by Karen Rose
I hate you. I wish you were dead. She looked away. “I knew before, but standing there . . . it was so clear. I could hear her voice again. Like it was yesterday.”
His hand moved under her hair to cup the back of her head, his thumb finding the exact place in her neck that throbbed. “Who says ‘No’?”
She swallowed hard. “That would be me. I think. I’m not sure.” His thumb continued to work its magic on her neck and a little of the tension ebbed from her shoulders. She dropped her chin to her chest and . . . absorbed. “You do that well, too.”
His chuckle warmed her. “Good to know.” Too soon he stopped, withdrawing his hand. “Pizza’s here.”
The pan slid across the table and Alex looked up into the face of the waitress, a woman with a harsh face and red lipstick. She looked familiar, but Alex couldn’t place her face. She wore too much makeup and her eyes were hard. She was somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five. Her name tag said “Sheila” and her eyes were glued to Daniel’s face, but not in an alluring way. She seemed to be weighing her words.
“You’re Daniel Vartanian,” Sheila finally said flatly.
He was searching her face. “I am,” he said. “But I don’t remember you. I’m sorry.”
Her red lips thinned. “No, you wouldn’t remember me. We ran in slightly different circles. My father worked at the mill.”
Alex’s shoulders stiffened. The paper mill employed half the town at one time or another. Bailey’s father had worked there. That’s where Craig Crighton had been that night. The night her mother needed him. The night I needed my mother. She closed her eyes. Quiet. Be quiet. Daniel’s thumb returned to her neck, applying pressure, and once again the tension began to ebb, making room for other memories to surface.
“You’re Sheila Cunningham,” Alex said. “We sat next to each other in biology.” The year I didn’t finish. The year Alicia died.
Sheila nodded. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
Alex frowned. “There’s a lot I don’t remember.”
Sheila nodded again. “There’s a lot of that going around.”
“What can we do for you, Sheila?” Daniel asked.
Sheila’s jaw tightened. “You were out at Bailey’s house today.”
Meredith looked up, alert and listening. The people in the booth behind them had turned, obviously listening as well. Sheila didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes had narrowed and a vein throbbed in her neck.
“People in this town would have you believe Bailey was a tramp. That she was trashy. But it’s not true.” Sheila aimed a look at Hope. “She was a good mother.”
“You say ‘was,’ ” Daniel said quietly. “Do you know what happened to her?”
“No. If I did, I’d tell you. But I know she didn’t walk away from that kid.” She sucked in her cheeks, visibly fighting to hold whatever she really wanted to say in check. “Everyone’s all upset that those rich girls are dead. Nobody cared about the regular girls. Nobody cares about Bailey.” She looked at Alex. “Except you.”
“Sheila.” The barked order came from the window to the kitchen. “Get back here.”
Sheila shook her head, a mocking smile on her lips. “Oops. Gotta go. Said too much. Wouldn’t want to rock the boat or upset the powers that be.”
“Why?” Daniel asked. “What would happen if you rocked the boat?”
Her red lips twisted in a sneer. “Ask Bailey. Oh, wait. You can’t.” She spun on her heel and went back to the kitchen, smacking the swinging door with the flat of her hand.
Alex leaned back against the bench seat. “Well.”
Daniel was watching the door to the kitchen, which was still swinging. “Well, indeed.” He turned his attention to the pizza, pulling it onto their plates, but there was a troubled frown on his face. “Eat up.”
Meredith pushed a plate under Hope’s downturned face, but the little girl only stared at the food. “Come on, Hope,” she cajoled. “Eat.”
“Has she eaten at all?” Daniel said.
“Eventually she eats if I leave it in front of her long enough,” Meredith answered, “but we’ve only eaten sandwiches. This is our first real meal since I got here.”
“I’m sorry,” Alex said. “I haven’t been a very good hostess.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” Meredith bit into the pizza and closed her eye in appreciation. “It’s good, Daniel. You were right.”
Daniel took a bite and nodded. “I guess for some things you can go back.” Then he sighed when the door to the outside opened. “Wonderful.”
A big man in an expensive suit crossed the restaurant, scowling. “The mayor,” Alex murmured to Meredith. “Garth Davis.”
“I know,” Meredith murmured back. “I saw his picture in the paper this morning.”
“Daniel.” The mayor stopped at their table. “You promised to call.”
“When I had something to tell you. I don’t have anything to tell you yet.”
The mayor put both hands on the table and leaned forward, getting in Daniel’s face. “You said to give you a day. You said you were working on it. And here you sit.”
“And here I sit,” Daniel said mildly. “Get out of my face, Garth.”
The mayor didn’t budge. “I want an update.” He was speaking loudly, for his audience, Alex thought. His constituency. Politicians.
Daniel leaned in closer. “Get out of my face, Garth,” he murmured, leveling the mayor a look so cold even Alex flinched. “Now.” The mayor slowly straightened and Daniel drew a breath. “Thank you, Mayor Davis. I can appreciate your wanting to have the most recent information. You need to appreciate that even if I had anything to tell you, this isn’t the place for me to share it. I did call your office this afternoon with an update. The phone rang, but no one answered.”
Davis narrowed his eyes. “I was out at Congressman Bowie’s this afternoon. I didn’t get the message. I’m sorry, Daniel.” But his eyes said he was anything but. “I’ll be sure to talk to my aide and find out why he didn’t answer your call.”
“Do that. If you’d still like an update, I’m glad to talk when I’m not in a public place.”
The mayor’s cheeks flushed. “Of course. This has been a terrible day, finding out about Janet and Claudia.”
“And Bailey Crighton,” Alex said coldly.
Mayor Davis had the good grace to look embarrassed. “And Bailey. Of course. Daniel, I’ll be in my office most of the evening. Call me if you would.”
“That’s enough to spoil your appetite,” Alex said when he was gone.
“Alex.” Meredith’s voice was strained and Alex immediately saw why.
Hope had pushed the cheese off the pizza and had smeared sauce all over her own hands and all over her face. She looked like she was covered in blood. And she was rocking in a way that made Alex’s blood run cold.
Daniel was quick to react. He stood up, wiping the sauce from Hope’s face and hands with a napkin. “Hope, honey,” he said, injecting a humor into his voice that Alex knew he didn’t feel. “Look at this mess. And on your pretty new dress, too.”
The couple in the next booth turned around and Alex recognized Toby Granville and his wife. “Can I help?” Toby asked, frowning his concern.
“No, thanks,” Daniel said easily. “We’re just going to take her home and get her cleaned up. You know how kids are.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket and Sheila came from the kitchen, a wet towel in her hands.
She’d obviously been watching. As had everyone else in the place.
Daniel handed her a folded-up bill and Alex could see the white edge of his business card poking above the green ink. “Keep the change.” He pulled Alex from the booth and she winced, her knees stiff. But she made her legs move, following Meredith to the door. Daniel scooped Hope up into his arms. “Let’s go, pretty girl. Let’s get you home.”
Alex gave Sheila a last look, then followed Daniel to his car.
In less than five minutes they were b
ack at the bungalow. Meredith ran ahead of them, and when Alex limped across the threshold, Meredith had the Princess Fiona hairstyling head on the table. Meredith took Hope from Daniel’s arms and put her in front of the styling head, then crouched to look into Hope’s face.
“Show us what happened to your mother, Hope,” Meredith said urgently. She grabbed the can of red Play-Doh and shook it out into her palm. “Show us.”
Hope smeared a glob on the Fiona head. She repeated it, until red Play-Doh covered Fiona’s face and hair. When finished she stared at Meredith helplessly.
Alex felt the breath seep from her lungs. “She saw it all.”
“Which means she may have seen who did it,” Daniel said, his voice tight. “We’ll go to the shelter tomorrow, Alex. I want to get Hope in with a forensic artist tonight. Meredith, my boss wanted me to take Hope into our department psychologist tomorrow morning, but I think that needs to be tonight, too.”
Alex bristled. “Meredith is a fine child psychologist. And Hope trusts her.”
But Meredith was nodding. “I’ve gotten too close, Alex. Call your consult, Daniel. I’ll help in whatever way I can.”
Atlanta, Tuesday, January 30, 9:00 p.m.
There were a dozen pretty girls at the bar already, but Mack knew exactly which one he’d be taking home. He’d known for five long years, ever since the night she and her two friends had pulled their cute little trick and taken his life away. They’d thought themselves so clever, so smart. Now Claudia and Janet were so dead. And Gemma would soon follow. A fine buzz of anticipation singed his skin as he approached her. However she responded, her evening would end the same.
Done, dead, and wrapped in a brown wool blanket. Just one more tool to terrify the pillars of Dutton. He leaned against the bar, ignoring the protest of the woman behind him as he crowded her off her stool. He had eyes only for his prize.
Gemma Martin. She’d been his first fuck. He’d be her last. They’d been sixteen and her price had been an hour behind the wheel of his ’Vette. She’d been drunk and put a dent in his left fender that night. She was well on her way to being drunk tonight, and the dent he left would be in her. Mack planned to enjoy his revenge very much.
“Excuse me,” he said over the blare of the band.
She turned her head, sweeping her eyes from his head to his feet in blatant assessment, her eyes sharpening with interest. Five years ago she’d laughed at him. Tonight, she was interested and completely unaware of who he was.
She tilted her head. “Yes?”
“I couldn’t help but notice that gorgeous red Corvette you drove in. I’m thinking of buying one. What do you think of yours?”
Her smile was feline and Mack knew he wouldn’t be needing the little bottle of Rohypnol in his pocket to lure her away. She’d come because she wanted to. It would make her end that much more delicious. “It’s the perfect car. Hot, fast, and dangerous.”
“Sounds like exactly what I’m looking for.”
Atlanta, Tuesday, January 30, 9:00 p.m.
“Please call me if you hear anything,” Daniel said into the phone, then hung up just as Chase came into his office, looking as tired as Daniel felt. Chase had just come from a meeting with the brass and from the look in his eyes, it had not ended well.
“Who was that?” Chase asked.
“Fort Benning. I’d left a bunch of messages for that army chaplain.”
“The one who came to see Bailey yesterday morning and ended up talking to Alex.”
“Yeah. He’d flown into Benning for his R&R. He was headed south of Albany, to his parents’ house, but he never showed up. Even with his stop in Dutton, he should have been in Albany by suppertime, easily. They’re declaring him missing.”
“Hell, Daniel. Tell me some good news.”
“I think I know where Janet was grabbed. I canvassed the area where the phone call to her boyfriend originated and found a guy behind the counter at a sub shop that remembers her, down to the meatball sub she ordered. They have her on their security tape making the order. Felicity didn’t find the sub in Janet’s stomach contents, so she never ate her dinner. I’m thinking he broke into her minivan and overpowered her when she came out.”
“Did we get the van on camera?”
“Nope. No cameras in the parking lot, only inside. And none of the surrounding businesses have cams either. I checked.”
Chase glared. “Then at least tell me the artist’s making some headway with the kid.”
“The artist isn’t available until tomorrow morning,” Daniel said, holding up a weary hand when Chase started to explode. “Don’t fight with me about it. Both artists are with victims. We’re next in the queue.”
“Then who’s got the kid now?” Chase demanded.
“Chase.” Mary McCrady came into Daniel’s office, giving Chase an admonishing look. “The kid’s name is Hope.”
Daniel had always liked Mary McCrady. She was slightly older than he was, slightly younger than Chase. She had a no-nonsense attitude about the world and never allowed anyone to intimidate her—or any of the patients she took under her wing.
Chase rolled his eyes. “I’m tired, Mary. For the last hour I’ve had my guts sliced and diced by my boss and his boss. Tell me you’ve made progress with Hope.”
Mary lifted a shoulder. “You’re a big boy, Chase. You can take a little slicing and dicing. Hope’s a traumatized child. She can’t.”
Chase started to rant, but Daniel cut him off. “What have you been able to learn, Mary?” Daniel asked calmly, and Mary sat down in one of his chairs.
“Not much. Dr. Fallon did exactly what I would have. She’s used play therapy and made Hope feel safe. I can’t pull anything out of Hope that she’s not ready to let go.”
“So you have nothing.” Chase banged his head against the wall. “Wonderful.”
Mary threw an annoyed glance over her shoulder. “I didn’t say we have nothing. I said we have not much.” She pulled a piece of paper from her folder. “She drew this.”
Daniel studied the page. It was the crude drawing style of a child, one figure prone, the head scribbled over with red. The other figure, male and standing upright, nearly filled the page. “It’s more than we’ve gotten before. Since she was found in that closet on Friday she’s only colored predrawn pictures in coloring books.”
Mary got up and went around to his side of the desk. “As close as we can figure, this is Bailey.” She pointed to the prone figure.
“Yeah, that I got. The red was the giveaway.” He looked up at her from the corner of his eye. “Meredith Fallon told you about the pizza sauce and the Play-Doh, right?”
“Yes.” Mary frowned. “I hated to push this baby this far, but we need to find out exactly what she saw.” She pointed to the figure standing up. “Bailey’s attacker.”
“Well, yeah, I got that, too. He’s huge, three times bigger than Bailey.”
“It’s not the man’s actual size,” Mary said.
“It’s his threat, his power,” Chase said from the door and looked a bit sheepish when Mary looked up, surprised. “I’m not a monster, Mary. I know this kid’s been through hell. But the sooner she gets it out, the sooner you can start . . . fixing her.”
Mary sighed with affectionate exasperation. “We’ll treat her, Chase. Not fix her.” She looked back down at the picture. “He’s wearing a cap.”
“A baseball cap?” Daniel asked.
“Hard to say. Kids her age only have a limited number of graphic images they can draw. All hats mostly look the same. All figures look the same. But look at his hand.”
Daniel rubbed his eyes and brought the picture close. “A stick. Dripping with blood.”
“Did Ed’s team find any bloody sticks?” she asked.
“They’re still processing the scene,” Daniel said. “They’ve set up lights in the woods, looking for the place where Hope might have hidden. Why’s the stick so small?”
“Because she’s repressing it,” Chase sai
d. “It terrifies her, so she makes it as small as she can in her mind.”
Mary nodded. “Pretty much. I thought you’d want to see this. We broke for the night. After we got this, I was afraid to push her anymore. We can continue tomorrow. Get some rest, Daniel.” One side of her mouth lifted. “Doctor’s orders.”
“I’ll try. Good night, Mary.” When she’d gone, Daniel looked at Hope’s drawing, feeling guilty and torn. “Part of me wants all three of them in a safe house, Alex, Hope, and Meredith. But so far Hope and Alex are our only link to whoever’s orchestrating this. If we hide them away . . .”
Chase nodded. “I know. I increased the police presence. Twenty-four-seven. That’s part of what was on the agenda in this last meeting.”
“That should settle Alex’s mind. And mine. Thank you, Chase.”
“Mary’s right. Get some sleep, Daniel. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’ll have Ed meet us at eight,” Daniel said, mentally calculating how long the commute would be from Dutton to the GBI building with morning traffic. Because even with the police presence outside, Daniel wasn’t taking any chances. There was a sofa in the bungalow’s living room. He’d be sleeping there tonight.
Tuesday, January 30, 9:00 p.m.
His cell phone rang. The one that wasn’t registered in his name. He didn’t have to look at the caller ID. He was the only one who ever called this number.
“Yeah.” He sounded tired to his own ears. Because he was. Body and . . . soul. If he still had a soul. He remembered the look in Rhett Porter’s eyes. Help me.
“Is it done?” His voice was cold and would suffer no weakness.
So he straightened his spine. “Yeah. Rhett went up in a blaze of glory.”
He grunted. “Shoulda fed him to the gators like you did DJ.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t. I didn’t have time to get down to the swamp and back. Look, I’m tired. I’m going home and—”
“No, you’re not.”
He wanted to sigh, but he sucked it in. “And why not?”
“Because you’re not finished.”
“I’ll take care of Fallon. I’ve already got plans in motion. Discreet plans.”