The Perfect Ten Boxed Set

by Dianna Love

  Blake reached around her to unfasten her bra, letting it fall to the floor. She pulled at his shirt until he ripped it off. She licked and flicked his nipples with her tongue, then ran her tongue down his hard abs as her fingers explored the firmness of his body.

  “Honey, are you okay?” His voice was low and hoarse.

  “Better than okay,” She responded breathlessly.

  “Good to know,” Blake said as he scooped her into his arms and headed for the stairs leading to her bedroom.

  ***

  Tori Hayden stirred the green beans and bacon simmering on the stove as she listened to her granddaughter, Amanda, cooing on the baby monitor nearby. Wearing her hot-pad gloves, she pulled out a pan of baked macaroni and cheese, Brianna’s favorite. On her way to the baby’s room to pick up Amanda, she stopped in the living room where her husband, Steve sat watching the evening news.

  “Honey, call Brianna. Dinner’s ready.”

  Steve rose from his chair and moved to the window to scan the yard for Brianna as he fished his cell phone from his jeans pocket. His daughter and her dogs were nowhere in sight, so he dialed her cell phone number. Suddenly, Brianna’s black Lab, Pepper, ran into the yard, his leash trailing behind him. Salt was close behind. Something was wrong. Brianna had a fear of losing her dogs and would never have let them off their leashes.

  Tori, holding Amanda in her arms, entered the room and noticed Steve at the window. She moved next to him. “What are you looking at?”

  “Brianna’s dogs are in the yard, dragging their leashes behind them.”

  “What?” she asked, alarm singing through her voice. “Where’s Brianna?”

  Tori followed her husband to the kitchen door. As soon as he opened it, both dogs rushed in and headed toward their water bowl on the kitchen floor.

  Steve looked at his wife, struggling to keep concern from his expression, as he grabbed a set of keys from a hook on the wall. “Tori, I’m going to take the truck and find Brianna.”

  ***

  Carly Stone emptied the first case file on Blake’s dining room table, making organized stacks of photos and evidence collected for the Catherine Thomas murder. Then she did the same for Tiffany Chase. Carly pored over the evidence, focusing on every detail and accepting nothing at face value. Using a yellow highlighter, she marked important information to consider in her analysis. Once she finished studying Catherine’s and Tiffany’s files, she pulled two rolled sheets of flip chart paper from her suitcase and taped them to the wall. Picking up a black marker from the table, she wrote Catherine’s name at the top of one sheet and Tiffany’s on the other. It was important for Carly to look closely at each victim before doing an analysis of their killer.

  Both women were in their twenties and considered low-risk, meaning they lived fairly normal lives — Catherine as a waitress, and Tiffany a student. Neither woman was a known substance abuser, nor were they prostitutes, as was common in high-risk lifestyles. Both women were physically fit, and appeared to have been abducted from local state parks. Two questions ran through Carly’s mind. Were the women stalked? Or were they randomly selected because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time, and crossed the killer’s path? She was unsure the evidence would help answer either question.

  When comparing the two murders, Carly noted that both women were restrained and tortured by prolonged beatings with a folded leather belt at the primary crime scene. The beatings troubled Carly and she made a note to reconsider them when she created a more in-depth analysis of the killer’s psychological makeup.

  An additional similarity between victims was that each appeared to have been raped prior to dying. In each case, the killer had used a condom that was not found at the secondary crime scene. Both women were returned nude to the state park and posed in a way that suggested the victim was praying.

  Rubbing the tightness in the back of her neck, Carly placed the black marker on the table and headed for the kitchen to make coffee. It was going to be a long night.

  ***

  Blake moaned when he heard his cell phone vibrating on the table next to his side of the bed. Jennifer’s arms and legs were wrapped around him like a grapevine as she slept soundly on his chest.

  “Stone.”

  “Blake, we have another missing girl. Brianna Hayden. Went for a walk and didn’t return.” Lane spit out the words like bullets, his voice laced with anxiety.

  “Oh, shit,” Blake groaned.

  “You know her?”

  “We interviewed her at the Sugar Creek Cafe. She’s a waitress there and was friends with Catherine Thomas.”

  “I’m running her cell phone records now on my laptop. Wait a minute. God damn it. The last ping on Brianna’s cell phone occurred around six-thirty, then the signal stopped completely. Her cell has either been turned off or had its battery removed.”

  “Remember, the same thing happened with Catherine’s cell.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Lane said tiredly. “I sent deputies and the copter. They’re searching now. Get out to her parent’s place on Route 27 and take the missing person report. Parents’ names are Stephen and Tori Hayden. She’s got a two-year-old daughter named Amanda.”

  Blake disconnected the call and sighed. There was a child involved; that made the case that much harder. He prayed they found Brianna, and this whole thing had no connection to their killer.

  Jennifer lifted her head. “I’m going with you. This is my case, too.”

  “No argument from me. But if you start feeling dizzy or anything, you need to tell me.”

  “Deal.”

  ***

  They were several miles from the Hayden house but could see the glittering top lights of police cars and light beams from the helicopter looming overhead. Cars of curious onlookers, neighbors and the media clotted the road, so Blake flicked on the emergency dashboard lights and siren, forcing drivers to pull over. Soon electric blue flashes of light filled the SUV as Blake pressed the accelerator to pick up speed to maneuver past the cars.

  Blake and Jennifer parked alongside the road and approached the house on foot. On the Hayden’s front porch stood Lane, Frankie and their search and rescue dog, Hunter. Lane motioned to Blake and pulled him into quiet conversation.

  Frankie spotted her and said, “Jennifer, what in the hell are you doing out here with a concussion?”

  Firing her best drop-it glare, Jennifer hugged her and patted Hunter on the head. “Why are you here, Frankie?”

  “Mrs. Hayden is inside searching the dirty laundry for an unwashed shirt that belongs to Brianna. We’re giving it to Hunter for the scent, then we’re going to see if we can track Brianna.”

  “Good idea. We’re going in to interview the parents and take the missing person report. Maybe by the time we finish, you’ll have some news for us.”

  Jennifer followed Blake inside the house to the living room where Steve Hayden sat in a rocking chair holding a fussy two-year-old who had to be Brianna’s daughter. The child tucked her head inside his arms and alternated between sucking her thumb and crying out loud. Jennifer’s heart squeezed.

  Sitting on the sofa, she pulled out a small notepad and a pen. “Mr. Hayden, I’m Detective Jennifer Brennan and this is my partner, Blake Stone. We need to ask you some questions that will help us find Brianna.”

  With a long, anxious sigh, Steve nodded and continued rocking Amanda.

  “We know Brianna took the dogs for a walk tonight. Is that something she did on a regular basis?”

  “Every night. Soon as she gets home from work. She said the walks with the dogs helped her unwind, clearing her thoughts.”

  “Is there a particular route that she takes for her walks?”

  “Yes, she takes the same route everyday so her mom and I could find her if Amanda needed her. She turns left at the end of the drive, walks past Cal Fisher’s home as her one-mile marker, and then walks another mile until she’s past the Isaac house and pasture. Then she turns around to head home.” Wrinklin
g his brow, Steve cleared his throat and said, “When the dogs came home without her, I knew something was very wrong. I drove her route in my truck and couldn’t find any sign of her. It was like she disappeared into thin air.”

  “Has Brianna confided in you that she’s experiencing problems with anyone who would want to hurt her?” Blake asked.

  “Naw, she gripes a lot about John Isaac, her boss at the cafe, but all the waitresses do. He’s an asshole who thinks he’s a tough guy because he can boss the women around at work. I can’t think of anyone who’d want to hurt her. She’s a good girl.” Steve paused thoughtfully then added, “Ever since Catherine Thomas was murdered, she’s been grieving. They were friends and Brianna misses her.”

  “I understand. What about Amanda’s father? Is he in the picture? If so, do he and Brianna get along?”

  “We haven’t heard from that bastard since the day Brianna told him she was pregnant. Skipped town. Tried to find him for child support, but his family is keeping their mouths closed about his whereabouts.”

  ***

  Outside, Tori Hayden sat crying alone on a wicker sofa on the porch, still clutching a couple of Brianna’s shirts to her chest. Jennifer sat down beside her and patted her arm.

  “Mrs. Hayden, I’m Detective Jennifer Brennan. We need you to join your husband in the kitchen to complete the paperwork we’ll file for the missing person report.”

  Brianna’s mother wiped at her eyes, moved toward the door, and turned to face Jennifer. “You’ll find her, won’t you? You’ll bring her back to us?”

  Jennifer nodded, giving the woman an unspoken promise she knew she may not be able to keep. But hope was something she could never allow herself to deny loved ones of the missing.

  She joined Blake at the end of the driveway. He was talking to Frankie who had returned with Hunter and Lane.

  “We got to a spot past Cal Fisher’s house and Hunter just stopped. He’d lost the scent. We looked closer and found fresh tire tracks on the side of the road where a vehicle had pulled off and parked.”

  Blake shook his head with disgust. “Like someone knew she took this route for her walks and was waiting for her.”

  Frankie continued, “There were drag marks in the dirt. My theory is that he disabled her somehow, dragged her to his car and stuffed her inside.”

  Lane offered, “The crime scene techs are photographing and casting the shoe and tire prints now. My money is on them to link the tire prints to a specific tire so we have a ballpark idea of what kind of vehicle he’s driving.”

  “I used to have a Jeep in high school. Those tire tracks looked just like the tracks my Jeep left,” added Frankie.

  ***

  Jennifer pulled into Cal Fisher’s driveway and saw him walking toward the them before she and Blake even got out of the SUV.

  “What’s going on? Never seen so many deputies driving around in this area in my life. Hell, there’s even a copter. Who are they looking for?”

  “Mr. Fisher?”

  Cal nodded and motioned for Jennifer and Blake to join him on the screened porch where he picked up his yapping Jack Russell and held her on his lap.

  “We’re looking for Brianna Hayden. Do you know her?” Jennifer began.

  “Course I know Brianna. Her parents are my closest neighbors. Watched her grow up.”

  “Did you see her earlier this evening?”

  “Sure did. She was walking her dogs like she always does around six o’clock. I know that, because my Liz here barked up a storm to let me know Brianna’s Labs were encroaching on her territory. I waved at Brianna from my picture window in front.”

  “Which direction was she headed?” asked Blake.

  “North, toward town. A long time ago, Brianna told me my house is her one mile marker. She usually walks a second mile ending up by John Isaac’s place where she turns around and goes back home.”

  “John Isaac? Is this the same John Isaac that owns the Sugar Creek Cafe?” asked Blake.

  “That’s the one. I imagine you’ve heard about John’s run-ins with the law. He’s got a bad habit of beating up his wife and little boy.”

  ***

  In the vehicle, Jennifer opened up her laptop and ran John Isaac’s name. In the past three years, he’d been arrested five times for domestic violence against his wife, Eve, and twice for suspected child abuse. Pulling up the child protection records, Jennifer noticed that Isaac had beaten his five-year-old son with a belt. His kindergarten teacher noticed the bruising and welts when the child refused to sit down because it was painful.

  “The child abuse was done with a belt, Blake. Just like the way Catherine and Tiffany were beaten.”

  Blake considered the information and added, “Catherine and Brianna waitressed for him at the cafe. Tiffany was local; I bet she ate there with Evan. That’s three connections. Could he be our killer?”

  John Isaac’s place was the opposite of Cal Fisher’s or the Hayden’s clean, manicured lawns and painted homes that reflected owner pride. The grass stood about a foot tall, long overdue for a mowing. There were children’s toys scattered in front and a bicycle thrown across the back stoop. The house itself was a two-story farmhouse with peeling white paint. Plastic still covered the windows to ward off winter winds.

  Blake pounded on a side door until a small woman appeared. She wore a faded pair of jeans with a soiled T-shirt and a cardigan sweater that she was buttoning as she joined him on the porch. A cut on her lip was bleeding, and large purple bruises darkened on each side of her neck. A thin boy hovered behind her as she glanced at their SUV where the blue lights were still flashing.

  “Cops? Where were you a couple of hours ago when I was getting the crap beat out me? What took you so long to get here?”

  Jennifer moved forward. “Mrs. Isaac, may we come in so you can tell us what happened.”

  “It’s Eve. My name is Eve.”

  As Jennifer followed the woman into the house, Blake winked at the little boy and pointed to his bicycle. “Nice bike. I had one like it when I was your age.”

  The little boy puffed up with pride, picked up the bicycle, did a couple of spins in the driveway then parked it near the house when he noticed Blake had pulled out a package of gum. He slowly moved near Blake, eyeing the stick of gum being offered to him. Snatching it from Blake’s hand, he folded it a couple of times, stuffed it in his mouth then sat next to Blake on the porch step.

  “So you’re a real policeman? Can I see your badge?”

  Blake handed it to him and said, “My name’s Blake. What’s yours?”

  “I’m Shawn Isaac. I’m five-years-old,” he said holding up five fingers.

  Blake gently ran his thumb over a mark on the boy’s face. “This red mark on your cheek. Did you dad do that?”

  “My teacher said that you’re never supposed to tell a lie to a policeman,” he said, his wide eyes searching Blake’s face.

  “That’s true, Shawn.”

  “I’m supposed to say that I fell off my bike.”

  “But that’s not what happened, is it?”

  “No, sir,” Shawn said shaking his head. “My daddy hit me and knocked me down. When I started crying he called me names and said boys don’t cry.”

  A muscle angrily flicked at his jaw as Blake imagined John Isaac hitting his five-year-old son, and then lashing out at him when the pain made him cry. At that moment, he wanted to kick John Isaac’s ass.

  “Tell me what happened, Shawn.”

  “Daddy came home from work and got mad because Mommy didn’t have dinner ready. He called Mommy a lazy, worthless cow. Then Mommy told Daddy to go to hell. That’s when he got really mad. He threw the kitchen chair and shoved Mommy so hard against the wall that she hit her head hard. She tried to push him away but he got her by the neck and pushed her back against the wall. Mommy was making sounds like I do when I’m choked, so I tried to push Daddy away from her. That’s when he hit me. He told Mommy he was going to the liquor store in town and he le
ft.”

  The squeak of the screen door hinges drew Blake’s attention. He turned to see Shawn’s mother dragging a large suitcase and Jennifer carrying some boxes that he pulled from her arms.

  “Eve and Shawn are going to stay at a women’s shelter tonight. I’ve arranged for a counselor to talk to Eve tomorrow and find living arrangements for them.”

  ***

  As they headed toward Eve’s car, they were startled by the scream of tires as a green Toyota whipped into the driveway spitting gravel and nearly hitting Shawn.

  “What the hell are you doing?” shouted John Isaac to his wife as he popped out of the vehicle and staggered toward her.

  Blake ignored him as he placed the two boxes in Eve’s car trunk.

  “I’m leaving your ass.” Eve returned as she shoved the heavy suitcase into the trunk. “You drunk again, John? What a surprise.”

  “You bitch!” John shouted as he pulled back his arm to strike his wife but Blake caught it in mid-swing, pushing John off balance so he fell to the ground.

  John scrambled to his feet and swung his arm, hitting Blake across the cheek. Pain exploded in his ear and jaw. Jerking John’s arm behind his back, Blake dropped him to the ground. Still gripping his arm, he pushed his knee into his back to hold him in place as he snapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.

  Jennifer helped Eve and Shawn get into the car, and stood watching as Eve pulled the car around and drove down the driveway to the road into town. She then pulled out her cell phone and dialed dispatch for backup.

  Blake yanked John to his feet then walked him to their SUV where he pressed him against the side.

  “Where have you been tonight, John?” asked Blake as he kept his hand pressed to John’s chest to keep him steady.

  “Anywhere but here, asshole.”

  “Want to be a little more specific?” The guy was getting on Blake’s last nerve. If he didn’t get more cooperative, he’d take this little talk down to the sheriff’s office.

  “I was at the bar next to the liquor store on Main Street. What’s it to you?”