"Look, Harper, I can’t reach our man. I want you to stay downstairs until I get there. I’m leaving right now."

I push the key into the slot and twist it, the doors closing in front of me. I press the penthouse floor and feel the jolt as the elevator begins to rise. "I guess you know what I’m going to say to that, Bear. Just get over here and bring the fucking cavalry!"

"We’ll be right there, Harper. Don’t do anything stupid."

Yeah, right.

I already did when I left this afternoon, I’m afraid.


* * *

The service elevator leaves me off at the back of the apartment. I step into the small alcove and fumble with the keys until I find the one that opens Kels’ fire door. Hearing the satisfying slide of the bolt, I pause for a moment to collect myself. If the bastard is in there, I don’t want to give him any more advantage over me.

I notice blood on the floor, but quickly realize it is from my own hand, from gripping the keys. Jesus, pull it together, Harper. I wipe my hand on the back of my jeans and slowly enter the kitchen.

No one else in here. Everything seems fine. I consider grabbing one of the butcher knives from the block, but refrain. Don’t need to get my damn throat slit.

Moving as quickly and as quietly as possible, I peer out into the living room.

"Oh fuck! Erik!" I can’t help but whisper.

My eyes freeze on the body. That’s what he is now – a body that the police will come and collect. I can’t seem to move as I take in every horrible thing that has been done to him. The smell of blood is overwhelming, and the dark fluid is everywhere. His face and neck have been hacked up with a knife, skin peeled back to the bone. The murder weapon is not more than a foot from his head, stuck through a picture of Erik and Kels.

My stomach lurches and I bite back the bile threatening to spill out. Lord knows I’ve seen this brutality before. But never to a friend.

"God, please don’t let me find Kels like that," I pray aloud.

Fighting down the nausea once more, I am on the move again. A glance to the foyer confirms my fear: the cop is slumped in his seat, shot once in the forehead, dead as dead can be. And lying in the elevator, feet sticking out of doors trying desperately to close but repeatedly bouncing open, is the old elevator guy. He’s been shot as well. Poor bastard. He was a nice old man.

I need to find Kelsey.

I rush headlong back into the apartment, no longer caring about being quiet or cautious. I only want to find her. And, yet, I am terrified of what I might see if I do.

I go into her bedroom, where not more than a few hours ago we were snuggled together, happy and content. It’s empty. Silent.

The bathroom door is closed. Thank God! She locked herself in there. She’s fine. She’s safe.

The door swings open when I grasp the handle.

"Kels!" I call out.

Only my own echo greets me from the tiles.

Fueled by fear, I rampage through the rest of the penthouse. I find every room empty.

She’s gone.

She’s gone.

She’s gone.


* * *

I don’t remember going back into the living room or sliding down the wall. But it’s where I find myself when Bear’s voice reaches me.

"Harper?"

"She’s gone. He’s got her," I manage to choke out past my tears. I am dimly aware of my wet cheeks and shirt. I have no idea how long I’ve been here weeping.

"I know." He kneels down next to me and lays a compassionate hand on my knee. "We’ll find her, Harper. I swear we will."

"Erik." I gesture futilely toward where his body is. "It’s so horrible … what he did."

"I know. Come with me. Let’s get you something to drink."

"We have to find her, Bear! My God, before he hurts her!" I grab his shirt and hold him close.

He hugs me gently. "We will. Let’s get you out of here."


* * *

I am in a daze as Bear takes me down the service elevator, to the apartment basement where a squad car awaits us. He helps me into the back seat, keeping me from smacking my head, as if I care anymore.

It’s dark as we pull out of the garage. The sun sets early in the winter months, even in Southern California. I see a few paparazzi gathered at the building’s entrance already. Fuckin’ vultures.

I endure the short ride to the station house and follow Bear inside. He puts me at his desk and motions to the phone. "You want to call anyone, Harper?"

I nod. My fingers grasp the hard plastic of the phone. "Thanks, Bear." I give him a grateful smile. "You get to work. I’ll be here."

"I’m gonna get the latest information. Sit tight."

Not like I have a choice. I punch in my parents’ phone number. The phone rings twice before it’s picked up by my father. I listen to his greeting several times before I can respond. "Papa," I whisper.

"Harper?" I hear him call for Mama in the background. "What’s wrong, baby?"

"He took her. He took Kelsey and he killed Erik." I’m surprised at how calm my voice sounds. It can’t be mine.

"Where are you?"

"I’m at the police station with Bear. I need to get going. I have to tell the station and prepare a press release. I didn’t want you to hear it over the news. And, then I need to find the fucking bastard and rip his heart out through his chest."

"Don’t you do anything stupid, Harper Lee. That little girl is going to need you when she gets back."

"If she gets back, Papa."

"No," he corrects me strongly, "when she gets back. You have your cell phone with you, sweetheart?"

I pat my hip absently, confirming its presence. "Yeah, why?"

"We’ll call you as soon as we get in town."

"You don’t need to come here. It’s going to be crazy. The paparazzi are everywhere already. It’s …"

"Be quiet. We’ll be there. We love you, baby."

I am about to say good-bye when Mama’s voice reaches me. "Mon Coeur?"

"Mama," I whisper, my heart breaking.

"Ecoutes bien ton Papa. Tu seras bien forte pour ta petiet copine. On sera la, avec toi, fort ensemble. On t'aime." You listen to your Papa. You be strong for the little one. We will be there and be strong for you. We love you.

"Bye," I manage and hang up. I give myself a few more moments to cry. Because that’s all I have.

Time to get my game face on. Gotta go be Kels’ senior producer and pull together the story of a lifetime.

Just hope it’s not our last one.


* * *

Next call. Franklin Saunders, the General Manager of the station. I have to tell him that his million-dollar-a-year talent has been kidnapped by a murderous psycho. And somehow I’ve got to do it without losing it myself.

"Saunders," he answers the phone the same way, whether at work or at home,

which is where I now reach him.

"Kingsley here. We’ve got a crisis. Stanton has become the evening’s top story, rather than reporting it."

"Tell me more." I hear him down the rest of whatever he was drinking.

"It appears the serial killer in LA has been following a pattern based on Kelsey: young, blonde, beautiful, athletic. As of a couple hours ago, he kidnapped Kelsey from her apartment and killed her live-in boyfriend, Erik Collins."

"Holy shit. Do they think she’s still alive?"

"As of right now, they do. The FBI is here as well. They’re worried the serial killer has reached a crisis point and he’s changing his pattern. They’re moving fast to try to find him and save her."

"Jesus H. Christ. That’s a hell of a story, any way you cut it."

"Yes, sir, and it’s ours. Send me some new talent down here and I can go live. The cops are organizing a press conference for an hour from now. I can do our breaking report beforehand and give us an exclusive."

I can hear Saunders thinking. Finally, he says, "I’m sending Jessica down there. You want your regular crew? That orange haired kid?"

"Yup, sure do." I’d be glad to have Jims around right now.

"Kingsley, I want sensitivity here. You keep the focus on bringing a serial killer to justice. I want Stanton’s role downplayed in this. She’s one of our own. Protect her, if at all possible. Do you understand?"

"Absolutely. Tell Jessica to use the side entrance and ask for Detective Brice.

That’s where I’ll be."

"Good luck, Kingsley."


* * *

I really hate Jessica Waters. And I just might kill her before the night is through.

First off, she’s a wee bit too damn happy about Kelsey being kidnapped. You’d think we were reporting on the opening of a new ride at Disneyland the way she is glowing. Second, she’s being a bitch on wheels to Olson. And third, she’s a fake blonde.

We’re standing in one of the back offices of the station house, ready to go live, when we get the go-ahead from the studio. We’re breaking into a repeat episode of ‘Veronica’s Closet.’ I hardly doubt that anyone will care.

"On in three, two, one ..." I hear in my earpiece, and so does Jessica. She faces the camera Jims is shouldering and begins her report, looking appropriately concerned.

"Thank you, John," she says to our anchor, who has introduced her. "The serial killer who has been stalking and killing young blonde women in Los Angeles over the past two months has struck again. Today, the killer broke from his prior pattern. This time the victims were three men, actor Erik Collins, concierge Carl Neumann and an unidentified police officer.

"A fourth individual, KNBC’s own Kelsey Stanton, who resides with Mr. Collins, has apparently been abducted. Police officials and the FBI have made the Twenty-third Precinct their command post as they try to piece together the events of earlier today and move as rapidly as possible to track the killer and protect Ms. Stanton’s life. Ms. Stanton fits the profile of the previous victims of the Blonde Scalper. There is no word right now as to her whereabouts or her condition.

"The police and FBI are expected to make an official statement about today’s tragic events at any moment. We will be there live to cover this unfolding tragedy. John?"

Over the airwaves, we hear his question. "What is the profile of the victims, Jessica?"

"As you know, John, all six of the prior victims have been women in the late-twenties/early-thirties, of an athletic build, with blonde hair and green eyes. The interesting thing about the serial killer is he has cut the hair of all but one of the victims so that it would be shoulder length. Police speculate that he was attempting to have each of the women look like some individual he has idealized, or for whom he has an obsession."

"Any information on what drives him to kill these women?"

"No one can truly understand such a mind, John. However, police sources theorize that he murders them when they do not measure up to his standards."

There is movement around us.

"John, it appears that the Police and the FBI are prepared to make a statement at this time. We understand that Ms. Stanton’s Executive Producer will also be making a statement on behalf of KNBC management."

We all turn our attention, and camera, onto the unfolding scene around us. A couple police officials step forward, followed by their FBI counterparts in dark suits and ties.

Greg Komansky, head of the Threat Management Unit, takes the podium.

"I’ll be making a short statement, followed by Special Agent Adams with the FBI. There will be no question and answer session at this time, due to the ongoing investigation.

"At approximately four-thirty this afternoon, the Los Angeles Police Department responded to a call of an unknown disturbance at the residence of Erik Collins and Kelsey Stanton. Upon arriving, patrol units discovered a multiple homicide crime scene.

"We can confirm that Mr. Collins and two others are deceased. One was Carl Neumann, the concierge of the apartment building, and the third was a police officer stationed there. The officer’s name is being withheld pending notification of the next of kin.

"We can also confirm Ms. Stanton is missing. We are doing everything we can to ensure her safe recovery.

"We will continue to keep you updated as facts become available for release. We also request at this time that anyone with any information on Ms. Stanton’s whereabouts call the LAPD at 213-555-TIPS."

Greg steps away from the microphone and SA Adams takes his position.