She couldn’t rely on Vonnie’s help, not unless she was lucky enough to knock their attacker out and had time to look for all his keys. Until then, she was entirely on her own.
No, you’re not.
Taylor breathed out, slowly, calm again. She couldn’t see Vonnie in the darkness, but she could see Jenny, still lying there on her stomach, just a few feet away. Reaching for her. Smiling.
Taylor reached, too, pressed the tip of her finger to her sister’s, absorbing her strength and her love.
Ready?
“Ready,” she breathed.
A sound from above made her stiffen. Jenny disappeared, but still, Taylor felt her touch.
From nearby came a heavy footfall. A clang of metal—the outer door.
“Stop moving,” she ordered Vonnie. “He’s here.”
Oh God, help me, he’s here.
Sunday, 7:15 p.m.
“I still can’t reach him,” Lexie said as she slammed her cell phone down onto her lap. She leaned forward in her seat, staring out the windshield, silently urging Aidan to drive faster. “Damned dispatcher says he’s interrogating a prisoner and refuses to be disturbed.”
“Did you tell her why you were calling?”
“I told her it was about Jenny Kirby’s murder, but she didn’t seem to believe me. The chief might have started taking my side, but to everyone else, I’m still the girl who cried wolf.”
She should have made the call anonymously. Better yet, they should have just driven to the police station and raised hell until they got into the chief’s office. But once they’d done a bit more research—enough to convince them Mark Young was, indeed, the Granville Ghoul, they’d both been too fearful for the girls and had driven out to the house, not suspecting they wouldn’t even get their calls put through to Dunston.
“Hell,” Aidan muttered. “We shouldn’t be doing this alone. It’s insane.”
He was right. They had absolutely no business going to find Young themselves. But who else was there? His friends had gone back to Savannah—though he’d called Julia, they were all still an hour away. The other members of the local police wouldn’t listen to a word Lexie said.
Aidan had seen in his vision that the girls were going to try to make a break for it the next time their psychopathic captor came into their cell. And what chance did they have? They would probably both die in the effort.
No, there was no time to wait. They couldn’t just hang around for Chief Dunston to call them back, nor could they call 911 and have them go to the house where they were now headed, without even knowing if it was the place. For all they knew, Young could be at his own home, which was, revoltingly, in the same neighborhood as the Kirbys’.
But she didn’t think so. She had the feeling he was at the place in the country, far from any neighbors. The house where Markie Young had lived as a boy, with his mother, his stepfather, and his stepbrother, Jed White.
The house he now owned.
She’d gone back to the county tax records site before they’d left the office. Young had been the one who’d bought White’s house at auction almost three years ago, right after Jed’s death. That was only a few months after Young had arrived in Granville to take the job as high school vice principal.
Before then, he’d been doing the same job at a school in northwest Georgia. Funny, the minute she read the name of the town he’d lived in before, she’d thought of those other missing persons cases, the ones she’d flagged when researching the story. Something told her Mark Young had not developed his taste for killing after he’d arrived here in Granville. He’d simply indulged it more—and enjoyed the side benefit of psychologically tormenting his enemies.
The urge to return to Granville, to be near his “brother,” must have been a strong one. How the two must have enjoyed the few months of their reunion, when they’d worked together at the same school, no one ever knowing of their decades-old connection. Or their shared tastes.
But their reunion had been short-lived. Jed had died—sometime after introducing his stepbrother into the Hellfire Club.
How long had it taken Mark to find out Jed had been murdered by the other club members wanting to cover up his crime?
That wasn’t hard to figure out—it had probably been around six months. About the same amount of time between Jessie Leonard’s murder and the next one.
Judging by the little they knew of Young, she could only think he was the type of man who liked to pull the wings off flies and watch them suffer. Killing the girls, then leaving clues behind at the clubhouse to mess with the minds of the others in the Hellfire Club, had been his own way of torturing them for what they’d done. His revenge had continued, girl by girl, murder by murder. How easy it must have been. Who would ever suspect him? He probably had been able to lure some of the girls by virtue of his position in the community.
“I wish the sick bastard had just taken the rapists rather than the poor victims,” she snarled.
Aidan reached for her hand in the darkness. “Given what Kenny heard the boys say, I suspect there was something very wrong in that house when they were little. They grew up to be two violent, angry men who lash out and brutalize women.”
“Abuse?”
“Almost certainly. So I don’t think killing men would have satisfied Young.”
“You don’t seem to have any doubt it’s him.”
“No,” he said, “I don’t. Do you?”
“No. We got a teensy glimpse of the real man behind the mask Friday night. Do you remember? The way he talked to Kenny?”
“I remember.”
“He’s got a temper. He has the motive, the means. He’s smart enough to have done it. This took a lot of planning,” she said. “I know in my heart that it’s him.”
“Me too.”
Reaching for her phone again, she dialed the police station, cursing herself for not getting Dunston’s direct number.
“Give it to me,” Aidan ordered.
She passed it over in silence, listening as he handled the call a whole lot more calmly than she’d been about to. Giving the dispatcher his name, he’d gone on to say, “I just left Chief Dunston a short time ago, we were talking to Bob Underwood, whom I assume he is currently interviewing at the station.”
Smart, pointing out something he couldn’t know unless he was telling the truth.
“I need you to interrupt the chief and give him this message. It is vitally important. Tell him we know Coach White had a stepbrother and we’re on our way to see him now.”
Lexie noticed that he didn’t name names, or accuse anyone of being a psychopathic killer. Though surprised at first, she realized he was being smart. As sure as she was that Young was her man, there was the whole innocent-until-proven-guilty issue. If there was any chance they were wrong, and some yahoo local cop went in there guns blazing and killed an innocent man, they’d live to regret it.
Though, not as much as they’d regret it if they were right and they didn’t get there in time to save Taylor and Vonnie.
Aidan lowered the phone to his chest, saying, “She’s getting him.”
When the chief came on the line a moment later, she could hear his gruff voice from the other seat. Aidan explained what they’d learned, and the chief’s response was loud enough for Lexie to hear from the other seat. “Son of a bitch! It all fits. Underwood told me Mark Young was the last new member of the club—that Jed White brought him into the group a couple of months before he died.”
“Just as we thought,” Aidan replied.
“You stay put!” the man ordered. “Don’t go any farther. I’m going out there myself.”
“You’re twenty minutes away,” Aidan replied, staying calm, “and we’re almost to White’s old house.”
Lexie looked up, saw the mailbox, and realized he was right.
“I mean it now. Don’t you do anything. Pull over and stay right where you are.”
“As you wish, Chief,” Aidan said, pulling over right past the mail
box. He cut the engine. “We’ve stopped.”
“Where?”
“About ten feet from his driveway.”
“Damn it, don’t do anything! You’ll get yourself killed, and that other one with you.”
That other one. Hmm. So nice to know he cared.
“Gotta go, Chief. You’d better hurry.” Dunston sputtered, but Aidan cut him off. “I will promise you we won’t do anything other than look around until you get here. Unless we see something that convinces us the girls are here and are in imminent danger.” He and Lexie exchanged a look. “If that happens, all bets are off.”
Sunday, 7:20 p.m.
Vonnie had almost been there. She couldn’t believe it, but was so close to escaping her chains, that if she’d had another ten minutes, she felt sure she could have done it.
Her hands were unbound, one arm completely free, but that wasn’t good enough. She couldn’t get up and fight with Taylor. The only way she’d be of any use was if he came close enough for her to swing.
She’d like that. In fact, she had a fistful of loose chain, just in case, and had been flexing and unflexing her hand and arm, counting on her muscles to be there for her when she needed them. She’d like to whip that long, hard strand of metal links across his face, strip that mask off blow by blow.
A key turned in the lock and Vonnie sent up a silent prayer, both for herself, and for Taylor. They’d have one chance at this, only one. Because if they failed, he would kill them both, in the most brutal way he could devise. Of that she had no doubt.
“Hello, my pretties,” he said as he pushed the door open. He didn’t come in right away, pausing for a second to flip on the light switch that was just outside their door.
A weak, dirty bulb flicked on overhead, sending a pool of light straight down onto the floor. Enough to spotlight Taylor’s pale hand, her leg, a few strands of her hair.
“Have you missed me?” he asked, stepping all the way inside. He stepped over, then pushed the door closed and locked it behind him, never fully turning his back. Putting the keys in his pocket, he added, “How’s our new friend doing?”
“I keep thinking maybe she’s dead,” Vonnie said. She tried to sound weary, rather than enraged, knowing he expected her to be drugged.
“Do you, now?”
She forced herself to giggle, as if high. “She kept twitching and drooling all day and she threw up. Gross.”
He hesitated, watching her from across the room, not bending down to check Taylor, not coming over to her, either. He was like an animal, tentative, sniffing the air to see if it was safe to proceed. “And how are you feeling, sweet little girl?”
Vonnie sighed deeply, letting her eyes fall closed as she yawned. “Okay.” Behind her back, her hand tightened on the chain, gripping it as hard as she hoped Taylor was gripping that long, thin piece of wood—one of the chair legs.
If he noticed the chair was broken, they were done for. If he tried to use it, pulled it over to talk to her close-up, for some reason—which he’d only done once or twice, preferring to torment her and read to her from outside the room—he’d know right away.
Please, let us be lucky. For once, let me have some good luck.
She watched through mostly lowered lashes, seeing him move a step closer. But then he stopped, inches away from Taylor, who lay still, almost exactly where she’d been before.
The monster gave no hint of what he intended to do before he attacked.
He kicked brutally, his big foot hitting Taylor in the side, not far from where the knife still stuck out of her back.
Vonnie flinched, feeling the blow from across the room, certain Taylor would cry out in pain, curl up, react somehow.
She didn’t. She did absolutely nothing. Taylor just lay there and took it.
Vonnie had never seen anything more courageous. She didn’t think she could have done it. And she was so overwhelmed with love for that girl, she wanted to wrap her arms around her and take away her pain.
Knowing any tears would give them away, she forced herself not to cry, picturing the tears that had to be gathering in Taylor’s eyes, but were hidden by the thick tangle of hair lying across her face. She remained still, breathing evenly, as if she were drifting in and out of sleep, the way she had when she’d been sedated last week.
And finally, he let his guard down. “Well, I suppose you might be right. She’s still breathing, so she’s not dead yet. But I think her brains are a little bit scrambled up.” He chuckled evilly. “Maybe I should have used a plastic bat instead of a real one, huh?
“Guess we never will know which Kirby girl you are, will we? Wonder if your parents will bury your sister under a headstone that has your name on it. I saw them today, you know, coming home from the hospital, looking like someone had just ripped their hearts out.” He laughed again. “Guess that’d be me!”
Don’t do it, girl. Don’t listen. Don’t.
He hadn’t gotten a reaction out of her with a brutal blow. God, how she hoped he wasn’t able to do it with some hateful words.
“So pretty, you really are so pretty,” the man said.
Vonnie heard a note in his voice. An ugly one. One she recognized from the night she’d met a bunch of other men just like him.
No. He couldn’t be thinking of this. Couldn’t intend to rape a comatose girl.
She opened her eyes all the way, peering across the room, biting her bottom lip as he squatted down in front of Taylor. He reached out a hand and brushed her hair back from her face, his fingers moving against her lips.
Vonnie’s own teeth clenched with the desire to bite at him. She didn’t know if she could have resisted.
“And you’re not all used up like Vonnie is, are you? You never got invited to one of our parties. Never had all those old men stick it to you.”
Vonnie wondered if that was why he hadn’t touched her sexually. Did he prefer his girls more innocent, less broken in? Like she had been before she’d been initiated into his sick club?
“Think I might have to try you out before you kick off,” he said. “Sweet little thing like you, it’d be a shame for you to die a virgin, which I bet you are, you being such a good girl.”
She had to do something.
“That’s gross,” Vonnie said, trying to retain that amused-yet-disgusted tone she’d managed before.
He ignored her, didn’t even look at her. He was totally focused on Taylor.
He ran his hand down her neck, over her shoulder, then her back. “Whoops, might want to get that out of the way,” he said, his fingers tracing around the knife, not pulling it out. “Or maybe not. You don’t have to roll over onto your back for this, do you, sweetheart? We can do it another way.”
The hand moved on, to her hip, her butt, until he slipped it between her legs.
Taylor flinched.
“Ahh . . .”
And that was it. They were done. It was over.
Only Taylor hadn’t gotten the message. Because moving with a suddenness Vonnie couldn’t even imagine, the girl rolled up onto her side. At the same time, she thrust the long wooden chair leg, which had been underneath her, up, aiming directly at their attacker’s throat.
“Yes!” Vonnie shouted.
If Taylor had hit her target, the blow could have killed him. Could have crushed his windpipe. But he jerked away at just the right moment. Still, the hard wood struck him in the face and he flew backward, sliding across the floor, crying out in pain. Grabbing at his mask, he ripped it off. Taylor launched herself to her feet, gasping in shock when she saw his face.
“Bitch!” he snarled.
He was close. So close Vonnie could almost feel him. Give me two inches, come on.
“I’ll kill you!” he said, trying to lurch to his feet even as Taylor edged toward the door, panicking, knowing she needed the key to get out but too terrified to come and get it.
Blood dripped on the floor. The monster rose to one knee. But he was wobbly, disoriented, and he leaned back.
Close enough.
Vonnie leapt. Using her free arm, she looped the chain around his neck and pulled with every ounce of her strength.
“The keys!” she screamed, knowing she wouldn’t be able to hold the man for long.
Taylor ran over, slapping his hands away as he tried to grab her, shoving him down when he tried to rise to his feet. One strong kick to his groin caused him to grunt in pain and stop struggling long enough for Taylor to reach into his pocket and pull out the key ring.
“Now go,” Vonnie ordered, feeling her strength wane. She was strong, always had been, but she’d had no food and had been chained flat on her back for almost a week. They were almost out of time. She couldn’t keep this up.
“The key to the chains could be on here . . .”
“Get the hell out!”
Taylor went. Sobbing, slipping, she ran to the door, trying first one key, then another.
The monster had stopped struggling as much, and Vonnie hoped it was because he was choking to death, but she doubted it. Taylor had been playing possum. She had no doubt he’d do the same thing. She didn’t intend to let up until she had not one bit of strength left.
Taylor finally got the door open. She cast one anguished, wide-eyed stare at Vonnie. “I’ll be back for you. I swear I’ll be back.”
“Go!”
She didn’t hesitate. Taylor simply went.
Sunday, 7:30 p.m.
Aidan saw her first, a pale figure emerging from the front door of Young’s house. For a second, she was silhouetted by the light from within, and he saw the blood on her torn clothes, the hysteria in her face.
Her scream split the night in half.
“Oh my God, Taylor!” Lexie immediately started to run. They were a good distance away, having been lurking in some trees along the front of the property, trying to decide the best way to approach the house without being seen.
The girl heard, looked into the darkness toward them, and then stumbled across the porch and down the steps of the old farmhouse. She limped, and was bent over, clutching her side, yet still managed a hitching run. “Vonnie, help Vonnie,” she called as she got closer.
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