“Why not?”
“Guilt, I guess?” Maybe that’s why I wanted to keep Cait a secret. I wanted to hide the guilt I felt for loving her. I tried so desperately to feel love again for Abi because I felt as if I owed it to her. It was a debt I knew I could never fully repay. I was so laden with guilt that I had shut the idea of happiness from my mind. I was convinced that Abi was my last chance at love. And I stayed because I thought it was be with her, or be with no one.
And then Cait happened.
I was too scorched to ignite a new love—but, with Cait, she was the spark I needed to rekindle a love that had burnt out.
“I’m concerned about your relationship with Cait,” Dr. Tillman said bluntly.
I just stared back at her. I was caught off-guard by her severe tone. I was so used to Dr. Tillman’s supportive approach to everything I said. But not this time. What did Dr. Tillman think would happen? That I was swimming in a bottomless lake—and that it was only a matter of time before I tired and drowned?
“The timing is alarming,” she continued. “Starting a new relationship this soon after a trauma raises some trepidation. But it’s also the intensity of the feelings,” she added. “I understand you two have a complicated history, and I’m concerned there may be some confusion.”
“How so?” I challenged.
“Cait makes you feel good, and that’s something you haven’t felt in a long time. So I understand the desire to want to be with her.” Dr. Tillman paused. “Usually, those who suffer from PTSD purposely take risks and put themselves in dangerous situations, most commonly with drug and alcohol abuse. But I feel your relationship with Cait is risky in and of itself. It’s risking your case and your career, it’s risking your progress, and it’s risking your heart.”
Part of me could understand why Dr. Tillman would warn against getting involved with Cait. It was unethical to be in a romantic relationship with a partner, but it was something that so happened often that my career wasn’t in true jeopardy. And my feelings for Cait did initially cloud my commitment to therapy, but I had found out the hard way that I still needed my weekly sessions with Dr. Tillman. Risking my heart, however, wasn’t something I agreed with.
Dr. Tillman knew nothing of Cait. All she knew was what I told her. Granted, my quick recap of our history didn’t make Cait seem like the greatest of people. But I knew Cait for who she truly was. She was kind, trustworthy, courageous, and smart. Dr. Tillman had no right to criticize this relationship because she didn’t know Cait the way I did.
“I know what I’m doing,” I defiantly replied.
“I truly believe that you believe that.” Dr. Tillman paused. “I’m no expert in love, and we have no control over when it happens. I just want you to be careful, Lena. Right now, you’re on the road to rediscovering yourself, and that’s a positive. I’m not discouraging you from walking that road. And I’m not surprised that you and Cait have fallen into a relationship, especially given your history together.” She paused again and a closed her notepad. “There are things from your past that you want to move on from, Lathan being the most pertinent. But there are other areas in your life you may be seeking closure for. You have an opportunity for a new beginning—to emerge as a healthier self. You’ve made a lot of progress, and I don’t want to see you throw that away.”
The cause for Dr. Tillman’s concern finally revealed itself. She was worried Cait would distract me from the gains I had made in my therapy.
“I won’t,” I assured her. It was encouraging that she was rooting for me, but she had to know that I wanted to get past this more than anyone did.
“How are you sleeping?” she asked, changing the subject. “During our last session, you mentioned nightmares.”
“I have good nights and bad nights,” I said. “More bad than good.”
“Do you remember your dreams?”
“Just one.” The memory clogged my mind. “I was trapped the backseat of my car with Lathan,” I said. “The doors wouldn’t open, and the car was surrounded by fire.”
“Fire has come up several times in your dreams,” Dr. Tillman recalled. “What do you think it means?”
I shook my head and shrugged. “Fire means destruction, passion, and anger,” I repeated from my last session. I purposely left out that Cait was in the dream too. If fire really did represent passion and destruction, then it could have easily served a dual purpose: passion for Cait, destruction for Lathan.
“We’re just about out of time,” Dr. Tillman said as she glanced at the clock on the wall. “I want to thank you for being so honest with me today, especially about your feelings for Cait and admitting that you had considered cancelling your appointment,” she added. “Will I see you next week?”
“You will,” I confirmed.
“Good.” She smiled as I stood from the chair.
I reached into my front pocket and pulled out my phone. I had silenced the ringer throughout the session, but now it was time to return to the real world—even if that world was filled with murder and madness. I peered at the screen and saw three missed calls from Cait within the last five minutes. It was unlike her to call with such urgency and not leave a message. Before I could call her back, Cait’s name came across the screen again.
“Evans,” I answered. It was difficult to determine the appropriate answer. This was my work phone, so professionalism was a must. But it was Cait on the other end—she could be calling for personal reasons.
Every part of me wanted her to be calling for personal reasons. Maybe she just wanted to hear my voice—or she was curious as to when I was coming in. I was desperate for an indication that she could be as much into this blossoming relationship as I was. But judging by the amount of times she had called, I knew this wasn’t going to lead to anything good.
“Lena,” Cait said, her tone despondent. “We got a notice of a new Missing Persons Report.” The caution in her voice left me frozen as I stood in the empty lobby of Dr. Tillman’s office.
“Who is it?” I asked. If Cait was calling about a Missing Person, then it had to pertain to our case—or, worse, someone I knew. Thoughts of those closest to me ran through my mind as my heart teetered between panic and fright. If the Casting Call Killer was still in game mode, he would use my weakness against me. And my weakness was to go after those I loved. “Cait, who is it?” I demanded after her pause lapsed into stalling. I clenched my jaw as I prepared myself to hear the name.
“Rachel Sanzone,” she answered. A rush of rage and defeat infected my vision. My hands trembled as I held the phone against my ear. “Fluellen and I are headed to her apartment now,” Cait added. Her voice pounded against my eardrum as I took in her words. “I’m sorry, Lena.”
“What’s the address?” I managed to muster as the shock slowly wore off.
My blood boiled to the point that it felt like razorblades flowed through my veins. Novak was determined to make sure I played this game whether I wanted to or not. He took the one piece that was sure to lure me into his trap. Rachel wasn’t just a pawn—she was the queen. She was the prize I had taken from Lathan, and she was the prize I was going to take from Novak too.
“I’ll text it to you,” Cait said. “Come as soon as you can.”
CHAPTER | EIGHTEEN
I PULLED INTO RACHEL’S apartment complex, and several police officers greeted me as they scanned the property. One officer in particular was in charge of sectioning off the scene with caution ribbon. The yellow tape swayed in the wind as he tied the loose end around a neighboring tree. I assumed the area he sectioned off belonged to Rachel: a first-floor apartment with a small patio overlooking the parking lot. The bright sun reflected off the beige siding, making sunglasses a requirement instead of an accessory. I parked in a vacant spot a few feet from where the caution tape ended and got out of the car.
Next to the three patrol cars was Fluellen’s vehicle. I didn’t see him combing the grass for clues with the other officers, so I assumed he and Cait were ins
ide waiting for me. It was odd to see such care for a Missing Persons Report. Usually this type of operative was reserved for an actual crime scene. As far as I knew, Rachel was only considered missing—not abducted.
The officers patrolled the property with the same grace as ballerinas, meticulously watching their every step as they scoured the area for clues. With their latex-gloved hands, they looked behind bushes and small pine trees that decorated the outside of the complex. The scent of fresh mulch lingered in the air. I was hopeful that if someone did abduct Rachel, then that someone was clumsy enough to leave behind a footprint.
But the better part of me knew that was unlikely—because the likelihood was that Ryan Novak was Rachel’s abductor. As a police officer, Novak had hundreds of break-ins under his belt. He was an expert when it came to detecting clues, which meant he would be an expert in hiding them too. His precision was a skill I had truly admired… until now.
I ducked under the caution tape as I stepped onto the cement walkway that led to Rachel’s door. Her apartment was the first in a row of three. Each apartment was shaded by a large awning. The letter “A” was prominently displayed on Rachel’s green door, which was wide open. Three deadbolt locks had been installed over the chrome door handle. The frame was still intact and showed no signs of forced entry. If someone had kicked in the door, the wood frame would be splintered. The door was also missing any signs of damage; there wasn’t even a shoe print.
I stared at the three locks on Rachel’s door. One lock was standard for an apartment complex, but the other two—those were Rachel’s doing. And I understood why. I had suffered only a few hours of Lathan’s torment. Rachel, however, endured five days of it. To this day, she probably saw him every time she closed her eyes. Those three deadbolts were here for extra security and for peace of mind, and it would take more than a few kicks to break through this door.
As I lingered under the awning, Flu’s voice echoed through the small foyer. Inside, to the left, was a navy blue couch with bright floral accent pillows. Next to the couch was a matching recliner that had a crocheted afghan draped over the back. A few dirty dishes had collected on the coffee table in front of the couch. The walls were decorated with mass-produced paintings. It livened the place up, but the apartment was void of anything personal. No pictures of family or friends. To the right, I saw a galley kitchen and an adjoining dining room. Junk mail and local ads were mixed in with dozens of unopened letters that sat atop the dining room table.
In front of the doorway was a hallway that I assumed led to a bedroom and bathroom. Before I could make my way to the back of the apartment, Cait and Flu walked out of a room and down the hallway toward me. Their faces were both wounded with worry. Behind Flu and Cait was a man wearing a dark brown suit. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, and genuine concern weighed down his frown as he walked behind Fluellen.
“You say you haven’t spoken to her in a few days?” Flu asked the man as the three of them walked toward the front door. Cait and I briefly made eye contact, and I had to hold back the instant smile that seeped from my lips whenever I saw her.
“No, not since Sunday,” he answered.
Flu nodded. “Kelly, this is Sergeant Evans. Evans, this is Kelly Stewart, Rachel’s publicist.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said.
“Sergeant Evans,” Kelly said and extended his hand for a shake. “Rachel speaks very highly of you.”
I half-smiled as I shook his hand. “Thank you,” I responded. “What time on Sunday did you speak to her?”
“Oh, early,” he said. “Maybe ten—ten thirty?”
“How did she seem?” I asked.
“Fine.” Kelly shrugged. “She can be quiet at times. She has good days and bad days,” he added.
“Good days and bad days?” I repeated.
“She has PTSD… from what she went through,” he added as if it should be common knowledge.
He didn’t have to explain further. I knew what those good days and bad days felt like. I also knew there was no way to tell if a day was going to be a good one or a bad one. What started as a good day could quickly turn into a tsunami of terror and distress.
“You said she was ‘fine’ when you last spoke to her,” I said. “What does ‘fine’ mean?”
“She was happy. She was in good spirits,” Kelly answered. “She was looking forward to having a few days off from the book tour.” Kelly turned to Fluellen. “We’ve been to signings at almost every bookstore in the state during the past two weeks.”
“That has to be exhausting,” I said.
“She was starting to feel it.” Kelly chuckled to himself. “I came by last night—she hadn’t been answering my calls since Sunday evening. But I’m used to it. It’s not unusual for her to shut her phone off for a few days, especially when she has a bad panic attack.”
“Was she here last night?” I asked.
“Not that I know of. I knocked a few times and called her cell phone, but no answer. I thought she was at her boyfriend’s house.” Kelly shrugged. “We had to leave for Cincinnati this morning for another book signing, so when she didn’t answer this morning, I called you guys.”
“Did you try her boyfriend’s house?” Cait asked.
“I don’t know where he lives,” Kelly answered.
“Do you have a key to her apartment?” I gestured to the door.
“No,” Kelly said.
“Maintenance let us in,” Flu said. “They have keys to the extra deadbolts.”
“It’s part of the lease agreement,” Kelly added. “My apologies for bringing this to your attention, especially if it turns out to be nothing. But this isn’t like Rachel.”
“No, we appreciate your concern,” Flu said. “We’ll call you if we have any more questions. You’re free to go,” Flu added.
“Thank you,” Kelly said and looked at both Cait and I before leaving Rachel’s apartment.
“I didn’t want to say anything about the Casting Call Killer in front of him,” Flu said, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. “But with the recent murders, and your belief that the killer is replicating Lathan Collins, I’m treating this as an abduction. Better to be safe than sorry.”
“I agree,” I said. “Are there signs of a break-in?”
“No,” Cait replied. “If she was abducted, she had to let the person in.”
“Captain?” An officer interrupted from the doorway and motioned for Fluellen to walk outside with him.
“Just a second,” he said to the officer. He lowered his voice again. “Let’s find Rachel’s boyfriend,” Flu said to Cait and me. “And I don’t want anyone talking to James Coffer without me,” he added. He turned to walk away with the officer.
“If?” I turned to Cait. “You sound like you don’t believe she was abducted.”
“I don’t know. I’m just not convinced.”
“Why not?”
“It just doesn’t seem right. Someone like Rachel, who obviously has trust issues,” Cait said and motioned toward at the three deadbolts, “wouldn’t just open her door to anyone.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “she had to know the person.”
“But even that doesn’t fit.” Cait sighed. “She has trust issues, so she isn’t going to open herself up to new people. Whoever she opened the door for, she must have known for a long time—probably since before she was taken by Lathan Collins.”
“Okay…”
“And it’s unlikely that someone she’s known since before Lathan Collins would abduct her.” Cait scanned Rachel’s apartment, a perplexed look on her face. “There’s no sign of forced entry, no sign of a struggle anywhere in the apartment. If she left, I think she left willingly.”
“But why?”
“Maybe her boyfriend surprised her with a weekend getaway?” Cait suggested.
“But her boyfriend would’ve known she had a book signing to go to this weekend,” I argued.
“Maybe she was tired of being this town�
��s entertainment.” Cait shot me a look. She knew that’s how I felt, but the difference between Rachel and I was, Rachel wanted the attention—she wrote a whole damn book about it. She wasn’t trying to forget what she went through. “A romantic weekend getaway with no phones, no adoring fans…” Cait trailed off, and I started to get the notion that she was hinting as to what we could do this weekend. But, again, Rachel and I were different.
“No.” I shook my head. “Rachel wouldn’t leave without telling someone,” I said. “Her family went through the anguish of her disappearance once already. She wouldn’t do that to them again. Not on purpose.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Cait said, but her tone didn’t match her words. It was possible Cait was on to something. I haven’t allowed myself to trust anyone new since I was taken by Lathan. Aside from Dr. Tillman, everyone in my life I had met pre-Lathan. Even Cait. I was so untrustworthy of new people that my heart had to rummage through the rubble of a past relationship in order to feel again. If I hadn’t already known Cait, I never would have allowed myself to trust her enough to fall in love.
Skin Deep Page 31