One (Count to Ten Book 1)

by Jane Blythe

  “Shh,” he whispered in her ear, wanting to keep her as calm as possible until help arrived. “I believe you. And I’m the one who should be sorry. I left you alone and unprotected and Ricky got you. I’m sorry, Annabelle; I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” she murmured, sounding sleepy now.

  He eased her back so he could see her face. “Stay with me, Annabelle,” he commanded. “Paramedics will be here soon, but you stay with me, okay?”

  Energy levels depleted, she was quickly fading back towards unconsciousness.

  “Hey,” he gave her a firm shake. “I want you to be Belle. Do you hear me? I want you to always be Belle.”

  Offering him a weak smile as her eyes fluttered close, and her breathing eased a little as she passed out.

  “Belle?”

  “Xavier?” Kate suddenly appeared beside him. “Is she okay?”

  “No, she’s not. Where are the paramedics?”

  “They should be here any moment,” Kate assured him. “Where’s Ricky Preston?”

  “I had to let him go.” He was rearranging Annabelle in his arms; if the paramedics didn’t arrive shortly, he was going to drive her to the hospital himself.

  “What?”

  “He used her,” stroking Annabelle’s hair. “That’s why he took her. He wanted to get away while I was distracted. He made me choose: him or Annabelle. He had her locked away, said he wouldn’t tell me where she was unless I let him go. I’m sorry, Kate, but I had to choose Belle.”

  “It looks like you made the right choice, she wouldn’t have lasted much longer,” Kate reassured him. “Why wouldn’t he have just run? Why the ruse with Annabelle?”

  “Xavier,” Annabelle’s faint voice spoke beneath him.

  “Everything’s okay, Belle, just rest.”

  “No, Xavier,” she continued, agitated. “Ricky said he wasn’t finished.”

  He exchanged glances with Kate above Annabelle’s head. Her brain had been deprived of oxygen for a long time, she was groggy and confused, he wasn’t sure she knew what she was saying. “Okay, honey,” rubbing her back to calm her.

  “I’m serious,” came the weak reply. “He said he had another family left to kill. That’s why he took me. So you’d be preoccupied with me.” She wearily lifted her head from his shoulder to meet his eyes. “And you wouldn’t figure out he wasn’t done until it was too late.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Mmm hmmm,” she nodded.

  A glance at Kate confirmed that she, too, believed Annabelle.

  Moaning, Annabelle pressed her fingers to her temples; tears squeezed out the corners of her eyes as she scrunched them shut. “My head,” she whimpered pitifully.

  Unable to wait any longer, Xavier stood, lifting Annabelle into his arms. “I’m going to take you to the hospital,” he assured her. “Just hold on a little while longer.”

  Before he’d made it even a step towards his car, sirens sounded in the distance, growing quickly closer. As the ambulance pulled to a stop in front of Annabelle’s house, the paramedics climbing out, Xavier let out the first easy breath he’d taken since Annabelle had been abducted.

  Gently, he laid her down on the gurney the paramedics produced. He relaxed bit by bit as he watched them put an oxygen mask on her, check her vitals, apply dressings to her shoulder and face, and begin an IV. Annabelle was going to be okay, and once she was stronger, they’d sort out their feelings and potential relationship.

  Now he was going to track down Ricky Preston and stop him before anyone else got hurt.

  MAY 14th

  1:32 A.M.

  Everything was going perfectly.

  Ricky couldn’t be happier.

  If Annabelle had already been dead when Detective Montague found her then he was probably a basket case right about now. He’d be blaming himself. If only he’d said or done this or that, then Annabelle would still be alive.

  Ricky had done a little research on Xavier Montague when it seemed that the Detective had become enamored with Annabelle. He’d read all about his ex-wife, Julia. Apparently the woman had been sexually assaulted and then suffered a complete breakdown, culminating in her killing two innocent people and taking their infant. It seemed Detective Montague blamed himself for his wife’s actions, and Ricky was counting on that same guilt over Annabelle to keep the man distracted long enough for him to finish.

  The beauty of his plan was that if on the other hand Annabelle had been found still clinging to life, then Detective Montague would be hovering at the hospital by her side right about now. Ricky wasn’t sure Annabelle could have survived much longer in the wine cellar. Last he’d checked on her, she’d been barely conscious. It was possible though that she’d still be alive, but if she was, she’d be in need of immediate medical attention, which again should be enough to keep the detective distracted long enough for him to finish.

  Thankfully, he’d timed things perfectly.

  It had been a risk abducting Annabelle. A calculated rick. He’d known that Detective Montague was on to him. That it was only a matter of time before he had enough proof to come and arrest him. So he’d devised the plan with Annabelle. She’d been his insurance policy. Ricky had known that Xavier would eventually be drawn back to Annabelle’s house.

  He was a little concerned, though, that perhaps he shouldn’t have disclosed to Annabelle that he had one more family left to kill. Ricky was pretty sure that Annabelle would already have been unconscious by the time Detective Montague found her, if she was even alive. If he had gotten to her in time, it would be unlikely she’d regain consciousness for at least a couple of hours. Even if she did, she should be confused and disoriented, and unable to recall what he’d told her.

  Still, Ricky was on edge.

  This final kill was the most important.

  It was time to punish the person who was most directly responsible for his mother’s death.

  Annabelle and Detective Montague were wrong; his mother’s death was not an accident. It was murder.

  Ricky had been three when his father left them. Things had been rough, but his mother had always worked hard to provide a safe home for him. She had always made sure that he had a roof over his head, clothes to wear, and food on the table. Sometimes working three or four jobs just to ensure that they had the basics. Still, no matter how busy or tired she was, his mother always made time for him. She helped him with his homework, baked him homemade cookies, planned his birthday parties.

  His mother had been a saint.

  And she had been taken from him too soon.

  It wasn’t fair.

  Life after his mother’s death had not been the same.

  Only sixteen, he had entered the foster care system. The family he had been sent to live with weren’t bad, but it wasn’t the same as living at home with his mother.

  Ricky still remembered that horrible day perfectly.

  He’d been out with a friend, trolling the shopping mall for girls. Young Ricky had been obsessed with girls. He was never without a girlfriend. Still, he tried to find a balance between his girls, his friends, and his mother. Despite the fact that he was a teenager, and most teenagers found their parents to be a huge embarrassment, Ricky had always enjoyed hanging out at home with his mom. In fact, that day he had intended to hang out with her, but his mom had insisted that he go out with his friends. He was a teenager, she’d said, he should be out there enjoying his youth. And so he had reluctantly agreed.

  Dread had begun to pool in his stomach as they neared his house. Smoke was thick in the air. Fire trucks and police cars lined the streets. People milled about, anxious to be part of all the excitement. Only it wasn’t excitement to him. When they’d finally reached his house, it had been burned beyond recognition. Half the walls were collapsed, only one bit of the roof remained, his home destroyed.

  A police officer had approached him slowly.

  A look of horrified empathy on the woman’s face.

  He’d known immedi
ately.

  Still, he’d clung to denial as the police officer had sat him down and gently explained that his mother had been inside the house when the fire started. That she’d been unable to escape the blazing inferno.

  As he’d stared at her in shocked silence, he had noticed the neighbors. They were standing around. Doing nothing. The Littletons. The husband worked from home, the wife didn’t have a job, the little boy was always playing in the front yard. They must have seen the fire. They must have seen his mother trapped inside. And yet, they hadn't saved her. They had let her die.

  It was at that moment that Ricky knew they had to pay.

  They had watched his mother and not helped.

  They had listened to her screams and not helped.

  They would suffer a horrible death just as his mother had.

  Identifying his mother’s body in the morgue had been the worst. The flames hadn't touched her. She had died from smoke inhalation. When he’d seen her, she’d looked like she was simply asleep. There wasn’t a mark on her. Except her hands. His mother had tried to escape through the glass windows in the attic. Her hands were ripped and bloody. The sight of them had fueled his already burning rage.

  And there was one more family left who still had to pay for their actions on that fateful day.

  If it hadn't been for Barney Adams and his parents, then Ricky would have been home that day.

  Barney Adams was the friend he’d been out with that day. In fact, going out had been Barney’s idea. He’d been most insistent about it. Barney was jealous that Ricky did better with girls than he did and had wanted Ricky to teach him how to score.

  When Ricky had declined, saying he already had plans, Barney had gotten his parents to call Ricky’s mom and ask if he could spend the day with him instead.

  If Barney and his parents had simply left him alone, then he would have been at home that day.

  He would have made sure the candles had been put out before his exhausted mother had gone upstairs to take a nap.

  He would have made sure that, even if the fire had started, his mother had gotten safely out.

  But Barney Adams had prevented him.

  And now it was time for Barney Adams to pay.

  Climbing from his car, he headed towards the Adams’ backyard.

  * * * * *

  2:12 A.M.

  Vanessa was sitting in her room staring out the window, waiting.

  Waiting for Vince to come and get her.

  She was going to run away from home. Well, that made her sound too childish. She was leaving home to marry Vince. She wasn’t going to let her parents tell her who she could and couldn’t date, and she wasn’t going to let them tear her and Vince apart by sending her to boarding school. So she and Vince were going to hide out until her eighteenth birthday, then they’d get married.

  A shadow moved through her backyard.

  Vince was here.

  With her stomach all aquiver with anxious anticipation, Vanessa grabbed her bag and slipped silently out her bedroom door, listening carefully to make sure the house was quiet. When she heard no one stirring, she continued on down the stairs, through the kitchen, and at the back door she paused again.

  She briefly wondered if she should write a quick note telling her parents good-bye. She decided against it since she hadn’t spoken to them in the five days since they’d told her they intended to ruin her life by sending her away. If they loved her, they would at least try to understand where she was coming from. She owed them nothing. Not even a good-bye.

  Giving the kitchen a last look over, Vanessa stepped out into the night and gasped.

  A hand clamped across her chest, pinning her arms. Stunned into silence, Vanessa couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything. Senses returning, Vanessa was about to open her mouth and yell for help when something cold and sharp pressed against her neck.

  “Make a sound and I slit your throat,” a voice rumbled in her ear.

  Panicked, Vanessa didn’t know what she should do. Should she risk trying to make an escape? Should she do as he told her? Should she scream to warn her family? And what about Vince? Where was he? Had this man killed him?

  Tears trickled down her cheeks. “Please, don’t hurt me. What do you want?”

  He chuckled, “You.”

  “My…my boyfriend…he’ll be here any minute…” Vanessa stammered desperately.

  “Actually, he’s a little tied up at the moment.” The man laughed at his own joke.

  “Did you hurt him?” A wave of anger rolled over her at the thought of this man hurting the love of her life.

  “As much as I’d love to stand here and chitchat with you, I’m on a timeline,” the man sobered. “Let’s go.”

  She was surprised when instead of dragging her away from the house, he pulled her toward it, opening the door she’d just come through and stepping them both indoors.

  “Vanessa?” a voice demanded from somewhere inside the house.

  The man quickly moved them into the farthest, darkest corner of the kitchen.

  “Is that you, young lady?” her father demanded. “You better not be sneaking out again.”

  Involuntarily, Vanessa tried to move toward her father. He was her dad, and he’d be able to make everything better. The man tightened his grip, pressing his knife against her neck, and she let out a whimper.

  “Vanessa?” her dad sounded confused now, and a moment later the light flickered on. Her father’s eyes scanned the kitchen, and Vanessa could tell the exact second that he saw her because his eyes grew wide and panicked. “Vanessa,” he took a step in her direction.

  “Uh, uh, uh,” the man holding her clucked. “That’s close enough.”

  His eyes grew wider still, shocked and baffled. “Ricky?” her father asked.

  “Long time no see, Barney,” Ricky’s voice was quietly menacing.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Her father’s brow furrowed in bewilderment.

  “No joke,” Ricky replied, tone conversational now. “I’m here for my revenge.”

  “Revenge?” her father looked puzzled. “I haven’t seen you in thirty years, since we were teenagers, since the day of your mother’s…” her father trailed off, horrified, understanding dawning on his face. “Ricky, your mother’s death was an accident. A tragedy, but an accident.”

  “My mother died because of you,” Ricky spat out viciously, his arm across her chest squeezed so painfully Vanessa couldn’t help but cry out. “If it hadn't been for you, I would have been home that day.”

  Barney kept his gaze on Ricky’s face. “Let my daughter go, Ricky. If you’re angry with me about your mom, then this is between us, just let Vanessa go.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen,” Ricky regained his calm. “You cost me my only family, now you’re going to lose yours. Now, let’s go gather the rest of the family.”

  “Ricky, no.” Her father took another step toward them. “Don’t hurt my family. Please,” he begged.

  With lightning speed, Ricky moved the knife from her neck to her cheek, pressing the tip into her flesh and dragging it down a couple of inches. Vanessa cried out at the pain, and tried to pull herself free, but Ricky repositioned the knife back at her throat and she froze.

  “Next time, I slice her carotid artery.” Ricky’s voice was terrifyingly calm and controlled. “She’ll be dead in less than a minute. Now, let’s go get the rest of your family,” he repeated, enunciating each word.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as her father released a defeated sigh. If her father had given up, what hope did she have? When Ricky began to drag her through the house, Vanessa tried to fight the panic that was quickly welling up inside her. She was being held hostage, a knife at her neck, by a madman who wanted revenge on her father for the death of his mother.

  Vanessa had never heard her father mention a man named Ricky. Her father had said that he hadn't seen this Ricky in thirty years. Had Ricky been planning his revenge all tha
t time? If he had, just what did he plan to do to them? Her father had said that Ricky’s mother’s death was an accident, but the man obviously disagreed. Vanessa wondered how his mother had died, and if that was how he intended to kill her and her family.

  “Hurry up, Barney, go grab your other kid, your parents, and that pretty wife of yours,” Ricky was instructing her father. “I’ll be waiting here with your daughter. In case you even think about doing anything stupid, just know that I’ll make sure she suffers horrendously before I kill her.”

  Vanessa shuddered violently at the threat, and Ricky chuckled.

  With a last desperate look at her, her father headed up the stairs, and Vanessa couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. She wished more than anything she could take back everything she had said and done the last couple of weeks. She wished that she hadn’t fought with her parents, that she hadn't said she hated them.

  She didn’t.

  She didn’t hate them.

  She loved them so much she was physically aching at the thought that they were all about to be murdered and she’d never have a chance to make things right. Now Vanessa couldn’t even remember what was so bad about them not wanting her to sleep with Vince. They were her parents. Of course they didn’t want to think of her having sex. What she should have done was let them get to know Vince and see for themselves what a great guy he was.

  “Too bad we don’t have more time,” Ricky whispered in her ear. The hand he had on her shoulder moved to her breast and squeezed tightly. Vanessa fought revulsion. “I would have loved to have a little more fun with you before I kill you.”

  Whimpering, Vanessa wanted desperately to get away from this horrible man, but before she could dwell on his words and his hands and his hot breath on her neck, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Her father re-entered the room. Trailing behind him were her grandparents, her mom, and her brother, Justin. Her grandparents’ arms were entwined around each other, both their faces wet with tears. Her mother tightly clutched Justin, but her eyes glared defiantly at Ricky.