“Done,” Jared replied, already in motion to get people out of the building.
“I have to find Emily,” Grady said desperately.
“Grady!” Dante grabbed his brother by the arm. “She’s in there with Sarah. So is Randi.”
Grady broke away from him and charged toward the door. Dante had to put his own brother in a headlock to stop him. “You can’t go in there. It’s locked, and doing anything to agitate him could get Emily killed. Think, goddammit! And screw your head on straight. Do you want her to die?” Dante held on to Grady until he stopped fighting against him. “I know exactly how you feel, but you have to pull it together for Emily.”
“I love her,” Grady said, panicked. “She’s my whole life.”
“Sarah has become my whole fucking life, too, and I know how you’re feeling. But you gotta think right now, Grady. Emily is being brave. She isn’t doing anything stupid. Calm the fuck down, and remember that his main target is Sarah.” Dante needed Grady to stop losing his mind. They didn’t have much time. He knew what John Thompson’s objective was—he wanted Sarah dead.
“Okay,” Grady answered in a husky voice. “I got it. Let go.”
Dante released Grady and they faced each other.
“What do we do?” Grady asked in a calmer voice, but his eyes were still wild with worry.
“We get our women back,” Dante replied, his voice filled with harsh determination. He was going to rescue Sarah, Randi, and Emily no matter what it took to get them out of there alive.
He could see Jared herding people out the side door, and police officers came streaming in the main entrance, Joe Landon at the front of the pack.
Everything was happening in his peripheral vision, but Dante was staring at the wall on the other side of the room to clear his mind, racking his brain for a plan that wouldn’t get the three women killed.
Sarah shoved aside her panic, trying to think of a way to get Emily and Randi out of John’s control. After the door had closed, John had shoved the three of them into one of the far corners of the room, his body between them and escape. The pistol was still trained on her, but he moved it when he gestured, which was a whole lot when he was talking.
“You have no idea what my life has been like since you sent the fucking police after me,” John whined. “Before you, I could use women and dispose of them, and nobody ever knew.”
Dear God . . . is he saying what I think he’s saying?
“Women back in Chicago?” Sarah questioned carefully.
“It was just Chicago until you made me leave the city. Now it’s been Chicago, Boston, New York . . . I find the bitches, use them, and then get rid of them so they can’t talk. Nobody even suspected me, nobody ever knew. I was a family man with a wife and kid. I had a respectable job, and I was smarter than the cops. I made sure not a single one of those women stayed alive to talk,” John answered angrily, staring murderously at Sarah. “Until you,” he finished furiously.
If a man or woman has the capability to murder, it’s already there.
Dante had been right when he’d told her that. Trey had always told her that his father had a bad temper, but Sarah feared it was much more than that. John Thompson had killed while his wife and son were alive? They were his cover? That meant the murders had gone unsolved for quite some time. All of the victims had been women. Used?—probably meant raped and murdered. Suspicion crept into her brain and wouldn’t leave. She knew there hadn’t been another similar murder in Chicago since John had attacked her.
Dear God, it can’t be him.
She felt Emily squeeze her hand, and Sarah knew her friends were trying to suppress their own horror. John Thompson was a serial rapist and murderer, and had been way before she’d ever met his son, Trey. Sarah squeezed back, trying to encourage her friend to keep quiet. Emily was sitting in the middle, and Sarah knew Emily and Randi were probably having the same silent exchange.
“You’re the Windy City Carver?” Sarah asked blandly, her stomach rolling as she realized exactly who was standing in front of her. The serial killer who had raped and killed so many women in Chicago had never been caught, and it had always been assumed that he was an opportunistic killer. He’d trolled for stranded female motorists or women walking alone at night.
“That’s me,” John answered proudly. “I never left the cops any evidence that would identify me. I was smart. I used a condom when I used the bitches and always cut them up in my truck inside a plastic liner. Then I tossed the pieces into the water. Even if they had been able to find some kind of fiber evidence, I was a family man with no criminal record. They had nothing to match it with. I was never a suspect. And I never struck twice in the same area.” He pointed the gun in her direction. “You. Ruined. Everything. I didn’t have time to use you before I almost killed you, and I didn’t have my favorite carving knife. I had to use a worthless pocketknife because I hadn’t planned on wasting you that day. I saw you, and I wanted you dead for taking away my last bit of cover. You fucking deserved it. A guy with a wife and son was better, but I needed Trey because my bitch of a wife was already dead. Hiding in the stairwell was a last-minute decision, but all I had was a pocketknife. I knew it wasn’t going to be very satisfying, but seeing you bleed to death had to be enough. I could always find another bitch to carve after you were dead.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a knife, unsheathing the blade from its protective cover with a flick of his thumb, his face becoming that of a demonic killer.