Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 86

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The sound of water hitting the floor was steady and clear.

Where am I? Zoey wondered as she roused, groaning, every muscle in her body aching. It was cool and dank, only a small lantern flickering in the corner of a tiny cell-like room giving off any illumination. Her arms were forced behind her, her ankles shackled, and she could barely move. Zoey wondered as she roused, groaning, every muscle in her body aching. It was cool and dank, only a small lantern flickering in the corner of a tiny cell-like room giving off any illumination. Her arms were forced behind her, her ankles shackled, and she could barely move.

Fear buckled through her.

Jesus-G.o.d, what was happening? She blinked and remembered the attack at Abby's house, how the tall, muscular man had chased her outside the little cottage to the driveway where he'd captured her. Vaguely, as if through a fog, she recalled that he'd been wearing what looked like a black wetsuit. He'd used some kind of stun gun or Taser on her as she'd tried to climb into her rental car. She'd been awake, but couldn't move or fight back as he'd gagged her, forced her hands behind her back, then wrapped duct tape around her wrists and ankles. As soon as he'd made certain she was no threat to him, he'd picked her up and thrown her into the back seat of her rented silver Toyota. He'd been strong and scary as h.e.l.l, but as he'd lifted her, she'd heard the sharp hiss of his breath, felt him wince from the effort. He'd muttered an obscenity, as if the act of hoisting her up had caused him pain. Maybe he'd pulled a muscle.

She d.a.m.ned well hoped so.

But why kidnap her? Why bring her to this . . . this G.o.d-awful place?

Panic seized her and she looked around frantically, searching for a way of escape.

Drip.

There had to be a way out of her new prison, but her mind was out of kilter and thick. Concentrating, she focused on the lantern with its small flame that caused flickering shadows to climb up moldy, tiled walls. Not a window in sight. Just filthy tiles, a cracked concrete floor and a narrow door.

So what was with the drip from the ceiling, tiny drops falling to pool on the floor in an ever-expanding puddle? She glanced to the ceiling where a useless light fixture was protected by a metal cage.

Was she in some kind of prison cell? Or a closet . . . or underground? She thought of Abby and her fascination with the hospital, with her obsession with their mother's death.

Drip.

As the tiny droplet hit the pool, she knew.

With mind-chilling clarity.

She was somewhere on the vast campus of Our Lady of Virtues. Maybe even in the hospital itself . . . though she didn't remember any tiny cell like this. Because you're underground! In a bas.e.m.e.nt. Because you're underground! In a bas.e.m.e.nt.

No!

Adrenalin burst through her.

She had to get out of this prison! She hated bas.e.m.e.nts. Went crazy when she was confined. And that lunatic, whoever he was, would be back. Get out, Zoey! Get out NOW! Get out, Zoey! Get out NOW!

She heard a terrified mewling and realized the sounds were issuing from her own throat. Clenching her teeth she fought back sheer, muscle-freezing panic.

G.o.d help me.

She took in a long breath.

Be cool, Zoey. You've been in tight spots before.

But not with a murdering psycho!

She didn't doubt for a second that he was the killer who had terrorized New Orleans, who had killed Luke and all the others . . . oh, s.h.i.+t . . . she had to save herself, had had to! She was to! She was way way too young to die, to face whatever sick torture he had planned. too young to die, to face whatever sick torture he had planned.

So where was he?

And where was Abby? Wasn't she coming here? Dear G.o.d, had the monster already killed her? Zoey began to shake uncontrollably, tremors wracking her body. She prayed her sister was safe, that Abby had somehow out-smarted this creep, that even now she was running for help.

But deep down she knew the chances of that were slim.

Abby could already be dead.

Tears burned her eyes as she thought of her sister and how she'd taken Abby for granted. Oh, Abby, she thought, and began to tear at her bonds. She had to escape! It wasn't her nature to give up without a fight and this son of a b.i.t.c.h wouldn't know what hit him if she could just find a way to get the upper hand. Struggling with the tape restraining her, half expecting the psycho to appear from the shadowy corners, she scanned the tiny room.

Of course she was alone.

She listened hard, tried to hear any movement, but over the sound of her own frenzied heartbeat and shallow breathing, she heard only the sound of the lantern's soft hiss and the drip of water from the ceiling.

You're alone, Zoey. That's good. You have time. Make the most of it.

But the messages from her brain weren't firing quite right and she struggled to push herself into a sitting position. If she could only get rid of the tape around her arms or her legs.

You can. You just have to find a way. Come on, Zoey, concentrate.

What do you know that will beat this guy? How can you find a way out of here?

The sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d who kidnapped you is a killer. THE killer. You can kid yourself all you want, but considering everything that's gone on recently, you know he plans to kill you just like the others.

Her insides turned to jelly and she wanted to break down and cry. This was so wrong. So unfair. Tears sprang to her eyes and she immediately gave herself a swift mental kick.

Bawling like a d.a.m.ned baby isn't going to help! Do something! Do it, NOW!

Using all her strength, she scooted toward the metal door, which, of course, was closed. She figured that if she could get herself to her feet and stand with her back to the door, she might be able to work the handle. Her wrists were strapped together and her shoulders hurt like h.e.l.l, but she had no other option that she knew of. The thick iron door was the only way out of this room.

Slowly, she inched across the short span . . . she thought about the lantern, knew she could kick it over and maybe cause a fire, but how would that help? And nothing in the austere room appeared flammable. She would be trapped in this cell, with no one to come and save her.

No. That wouldn't do.

She inched over the filth.

Ignored the dirt.

Finally she was at the wall. She tried to climb to her feet, to push herself upright, planting her feet about a foot in front of her and pus.h.i.+ng upward.

Once she fell.

Skinning her forearm, new pain searing upward.

Don't let this b.a.s.t.a.r.d get the better of you.

Cursing silently, she tried again. Only to slide down the wall, burning her arm.

Do this, Zoey. Try harder. Don't give up.

Her feet were bare, so she curled her toes, trying to dig into the cold cement of the floor, and managed to squirm her body up the door. Balanced, she attempted to push it open. To no avail. The slim handle didn't budge. Was locked tight. She tried again, hoping the old latch would give way.

Nothing.

Again, setting her jaw, she forced all of her strength into the handle, willing it to move.

It didn't.

d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n and double d.a.m.n. She wanted to fall into a heap and cry.

She was trapped!

The madman had locked her up and would either leave her here to die a horrid, lingering death or would return for some other gruesome end.

She couldn't give up. Her only hope, she decided, was the lantern. If and when someone opened the door, she could kick the lantern with its kerosene, burning wick, and gla.s.s base at whoever unlocked the door.

Other than that, she was a dead woman.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n d.a.m.n you, Montoya!" Bentz growled holstering his weapon. What the h.e.l.l was his partner thinking? And where the h.e.l.l was he? you, Montoya!" Bentz growled holstering his weapon. What the h.e.l.l was his partner thinking? And where the h.e.l.l was he?

Upon receiving Zaroster's call, Bentz had peeled off from the crime scene where Billy Ray Furlough and Maria Montoya were the victims. Leaving Brinkman in charge, Bentz had driven like a bat out of h.e.l.l to land here at Simon h.e.l.ler's house, a two-storied Greek Revival style home with huge white pillars, topiary in the front yard and a sweeping verandah.

Zaroster was already inside when he'd arrived, but the house had been empty. Bentz had barged in, shouting he was with the police and found Lynn Zaroster alone in the graceful old home.

"Something's definitely up," she'd told him and led him into a downstairs study where there were signs of a struggle.

A desk chair had been kicked over.

The computer monitor had been knocked to the floor and the screen had cracked.

Blood splattered a leather easy chair, where, it appeared someone had been working a crossword puzzle. The newspaper had scattered across polished floors, a pencil, too, had rolled up against the marble hearth of a fireplace, wire-rimmed gla.s.ses broken and strung over a folded piece of the newspaper, a third of the answers to the puzzle had been filled in.

Zaroster had already checked the rest of the house, but Bentz, too, looked things over. Nothing in any of the other rooms appeared, at least at their first, peripheral search, to have been disturbed. The beds were made, dishes washed, no sign of anyone in the house. And h.e.l.ler's vehicle was missing, a white Lexus SUV with California plates according to the DMV, not parked anywhere outside. Not in the single car garage, not in the alley, and definitely not on the oak-lined street. Bentz had checked.

But how had Montoya known about h.e.l.ler?

That c.o.c.ky forget-the-rules son of a b.i.t.c.h was a maverick. Montoya had enough b.a.l.l.s to show up at his aunt's crime scene against orders, then had managed to sneak his way past all the guards to view the gutted mobile home where Sister Maria and Billy Ray Furlough had been killed and left. Then with barely a word to Bentz, Montoya had taken off on some personal vendetta. Not confiding in anyone.

Except, it seemed, Lynn Zaroster.

"Where's Montoya now?" he demanded, once he'd searched for the Lexus and had returned to h.e.l.ler's den.

"At Our Lady of Virtues Hospital," Zaroster said and quickly recapped her conversation with Montoya and his theory about the killing spree being tied to the Seven Deadly Sins and Seven Contrary Virtues to Bentz. "But that's not all," she continued, "Montoya thinks everyone involved is connected either loosely or directly to that old hospital. We thought h.e.l.ler was the killer, but-" she glanced around the mess in the doctor's den, "-it looks like he's another victim."

"Your theory is that the vics are killed using their name a.s.sociated with a sin or . . . ?"

"A contrary virtue. In h.e.l.ler's case, Simon Thaddeus h.e.l.ler, I'm betting Sloth as the sin."

Bentz looked around the house. Other than the den, it was neat as a pin. "Doesn't look lazy to me."

Zaroster lifted a shoulder. "I'm just tellin' ya."

"I know."

"And this guy, he could have a wife or girlfriend or boyfriend or maid to clean up after him."

"Or the theory could be just a load of bull," Bentz thought out loud, but he was starting to buy it as he stared around h.e.l.ler's house. h.e.l.ler, who had worked at the asylum. Something about the way everything was falling together made Montoya's sins/virtues M.O. ring true. Still, Montoya had no business acting on his own, bending the rules to the breaking point. Possibly compromising the case.

As if you haven't, his mind nagged. his mind nagged.

He ignored it.

They walked to the front door of the graceful old house with its expensive furnis.h.i.+ngs and original pieces of art, trappings that wouldn't help h.e.l.ler now. "If Montoya's right, then our killer isn't finished."

"Not by a long shot. Let's go." She was already on her way to her car.

"Wait! You stay here. Secure this scene. Get backup. I'll go to the hospital. Call Montoya and tell him what's up. He won't pick up my calls but no way is he to go inside that place. Especially not alone!"

"You think I can convince him?"

"You'd better d.a.m.ned well try." Bentz was already across h.e.l.ler's clipped lawn and at the curb where his cruiser was parked on the street. "Are you familiar with the riot act?" he threw out as he opened the car door and glanced over his shoulder through the rain.

Cell phone to her ear, Zaroster stood in the huge entry-way of h.e.l.ler's house. She looked up at him expectantly.

"You might want to bone up, cuz I'm going to read it to you letter by letter when I get back. You knew what Montoya was up to, so you, too, may have thrown this whole case in jeopardy. There is no room, do you hear me?-no room for this rogue cop s.h.i.+t." He slid behind the wheel, slammed the car door shut, fired up the engine, turned on the sirens and gunned it down the quiet street. room for this rogue cop s.h.i.+t." He slid behind the wheel, slammed the car door shut, fired up the engine, turned on the sirens and gunned it down the quiet street.

"Idiot," Bentz growled as he picked up his cell phone to call for backup and punched in the number for the station. He understood Montoya's motivations, just didn't like them. What the h.e.l.l was the younger cop doing, messing up the G.o.dd.a.m.ned case?

Zoey started edging toward the flickering lamp when she heard something outside the door. Footsteps! Footsteps!

G.o.d, please, let it be the police! Someone to save me.

Her heart pounded wildly, fear spurting through her blood as she heard the lock click loudly. Groaning, the door swung open.

Looming on the other side, his features shadowy in the thin light, appeared the embodiment of Satan.

Oh G.o.d! Please help me!

She scooted as far and as fast as she could from him, shrinking away until her back was pressed against the gritty tile and she had no where to go.