Devious - Lisa Jackson [138]
What kind of psychopath were they dealing with?
Valerie’s hands were shaking. She could barely touch the buttons for another video, and this one was blank, a black screen, but there was a voice, a harsh, hissing whisper, the same one that haunted her dreams.
Her scalp prickled and her mouth turned to sand as she listened.
“You’re on the lissssst,” the horrid voice intoned smugly. “There is no esssscape.”
Valerie had no doubt the message was meant for her.
CHAPTER 41
Of course he found nothing.
Slade walked around the grounds of the Briarstone bed-and-breakfast and discovered nothing more dangerous than a possum, nine or ten babies on her back, lumbering toward the chokecherry and milkweed that grew in profusion near the picket fence.
Whoever had left the damned BlackBerry had disappeared like a wraith, leaving no footprint or any disturbance that Slade could see. Nor was there any scent that caused Bo to go out of his mind with barking.
Then again, the old dog hadn’t seen the possum, so he couldn’t be counted on for too much help. “Come on, boy,” he said, and tried to stay calm.
No one had gotten hurt.
But the thought that someone had been prowling around the house while Valerie was inside alone bothered him, and despite all her tough, ex-cop act, he knew she was vulnerable. The creep had been inside!
What if, instead of slamming the screen door, the intruder had actually had a gun and fired? What if even now, Slade were in the emergency room of the local hospital, waiting at Valerie’s bedside, hoping she would survive the attack? What if the attack had been deadly, a bullet straight to the heart?
“Don’t go there,” he warned himself as he climbed the steps to the back porch and swept his gaze over the main house and outbuildings one last time.
By now it was really dark, only the gray-blue illumination of the solar lights casting their eerie glow over the grass and flowers, their blooms already closed for the night. A few cars rolled down the side street, and there were none parked that shouldn’t have been there.
Nonetheless, he was going to call Montoya.
Someone had wanted Camille’s diary.
Why?
And who?
He stopped at his pickup, unlocked the glove box, and pulled out his pistol, a thirty-eight. Not a lot of firepower, but enough to deter an assailant. Tucking the weapon into the back of his jeans, he returned to the house and hurried up the back steps.
Inside, he found Valerie waiting, the damned BlackBerry in a plastic bag. Her face was white as death, her eyes round with a quiet fear, her pointed chin set.
“What’ve you got?”
“A little present,” she said. “Left by our friend.”
“Our friend? Oh.” The intruder. “More than what we saw earlier?”
“Oh, yeah. Take a look.” She handed him the BlackBerry in its see-through skin.
He stared at the tiny screen, once more saw Cammie draw her last painful breath, her terrified gaze beseeching.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, sick inside all over again at the image.
“The show’s not over.” Val’s voice was devoid of any trace of humor.
A second video appeared on a small screen, the woman, he knew from the news reports, being Sister Asteria. This victim, too, a beautiful woman, battled for and lost her life. Her eyes were bulbous, her lips moving, blood oozing at her throat as she lay helplessly on the ground.
“Dear God,” he whispered, horrified. “Don’t tell me there’s more,” he said, watching as Val pressed another set of keys.
“Nope. This time it’s only audio.” She pushed the key for speaker, and he heard the voice, a harsh, rasping sound, obviously disguised. He couldn’t tell whether it was male of female; all he knew was that it was deadly.
“You’re on the list,” it said in a sickening hiss, then paused for effect before adding, “There is no escape.”
The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Fear crystalized in his brain, while anger that anyone