Dead in Her Tracks (Rogue Winter #2)(27)

“Zane, you can’t do that.”

“Right now I don’t really care. Who’s going to fire me? Stevie’s brother?” He looked at his officer. “This is Stevie we’re talking about.”

“Right.” A determined look crossed Kenny’s face. “But I’m letting the county sheriff know where we’re going. We might need backup.”

“Not if we can get Donald away from the property.” Zane said a silent prayer. He didn’t give a shit about his job. Every cell in his body told him that Donald had Stevie, and he’d be damned if he let her vanish or turn up dead in a motel room.

She is going to be my wife.

Zane pulled over and leaped out of the car, the keys still in the ignition. Kenny came around the back of the car and slid into the seat. “Get him out of that damned house,” Zane repeated, holding eye contact with Kenny. “Keep ringing the doorbell until he answers. I don’t care if he’s in his pajamas. I’m counting on you to sell this.”

“Got it.” Kenny pulled the door shut and gunned the gas, sending slushy snow flying as he headed up the long driveway.

Zane ran after him, hoping he didn’t trip and break an arm. He could barely see. Ahead, Kenny’s taillights disappeared around a curve and left Zane in the dark. He kept running, the icy air stinging his lungs. What if she isn’t there?

She’s there.

He rounded a curve and the house came into sight. Donald believed in lots of outside lights, but as Kenny had theorized, it was possibly to protect his activities, not his home. Zane kept to the shadows of the trees, swinging wide around the house. On the front porch, Kenny continuously rang the doorbell, calling Donald’s name. He beat on the door with his fist.

Zane crouched in the dark and waited. Come out, you bastard.

Or I’m coming in anyway.



Donald had returned to the basement. He’d changed into a black-and-red basketball jersey and baggy black shorts. His legs were insanely white and his arms were muscular. Much more muscular than Stevie would have expected from the quiet pharmacist.

Strong enough to slice through Bob Fletcher’s neck?

His muscles flexed as he set down a coil of thick rope and a stack of neatly folded towels.

Stevie stared at the items as her brain begged her to look away.

She held strong.

He didn’t have the best of her yet.

How much will he hurt me? She didn’t see any knives or items to create pain. Vanessa’s body hadn’t shown signs of abuse outside of rape and choking. Stevie breathed evenly. She could handle rape. It usually wasn’t sexual for the aggressor; it was about the power over the victim. Take away the power trip and he might lose interest.

It’s just my body.

I’ll be damned if he messes with my head.

Her mental defenses ready, she watched him tie odd knots in the rope. Time for some answers.

“Why me, Donald?” she asked.

He blinked his owl eyes at her. “You were meant to be, Stevie. You’ve always been my ideal, you know.” He focused on the rope in his hands. “All the rest were temporary substitutes.”

“The rest?”

“Other women. It was all practice leading up to you. When you walked into the pharmacy tonight, I knew it was a sign that it was time.”

“You’ve always had a thing for me?” she asked in a kind tone.

He leveled an even gaze at her. “No whore’s tricks. Don’t pretend that I’m your best friend. I know how you see me.”

“Where are the practice women now, Donald?”

He went back to his knots, a small smile on his lips. “Here and there.”

Stevie wondered how far she could push him. “Did Bob kill Vanessa? We know it was her on the video.”

Donald frowned. “No. Just because he killed Amber Lynn it didn’t mean he would do it again.”

“So who killed her?”

“Thought you police were working on that.”

“We are. We’re working on Bob’s murder too. You know, he didn’t have anything nice to say about you when he was put in his cell. He kept claiming you were selling illegal prescription meds,” she lied. “I found it amusing that you said earlier that you were friends. Bob didn’t seem to feel the same way.”

A flush filled his face and his movements with the rope became jerky and short. His lips moved.

“What? I didn’t hear you.”

“Asshole got what he deserved.”

“Sounds like it,” said Stevie. “No one seemed to be upset when he died. Whoever killed him practically did the town a favor.”

Donald smiled.

“You killed him, didn’t you, Donald?”

“You’ll never know.”

The smug look on his face told her everything she needed to know.

He stepped closer to the bed, the knotted rope in his hands. “Lift your head.”

A green light next to the door started to flash, its brightness startling Stevie.

The flashing caught his attention, and he turned to stare at it. “Damn it. Maybe they’ll go away.”

It didn’t stop.

Stevie realized it was the same type of light she’d seen in a hotel room. An indicator for the hearing-impaired that someone had rung the doorbell. Donald’s mother had been deaf at the end of her life.