Thriller: Stories to Keep You Up All Night

"You think I take orders from you?" He slid into the SUV, started the engine, rolled down the window and threw a stare of pure hatred at Karen. She shivered imperceptibly. She'd made an open enemy. Somehow, he would prove he controlled her, too, along with everything in his world, no matter what the cost.

All pretext of the gentleness he'd shown his daughter gone, he said, "You'll be sorry you screwed me, Karen."

"I've been sorry about that for years."

Just back from Europe, the news flashed across her computer as she worked on revisions to Karen Brown's Guide to Switzerland, courtesy of Tampa P.D.'s Internet subscription active calls for service. A domestic-violence call in a Carrollwood neighborhood. The first officer at the scene found a woman shot and a five-year-old girl missing. An Amber Alert went out at 3:30 a.m. Karen glanced down at the clock on the screen. Twenty-five minutes ago. Wasting no time on useless recriminations, she left immediately.

Thirty minutes later, she reached Grouper Circle, a few houses scattered around the cul-de-sac bordering Lake Grouper. Tampa P.D. cruisers blocked the Dolphin Avenue entrance. Karen parked her red 4Ru

She grabbed her laptop and approached the first officer she saw. "Hey, Randy," she said, to avoid startling him in the darkness.

"Counselor." He nodded. "What's your interest?"

"Beverly London is a client. Came to offer support."

"She don't need it," Officer Wilson told her bluntly.

Karen closed her eyes. A short moment of mourning was all she permitted herself for now. "Suspects?"

"Nasty divorce. Custody problems with the daughter. That your angle?"

Karen nodded.

"Bet on the ex," Randy said. "Real piece of shit. Restraining orders, my ass."

Nobody needed to tell her how inadequate the law was at protecting women from men like Jeffrey. "Can I go up?"

He nodded.

"Who's primary?"

"Jerry Scanlon."

Karen made her way down the short street to the brick colonial at the end. She saw two unmarked cars, an ambulance and people milling around. Officers, crime-scene technicians, photographers. A couple of detectives interviewing one of the neighbors, probably the one who'd called in the gunshots. She walked up the sidewalk to the threshold and stared into the open front door.

Beverly London's body lay on the tiled foyer floor, clad in a neon-yellow nightgown, eyes open, frozen in surprise. Two entrance wounds were visible in her chest and abdomen. Lots of blood had pooled. Bullets probably severed the femoral artery. No way Beverly would have survived, even if she'd been found immediately. But she'd been there a while, long enough for all the blood to have congealed.

Karen caught Detective Scanlon's attention. "I hear you gave up law, writing travel books now," he said, a question in his tone that she'd answered too many times before. Why? That's what he wanted to know.

"I like writing travel books," she said. She was still a member of the bar. That's all he needed to know.

"Not enough money in the writing to keep you in cabernet?"

"Something like that."

He sized her up as if he'd never seen her before, although the two had worked together frequently during her short stint in the prosecutor's office. He waved toward the body. "Not a pretty scene."

"There are security cameras throughout the house and grounds." She pointed to the camera hidden in the wall sconce on the side of the front door. When his eyebrows rose in question, she nodded. "Mine."

"We're not through processing yet." He let her pass.

Karen moved carefully through the kitchen, Deidre's room, Beverly's room, and the door that led outside to the attached garage. She located the surveillance cameras and removed the memory sticks. The cameras recorded in a loop, replacing images every three days until the sticks were changed.

She opened her laptop, booted up and slipped the memory stick from the kitchen camera into the slot first. The images downloaded quickly. She and Detective Scanlon watched video of the dark kitchen, but nothing more.

"It was a long shot," he said by way of forgiveness.

Methodically, Karen downloaded data from the other four and continued searching. "Look there." She pointed to the screen. The intruder had come in through the garage door. Jeffrey London. No doubt about it. He's a bold bastard, she reminded herself.

They studied the digital images on the tiny laptop screen. She felt a sick deja vu as she watched Jeffrey invade the house, disarm the security system, climb the stairs, enter Deidre's room and return carrying the sleeping girl, just as he had the night Karen saw him from the kitchen chair.

"Dammit!" she muttered. She blamed herself. She should have forced Beverly to turn Jeffrey in last year. If she had, Beverly would be alive now.

"Look." Scanlon pointed to the image.

She shook off her recriminations and watched Jeffrey reach the bottom of the stairs, his body twisted to the right, toward the garage door. Light flooded the foyer.

Camera three captured the entire scene. Beverly stood very near the same location where she was lying now. "Jeffrey!" her voice screeched from the laptop's inadequate speakers. Karen winced.

Deidre awakened, looked around, sleepy-eyed, disoriented. "Daddy?" she said, as if she was surprised to be held in his arms. Which surely she was. He hadn't seen her in fourteen months, and the last time was under harrowing circumstances.

"Put her down, Jeffrey," Beverly's panicked voice instructed.

He chuckled, changed direction and strode toward the front door.

Beverly grabbed his arm, jerking it from under Deidre's legs. Jeffrey grasped the child tighter, held her close to his chest. Then he yanked his right arm from Beverly's grasp, reached around his back, slipped a.38 from his belt and shot her twice.

Beverly fell to the floor. Deidre screamed, "Mommy! Mommy!" and thrashed wildly.

Jeffrey held on to the frightened girl. He strode through the front door and out of camera range. The screen reflected the empty foyer. After an excruciating few seconds, Beverly's faint groans stopped.

Moments of stu

Numb, she said, "He's a Canadian citizen. Lives in Toronto. Wealthy. Probably flew here in his private plane."

Scanlon sighed, resignation showing in the slump of his shoulders. "If he gets her to Canada before we catch him, that's a big problem."

"Why?"

"Canada won't extradite him for a crime that carries the death penalty. And we won't waive the death penalty unless he pleads guilty and accepts a life sentence."

Karen's despair overwhelmed her. "I can see that happening all right."

Scanlon nodded. "Sarcasm won't help. There are some alternatives. None is perfect, and they all take time."

"You'll understand if I don't think spending the next two years cutting through bureaucratic red tape to get Deidre back through cha

She cued up the last of the video again and checked the time stamp on the image. "He's been gone more than six hours. By private plane, he could easily be in Toronto already." Karen knew Jeffrey wouldn't have risked pla

"We'll check the airlines to be sure," he paused. "Otherwise, I'm afraid we're hosed here."

Karen felt a slow burn rising from her toes to the top of her hair. Every nerve ending alert. Beverly dead. Deidre missing. Jeffrey London gone.

Case closed?

Not a chance.

After the fifth lap, cold rain pelting her body, punishing her for screwing up, Karen began to feel a bit better. Although her racing days were long over, swimming still cleared her head. The water slid past her wet skin. She completed a dive and turn underwater, gliding through the silky depths back to the surface, flawlessly resuming the forward crawl. She used the steady rhythm that allowed her mind to strategize. The problem wasn't finding Jeffrey but extracting Deidre from Canada. And then keeping the girl away from Jeffrey. She finished fifteen laps while the plan worked itself out.