Chances Are - By Christy Reece Page 0,66

torture chamber in the basement.”

“Anything else?”

“They also found clothing and identification for two of the victims.”

“No sign of Delacourte?”

“No. They said the mail and newspapers are all stacked up.”

“What about other properties? Does he own any other houses?” Jake asked.

“Not that we can find. This was his family’s home that he inherited.”

“What about relatives?” McCall said. “There’s got to be somebody who knows the guy.”

“No relatives either. Even the neighbors don’t know anything about him. Said he keeps to himself.”

Jake turned away. Dammit, they’d identified the bastard only to have no idea where he was or what he had done with Angela.

“What about Clarissa Eaton?” McCall asked.

“So far, her body hasn’t been found.”

“Okay. Good work, Deidre. If you find anything else, let us—”

“Wait,” Jake twisted back around. “Deidre, can you get a list of all the roles Delacourte’s played?”

“Yes, I should be able to do that.”

Jake looked at McCall. “The way he displays his victims…. What if he’s playing a role and looking for a leading lady?”

“Could be. The roses…his wife’s name was Rose. Maybe he’s subliminally trying to bring back his dead wife.”

Jake had a stomach churning thought. “And what’s going to happen when he realizes Angela isn’t his wife?”

McCall didn’t speak but Jake saw the answer in his eyes. He was going to do to Angela the same thing he had done to the other women he had abducted.

“Okay, got them,” a female voice interrupted their dark discussion.

While they’d been talking, Deidre had been working.

“Looks like he’s played a lot of different roles. Almost a hundred. He—”

“What was his most successful role?” Jake said. “The one that gave him the most acclaim?”

“Looks like he got the best reviews from a play called The Last Man.”

“And his character’s name?”

“Richard Middlebrook.” A pause. “Hold on a minute. Let me check…” Several more seconds of silence followed.

Jake couldn’t breathe, could barely keep himself from dashing out the door. To where, he didn’t know. Hell, hell, hell, come on, come on—

Deidre’s excited voice broke into his cursing prayer. “A man named Richard Middlebrook rented a house in Reims a few days ago.”

As Deidre rattled off the address, Jake pulled his Glock from his side holster and double-checked the magazine. They would go in with a battering ram if they could but if the rescue required subtlety, he’d be prepared.

McCall pocketed his cellphone, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “That’s a seven-minute drive from here.”

Jake was opening the door before McCall finished. “Let’s go.”

The cement slab was hard and cold beneath her. Pain flowed through her body in an unending wave. How long had she been here? Hours, days? Weeks? Every time she regained some semblance of reasoning, he returned to her again. To torture, taunt, and shout odd, obscure directions she had no hope of understanding. Then he would shove papers in front of her and demand she read them aloud. She’d barely been able to make out the words, much less speak them. Would this agony never end?

She had long ago given up that LCR could save her. What had happened to Clarissa? The last time Angela had seen her, the woman was being rolled away on what looked like a hospital gurney. Though tied up and her mouth taped, Clarissa had twisted her head and given Angela a look—one of betrayal. Angela had told her she would save her and had broken her promise.

How could she have thought she could do this? Self-confidence had always been one of her best assets—seeing her through some of her darkest days. With all the naivety of a clueless child, she had carried that confidence into her first LCR mission. And now she faced the awful truth. Self-confidence hadn’t gotten her into this plight, it had been blind arrogance. She had been so damn cocky, so very sure that her training combined with her intelligence and courage could conquer anything. Having dreamed of being an operative for so long, she had believed that all she’d needed was the opportunity. And now Clarissa Eaton would pay for that arrogance with her life. As would Angela.

“Welcome back.”

Had he been standing there all along? Watching what remained of her spirit wither away? Waiting until he saw complete hopelessness before he began again?

Thousands of tiny jackhammers were on full blast inside her head and every part of her body, especially her feet, hurt with an unending agony. Ever since the hit on the head, her vision had been less than ideal. She had a concussion, at the least.