Page 18

Chapter 18

Brenna parked beside Stan’s truck, climbed out of her SUV and stared around the neighborhood. People rushed back and forth from their houses, packing clothes, food, blankets and treasured memorabilia into vehicles. They hurried to cram in as much as they could as quickly as possible. She felt sorry for those who stood a chance of losing their homes like they had in 1997.

She’d expected her sister’s minivan to be parked in the driveway. It wasn’t, and Brenna assumed her sister was busily packing it with the garage doors closed. At least Stan had finally shown up to help.

Brenna hurried to the door. Nick would be furious if he knew she’d left the station alone. Too bad. She didn’t need a bodyguard during the day. Besides, after she helped her sister get their mother ready to leave, she could get back to the station before Nick arrived.

As she passed the passenger side of Stan’s truck, she noticed a long scrape and a dent in the right front bumper. Brenna leaned closer. Had Stan, the perfect driver, had an accident? Part of Brenna was glad he wasn’t so faultless. But as she studied the damage, she noted the scrape had white in it, a stark contrast to the dark pewter paint of Stan’s truck.

Brenna’s heart slammed against her ribs. White paint? Robin’s words echoed in her head. A truck had run them off the road. Stan’s truck? As one thought led to another, Brenna straightened. Could Stan be the killer?

No. She shook her head. No way. Stan was her brother-in-law. He and Alice had the ideal marriage and two perfect little boys.

Alice. Where was Alice? Brenna ran to the house and burst through the door. “Alice? Brandon? Luke?”

No one responded, and the house had that empty, echoing quality like it had been weeks since anyone had been in it.

Brenna raced through the living room and into the master bedroom. “Alice!”

“She isn’t here.” Stan stepped out of a walk-in closet behind Brenna, pulling an oversize wheeled suitcase.

Brenna turned to face him. Could this man be the killer? If she was wrong, her sister would never forgive her. If she was right, where the hell was Alice? “Hi, Stan,” she said in what she hoped was a normal tone. “I came to help Alice with Mom. I guess you already did?”

“Yes, I did.” Stan unzipped the suitcase and laid it open in the middle of the floor. “She should be on her way out of town by now.”

“Then they’re okay?”

“Of course. Why shouldn’t they be?” His slow, methodical movements gave Brenna the creeps. But the creeps weren’t evidence enough to point to murder. She had to be wrong. “Good. Then I guess I’ll get back to work.” The first chance she got, she’d call her sister’s cell phone to make sure they were in fact okay and that the case was making her delusional.

“Did you ever find your killer?” Her brother-in-law knelt next to the case and unzipped an inner pouch.

Stan’s question knocked her delusions out in left field, and all her misgivings returned. “Not yet, but we’re getting close.”

“Oh, you’re close all right.” He reached into the suitcase and removed a nine-millimeter pistol. With a click, he slid free the clip.

The air caught in Brenna’s throat. All the pieces spiraled into place. The notes sent to her, the Ethernet cable to tie the victims, the location close to his mother’s old home. And why the women would let him into their homes without a struggle. Who wouldn’t trust the deacon of their church and the man they’d always depended on to fix their Internet service?

Stan stood and gazed at the sleek black weapon. “Never know when you’ll need one of these, especially with a serial killer on the loose.” He slammed the clip into the handle. “Tell me, Brenna. Did your killer ever take anyone out with one of these?”

“As a matter of fact, no.” And she sure as hell hoped he didn’t start now.

He nodded. “Too messy. He hates getting blood everywhere.”

The way Stan said “he” sent shivers down Brenna’s back.

Stan stood between her and the bedroom door, hefting the gun like it belonged in his hand.

Without any alternative exit, Brenna knew she had to go around him to get out. She eased slowly to the side as casually as she could, her growing concern leaving a metallic taste in her mouth.

“Do you know the funny thing about a serial killer?” Stan didn’t wait for her response. “Once he starts killing, it gets in his blood. He can’t stop.”

“He can if he wants it to stop.”

Her brother-in-law glanced up, his eyes narrowing. “No, Brenna, he can’t.” A smile spread across Stan’s face. A smile colder than anything Brenna had ever experienced.

She forced herself not to reveal her fear or revulsion. “It’s over, Stan. It's only a matter of minutes before the trace on your map query comes through."

He caressed the barrel of the nine-millimeter. "By then I'll be in Canada. And you...” the nose of the gun turned toward Brenna, and Stan cocked the hammer, “...will be dead."

“You won't get away. They expect me back at the station in ten minutes. When I don't show up, they'll put out an A.P.B for you. Don't be stupid, Stan."

As soon as Brenna said the word “stupid,” Stan's face flushed a mottled red. “I’m not stupid. Don’t call me stupid.” The hand holding the gun shook. “Mother always called me that. But she was wrong.” He jabbed the gun toward Brenna. “How many women did I walk right out of their homes without anyone knowing?”

Brenna refused to answer. Instead, she assessed her options, which were very few with a gun pointed at her chest.

“Four! That’s how many. And why?” He didn’t wait for her response. “Because I’m smarter than all their degrees put together. Smarter than you and the freakin’ FBI. Isn’t that right? The great criminal investigator Brenna Jensen couldn’t figure it out. And you didn’t think I was good enough to marry your sister. Well, the hell with you.”

He swung out to snatch Brenna.

Dropping into a crouch, she lunged for his gut. If she couldn’t get around him to get out, she’d go through him. But he was heavier than she was, and when she hit him, she felt like she’d hit a brick wall.

Stan staggered back, quickly regained his footing and slammed the butt of the pistol down onto her temple.

Squiggling light worms and bright stars swirled through her vision. Brenna struggled to remain alert to fight back against the crazy man her sister had married, the man who’d killed four women and who would kill her as soon as she passed out. Another crushing blow turned her world black.

When Nick skidded sideways onto Nodak Street, he dodged another car packed to the rooftop with everything one family could load into one vehicle.

He’d broken every speed limit and driven a few yards on a sidewalk to get from the station to Stan Klaus’s house in less than five minutes.

Stan’s truck stood in the driveway, and the house looked normal, almost peaceful. Yet, deep in his gut, Nick knew he hadn’t imagined the danger to Brenna. Stanley Klaus had something against her, and he wouldn’t stop short of murder to inflict his revenge.

Only Nick would be there to stop him. He had to be there. Brenna needed him, and he needed her.

As soon as he slammed the shift into park, he leaped from the car and raced to the doorway.

“Stan already left,” a woman called out from the driveway next door. “Saw him with his suitcase, loading up in a black SUV. You just missed him. He can’t have been gone more than five minutes.” She shoved a stack of blankets and pillows into the back seat of her Suburban.

Nick pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit 911. “Did Stan leave alone?” he asked the neighbor as he waited for the call to connect.

“Yeah,” the woman said. “He helped Alice with her mother and the kids. They left about half an hour ago. Well, I better get moving.” She hurried into the house for her next load.

The 911 dispatcher answered, “Riverton Police Department what’s your emergency?”

“This is Special Agent Nick Tarver. Put out an all-points bulletin on the black SUV belonging to Agent Brenna Jensen. The suspected serial killer, Stanley Klaus, is driving it.”

“Roger,” the dispatcher said.

A jolting image of Brenna lying unconscious on the floor in Stan’s house flashed into Nick’s mind. He forced himself to jog toward the house, dread tugging at his heart. Brenna couldn’t die. After the past few days, he knew he wanted to get to know her better, take her on a real date and sit with her in front of a blazing hearth, sipping hot cocoa.

The door was slightly ajar, as if Stan had left in a hurry and had no intentions of returning. Nick raced through the house, but he couldn’t find even a trace of Brenna, Stan or anyone else.

How had he gotten Brenna past the neighbors without alerting them?

The woman next door had said he’d loaded a suitcase. Had he packed Brenna in the suitcase and wheeled her out without anyone the wiser?

Where would he have taken her? Think, Nick .

He had no idea. Nick wanted to howl his frustration. Instead, he climbed into his car and headed back to the station, his heart dragging lower than his knees.

Fighting her way back to consciousness, Brenna opened her eyes. She had to blink several times to make sure her eyes truly were open. The darkness was so complete, not a glimmer of light penetrated.

Her knees pressed into her chest and her face rested against what felt like canvas. The steady vibration beneath her could only mean she was inside a vehicle. But where? In the trunk of a car or the rear of her Jeep, since she’d parked in the driveway?

When she tried to move her hands, rubber-coated wire dug into her wrists. She'd bet money it was Ethernet cable. When she tried to stretch her legs out, she couldn't. Stan must have stuffed her into a box...or the suitcase he'd laid out on his bedroom floor.

Hot and short on air, Brenna struggled to loosen her bonds, only managing to make them tighter. A hard knot pressed into her side, and she shifted her weight off it. Her cell phone! If she could get to the phone, maybe she could call for help.

Tugging the edge of her jacket with the tips of her fingers, she inched the pocket closer. After several attempts, she managed to pull the phone free, praying no one would call her. If she were in the back of the SUV, Stan would hear the ringing and take the phone away from her before she could get help. Her best bet was to get hold of someone and try to whisper her location.

Then the thought dawned on her. Zipped into a suitcase, she had no idea where she was.

Precious minutes passed as she tugged at her jacket until she finally wrapped the tips of her fingers around the cell phone. Pressing her finger against one side button and her nose against the opposite side, she managed to activate the screen with the SOS button on it.

The vehicle hit a bump in the road.

Brenna lost her fingertip grip on the phone, and it fell beside her cheek. She fumbled and poked at the screen until she finally hit the SOS button. She sent a silent prayer heavenward and strained to listen for a response.

Even with her ear inches from the receiver, Brenna could hear, “Riverton Emergency Service, may I help you?”

“Help,” Brenna whispered as loud as she dared, hoping the road noise and the suitcase fabric drowned out her voice to the driver.

“I’m sorry, did you say help?”

“Help,” she repeated. “Get FBI Agent Tarver at the Riverton Police Department. This is Brenna Jensen.”

“I’m sorry, I only caught about half of that. You need the FBI?”

“Yes.” Brenna was light-headed from the bump on her temple and the limited air filtering through the thick canvas. She inhaled and tried again. “Agent Tarver at the Riverton P.D., now!”

“Hold please while I transfer you.”

A few moments later, Brenna could have cried when she heard the familiar voice of the man she’d grown to love.

“Tarver speaking.”

“It’s Brenna,” she whispered as loudly as she dared.

“Brenna! Where are you? Are you all right?”

The concern in Nick’s voice made her throat ache. “I’m in a suitcase in a car. I don’t know where.”

“Does Klaus have you?”

“Yes. My cell phone has GPS. Contact Bismarck and have them locate me. Hurry!”

“Stay with me, Brenna,” Nick said.

“I can’t risk it. If Stan hears me talking or if the phone rings, he might take the phone from me.” And you’ll never find me , she didn’t add.

She could hear Nick speaking as if to someone else in the room with him.

“I have to go,” she whispered. “You’ll have to hang up on me. I can’t end this call.”

“I will,” Nick said, “although I don’t want to.”

“Just do it. I need to go silent so the phone stays on me.”

The vehicle slowed, and the sound of water splashing against the wheel wells drowned out Nick’s response.

Where was Stan taking her? What was the water sound and why wasn’t it dissipating? It was as if he was driving a long way through a stream.

Brenna raked her memory of the area for any such place but came up blank. Then she remembered the levy had sprung a leak, thus the need to evacuate fifty-five thousand people from Riverton. Had the levy given way? Would Stan toss her, suitcase and all, into the raging Red River?

The call ended, and Brenna’s phone went black. If it rang, Stan would hear and might guess she’d managed to get a call through. The North Dakota Bureau of Criminal Investigation was based out of Bismarck, and they needed time to pull the information on her whereabouts via the GPS tracking system. She had to keep the cell phone on for them to find her.

A car door opened and slammed shut, rocking the vehicle. Then the metal clunk of the hatch door opening was followed by the whoosh of the hydraulic lifts pushing upward.

The rasp of the suitcase zipper brought a rush of fresh air to replenish her lungs. Brenna inhaled deeply, blinking at the light streaming into the back of her Jeep. A dark figure shadowed her position.

“Ready for the next step, Brenna?” His voice sounded happy, like a father encouraging his child to cheer up over going to the dentist. Only she wasn’t a child going to the dentist.

“I take it you’re going to let me get out of this suitcase?” Hope sprang in her chest. If she could get out of the confined space, she had more of a chance of fighting her way free of Stan.

“Oh, yes. I have bigger plans for you.” His teeth and the whites of his eyes shone in the shadows, an evil combination considering the source.

Like a spider crawling across her skin, a shiver of fear fed its way through her system. She tested her legs, stretching first one then the other over the edge of the case.

“Hurry up. I’m not going to stand here all day.” He waved his hand, the gun in it catching a glint of sunlight.

Rocking herself to the side, she pushed up on her elbow and tumbled over the side of the case into the back of the Jeep. “Thanks for the help,” she muttered.

“You’re tough; you’ll manage. Besides, my hands are otherwise occupied.”

She snorted and calculated the distance between her feet and his face.

As if he read her mind, Stan stepped away from the back of the vehicle. “Don’t try anything or I’ll shoot.”

“What and spoil all your fun?” Squelching her disappointment, Brenna rolled to the edge of the vehicle and let her feet slide to the ground into six inches of muddy, freezing water. “What’s this?”

“The levy burst. We’re in the middle of a flood.” He nudged her with the tip of the nine-millimeter. “Move.”

When she rounded the corner of the Jeep, she recognized the old farmhouse standing inches above the swirling water. This was the house Stan had lived in with his mother. “Now, Stan, what would your mother say if she knew you were killing women?”

“Ask her when you see her in hell. I killed her, too.”

Brenna gasped. “Your own mother?”

“She never loved me. Every chance she got she called me stupid. But I showed her.” He chuckled. “A little rat poison did the trick. Looked like she died of a heart attack.”

The grin he threw her way made her belly roil.

“I guess you could say it all started here.” He motioned for her to lead the way.

Brenna slogged through the water and up onto the front porch. “What do you mean?”

Stan paused in front of the door. “Do you know how my father died?” he said, his tone conversational.

“I heard he died in a freak farm accident.” Brenna wiggled her numb toes inside her shoes while she scanned the horizon, hoping for sight of Nick and the cavalry.

“When I was ten, I was helping him on the tractor, only he wouldn’t let me drive it. When he got down to check on a tire, I shifted the tractor into gear. The wheel rolled over my father’s head. Do you know what a man’s head sounds like when it pops?”

“No.” Nor did she want to. Brenna swallowed back the bile rising in her throat.

“Like dropping a watermelon.” He stared at the key in his hand for a long time as if lost in his past. “My mother never forgave me. She couldn’t even stand to look at me.” He barked a mirthless laugh and waved the pistol. “You can’t imagine what it feels like to know you’re the one responsible for your own father’s death.”

At once appalled by his revelation, Brenna couldn’t help feeling sorry for a little boy who’d grown up with that kind of guilt. “I’m sorry, Stan. I’m sorry for what happened to your father and the way your mother treated you. But you can’t keep killing innocent women.”

Stan shifted the pistol from one hand to the other, his brows rising with his smile. “I can do anything I want. I’ve proven I can.”

“But why?” Brenna lifted her bound hands toward him. “What did those women do to you?”

His smile disappeared, his mouth thinning into a straight line. “I’ll tell you what they did. When Alice saw those articles in the newspaper, she started talking about going back to college. She would’ve left me, damn it!”

“Alice loves you. She wouldn’t have left you.” Based on the talk she’d had with her sister, Brenna didn’t know whether or not that was true anymore.

He snorted. “What do you know about love?”

Nick’s face wavered in Brenna’s mind. “More than I thought,” she whispered, and she wanted a chance to learn more.

“It’s all a lie,” Stan said, a sneer lifting the side of his lip. “It’s an act people do to make you trust them. Then they stab you in the back.”

“Alice would never have betrayed you.”

“She went to that damned shrink behind my back, then forced me to go. She signed up for college courses without telling me.”

“Did you ever ask Alice how she felt? The kids were in school and preschool. Maybe Alice wanted more. Did you ever ask her? She loves you. I know she wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Like my mother loved me?” He snorted.

“Your mother was wrong to turn her back on you. Please, Stan, there are people who could help you.”

“People like Dr. Drummond? No thanks.” Stan unlocked the front door and pushed her into the musty old house filled with dust-covered furniture. “Besides, it’s too late.”

This was it. Stan was going to kill her like he’d killed his mother, Dr. Drummond and the others. Her lungs constricted. She hadn’t had a chance to tell Nick she loved him.

Brenna scanned the room for some way out of this mess. But with her hands tied; she couldn’t do much. She’d have to throw herself at Stan and hope for the best.

Her mind made up, she drew in a deep breath and gave her best side kick, knocking the gun from Stan’s hand. Before he could regain his balance, she planted a foot into his chest and shoved him to the floor.

As Brenna raced for the pistol, Stan swept her legs from beneath her, and she sprawled across the floor, the wind forced from her lungs.

Straddling her from behind, Stan yanked her up by the hair. “You’ll pay for that, bitch!”

Brenna struggled to breathe beneath his weight flattening her against the hardwood floor. “Get off me.” She rocked her body back and forth, her arms trapped beneath her, still tied together at the wrists.

Stan slammed her head against the floor.

Turning her face at the last moment, she missed having her nose smashed, but the hard wood sent pain radiating through her cheekbone, making stars dance in her eyes.

No. Don’t pass out now. Must...get...free...stop...Stan .

Darkness claimed her, and she sank into oblivion.