The Last Straw, page 4
Once they realized Wyrick was standing upright, and the intruder was handcuffed facedown on the floor, they holstered their weapons.
The first officer introduced himself. “Ma’am... Wyrick, I’m Officer Bullard. Are you okay?”
“Obviously,” she said.
“Is he the only one?” Bullard asked.
She nodded.
“Exactly what happened here?”
So Wyrick proceeded to explain.
“It’s all going to be on the security cams. They are at both ends of the hall outside, as well as one over the door to our office, and then there are ones in here, as well. He was waiting for me. When I opened the door to leave, he kicked it in, hit me with his fist, then was reaching for his gun when I Tasered him. I pulled his wallet and took a picture of his driver’s license, then put it back in his pocket. Knowing the identities of my enemies is what keeps me alive, even though his cult isn’t known for brilliance...just hate. He was going for the gun when I fired the Taser.”
Officer Bullard frowned. “Cult? You know him?”
“I know who he belongs to. They call themselves the Church of The Righteous. They’re based in Louisiana, and have been throwing out all kinds of warnings on their website about my existence, saying I’m an abomination, ranting about how I need to be ‘taken care of.’ Taylor just bragged there are others coming after me, too. Needless to say, I’m pressing charges against him for assault and attempted murder.”
Officers Oliver and Jackson pulled Barrett Taylor to his feet. Oliver then began searching him for the gun, while Jackson got an evidence bag. When Jackson began to pat him down, he grimaced.
“Dang it, Oliver. He pissed his pants. It’s your turn to transport a wet one.”
“I couldn’t help it,” Taylor said, glaring at Wyrick.
Wyrick glared back. “A rather embarrassing side effect of getting Tasered. Be glad I didn’t shoot you in the balls, because that was my first target.”
Taylor blanched, and then looked away as the officer bagged his gun.
“Get him out of here,” Bullard said, then glanced back at Wyrick as they led him away in handcuffs. “Ma’am, does Charlie know about this?”
“He’s in court. I’ll tell him later,” Wyrick said.
“I’ll just walk you to your car,” Bullard said, and then grinned. “Just in case there’s another one out there, you can protect the both of us.”
She ignored his attempt at humor, because she was anything but amused.
“I’ll get video footage from the security cameras to you tomorrow morning. Thank you for your prompt response.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bullard said.
They rode the elevator down in silence, then she exited the building and headed for her Ferrari, got in and sped off, heading straight to Whole Foods to pick up her grocery order. But even after she was on her way home, she kept thinking, Charlie is going to be pissed.
* * *
And Charlie was pissed. He’d spent the whole afternoon waiting to testify, only to be told late in the afternoon that the defendant pled out on the assault charges, and got off with time served, which amounted to two months and a fine.
He still couldn’t believe it. He’d witnessed the man assault a waitress, who wound up with a broken nose and jaw, her front teeth getting knocked out in the process, and this was her justice? He found out later the man was her ex-husband, and that she’d had a protective order against him. If Charlie hadn’t taken him down, he might have killed her.
The longer he stayed in this business, the more disenchanted he was becoming with the justice system. Sometimes it wasn’t about the crime, as much as how much power and money you had to buy your way out of trouble. All he wanted now was just to get home.
Living with Wyrick was often aggravating as hell, but she was also the anchor to his world. Knowing she needed him had changed his focus from the overwhelming grief of losing Annie. Wyrick was the weight that kept everything level in his life, and gave him purpose for still being in this world.
When he finally reached the drive leading up to the mansion, he hit the remote and drove through the iron gates as they opened, then hit the remote again, closing them behind him as he passed.
The weather looked iffy today, so he parked in the covered garage behind the mansion, just in case there was any threat of hail later on tonight, and headed toward the house. The wind was sharp and getting chilly as he glanced up at the sky. Fall was upon them and winter wouldn’t be far behind. Time was moving too fast. He was passing the greenhouse when he saw movement inside and smiled.
Wyrick was in there, and likely picking some of her old landlord’s tomatoes. Technically, they were her tomatoes now, since she’d inherited his property, but she still called them Merlin’s tomatoes.
He opened the door to the greenhouse and looked in. She was all the way at the back, and as he’d guessed, was filling a small bowl with patio tomatoes.
“Hey!” he called out. “I’m home. Need any help?”
She turned, a rare smile on her face. “No. I’ve got it. I’ll be in soon.”
He gave her a thumbs-up, shut the door and then jogged up the steps to the veranda, and into the house through the kitchen.
The room was warm and welcoming, and there was something heating in the oven, because he could smell it. Wyrick wasn’t much for cooking, but neither was he. She could heat food up without burning it, and microwave like a beast.
It was enough skill to sustain them, and when the occasion demanded, they went out to eat, or ordered in. Their routine was far smoother than their relationship, but it was what it was.
Anxious now to get out of the clothes he’d worn to court, he headed upstairs on a run.
By the time he came back down in old jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, Wyrick was back in the kitchen washing tomatoes.
A timer went off just as Charlie walked in.
“Is that timer for what’s in the oven?” he asked.
She nodded.
He waited for further instructions, but when she stayed silent, he sighed.
“Want me to take it out?”
“You’ll have to if you want to eat it,” she said.
He rolled his eyes, grabbed a couple of pot holders and opened the oven door, pulled out some kind of casserole in a foil container and set it on a burner to cool.
“Smells good. You outdid yourself tonight,” he drawled.
“It’s supposed to be beef Stroganoff...or something like that, but it’s basically beef tips and noodles in sauce. There’s stuff for salad in the refrigerator—if you can handle a pair of scissors to open the bag of salad greens, then follow the directions.”
He frowned. “You’re exceptionally pissy tonight. What’s wrong?”
He heard her sigh, then watched her shoulders slump.
“You’re going to be mad, so I thought I’d just be mad first and save you the trouble.”
His frown deepened.
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you while we eat. You do better with food in your belly.”
“I am not a savage beast to be tamed with a thick piece of steak,” he muttered.
“It’s beef tips and noodles, and yes, you are.”
“Fine. I’ll make the salad,” he said.
She added a handful of the little tomatoes to the bowl of greens, then carried the casserole to the table while he stirred the dressing into the salad.
They sat, then looked up at each other over empty plates.
“What happened?” Charlie asked.
“You haven’t take a bite of—”
“Dammit, Wyrick. I am not your priest. I’m your friend, and when you remember to acknowledge it...I am also your boss. Talk to me.”
And so she did, from beginning to end.
“Shit,” Charlie muttered when she stopped talking. “Were you scared?”
“No. But by the time I got through with him, he was,” she said.
Relief washed through him.
“You said you got a picture of his driver’s license?”
She nodded.
“After dinner you will send it to me, please. You do your research. I’ll do mine. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then,” Charlie said and scooped out a big serving of the Stroganoff onto his plate, added salad next to it and took his first bite, chewed and then swallowed. “It’s good. You outdid yourself,” he said.
“Stifle the sarcasm. Next time, you cook,” she muttered, then served herself and started eating.
They ate in silence now, but the tension was gone.
Charlie felt the prickly energy of the wall she kept between them, and Wyrick knew he wasn’t going to let this go, which was fine with her, because neither was she.
* * *
Barrett Taylor had taken a risk after being booked into jail by using his one phone call on Jeremiah Raver, the leader of the church.
To say Raver was angry was putting it mildly.
“I trusted you to do a simple job, and your incompetence is only going to bring negative attention to us,” Raver shouted.
But Barrett was pissed at Raver for not telling him the whole story about that woman.
“That’s just it. It wasn’t a simple job. You said she was an unnatural abomination. You said she had powers that belonged only to God, but you neglected to mention she was psychic. You didn’t tell me she was six fucking feet tall. She knew everything about my presence without touching me. What was I supposed to be? The fatted calf? The lure? Did you just decide to sacrifice me for her?”
Raver blinked. Rebellion within The Righteous was unheard of. And the fact that Barrett had figured this out made him uncomfortable.
“It wasn’t like that,” Raver said.
“Then get me a lawyer and get me the fuck out of here,” Barrett said. “I’m not sacrificing myself for anyone.”
Raver didn’t like what he was hearing.
“Are you threatening me?”
Barrett lowered his voice. “You hung me out to dry, Raver. You figure it out.” He hung up. But once the link was broken between him and Raver, his defiance faded. This was going to be a learning experience, for sure.
* * *
The game was on with Rachel Dean, and it was all Sonny could think about on the way home. He stopped off at a fast-food drive-through, ordered chicken nuggets and fries and a bottle of water and then drove away.
Rachel was exactly what he’d been needing—a little after-work entertainment was always good for releasing unspent energy and relieving stress.
The weatherman was predicting a light frost tonight. Maybe he’d take her a blanket along with her food. He didn’t want her to get sick before he was done with her. That had happened to him once before. When that one had died in her sleep, he was disappointed to have been cheated out of being the one to deliver the death blow. It was always the delicious denouement to the game.
* * *
Rachel had paced and screamed for help, and pounded on the door off and on for hours. She finally fell asleep from exhaustion, only to be awakened sometime later by a hard slap across her face.
She woke up with a scream. There was a man on his hands and knees above her, tearing at her clothing—and she knew him!
“You!” she cried, and tried to push him off, kicking and slapping at him in desperation.
Even as she was hammering at his shoulders, and trying to claw his face, he was laughing. Then he drew back his fist and hit her on the jaw, knocking her unconscious.
When she came to again, she was naked, and he was on top of her and in her, holding a knife against her throat.
“Move, and you’ll cut your own throat,” Sonny said, and then leaned down and whispered against her ear. “I don’t mind fucking a dead woman. I’ve done it before.”
She saw the expression on his face, and then her own reflection in his eyes, and froze.
The next few minutes were an eternity of pain and despair, and when he finally collapsed on top of her, the knife slid lightly across her throat, bringing blood.
He leaned down, licked it slowly, then kissed her viciously, biting her mouth before he got up.
“Dinner is served,” he said, pointing to a sack on the floor by the sink, and then he was gone.
Rachel staggered to her feet, picked up the clothing he’d ripped off her and went to the sink. Using her underwear for a rag, she began washing. At first, the rag was red with blood, but the cut on her throat finally stopped bleeding, and then she washed every inch of her body, desperate to get the feel of him off her skin.
She noticed he’d left her a blanket with the food, but she was without soap. Without clean clothes. Without hope. And yet, she knew if she ever got a chance to escape, she needed to be strong enough to do it. After she dressed she picked up the sack of food he’d brought, carried it to the far corner of the room, away from the mattress, and dug out cold chicken nuggets and fries. She gagged on the first couple of bites, but then took a small sip from the bottle of water he’d included, and waited until the nausea passed. After that she ate with solemn determination, tasting nothing but revenge.
* * *
It took Millie forever to get home. She got stuck in traffic due to a wreck up ahead, and then as traffic finally started moving, they were all detoured into an older part of the city, and then just when she thought she was in the clear, her car began losing speed. She pulled over to the first access road, and called her car service.
After being towed to a repair shop, they told her the alternator had gone out, and so she sat for two hours, waiting for them to run down the part on the other side of Tulsa.
While she was waiting, she’d called Addison-Tunnell, and asked if they’d made the missing person report to Dallas PD.
“Yes, we did. Mr. Addison reported it himself. If you’ll hold a couple of minutes, I’ll get contact info for you and text it to your phone.”
“Thank you,” Millie said, and disconnected. Her gut was in knots and she was so scared it was hard to breathe.
A few minutes later she got the text, pulled up the name and number and quickly made the call. It rang twice, and then a man’s voice was in her ear.
“Detective Floyd, Missing Persons.”
“Detective Floyd, this is Millie Chriss. I’m Rachel Dean’s sister, and I was told you are the officer looking into my sister’s disappearance.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you know anything? What can you tell me?” Millie asked.
“We know she’s missing, and under suspicious circumstances. I’m with the crime scene team right now. We’re in her apartment gathering evidence, but with no signs of a struggle, or any evidence of foul play, we’re at a bit of a loss. We’re hoping something will pop from what we’re gathering.”
“I’m coming to Dallas tomorrow. Even if I can’t help, I need to be there. Rachel and I are all that’s left of our family. I can’t lose her. I just can’t,” Millie said, her voice breaking from emotion.
“We’ll do everything we can,” Floyd said. “I have your phone number. If we find out anything, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Thank you,” Millie said.
She disconnected, then began sending Ray a text, explaining what had happened, and that she was leaving for Dallas in the morning. He wouldn’t get the message until he landed, but he’d call her once he did, and she needed to hear his voice.
Another two hours passed before her car was fixed, and she was on her way home. Once she got there, she got a suitcase from the closet and began packing. She didn’t know how long she was going to be gone, but she wasn’t coming back until Rachel was found.
She’d missed lunch, and was too upset to be hungry, but she knew she needed to eat. She was in the kitchen getting out a loaf of bread when her phone rang. She grabbed it, praying it would be the Dallas Police telling her they’d found Rachel, but it was Ray.
“Hello?”
“Millie, honey! What the hell?” Ray said. “Rachel’s missing?”
“Yes!” she wailed, then sat down at the kitchen table and began giving him details. “I’m already packed. I’m heading to Dallas early tomorrow morning. I know I can’t really do anything to help, but I feel like I have to be there...to be close.”
“Of course. Where are you going to stay?”
“At the same place we always stay when we visit, the Warwick Melrose on Oak Lawn,” Millie said.
“Do you need me to join you? I will. I hate to think of you waiting all on your own,” Ray said.
Millie wanted to be selfish and say yes. But this conference was important for him.
“No, I’ll be fine. You go to your meetings. Do your thing and I’ll keep you updated if there’s any news.”
Ray groaned. “I hate this. I’m sick about Rachel. And I’m so sad for you. We have to have faith they’ll find her.”
Tears finally rolled as her voice began to shake.
“They have to. They just have to.”
“I know, baby. I know. Listen... I’ve got to go. I love you. I’ll check in with you after I get to Seattle, okay?”
Millie sighed. “Yes, yes, I love you, too. Be safe, sweetheart.”
“And you drive safe tomorrow. Don’t get distracted by worrying and get yourself hurt,” Ray said.
“I won’t. I promise. I’ll feel better just knowing I’m heading her way. Talk to you later. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Ray said and disconnected.
Millie laid the phone down, then looked up at the cuckoo clock on the kitchen wall, ticking away precious time. She tried not to think of what horrors Rachel might be enduring, willing herself not to even think that Rachel might already be dead.
