Psychological Thriller Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  Well, isn’t that convenient?

  Gabby offered to drive me to work, and since there’s a cold snap hitting us hard, I don’t decline the offer.

  “I’m grabbing lunch,” she announces as she lurches into a parking spot right out front and we head in together.

  The scent of grilled burgers greets us at the door, savory and rich with smoke. Dena nods as she passes us by, and I’m quick to thank her for covering half my shift.

  “Not a problem.” The marionette lines around her cheeks depress. They look drawn in as if someone took a Sharpie to her pale flesh. “More tips for me.” She winks at Gabby before heading to the kitchen.

  I duck behind the counter and pour Gabby a cup of coffee, decaf only. She doesn’t like the jitters. “You want the usual?”

  I can count on one hand how many times Gabby has eaten here and still have fingers left over, and each time she places the same order. Steel cut oats. Maple syrup.

  I’ve never met anyone who clings to their food-based beliefs stronger than a religion. If it had a face, she doesn’t eat it. I tease her when we’re eating anything vegan approved by telling her I see it smiling at us. Thankfully, for Gabby’s sake, she’s a pretty good cook. She can mimic just about any recipe on the planet and turn it into a vegan sensation. Her mac and cheese, her cauliflower buffalo wings are to die for. I swear there is voodoo involved in both those recipes. It’s hard to believe I’m eating counterfeits of my favorite meals.

  “Yes, please,” she answers dismally while popping open her laptop, then turning her phone into a hot spot. Joe is too stingy to give anything away for free, even something as nebulous as internet connection. He’s paranoid that his secondhand bookstore all-dayers will be replaced with obnoxious millennials who stare vacantly into their laptops all afternoon. He says if they want a writer’s retreat, they can scuttle down to Starbucks. I hate to break it to him, but if another warm body scuttles away from this place, the only hope of him turning a profit will be if he turns it into a whorehouse. My body flashes with heat for a moment. The image of a man grunting over me, his greedy mouth devouring every square inch of my body hits me hard, and I shake the visual away. I never said it was easy making ends meet after I left Strafford. There were men. Men with money. Three. I couldn’t do any more after I had my wrist snapped. The free clinic gave me a sling to wear, and it healed in six weeks. I knew my neck was next. Starvation or mobility. I chose the latter.

  “Jackson said he’d meet me here in an hour.” Her expression sours, her eyes still magnetically pinned to the screen. “God, Theo is going to kill this bastard for dishonoring his sister this way. You know they didn’t even date two months. Two months! And he’s the grieving ex?” She shudders, arching her back like a cat. You could count her vertebrae if you wanted.

  “Just two months, huh? Did she love him?” Lizzy is like a puzzle with too many pieces that I’ve been taking my time with.

  Gabby’s verdant-colored eyes flash my way as she huffs at the thought. “Can you take anyone seriously after two months? I mean, for me that’s hardly cresting first base. But from what I hear about Lizzy, she was rounding out the bases on opening night.” She winces, shrinking a little in her seat. “Word on the street was she was pretty wild. I knew her well enough, but she’s the kind of girl who acts one way around family and another around her friends. All petticoats and pinafores when it counts, and then out come the fishnets and pasties when we’re not looking.”

  “Seriously?” My stomach boils in its own acid at the idea of such a juicy revelation. Lizzy Hartley has been my singular obsession ever since I arrived in Wakefield. Beautiful girl missing, haunting every street corner with her flashy smile, those sparkling eyes. Even in black and white, a two-dimensional print, she outshines half the girls at Conrad. “I thought I heard she was in accounting or something? Maybe her partying days were behind her. You know how jealous girls can be. Especially since she was so pretty.”

  Gabby shoots me a look. “Is.” She makes a face. “You’re dating her brother. Trust me, you’ll want to get used to keeping her alive in present tense. They’ve got a big family, and even bigger hope they’ll find her. Can’t blame them, though. If my sister went missing, I’d lose my mind. I couldn’t function. For sure you couldn’t trust me with a gun. I’d blow away any moron who wrote this kind of crap about her. That’s for sure.”

  My insides do a quick revolution. “Any word on how Theo’s taking it? And, by the way, we’re not dating. Getting lost in a roaring sea hardly a date makes. He’s lucky I don’t have him arrested for endangerment and kidnaping.” I’m only half-teasing.

  “Very funny.” She wrinkles her nose in that adorable Gabby way, and my lips can’t help but curve in the right direction. “If I were you, I wouldn’t joke about kidnapping either.”

  “That’s what happened, isn’t it?” Of course, I know that’s what happened, but the police around here are slow to admit it. “I mean, they found that girl last year, right? The one in the woods?” Karen Gilroy. Her dead body sponsored my first trip to the library. The great thing about a public library is that you can spend the entire day reading any and everything you can get your hands on for free. The only catch is, you can’t take it out the door without a card. Once Gabby learned I was making near daily trips to that oversized book depository, she gave me one of her spare cards to use, the one that fits neatly on a keychain. I have never been late with a book. I’ve treasured that card almost as much as I treasured the gun I used to kill the SOB who landed me in this one cow town to begin with. Nevertheless, I gobbled up anything I could on Karen Gilroy. Twenty-four. Budding fashion designer who was all set to intern in New York the spring she vanished. Turned up dead almost three weeks to the day that Lizzy went missing. People thought they had a serial killer on the loose. The entire town went haywire, nightly vigils, gun sales tripled, security systems were neatly installed outside of every home. They clamored for more armed guards around Conrad’s parking lot. Too damn dark, they chanted in an angry mob. It was true, though, and to be fair, it was the last place that Lizzy was seen. Odd since she wasn’t a student and had no business at the university. Gabby said she might have been coming out to see her, but that she didn’t have a summer class. Oh, the finger pointing that went on. The papers were rife with finger pointing. Karen Gilroy’s family was skewered within an inch of their grieving lives. Alcoholic father. Brother in juvy. Mother who cleaned houses for the wealthier residents of Wakefield was accused of stealing and lost her position at the mayor’s home. Nobody found it in their heart to have mercy on these people. That struck me as the oddest thing. But that was after the coroner determined she had amphetamines in her system. The opioids made her heart race so fast it came crashing to a halt. Meth head, they called her. She probably got raped by her pimp, they said. They were brutal in their dark storytelling. So sad to see townies turn on one of their own. If they would have asked me, I would have told them that she didn’t fit the mold of an addict. She had a squeaky-clean record, and her friends were pretty vocal about her devotion to staying away from even the most mundane recreational drugs. I could have told them that those bruises, that linear gash that ran along her thigh like a tire track looked as if she were escaping a stronghold. Her wrists had bruises as if she were shackled. Her body was one big contusion. She was the color of a creature that crawled from under a rock. Someone kept her under lock and key. Maybe even staged her death by way of injection. That’s how my dark mind would do it if I wanted to get away with a murder of that kind. I had studied the books, was more than familiar with the protocol. You never make it look like a murder. I didn’t.

  Gabby twitches in her seat a moment. “I think it’s obvious someone took her.” Her face bleeds out all color. “I mean, it’s terrible to think about. I just hope she’s not suffering. You know”—she glances over her shoulder at the door before leaning in, her eyes watery as lily pads—“just between you and me, I don’t think she’s alive anymore. It’s the
only thought that brings me comfort. I don’t think I could sleep at night thinking someone has her stowed away somewhere. And God knows what might be happening.” She blinks hard, as if trying to shake the images out of her mind. “Aren’t there enough willing people out there to satisfy these freaks? Why do they have to take a perfectly good woman and swipe her off the street like that?” Her voice is high and tight, her expression curt as if demanding an answer.

  A moment stills between us, and I can smell the rage emanating off her. “There is never an answer that makes sense when depravity is concerned. I would say whoever did this was an animal, but I wouldn’t want to insult the animals.”

  Gabby gives a weak smile. First one all day.

  Hours fly by. Jackson has joined Gabby as they hunch over her laptop. This Miles character has updated his status twice since his cryptic post this morning. He really does have a death wish on his hands. This time he claims that she’s contacted him again, another DM. And my God, a direct message from hell? Twitter is alive with people who claim the same after speaking with their bosses. Regardless, Miles has informed his viewing public that Lizzy is in fact in blistering pain. Blistering! I hate Miles. He’s an obstinate ass, and I’ve yet to see his deranged face in public. He says she’s crying, that she can’t stop sobbing. She misses life so much. So afraid. So cold. So very cold.

  Funny. You’d think he’d do his research a little on the weather they have down there.

  At precisely three thirty, the bell tied to the entry rings and I glance over just as a wall of uniformed muscle strides on in, mirrored aviators snapping off, revealing day-glow blue eyes, dimples digging in deep as he spots me from across the room.

  Theo.

  My heart thumps once like a threat, and then just like that, I shed a devilish grin, no pun intended. I can’t help it, though. Mr. Nice Guy lived up to his name last night when he allowed me to lose my bladder over him. The alternative was getting swept away in the flash flood, and I’m pretty certain he’s determined not to lose track of any more girls in his life. My chest weighs heavy with the thought. I don’t mean to come across callous. Sarcasm has been a salve for me for the last five years. It’s all I know. It’s the only language I’m fluent in. It’s my love language.

  I finish up bussing the table I’m working on and head over. It’s only then I note a short woman striding in behind him, less than half his size in a matching uniform. It almost looks comical, like a father/daughter Halloween costume.

  He motions me over with a tick of the head, and I feel myself pulling toward him as if he were reeling me in.

  “How are you doing?” He winces. His cologne floods my senses, intoxicates me, makes me sway on my heels just a bit. “Everything okay?”

  “I’m great. I’m the one who slept all night, remember?” It’s true. I could sleep anywhere for as long as possible. If sleeping were an Olympic event, I would medal.

  “Good.” He presses his lips together. “I’m relieved to hear it.” He steps back, revealing the tiny woman who followed him in. She’s thin, scary thin. Her forearm looks as if I could loop it twice with my fingers. She looks fragile as spun sugar. “This is my partner, Fiona Conner. She reminds me every day that dynamite comes in small packages.”

  She belts out a hefty laugh, her face folding up in a thousand wrinkles. There’s a familiarity about her short orange hair. My mother had the same unfortunate locks. It was a disastrous attempt to go blonde gone wrong. When your natural color is as dark as hers was, it’s too hard to get to that platinum level. But she never learned. She liked all her lessons given to her the hard way. I have my father’s coloring. I had asked my mother if she had a picture once, and she said look in the mirror. Howard, my stepfather, was the only male figure I knew growing up, and that was worthless.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Charlie.” I swallow quickly. They say you give yourself away with physical cues each time you lie, and that was one of them. I haven’t even whispered my given name since I escaped that night. I hardly think about it anymore. Peavey and Devyn call me G, short for Gem. There’s no connection to who I was legally, whatsoever. In a strange way, a very real part of me died that night, too.

  Fiona saunters over to a counter and inserts herself between Jackson and Gabby.

  Theo steals the moment and closes the distance between us. “You have to let me make that up to you,” he whispers with his voice low and husky. Just the sound of it, in combination with the scent of his spiced cologne, sets my thighs trembling. I have never felt so alarmingly aroused by another human being. I force my eyes to stay trained on his, even though I can feel my cheeks heating up ten notches. I revert right back to being a thirteen-year-old girl around him, and I can’t find a single reason to complain.

  “Make it an indoor event. Somewhere public where you can’t hold me hostage for days, and you have a deal.” I can’t help but delineate some ground rules, and I catch Gabby giving me the side-eye. Crap. “I’m so sorry.” My fingers cover my lips like a reflex. “I didn’t mean to make light of anything. Gabby showed me that horrible stuff about your sister. Can you arrest the guy?”

  “No. He’s a lunatic, but he’s not a criminal.” A breath expires from him. “I told my mom and sister to steer clear. I talked to Neil, the lead detective. He’s following up on it.” He glances back before leaning in. “After Neil does a sweep, I’m meeting the dude in a dark alley. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

  A dark laugh rumbles in my chest, and his cheek twitches with a smile.

  “Don’t tell.” His elbow taps mine.

  “Oh, I won’t, but I guess that makes me an accomplice.”

  “A girl who’s familiar with the law. Now that’s refreshing.”

  Another laugh filters from me, and this time Gabby motions for me to keep it down.

  “Sorry,” I mouth. “Is that how you prefer your women? Legally challenged?”

  His eyes close briefly, his own chest rumbling with a laugh. I think it’s clear he’s taking this whole I’m-burning-in-hell thing in stride. No one could believe it. Gabby lost a whole day at school for nothing but her own ripe anger. It’s clear this Miles person is a psychotic ass starving for attention. A dark thought comes to me.

  “Hey, do you think Miles had anything to do with your sister’s disappearance?”

  His brows pitch. The look on his face reads more how dare you and less anything to do with the aforementioned psychotic ex.

  “I mean, he was dating her at the time. I just thought…” My body flashes with heat. Truly my vocal cords know no bounds. I’ll need to dig that needle and thread out of Gabby’s junk drawer and sew my mouth closed.

  “He was cleared.” He smacks his lips as if closing off other thoughts from barreling out.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go there with you. Really, it’s none of my business. It’s just this thing that Gabby shared—”

  “Please don’t apologize.” His chest inches closer to mine. The warmth of his body radiates from him, and it feels safe, divine. “In fact, if you’re interested, I’ll take you to dinner. I’d gladly go over what we do know, which isn’t much. I try not to bring it up because I figure most people don’t want to talk about it. It’s sort of a downer. I get it.”

  “Not at all.” A spike of adrenaline spears through me, making me feel hot and alive with every nerve at rapt attention. “Dinner sounds great. Anytime.” I grip the tips of his warm, thick fingers discretely in the event Gabby’s prying eyes meander this way. “I know how it feels to be isolated and alone. I want to be there for you.” And surprisingly, I mean every word.

  “Thank you.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders for a moment as we make our way back to the nerve center of hostility. I pour them each a cup of coffee, bring them their orders, and all the while steal glances at Theo. Now this, right here, is a surprising twist in the fictional narrative that my life has become. I have never known romantic love, never felt the need. But this day, this season of my life, feels rip
e for something so noble and majestic, something more than a dirty quickie, something more than anything that I’ve ever known. Theo is filling something inside of me. Some unknowingly deep crater that was there long before I ever pulled the trigger. One that my brother and sister can never fill completely. Theo is bridging the gap between the real me and this work of fiction I’m living as. I wonder how long this feeling can last before the bridge collapses and incinerates in that bed of lava that’s been eating up my life from the beginning? I give it less than a year.

  No sooner do I collect the half-eaten plates, the discarded napkins and utensils, than a tall man, beefy, strong jaw, dark eyes comes in and offers an affable smile my way. There’s a familiarity about him, most likely a nameless customer I’ve served before, but something more, something that stirs my stomach acids, and don’t know why.

  “Neil,” Theo calls from the holy huddle that’s been in play over the last hour. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  My cheeks burn. Is that me? I glance to Gabby, and she bites down over her lips mischievously as if it means something, and that action alone sets my anxiety skyrocketing. Get a grip, I tell myself. This means nothing.

  Neil speeds over, a friendly smile taking over his face. He’s classically handsome, hard cut cheekbones, wide eyes, open face that you could trust in a dark alley. There’s a light in him that spears through his eyes as if he’s harboring enough joy for everyone in the room.

  “This is the waitress I was telling you about.” Theo lifts a telling hand my way.

  The waitress. Men have had a way of reducing women to the lowest common denominator for centuries. I’m not sure why this surprises me. What else did I expect to be?

  Theo grimaces briefly as he inspects me. It’s clear my own hardened facial expression clued him in.

  “My friend, Charlie Neville.”