Alone (Detective D.D. Warren, #1)(100)

“Shit!” she cried.

She arrived in the bedroom, still shaking uncontrollably and now reeking of gunpowder. Her eyes were dark saucers in her pale face, her hair a disheveled mess. But she was still standing, still bearing her pistol, and Bobby thought she looked gorgeous as hell.

Now she saw the blood pouring down Bobby's shoulder. “Oh no!”

“Who is that man?” Maryanne cried. “And where is Nathan?”




C ATHERINE GOT BOBBY into a sitting position. Good news, Umbrio had missed a major vein. Bad news, he'd injured the joint and now Bobby's right arm dangled uselessly at his side.

“I don't understand,” Maryanne was babbling. “The receptionist called. Nathan was coming up, and I was so excited. I wanted to get the door, to be the first to greet Nathan, but James said no, let Mr. Harris get it. Then the door opened and I heard an awful noise, like a crunch. James yelled at me to run, so I ran. Then James pushed me into this bedroom, told me to get into the closet and not come out no matter what happened. So I hid. Then came the sound of footsteps.

“I thought it would be Mr. Harris, or maybe James. Instead, the closet door opened and that hideous man was staring at me. He was smiling. He was holding a knife and smiling. What kind of man does such a thing?”

Bobby and Catherine didn't answer. Catherine had pulled a pillowcase from the bed and was now tying it awkwardly around Bobby's shoulder.

“James suddenly appeared. He hit the man over the head with a bookend. Really hard. I've never seen such a thing. But that horrible man, he didn't even blink. He just turned around and he looked at James . . . Oh my God, James knew!” Maryanne sobbed. “You could see it on his face, he knew what was going to happen next. ‘Run, Maryanne,' he said. So I did. And I heard noises. I heard the most awful noises. I tried so hard not to hear those sounds. Except then it became quiet and that was so much worse. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to see James. Oh, my poor, poor, darling James . . .”

She crumpled to the floor beside the body. She clutched her husband's limp hand. And his fingers very slowly curled around hers.

“James!” Maryanne wept. “James! He's breathing. Oh my darling, you're still alive!”

“Shhh,” Bobby and Catherine said instantly. “He's going to come back.”

“Who's coming back?”

“Richard Umbrio.”

“Isn't that the man who kidnapped you, Catherine?” Maryanne was bewildered. “That was years ago. What would he possibly want with us?”

“Maryanne,” Catherine said steadily, “where's Nathan?”





T HE CLOSET WAS dark, but not totally dark. Nathan couldn't stand totally dark, especially now, when he was already really scared. He'd let the puppy go. He wished he hadn't done that now. He missed its warm little body, its sandpaper tongue licking reassuringly at his hand.

Now he was very much alone.

He'd seen the bad man do bad things. Then he'd heard his grandfather holler, “Run!” so he'd run. The other way. Far from everyone, because he didn't like his grandfather, who kept demanding Nathan go home with him, even when it was clear his mommy didn't want him to.

So Nathan dropped the puppy and ran in the other direction, away from everyone, including the bad man.

Then he'd seen this closet, with the shuttered door. It was small, filled with blankets and pillows and piles of bedding. He wished he were bigger. He wished he were stronger. He wished he were a normal healthy boy, because a normal healthy boy could probably climb all the way to the top of the closet, where he could hide above the bad man's head.

But Nathan couldn't do that. So he simply dug his way to the back of the tiny space. He closed the door. He covered himself with down pillows and did his best not to sneeze.

Now he waited. All alone. In the dark.

The bad man was coming.

Nathan whispered, “Mommy . . .”




C ATHERINE HAD FINISHED tying the pillowcase around Bobby's bleeding shoulder. It looked and felt ridiculous, but it was the best they could do. Both handguns rested next to Bobby on the bed, within easy reach if Umbrio should return. Looking at Bobby's mangled shoulder, however, Catherine wondered if the guns would really do much good.

Next, Catherine crossed to James, still prostrate on the floor. Blood pooled beneath him while from his lungs came an ominous whistle, like a balloon losing its air.

Maryanne had his head on her lap, her hand stroking his cheek. She was crying huge soundless tears. As Catherine approached, Maryanne raised her head. Her gaze was beseeching, but there was nothing Catherine could do. The judge was dying. They all knew that.

The judge gazed up at Catherine. For the longest time, the two simply stared at one another.

Catherine waited to feel something. She wanted to feel something. Triumphant. Victorious. Satisfied. But all she felt was an emptiness that went on without end.

“I know what you did,” Catherine said at last, her voice curiously flat. “A geneticist finally diagnosed Nathan—my son suffers from a rare disorder that only occurs in families with a history of incest.”

Maryanne made a small squeaking sound, belatedly covering her mouth with her hand. Catherine looked at the woman. And then she finally felt an emotion—icy cold rage.