To Die: Chosen To Die Part 23

"I don't think so."

G.o.d, this was freaky. Horrible. Jeremy felt his d.a.m.ned leg trembling and he wanted to scream. Mom isn't dead, she isn't dead. Not like Dad...oh, dear G.o.d, no...Mom isn't dead. "You don't know, though."

"No. But your being here isn't going to help. The best thing for you to do is to go home with your dad and sister-"

"He's not my dad and I can't go home. The cops are all over the place."

"I meant to your stepfather's house. Isn't that where Bianca is? With Luke? And his wife."

He lifted a shoulder. No one ever calls Lucky, Luke. Well, except Mich.e.l.le, especially when she's really p.i.s.sed off. "I don't keep track of my sister."

"Maybe you should. Until your mom gets back."

"What if she doesn't?" Jeremy blurted out, his worst fears right out in the open, all of his confidence stripped away. His throat was tight and his eyes burned. Oh, s.h.i.+t, he wasn't going to let himself cry. No way. But he was scared. Scared as h.e.l.l. "What then?" he demanded, his voice cracking a little. Holy c.r.a.p, would he be stuck living with Lucky and Mich.e.l.le? Could there be anything worse? And what about Mom? Where the h.e.l.l was she?

Alvarez was staring at him as if he was from outer s.p.a.ce and he finally realized he was chewing his fingernail and spitting the bits onto the floor-something his mom hated and was always ragging on him about. From the looks the detective was shooting him, she wasn't keen on his nervous habit either. "I'm, um, I'm just worried." He forced his hand to his lap, but his d.a.m.ned leg was still shaking nervously.

"I don't blame you," she said, a bit more kindly, "but you can't do anything down here. Trust me."

He flinched. Whenever an adult started out saying those two words, "trust me," it meant they were about to try to force you into doing something you just knew in your gut was wrong. "We're doing everything we can to find her."

"It's not enough," he said flatly and for the first time noticed the little camera mounted near the ceiling. Oh, G.o.d, was he being filmed?

Footsteps rang behind her and over Alvarez's shoulder, through the open doorway Jeremy caught a glimpse of a tall man with thin, silvering hair heading their direction.

Undersheriff Brewster!

Heidi's p.r.i.c.k of a father.

s.h.i.+t!

"What's he doing here?" the big buffoon demanded, stepping around Alvarez and looming over Jeremy seated in the uncomfortable chair. In an instant, Jeremy was on his feet, almost standing eye to eye with the tall cop.

"He's worried about his mother."

Brewster gave him the evil eye. "You should be in lockup for what you did, Strand."

"I didn't do anything."

"Got my daughter drunk. G.o.d knows what else would have happened if you hadn't been picked up." He was mad all over again, his face turning red, his lips bloodless.

"Cool it," Alvarez said tautly.

Brewster hooked a thumb in Jeremy's direction. "All this little j.e.r.k.-.o.f.f. wants to do is get high and drunk, then go out driving and try to get into my little girl's pants." He leveled a hate-filled glare at Jeremy. "You keep your filthy, h.o.r.n.y hands off my daughter, you hear me, boy? You so much as call her, I'll have you arrested."

"For what?"

"Anything you can think of, only worse."

"Enough!" Alvarez snapped out. She stepped between Jeremy and Brewster. She was a full head shorter, but she held her ground even though Heidi's dad was her boss. "Let me handle this, sir," she said, trying to defuse the situation, but it was too far gone.

Jeremy smelled the fight before the first punch had been thrown. Though his brain warned him, Don't let the old fart goad you into it. Don't try to take him down, he felt that sizzle in his blood, the tension in his muscles, the tightness between his shoulders. G.o.d, he'd love to land one fist onto Cort Holier-Than-Thou Brewster's smug face.

The old man felt it, too. "Come on, punk. Hit me. You know that's what you want to do."

"Undersheriff Brewster!" Alvarez was still wedged between them. "Stand down! Both of you."

"But the punk thinks he can take me. Sick little perverted p.r.i.c.k. He wants to screw my daughter and beat the c.r.a.p out of me. Isn't that right, Strand? You're a loser, you know that. A dope-smoking, beer-sucking loser, and Heidi's too good for you, so you just stay away."

Jeremy's fist balled so hard it hurt.

Just one shot, that's all he wanted. To show this a.s.shole what he was.

"Try it, sissy."

Oh, G.o.d.

His cell phone beeped. Another text message.

"What's that?"

"We've got more important things to worry about," Alvarez pointed out coldly.

In a second, Brewster lunged and had Jeremy up against the wall, one arm twisted painfully behind his back, his face turned sideways but smashed into the cinder blocks.

"Stop it!" Alvarez ordered.

But Brewster pinned him harder and started patting him down. Jeremy squirmed. He couldn't let Heidi's dad see the pictures she'd been sending him. Brewster would kill them both. "Let me go!"

"I think you've got some weed on you, punk!"

"No, I don't!"

"Stop it, Brewster," Alvarez warned.

"What is this...Oh, here we go." He reached into Jeremy's pocket and pulled out his wallet and cell phone.

"Give that back!" Jeremy said, panicked. Oh, G.o.d, the guy was going to look at his cell phone. "It's mine!"

"What's it got on it? Your dealer's number?"

"No, Mr. Brewster, please, don't-" The change of tone was a mistake. Jeremy saw it in the flare of interest in Brewster's eyes.

"Then you've got nothing to hide."

"Isn't this an invasion of privacy or-?" Jeremy's voice dropped as Brewster opened the phone and dark red color climbed up his neck to burst into his face, so that his blue eyes looked about to pop from his head.

"What the h.e.l.l is this?" he hissed. "What did you do to my daughter?"

"Nothing!"

"Are you trying to tell me that Heidi sent you these of her own free will, you little snot?" He was advancing on Jeremy again and this time Alvarez stood between them.

"Stand down, sir! If you don't stop hara.s.sing this boy, I'm going to arrest you." Alvarez was all business. Jeremy thought she might draw her d.a.m.ned weapon.

"Arrest me? Are you out of your mind, Detective?" Brewster snarled.

"You don't want the department to face a.s.sault charges. Sir." Her voice was like steel.

Brewster snorted, "This punk'll hide behind the law over my dead body."

"Fine!" Before he could think, Jeremy rounded on the man, his fist smas.h.i.+ng into Brewster's jaw. The older man's head snapped back and he went reeling against the far wall, Jeremy's cell phone clattering to the floor. Jeremy looked down and saw the picture, the one of Heidi in the Santa hat and red panties, her beautiful t.i.ts with their dark nipples completely bare while she was sucking on a candy cane and winking at the camera.

Oh, Jesus.

"You little pervert!" Cort Brewster sputtered, back on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet and rubbing his cheek, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "You're under arrest!" He glanced at Alvarez. "Read him his rights, Detective, and make sure he understands that he's in my custody now."

"Sir, his mother is-"

"Doesn't matter." Brewster pointed a shaking finger at Jeremy. "This kid's a troublemaker. Walkin' a thin line. Now put his b.u.t.t in jail. He a.s.saulted me. The way I figure it, we're doing his mother a favor." Brewster, looking like he would like to kill Jeremy, turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

"That was a dumb thing to do," she hissed to Jeremy once they were alone. "Real dumb."

"He's an a.s.shole."

"And the undersheriff."

"He wanted to fight me."

"You took the first swing, so you have to go down to a holding tank for a while." She bent down, picked up the phone, and saw the picture of Heidi. Her lips twisted downward and she shook her head. "And you might want to remind your girlfriend to keep her clothes on when there are cameras or cell phones around." She pocketed his phone and led him through the department.

"You're not really going to arrest me."

"I don't really have a choice," she said tiredly. She didn't bother with cuffs, but did read him his rights as she walked him down to a room where he was to be booked. "I'll try to square it with Brewster. Talk to Sheriff Grayson, if I have to. Everything that happened is on camera, so I think we can work things out. We here at the department have a lot more to worry about than Heidi's attempts to pose for Playboy. But her dad has to cool off a while before that happens. It could take a little time."

"How much?" he asked, the thought of being locked up again starting to panic him. Why the h.e.l.l had he let that son of a b.i.t.c.h spur him into hitting him?

"I don't know." He didn't say anything and she pushed a finger into his forearm. "Got it?"

He did, but he didn't like it. "Yeah," he mumbled.

"Good. Hang tough." She paused a moment and added, "I'm going to get myself a sandwich from the vending machine. Want one?"

"No, thanks."

"Sure? It's been a long day."

He shook his head. He had a feeling this long day was going to get longer.

The task force meeting brought everyone up to speed. Stephanie Chandler and Craig Halden, the two FBI agents, had returned and they sat at the table in the task force room with Sheriff Grayson, Undersheriff Brewster, Alvarez, Zoller, and a few others.

Alvarez didn't say a lot, just sipped her tea and hoped the half of a chicken-salad sandwich she'd choked down before the meeting would sustain her. She'd popped a couple of daytime cold capsules, too, working to keep her symptoms at bay. So far so good. She had yet to straighten out the mess with Regan's son, but she would. She owed her partner that much. And Brewster, just because he was the d.a.m.ned undersheriff, couldn't get away with being a bully, a cop who let his emotions get the best of his judgment.

She sent a look his way, but Brewster steadfastly avoided her gaze. Some of his anger had evaporated and he was feeling a little more like the jerk he was.

Good.

For now, Jeremy hadn't been booked. Alvarez would like to keep it that way.

The discussion moved from the copycat killer to Star-Crossed and then touched on Brady Long's death. The lab hadn't yet reported if the bullet found at the Lazy L proved to be a match for others they'd discovered at the scenes where the wrecked vehicles of the victims had been located. But everyone was edgy, wondering if Star-Crossed had changed his M.O.

"What would be the point?" Chandler asked. She was tall and slim, her blond hair sc.r.a.ped away from a face with high cheekbones that hinted at a Nordic heritage. A pair of sungla.s.ses was propped on her head and Alvarez had never seen her without them. "I mean, he's gone through all the trouble of leaving notes, using the victims' initials, leaving his victims to die naked in the freezing weather. Now, out of the blue, he walks into Brady Long's house and just fires at the guy point-blank and leaves? Where's the organization, the planning, the attention to detail that our boy has shown? And why?"

Grayson said, "It took some planning and waiting for Long to show up."

"Not the usual victim," she argued. She held up fingers as she counted the ways this crime was different. "Not female. Not traveling across the state in a vehicle. Not injured. Not left to die in the wilderness...Oh, h.e.l.l, I could go on and on."

Halden held up a calming hand. "We're just being cautious," he said. "We already got fooled once, by a real copycat."

"Anyone ever figure out how that killer knew so much about Star-Crossed?"

"There were clippings of all the killings, videotapes of the press conferences, and a lot of stories that the television and radio stations had run. She pieced together most of it, but there's a chance she had a mole."

"A mole? Like a spy? Here?" Grayson was on his feet and pointing at the floor as if to indicate the entire sheriff's department.

"As in someone with police ties. Not necessarily anyone from this department."

Grayson muttered under his breath. He was tired and it showed, the lines around his eyes deeper than normal, his usual slow-spreading smile nowhere to be found. His feathers ruffled, he sat down next to Alvarez and across the table from the federal agents. "Okay, so you guys will find out how the copycat got her information," he said to Halden. "But right now let's concentrate on the original. He's still at large, still using my county as his personal hunting ground, still got one of my detectives and at least one other woman, and he's really p.i.s.sing me off.

"I've got a press conference in"-he checked his watch-"less than an hour, so let's get to it. Go over what we do know."

"I know that Ross DeGrazio, Brady Long's housekeeper's son, owns the same caliber weapon and he's a h.e.l.luva shot," Brewster offered. "Saw him in a compet.i.tion I entered. He almost beat me. Came in second."

"The college kid?" Grayson looked skeptical, then lifted a hand in acquiescence. Nothing made sense.

Halden said, "We'll check out his weapon and alibis."

Selena made a mental note to look into Clementine's kid herself. Was it possible?

"Any other ideas?" Grayson asked.

"The boyfriend of Elyssa O'Leary," Chandler put in, checking her notes. "Cesar Pelton. He was a marine. Dishonorable discharge. Spent some time as a security guard before he had domestic a.s.sault charges leveled against him by his ex-wife." She suddenly had everyone's attention. "But he has no connection to the other victims. As for an alibi? We're not even sure Elyssa's car was. .h.i.t. He lives in Missoula, so it's close enough to be possible, but we have no corroborating evidence other than he's abusive."

"So...he's not a suspect?" Selena asked.

"It doesn't seem right. The ex-wife is a liar and Pelton's been pretty visible around Missoula this whole time. He's quick with his fists, but is he organized enough? He can barely hold down a job. Keeps over-drawing his accounts and gets into trouble with the law. Doesn't appear to be near as smart as our guy." The FBI agent seemed frustrated and tired. Alvarez had done some checking on Pelton as well and had nearly written him off, too. "We'll keep looking at him," Chandler said, but she sounded a little disinterested.

Brewster said, "My money's still on DeGrazio. Or someone who lives closer to Grizzly Falls."