by Karen Rose
“And your pacing won’t change that.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “I know,” she gritted furiously. “Don’t you think I know?”
Meredith set her laptop aside and slung her arm around Alex’s shoulders. “Alex . . .”
Alex leaned her head against Meredith’s shoulder. “They found another victim,” she murmured, feeling . . . powerless. For a few moments, with Daniel on the sofa, she’d felt powerful, important. Now, reality intruded and she knew how helpless she really was.
“And if it had been Bailey, Daniel would have told you.”
“I know. But, Mer . . . three women and Sheila. And Reverend Beardsley. This is worse than any nightmare I’ve ever had.”
Meredith hugged Alex harder and together they watched Hope through the glass. When the door behind them opened, they spun around as Daniel closed the door behind him.
Alex’s pulse quickened and her heart lifted at the sight of him. But his mouth didn’t smile and she knew what he had to say would not be good. She braced herself for the worst, although she wasn’t even sure what could be worse.
“I don’t have much time,” he murmured. “But I need to talk to you.”
“You want me to leave?” Meredith asked, and Daniel shook his head.
“No need.” He squeezed Alex’s upper arms. “I don’t how to tell you this, so I’ll just tell you. Sister Anne is in the hospital. She was beaten during the night. It’s not good.”
Alex’s knees buckled and she lowered herself to a chair, suddenly sapped. “Oh, no.”
He crouched so that he looked up into her face. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said softly. He took her hands, warming them. “We sent a CSU team to check out her apartment.”
She swallowed. “And Desmond?”
“He’s okay.”
She sighed, relief and fear combined. “Sister Anne. My God.”
He squeezed her hands. “Alex, it’s not your fault.”
“I feel so helpless.”
“I know,” he whispered and she could see his eyes were haunted, too. He cleared his throat. “But I hear Hope called Hatton ‘Pa-paw.’ ”
Alex nodded, the violent screeching in her mind at any mention of Craig Crighton no longer taking her by surprise. “We think Bailey found her father. Maybe she gave him the letter Wade had written.”
“Hatton’s going to try to track him down today.”
Alex used what little energy she had left to push the screeching back. “I’ll go, too.”
Daniel rose, a forbidding frown on his face. “No. It’s too dangerous.”
“He won’t know what Craig looks like.”
“He’s got his driver’s license picture.”
“I need to go, Daniel.” She grabbed his arm, needing to make him understand. “Every time someone mentions his name, it starts in my head. He’s one of my triggers. I need to see him. I need to understand why.”
His eyes bored into hers and his face went stern. “I need you to be safe.”
“I need to make this stop,” she gritted through her teeth. “I need to find out why I’m so afraid of him. I need to know if he knows who took Bailey.” She pointed at the glass and her hand shook. “Hope hasn’t spoken in a week. I need to know what happened.”
He tugged at her chin so that she met his eyes. “Then or now, Alex?” he asked.
“Both. You said I could trust Hatton. If I’m with him I’ll be safe. Don’t make me stay.” She grabbed his arm harder. “Daniel, please. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
He held her gaze another long minute while a storm raged in his eyes. Then he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “If Hatton’s okay with it, I won’t stop you. I have it on good authority that you’re old enough to make your own decisions.”
Her lips curved sadly and he kissed her mouth tenderly. “Thank you, Daniel.”
He pulled her to him, hard, then let her go. “I have to change my clothes. I’m going to try to find the women you remembered from the pictures. You call me,” he said fiercely, “every hour. If I don’t answer, leave me a voicemail. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“I should be with you when you talk to him,” he said.
She leaned up and pecked his stubbly cheek. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you. I promise.”
“Daniel.” Meredith leaned against the wall, watching them. “You said we could think about a safe house for Hope.”
Daniel nodded. “I can make that happen today.”
“For Hope and Meredith,” Alex countered.
Meredith’s look shouted disagreement, but she nodded. “Alex won’t be alone?”
“No,” Daniel said, his voice again fierce, as was his expression. “I’ll make sure of it.”
One side of Meredith’s mouth lifted. “Somehow, I’m sure you will,” she said dryly.
“That’s the first thing I’ve felt comfortable about in days.” He started to walk away, but Alex held him back.
“Daniel, the new victim. Who is she?”
“Gemma Martin. Did you know her?”
“No. I know the Martin name, of course, but I never would have babysat for them. The Martins had nannies and butlers. She was the same age as the other two?”
He nodded. “The other two lived in Atlanta, but Gemma lived here with her grandmother in Dutton. The school seems to be the only link between them so far.” He covered her mouth in one last hard kiss. “Don’t forget to call me.”
“Every hour,” Alex said dutifully. “I promise.” She thought about what he was about to do, the women he was about to talk to. “Good luck.”
He gave her a curt nod, then was gone.
For a moment there was only silence, then Meredith spoke. “So, now you know.”
Alex fixed her eyes on Hope through the glass. “Know what?” But she knew.
“That thinking about Craig Crighton is one thing that triggers the screams.”
Alex swallowed, too weary to shove the screams back again. “I’ve always known there was something about Craig. I never wanted to know what it was.”
“Alex . . . did Bailey’s father molest you?”
Reflected in the glass, Alex watched her own head wag back and forth in slow motion. “I don’t think so. But I don’t know. Every time I’ve tried to remember . . .” She closed her eyes. “But now the screams won’t go away. I can’t make them go away.”
“Alex, what do you remember about the day we took you home, away from Dutton?”
Alex leaned her forehead against the glass. “I remember the horrible old women who were talking about me and Alicia. Aunt Kim bawling you out because you let them.”
“And then?”
“He came.” She made herself say his name. “Craig. With Bailey. And Wade. He argued with Kim. He wanted to keep me. Said he loved me. Said I called him ‘daddy.’ ” The word stuck in her throat. Tasted bad on her tongue.
“But you hadn’t.”
“No. Never. He wasn’t my father. He was Bailey’s father. Always.”
Meredith said nothing, patiently waiting. Alex turned her face so that the glass was cool against her hot cheek. “He was often harsh with us, me and Alicia. He said Mama spoiled us. He may have been right. For so long it was just the three of us after my real dad died. But you’re asking if Craig . . . if he made us have sex with him. No. I don’t remember anything like that. I think I would remember.”
“Maybe not.” Meredith’s voice was calm. “What else do you remember about that day, Alex? That day we took you from the hospital and brought you home to Ohio?”
Alex opened her eyes. Stared at her clenched fist. “More pills.” She pivoted her forehead on the glass so she could look at Meredith, a memory shoving its way through the cacophony inside her mind. “You took them from me.”
“I didn’t know what to do about them. I was a sheltered little bookworm. I’d never even seen drugs before. You terrified me, sitting in that hospital, staring at nothing.”
“Like Hope is
now.”
“Like a lot of people do after a trauma,” Meredith soothed. “Dad took you from the hospital wheelchair and put you in the car. Then you asked for water. We were so thrilled you’d said anything . . . Mom gave you the water and we started driving. And I saw you peeking into your fist. So I watched you. I let you think you were alone and when you tried to take them, I took them from you. And you never said a word.”
“I hated you that day,” Alex whispered.
“I know. I could see it in your eyes. You didn’t want to live and I didn’t want to let you die. You meant too much to my mom at that point. You were all she had left of Aunt Kathy. There had been so much violence. I couldn’t let you do it.”
“So you came to my room every day after school and sat with me. You didn’t want me to finish the job.”
“Not on my watch. And then, little by little, you came back to us.”
Alex’s eyes stung. “You all saved me.”
“My parents loved you. I still do.” Meredith’s voice trembled and she cleared her throat. “Alex, do you remember where you got those pills?”
She tried to think. Tried to focus on the quiet. “No. I remember looking into my hand and there they were. I remember not caring where they’d come from.”
“All three of the Crightons hugged you before we took you away.”
Alex swallowed. “I know. That I remember.”
“I’ve always wondered if one of them gave you the pills.”
Alex pushed away from the glass, suddenly cold. “Why would they?”
“I don’t know. But now that we know about Wade and Simon . . . and Alicia . . . we have to consider it. It could be why you’ve always had this reaction to Craig’s name.”
Alex controlled her flinch. “You always knew?”
“Yes. I always figured you’d deal with it when you were able to deal with it. The easiest thing was just not to say his name. But now . . . we have to. We have to know. For Bailey and for Hope and for you.”
“And for Janet and Claudia and Gemma,” Alex added. “And Sheila and all those other girls.” A wave of sadness hit her hard. “So many lives, ruined.”
“You still have your life, Alex. And now you have Hope. Bailey turned her life around for Hope. Don’t let her down now.”
“I won’t. I’ll find Craig and I’ll find out what he knows.” She clenched her teeth. “And I’ll go into that house. And up the stairs. Even if it kills me.” She winced. “Sorry.”
“Daniel told me about the attack you had on the stairs. Dr. McCrady and I were talking last night about using a form of hypnosis with Hope, to try to get past the wall she’s built in her mind. As her guardian, you’ll need to sign the release forms.”
“Of course.”
“And then I want to do the same thing with you.”
Alex drew a breath. “In the house?”
Meredith cupped Alex’s cheek, determination in her eyes. “Don’t you think it’s time?”
Alex nodded. “Yes. It’s time.”
Chapter Fifteen
Atlanta, Wednesday, January 31, 10:00 a.m.
Agent Talia Scott was a down-to-earth woman with a pixie face and a sweet smile that put victims at ease. But Daniel had worked with her before and knew anyone who’d had to face Talia in tactical response gear would never use the adjective “sweet” again.
She was sitting across from his desk, staring at him as if monkeys had flown out of his ears. “If I were a Hollywood producer, I’d be snapping up the rights to this one.”
“Don’t think they’re not already trying,” Daniel said darkly.
“So. We’ve got six women identified out of these fifteen pictures.” Talia rifled through them, the tightening of her mouth her only visible response. “Two are dead.”
“Three are dead,” Daniel corrected. “Alicia, Sheila, and Cindy Bouse, who committed suicide a few years ago. We have three names. Gretchen French is here in Atlanta, Carla Solomon lives in Dutton, and Rita Danner lives in Columbia.”
“These women are all almost thirty now, Daniel,” Talia said. “They may not want to talk about this, especially if they’ve built lives with people who don’t know.”
“I know,” Daniel said. “But we need them to tell us what they know. We need to find out who feels threatened enough by all this to start striking out.”
“You think one of these rapists killed the three women this week?”
“No, but whoever did wants us to look at Alicia’s murder and Alicia’s in the pictures.”
“As is Sheila.” Talia nodded hard. “Then let’s go.”
Wednesday, January 31, 10:00 a.m.
The Jag was waiting as he slowed to a stop and started rolling the window down.
“You’re late,” he snapped before the window fully rolled down. “And you look like shit,” he added with contempt.
I do. Last night he’d drunk himself into a blessed stupor, then fallen facedown in his bed without taking off his pants or shoes. The buzzing of the cell phone in his pocket had woken him. “I didn’t have time to shave.” In reality, he hadn’t wanted to look in the mirror. He couldn’t stand the sight of himself.
“It was an unfortunate miscalculation. Pick yourself up and go on.”
An unfortunate miscalculation. His temper spewed, loosening his tongue. “One of my deputies died. That is not a misfortunate calculation.”
“He was a trigger-happy hick-faced idiot who wanted to play big-city cop.”
“He was twenty-one years old.” His voice broke and he was too angry to care.
“You should have kept more discipline in your ranks.” There was no sympathy. Only contempt. “Next time your boys will listen before they rush in to vanquish a big, bad boy with a bigger, badder gun.”
He said nothing. He could still see the blood. All that blood. He thought he’d see that boy’s blood every time he closed his eyes, maybe for the rest of his life.
“Well?” he barked from the Jag. “Where is it?”
He opened his eyes and wearily pulled a key from his pocket. “Here.”
Dark eyes narrowed. “It’s not the right key.”
He laughed bitterly. “Hell. Even Igor was smart enough not to carry it around with him. That’s likely a key to his safe-deposit box at the bank.”
He handed the key back. “Then go open the damn box,” he said, too softly. “Bring me back the right key.”
“Yeah, sure.” He slipped the key in his pocket. “Why should you take any risk?”
“Excuse me?” he said silkily.
He met the dark eyes without flinching. “I find the girls and bring them to you. I grab Bailey for you. I kill Jared and Rhett for you. Now I go to the bank for you. I take the risks. You get to sit in your fancy car lurking in the shadows like you always do.”
For a moment he only stared, then his mouth curved. “Every now and again, you prove you do have balls after all. Get the correct key and bring it to me.”
“Fine.” He was too weary to argue. He started to put his car in gear.
“I’m not finished yet. I know where Bailey put Wade’s key.”
He dragged in a breath. “Where?”
“She sent it to Alex Fallon. That woman’s had it all the time.”
Fury sputtered, then fanned into a flame. “I’ll find it.”
“See that you do. Oh, and assuming Fallon is a bit smarter than Igor, she probably isn’t carrying it on her person either.” The Jag’s window rolled up and he drove away.
Atlanta, Wednesday, January 31, 11:00 a.m.
Gretchen French was a pretty woman with very careful eyes, Daniel thought. He kept quiet, allowing Talia the lead.
“Please sit down,” Gretchen said. “What can I do for you?”
“Agent Vartanian and I are investigating a series of sexual assaults.”
“Vartanian?” Gretchen’s eyes widened, then narrowed in recognition. “You’re Daniel Vartanian. You’re working on the murders of Claudia Barnes and Jane
t Bowie.”
Daniel nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I am.”
“But that’s not why we’re here, Miss French,” Talia said. “As we’ve been investigating the recent murders of Claudia Barnes and the others—”
Gretchen held up her hand. “Wait. Others? Besides Janet and Claudia, there are others?”
“We found the body of Gemma Martin this morning,” Daniel said quietly, and Gretchen collapsed back into her chair, her face blank with shock.
“What’s happening here? This is insane.”
“We understand your shock.” Talia’s tone was calm without being condescending. “But as I said, we’re not here to talk about the recent murders. During the course of our investigation, we’ve discovered evidence of a series of sexual assaults.” Talia leaned forward. “Miss French, I wish I knew a way to say this to make it easier to bear, but I don’t. A series of sexual assaults occurred around the time of Alicia Tremaine’s murder. You were the same age as Alicia. You went to her high school.”
Daniel saw a flicker of fear in Gretchen’s eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Talia glanced down, then back up. “We found pictures of girls being raped. Your picture was among them, Miss French. I’m sorry.”
Daniel’s heart squeezed in helpless pity as he watched Gretchen’s expression change. Every drop of color drained from her face until she was ashen. Her lips dropped open and moved, as if she was trying to speak. Then her eyes skittered away, cast down, ashamed. Daniel saw Talia’s expression had also changed. There was acute sympathy, but there was also strength, and Daniel understood why Chase had handpicked her for this interview.
Talia put her hand over Gretchen’s. “I wish I didn’t have to ask you to live that moment again, but I do. Can you tell us what happened?”
“I can’t remember.” Nervously she moistened her lips. Her eyes were conspicuously dry. “I’d tell you if I could. I wanted to tell when it happened. But I couldn’t remember.”
“We think whoever did this to you, drugged you,” Daniel murmured.
Gretchen’s chin jerked up, her eyes devastated, but still dry. “You don’t know who?”
Daniel shook his head. “We’re hoping you can tell us.”
Gretchen sat, barely breathing. “I . . . I was only sixteen. I remember waking up, in my car. It was dark and I was . . . so scared. I knew . . . I mean, I could feel . . .” Her throat worked convulsively. “It hurt. A lot.”