapon held at the ready. In the last house she’d entered under similar circumstances she’d discovered a rotting corpse. She barred thoughts of Steven Devine, the cop who’d fooled her and everyone else for an entire month. As hard as she tried to tamp down the memory of his hand on her breast...of him ripping open her jeans, she couldn’t quite accomplish the feat. Sorry bastard. Weller had commissioned Devine to do his dirty work. He’d murdered one of the few remaining people who’d owned a piece of Bobbie’s fractured heart.

      If she somehow managed to live through what was coming next, her shrink would no doubt insist she return to weekly therapy sessions. After all, someone as broken as Bobbie Sue Gentry, who’d lost her husband and her child not even a year ago and her partner of seven years just two months back, couldn’t hope to rebound so quickly. Nearly being raped and having a dear friend murdered all within the past forty-eight hours was more than any human should have to bear. She would need months, maybe years of counseling. Or maybe all the loss and devastation had piled so high on the shattered pieces of her heart that she was beyond the point of no return.

      Her gut clenched. Could she trust her instincts at this point?

      This wasn’t the time for second-guessing. Focus on what you came here to do.

      Bobbie closed the massive door and put her back against it. Take a breath. Another. No metallic odor of blood. No lingering scents of a dinner the owner may have had hours ago. Did Zacharias have his evening meal prepared in the kitchen by a personal chef? Or did he eat out?

      The oppressive silence sent another shot of adrenaline into her blood. Did any member of Zacharias’s household staff live in the residence? His wife had divorced him years ago and his children had grown up and moved across the country, no doubt to separate themselves from images of bloody, mutilated corpses arranged in grotesque venues for a depraved mind to capture on a painter’s canvas.

      She wondered if his money brought Zacharias much comfort when he turned out the lights all alone each night.

      Alone...exactly the way you do, Bobbie.

      The sound of Nick’s voice whispered across her senses reminding her that for just a little while she hadn’t been alone.

      Survey the scene, Bobbie. This was not the time to be distracted.

      Why wasn’t Zacharias’s security system singing a warning about the open door? Bobbie glanced at the dark keypad on the wall not three feet away. Evidently he’d left in a big hurry and hadn’t bothered setting the alarm or checking the door.

      Or had someone gotten here ahead of her? Someone who wanted more than to ask a few questions?

      The extravagant lock on the door appeared undamaged. As for visitors, the feds as well as the local police had questioned him in the past forty-eight hours.

      Did you take off right after that, Zacharias?

      Seemed strange that a surveillance detail hadn’t been assigned to keep an eye on their one potential lead to finding Weller. She shook her head. Maybe the problem was that the FBI and the task force created to recapture Weller were far too focused on proving Nick was somehow involved with his father’s escape. No matter that he’d been debriefed by the feds scarcely twelve hours ago and cleared of any wrongdoing in Devine’s death by Montgomery PD, the suspicion about his connection to Weller lingered. In part because Nick had spent most of his adult life living in the shadows, finding the killers no one else could. Even trained and experienced members of law enforcement at times feared what they didn’t understand. Nick Shade was innocent of his father’s crimes. He had turned his back on Randolph Weller years ago after finding him in the process of creating art from his two most recent kills. Worse, he’d discovered that Weller had murdered his mother when she learned her husband’s despicable secret. Nick’s entire life up to that point had been a lie.

      As true as it was that both Bobbie and Nick had suffered some seriously fucked-up heartbreak, the big difference between them was that she’d at least had a real family who cared about her. Nick had never had anything real. The people who should have taken care of him had let him down.

      I will not let you down, Nick.

      Bobbie forced her full attention to the here and now. “Where the hell are you, Zacharias?”

      There was always the possibility that the feds had been watching the attorney and were even now following him to see if he would lead them to Weller.

      The truth was she hadn’t driven all this way simply to see Zacharias. She didn’t even care if he’d taken his millions and fled. Speaking to him wasn’t actually necessary. All she wanted was to find any files on Weller that Zacharias might have in his home office before those files and any other notes were confiscated by the task force on his trail. Zacharias was a brilliant attorney. He had endless connections in Fulton County. The man would know all the ways, including attorney-client privilege, to challenge any attempts to seize his files or warrants to pilfer through his home or his phone records.

      “But you can’t outmaneuver the feds forever,” Bobbie murmured. Which was exactly why the man would disappear very soon if he hadn’t already.

      She glanced around the cavernous entry hall. She was here, the door was unlocked and the place appeared deserted—might as well have a look around. Zacharias had called her to Atlanta less than two weeks ago. No one could prove she hadn’t been in his house previously if her prints were found.

      There could be security cameras.

      After bumping three switches with her elbow, the giant chandelier spilled light over the marble floors. The cool gray paint on the walls spread out to meet the gleaming white trim and lent a cold feel to the space. A massive painting of Zacharias and his family, obviously commissioned a dozen or more years ago, served as the focal point. A round table of mirrored glass sat in the center of the hall, directly beneath the chandelier. The large vase stationed there was СКАЧАТЬ