Payback Princess (Lost Daughter of a Serial Killer Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  As of right now, it appears that Seamus McKenna wins the money game.

  “Each time we eliminate a possibility, we open up three more. Remember that. Also, we don’t know for sure that my dad isn’t involved. I mean, the lake house, the fact that he and Justin were friends once upon a time, the Fort Humboldt Security thing. I’ll see if I can’t dig up more information about that.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I tell him honestly, and he gives me a genuine smile in response.

  “Anything you want me to grab on my way back? I could get supplies and teach you to make kimchi or something.” He notices the look on my face and frowns heavily at me. “Don’t do that. Yes, we have to find Parrish. We also need to eat.”

  “What’s kimchi?” I ask, since I can’t seem to find the energy to make myself address the rest of what he’s just said.

  His eyes widen and he curses under his breath.

  “Jesus Christ, where did you grow up again? The middle of butt-fuck nowhere? I thought you watched a ton of Korean TV!”

  “I have like, an idea of what kimchi is, but I don’t know what’s in it, what it’s made of, what it tastes like.” I tick my fingers off with each statement, my phone nestled in some pillows in front of me. “I never got around to looking it up or trying it. Give me a break here: I’m a kidnap victim for crap’s sake.”

  He rolls his eyes at me.

  “I’ll stop at the store on the way back. We’ll make some side dishes.” Chasm hangs up the phone, and I let out a huff, my hair billowing around my face. Readjusting myself, I get comfortable in the pillows, and then crack open Tess’ novel, Fleeing Under a Summer Rain. I’m a quick reader, so I’m already a quarter of the way through, using the time while I was waiting for Chasm to call to get started.

  So far, it reads like pure fiction. A man mistreats his wife and daughter, so the wife attempts to flee and take their child with her. Her husband murders her (this isn’t revealed until later in the book, but I’ve read it, like, ten times before) and then raises the child himself. Eventually, the daughter learns the truth and stabs her dad to death.

  I’m at the part in the story currently where a big time skip happens, jumping from the scene where the mother dies, to a sunny day during the daughter’s junior year in high school. So far, all I feel is guilt for reading this when my time might be best spent somewhere else.

  Then I read the next line and my heart skips a beat.

  “I’d love to take you to dinner, princess,” my father, Jesse Peckham, says, giving me a kiss on the forehead before he slips out the door for work.

  Princess.

  It’s not an uncommon name for a father to call his daughter, but the sight of it there on the page bothers me anyway.

  I keep reading.

  The main character goes to school, gets picked up by her father, and then visits a diner in … North Sultan. I blink a few times at the name of the town. It stuck out to me before, when the GPS led me and Chasm there to drop off JJ’s body. North Sultan is just such a weird name for a town, particularly one in Washington state. That’s where the diner was. That’s where this diner is.

  It’s listed in the novel as Gabbi’s Diner and Drive-In, but when I use that name to search online, nothing comes up that isn’t related directly to the novel itself. I try again with the address that Chasm and I used—it’s saved in my phone’s GPS history—and see what it says.

  Last Chance Diner and Grill.

  Huh.

  I pick the novel out and pad downstairs in search of Tess. She’s currently sitting at the table with the two female FBI agents, tears drying on her cheeks. She tries desperately to swipe them away when she sees me coming.

  “Tess?” I ask, going completely still. My fingers dig into the cover of the book so hard that I’m probably bruising them.

  “Mia,” she whispers, and then she starts to shake. Paul is sitting beside her, his head in his hand, staring at the table with glassy eyes. I take a step back, feeling my own hands beginning to tremble. I’m so upset that I don’t even notice or care that she’s used my birthname.

  “What’s going on? Is it Parrish? It isn’t Parrish, is it?” I ask, and Tess just stares at me, her own eyes wide, her mouth open but no words coming out. I glance to the two FBI agents, recognizable only because of their badges. One of them has long, shiny blue-black hair, and the other is redheaded and sort of angry looking. “He’s not dead,” I say it because I won’t allow myself to believe something that heinous. “Tell me he isn’t dead.”

  “They’ve discovered two bodies today,” Tess whispers, shaking so hard that when she tries to stand up and come toward me, she stumbles. The dark-haired agent grabs her by the arm to steady her.

  “Easy,” she breathes, glancing over at me briefly before looking back at Tess.

  “A girl and a boy,” Tess starts, sniffling hard and then covering her mouth with her hand. I can’t think of a thing to say. I can’t move. I’m not sure that I’m even capable of breathing in that moment.

  I glance over at the clock on the screen of the double oven. It’s midnight. Actually, it’s about fifteen minutes after but close enough.

  It’s Sunday now.

  It’s day fourteen.

  It’s … this isn’t happening. This can’t be real. I don’t believe it.

  I close my eyes and I reach for that red thread of fate, the one that I swore wrapped both my pinky finger as well as Parrish’s. Giving a metaphorical tug on it, I swear that I can still feel him out there somewhere. I want to believe that. I have to believe that, or I’ll break.

  “We’re going down to take a look at the body. I need you to watch your siblings—”

  I don’t hear the rest of whatever Tess is saying. Instead, I’m running as fast as I can. So fast, in fact, that I actually slip on the floor at the bottom of the stairs and hit my knees so hard that I see stars. I’m up and moving in an instant, scrambling up the steps and flinging myself into my room. The door slams shut, the lock clicks into place, and I wind up in the bathroom with that door locked, too, the shower blasting to provide a noise barrier.

  I immediately call that burner number, the one that’s responsible for all the texts, all the video chats. When nobody answers, I call it again. And again. And again.

  Nothing.

  Fucking nothing.

  I end up sitting on the floor beside the toilet, my arms wrapped around my legs, Tess’ book still hanging from my fingers. I can’t seem to let go of it just now. It’s like I have rigor mortis or something.

  Oh gods.

  Rigor mortis?!

  The bathroom door swings open abruptly and scares the shit out of me. I’m so startled by it that I actually jump and then let out a small scream.

  “Dakota, what the fuck?! I’ve been yelling for you.” Chasm covers the length of the giant bathroom in three strides, squatting low in front of me. “What the hell is going on? It’s not …” He trails off, and when my addled brain takes too long to answer, he steals the phone from my pocket. After a quick check, he sees there’s nothing on it and looks back at me. “What? Kimber said she was babysitting, but she had no idea why.”

  I make myself look at Chasm, trying to pull some rational thoughts together behind the haze of my panic.

  “The authorities discovered two bodies …” I start, and Chasm’s eyes go wide. He sits down hard on his ass, our feet tangled together. His in sneakers, mine bare. “A male and a female. Tess and Paul went to … see if they could identify the boy.”

  Chasm says nothing, he stares at nothing, but his eyes aren’t blank. Instead, I see gears and cogs moving, turning, rationalizing, puzzling, observing, analyzing. He’s so goddamn smart, it’s remarkable. He looks up at me.

  “He can’t be dead,” he says to me, and not just like it’s a wish, a hope, or a prayer, but like he’s actually figuring something out. I scoot a little closer to him and we put our foreheads together. “Because his kidnapper picked him or a reason, ri
ght? Because he knew you’d fight for him. Well, he hasn’t even started with you yet. You didn’t even kill the goddamn bunny. What do you think the endgame is here? He’s going to want you to kill people.”

  “Don’t say that,” I choke out because if there’s one thing I might not be able to do to save Parrish, that’d be it. I guess … it depends on who he asked me to kill. Chills take over my entire body, and I feel suddenly like I’m spiraling. This is exactly what the Slayer wants, to make me question everything about who I am. Everything.

  “Do you think he’d really make us fuck and then not tell Parrish about it? I mean, what’s the point if we don’t all suffer?”

  I think about what Chasm’s saying. I also figure that the Slayer could’ve recorded us last night, could’ve shown Parrish the video, and then killed him. And if he recorded the whole thing and then made us watch him, watching us. That’d be … that’d be the pinnacle of true evil.

  Don’t let your mind go there. Just don’t. Don’t imagine terrible things before they happen.

  “Little Sister, look at me,” Chasm says, but I’m staring at my toes, my mind spinning wildly. He reaches out and takes my face between his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Naekkeo,” he adds, stroking his thumbs along the sides of my jaw. “He isn’t dead. This is too … I mean, there’s no fanfare at fucking all.”

  I let out a low, shaky laugh, but none of my tension leaves with it.

  I want to believe Chasm, but I’m terrified. More so than I’ve ever been in my entire life.

  “You’re right,” I tell him, because even if he isn’t, it doesn’t hurt to hope, right? I can’t let it hurt. I have to believe that Parrish is going to be okay so that we can continue our search. If Chasm is right, and that male body doesn’t belong to Parrish, then we’ll have wasted precious time.

  How many slices to the chest can one boy handle?

  I feel something cresting inside of me, like I’m on the verge of a breakthrough. I have to follow through with that.

  “I … there’s a diner in this book, one that’s located in North Sultan.” Even though my voice quavers, Chasm keeps his warm hands on my face, anchoring me to this moment. His amber eyes, gods, they fucking burn. “The same town where we picked up JJ’s body from.”

  “Yeah?” Chas asks, like he’s trying to follow my train of thought. “You think the diner’s important?”

  “I need to ask Tess if the diner in the book is somehow related to the one we visited. If so, then maybe that’s a clue that we can use.” I reach up and place my hands over his. “Only, I can’t exactly ask her right now.”

  “Do you think she’ll be able to tell right away if it’s Parrish?” Chasm asks, careful to keep any shred of uncertainty from his voice.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper back.

  With a huff, Chasm removes his hands from my face, standing up and pulling me along with him. He bends down to pick up the discarded book and passes it back to me.

  “Keep reading,” he tells me, “and I’ll do some digging. Emerald City Murder usually has the most up-to-date information. They’ll have heard about this on the police scanner for sure.”

  We settle down together in my room, but god, is it hard to focus. I read the same sentence five times over before finally grasping its meaning. With a sharp exhale, I shift into a more comfortable position and make myself keep reading. Even when tears begin to fall, staining the page, I don’t stop.

  I’m not going to stop.

  Parrish is going to be okay. Because he has to. Because I’ll … without him, I’ll …

  I have no idea what I’ll do.

  Maxx arrives home before Paul and Tess do.

  He seems perplexed when he steps into my bedroom, glancing over at me before looking up at Chasm. Chas pauses his podcast and removes his earbuds, dropping his hands in his lap.

  “Why is Kimber asleep on the couch with Henry and Amelia?” he asks, his voice thick with suspicion. He looks … well, he looks incredible dressed in tight jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and a long, white apron with the words Wright Turn Barcade and Adult Fun Center scrawled across it in green embroidery thread.

  “The authorities,” I start, swallowing past a hard lump of emotion. “They discovered two bodies tonight, one male, one female. Tess and Paul went to see if one of them might be …” I stand up suddenly as Maxx’s eyes go wide, wanting to comfort him the way Chasm comforted me. “But we really don’t think it’s him.”

  “It can’t be,” Maxx whispers, putting a hand up on the doorjamb to steady himself. His green eyes are wide and staring at the floor. He flinches when I put my hand on his arm, lifting his gaze up to mine. “How can you be so calm?” he manages to grit out, exhaling sharply.

  “There’s no way that the Slayer would put Dakota through all of these hoops only to kill Parrish. Like, what has he made her do? Set a fire where nobody got hurt? Smash some car windows? Fuck me? So what? That’s nothing. He’s warming her up.” Chasm shoves up to his feet. He’s angry again, but just like last time, there’s nobody who deserves to have that energy unleashed on them. “Maxx, don’t be an idiot. This guy is going to expect Dakota to kill someone at some point. He’s carefully chipping away at all her barriers, her relationships, her morals.” Chasm ticks off the words on his fingers, just like I did earlier when I was talking to him about kimchi. “It’s a slow, careful game. Parrish is perfect leverage. It makes zero sense to kill him now.”

  Maxx just stares at Chasm for a minute before giving a slow, tired nod. He swipes his hand over his face before collecting our phones and briefly dumping them in the bathroom so we can talk. Shower on, fan on, mirage complete. I wonder if it pisses Justin off or if he simply finds our small methods of rebellion amusing? I’ve decided I’ll be leaving my book bag in the dining room downstairs. I mean, it is our study area, so it makes sense.

  “This is … I just can’t even believe this is happening. I feel useless. And helpless. And I fucking despise every second of it.” X spreads his hands wide in apology. “Even Delphine was a dead end. She lives in a little two-bedroom mother-in-law unit with her ancient-looking grandmother. While I was there, she did exactly nothing. Through the window, I could see her loading the washing machine. Then folding clothes from the dryer.”

  “Whose mother-in-law unit?” Chasm asks because, even though it’s across the lake from Seattle, Medina has a small-town sort of feel. More like, it has an exclusive country club/nobility/royal court sort of vibe. Like everybody that lives here thinks of themselves as superior to the rest of the planet.

  “Uh, I don’t know. I’m not a blue blood baby, remember? I don’t have every asshole in Medina’s address memorized.”

  Chasm curls his lip at Maxx and then sits back in the desk chair, crossing his arms and scowling.

  “Think you could draw me a map, smartass? This could be important.”

  X storms over, snatching a notepad from the corner of my desk and scribbling out a crude map with my soot spirit pen. Might be nice to use Google maps, but then Justin would know what we know.

  “Oh,” Chas frowns sharply. “This place is owned by some old dude that plays golf with my dad.”

  “Your dad?” I ask, my heart beating ferociously. I swear to god, we’re close. I can taste it on my tongue. The look that Chasm throws my way is not encouraging.

  “My dad plays golf with everyone in Medina. Like, I mean everyone. The headmistress, Ms. Miyamoto, Tess, Paul. That isn’t much of a clue, I’m sorry to say.” He taps his fingers against the map. “I still say Delphine’s a suspect.”

  “Maybe, but we’re going to have to watch her doing laundry for weeks to find anything. Which, you know, I’ll do. But it isn’t a promising lead to begin with. Don’t forget: the gardener is on that list, the Fort Humboldt security guards that are on rotation in the neighborhood, the pool guy. Just because you don’t see all these people on a regular basis doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Any one of them could be involved.” X takes hi
s apron off, draping it over one muscular arm. “I’m not sleeping tonight.”

  “Neither am I,” I agree, and Chasm nods, stealing the soot spirit pen so he can tap it against his lips.

  “Let’s stay up all night and keep working on this. There’s got to be something here that we’re missing. Between the videos you posted, the key, the list of victims, whatever. We’ve got a lot of information here. We just need to sift through it.” Chas gets up to retrieve both his phone and mine from the bathroom, turning the fan and the shower off as he goes.

  As soon as Chas hands mine over … we get an incoming call.

  Perfect timing, as usual.

  Maxx quickly closes and locks my door, cursing as he flicks the bathroom fan and the shower on yet again—but for the opposite reason this time. We can’t let anyone in the Vanguard household know about these calls, and we can’t let the Slayer know what we’re plotting. What a mess.

  I ignore him, answering the call with my heart in my throat. There’s only one thing that matters right now, and that’s Parrish’s well-being.

  As soon as I see him on the screen, a small sob escapes me, and I slap my hand over my mouth. He isn’t looking at me, however. Clearly, the camera that’s watching him right now doesn’t include a monitor. He can’t see me.

  “Is this a live feed or something that was prerecorded?” I wonder, because it truly could be either. It’s clear that the Slayer—who at this point is almost certainly my bio dad—is an expert hacker. Figures, considering where we’re at. Seattle is a startup and technology hub.

  “Don’t know,” Chasm murmurs, his eyes fixated on the screen as he settles in beside me. As soon as Maxx comes back, he climbs right up on the bed and wedges himself between me and the wall. All three of us watch in silence as a man enters the room with Parrish.

  His shoulders go tense, but I notice that his chest, at least, is clean and shiny with some more of the salve. His wounds have been tended. He looks so much better than he did on the day I confessed my love for him. There’s relief there, but not a lot. Again, how do I know this is really a live feed?