by Jane Blythe
“Shh, cupcake,” Ryan was holding her, stroking her hair, rubbing her back, trying to calm her down. “Stop crying, baby. Please. Don’t cry anymore. Shh.”
But Sofia couldn’t stop crying. Her emotions were controlling her right now, not the other way around. At last Ryan tilted her face up, his mouth taking hers, his hand threading through her hair. Ryan’s kisses smothered her tears, and soothed her jangled nerves. Slowly, she felt herself start to relax.
Sensing the tension inside her subsiding, Ryan eased her down against the mattress and settled her under the covers once more. “You want some sleeping pills?” Ryan asked.
Shaking her head, Sofia curled herself against Ryan’s warm, hard body. Her mind was exhausted enough that sleep was already edging in.
“Need some painkillers?”
“No,” she whispered, resting her head on Ryan’s shoulder. “All I need is for you to find Isabella.”
* * * * *
3:17 A.M.
Sliding back into bed after a bathroom stop, Tyler Mendleson gave a contented sigh. His wife Helena, still asleep, curled her body toward him and snuggled her head on his shoulder.
Could life get any better than this?
Tyler didn’t think so.
The last eighteen months had been pure bliss.
Tyler had never thought he’d find love again. In fact, he thought he’d been lucky to find it once in the first place. His parents’ marriage had been one screaming match after another before they finally divorced. And Tyler hadn't held high hopes of faring any better.
Until he’d met Joy.
Joy was just that, the joy of his life. And the three beautiful daughters she had given him before her death had brought him just as much joy as their mother had. Raising three girls on his own had been tough. And many a night he had laid in bed unsure how to help his daughters on their journey to womanhood. He must have done okay, though. All three were wonderful young women.
And now he had another wonderful woman in his life.
Helena was a breath of fresh air in a life that had become stale and musty. He had his girls and his job, but he was just going through the motions. There had been no real enjoyment in his life, nothing that made him excited to get out of bed in the morning. Helena had changed all of that.
Tyler had known from the moment he laid eyes on her that she was the one for him. She was the woman who would make it feel like his life was starting all over again. It had taken his daughters a little longer to adjust to the fact that he was in a relationship with someone other than their mother. To them it had felt like he was betraying their mother’s memory. But over time they had come to understand that he wasn’t trying to replace Joy. No one could ever replace her, he had simply been lucky enough to find another woman to love. Now they were one big happy family, him and Helena, his daughters, her two children. One big happy family.
Kissing the top of his wife’s head, Tyler was just about to close his eyes and try to get a little more sleep before he had to get up for work when he felt something sharp pinch his leg. He was reaching a hand down to find out what it was, hoping it wasn’t a spider—he hated arachnids—when his vision began to tunnel, fading in and out before everything went black.
Something was squirming beside him.
That was odd, Tyler thought.
He and Helena were in bed. Perhaps she was having a nightmare?
He tried to move toward her, but he couldn’t.
Panic shot through him.
A spider had bitten him. It must have been a poisonous one. He was paralyzed.
“For goodness’ sake, hold still,” a voice snapped above him. “You’re the wriggliest woman I've had to deal with.”
Everything clicked, and Tyler knew a spider hadn’t bitten him. His eyes snapped open. The light was on in the bedroom. A man was standing on the other side of the bed, wrapping duct tape around Helena’s wrists. His wife was wiggling and squirming frantically, trying in vain to get away from the binds that tied her to the bed.
On instinct Tyler tried to move toward the man. No one hurt his wife and got away with it. Of course, he couldn’t move. That didn’t stop him from trying, though. He yanked on his restraints so violently, it felt like he was about to rip his joints out of their sockets.
The man glanced his way and chuckled. “I think that’s a little pointless, tough guy. Although I hear ladies love a knight in shining armor,” the man chuckled again as though that were the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
Tyler tried to yell at him, but all that came out were muffled grunts. There was duct tape over his mouth. This was a nightmare. It had to be. It couldn’t be happening.
Turning his head, his eyes met his wife’s, and suddenly he was fighting back tears. Tyler knew he couldn’t cry. Crying would stuff up his nose and with his mouth taped closed he wouldn’t be able to breathe. Still, knowing all of that didn’t seem to help. The tears were coming whether he wanted them to or not.
Then a hand touched his. Gentle fingers caressed his palm.
The man had tied his right wrist to the right top corner of the bed, and Helena's left wrist to the top left corner of the bed, but he had tied their other hands together.
Helena's strength calmed him enough that he could hold back his tears.
“Holding hands; that’s sweet,” the man grinned at them. “Usually I do things a little differently, but unfortunately tonight I'm running late. Thanks to that stupid manager,” he added in a mutter.
Usually, Tyler thought. What did he mean by ‘usually’? Had this man done this before? Broken into people’s homes in the middle of the night and tied them up in their beds? And just what was he planning on doing next? This seemed a little elaborate for a plain robbery. Was this man going to kill them?
Tyler had a horrible feeling in his stomach that that was exactly what this man intended on doing.
What was he thinking? Of course, the man was going to kill them. Why else would he be doing this?
The little piece of calm he’d drawn from Helena evaporated, and he began to yank wildly at his bindings. He wiggled and squirmed violently until his muscles ached in protest and then, drained, he went still against the mattress.
“Finished?” the man rolled his eyes.
With a defeated nod, Tyler accepted his fate. What else could he do? As far as he could see there were no means of escape.
“Good,” the man nodded approvingly. “I don’t have all night.” A pair of scissors appeared in his hand and he moved closer to the bed.
Tyler tried, pointlessly, to shy away from him. Beside him Helena did the same thing.
Another eye roll. “Don’t bother, I'm not going to cut you, just removing your clothes. They get in the way,” he added.
The man’s explanation did nothing to ease his terror. Which started to crescendo as the cold metal of the scissors brushed his skin as the man begun to cut off his pajamas. Once Tyler was naked, the man turned his attention to Helena, quickly removing her clothing as well.
Brushing his thumb across Helena’s lips, then tracing a fingertip down her chest, circling her breasts before moving down her stomach, stopping just above a line of pubic hair. He shot them both a grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll have to skip that step today. No time.”
Stepping away from the bed, the man returned a moment later with an axe in his hand. Tyler’s fear became so strong it was like a living thing inside him. Pulsing up and down his body so that every limb trembled. His stomach rumbled till it heaved and it was all he could do not to throw up. His head pounded till the whole room started to tilt and spin.
The axe blade caught the light and glinted. The man’s smile was borderline manic.
Muffled screams filled the room.
His.
Helena’s.
The man’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
The axe came hurtling toward the bed.
* * * * *
5:51 A.M.
Hands on her shoulders made her
jump a mile.
“Sorry,” a voice rumbled behind her. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Heart hammering in her chest, Paige drew in a shaky breath and turned from her mindless staring out the window to stare at her husband’s bare chest. She had been so lost in thought that she hadn't even heard him enter the room. Even after food and sleep, she was still feeling a little wobbly.
“What time is it?” she asked, trying to suppress a shiver. She was ice cold, even though she was wrapped up in flannel pajamas and a fleece robe and wearing fluffy slippers.
“Nearly six,” Elias replied, frowning slightly as he rubbed her arms. “Are you cold?”
Her husband seemed to be throwing off heat like a furnace this morning, even though he was dressed only in a pair of sweat pants. Paige had been burning hot when she’d awakened from the grips of a nightmare a couple of hours ago. She had woken up thrashing desperately against the sheets and blankets, in which she was tightly tangled. She had been soaked in sweat, but as soon as she’d dragged herself out of bed she’d been unable to get warm.
Elias hadn't stirred; he slept like a log and nothing short of a meteor shower would wake him up. Too restless to attempt sleep again, she had come down to the kitchen, made a pot of tea, of which she hadn't drunk even a sip, and stared out at the black night.
“Paige?” Elias hooked a finger under her chin and tipped her face up.
The concerned frown he was shooting at her as he searched her face reminded her of the way Ryan had looked at her yesterday evening. She knew her partner couldn’t understand why she wasn’t just telling him what was going on with her. Usually she told Ryan everything. She trusted Ryan implicitly. Whenever she needed help, she went to him. Despite all that, she wasn’t ready to share this with Ryan yet.
“Honey, you’re shaking,” Elias’ concern had grown.
She rested against her husband’s chest, his arms wrapping tightly around her. Elias’ warmth only managed to heat her skin, but couldn’t seem to penetrate deeper. “I'm a little cold,” she murmured.
“Let’s go back to bed; after yesterday you should be resting,” he tried to tug her towards the door.
“I'm fine,” she said restlessly, moving out of his arms. She liked to be on the move when she was on edge.
“Come on,” Elias persisted. “Let’s go back to bed. You need sleep.”
They had been married only a little over a year, and usually Elias was more into sex than sleep whenever they were in bed. So, the fact that he wanted to go to bed for just sleep must mean she looked as bad as she felt. “No, I don’t want to.” Instead she began to pace the kitchen.
He let out a frustrated breath. “All right. I’ll make you some tea.”
Elias bustled about the kitchen and Paige resumed her staring out the window. She needed to pull it together. Now was not the best time to be falling apart. She just needed to forget about it for the moment, and focus on her husband and her cases. It was probably nothing, anyway—at least nothing to be getting so upset over.
“Babe?”
Again, she jumped as hands closed over her shoulders.
“Honey, you are so on edge; you need to rest.” Elias turned her around to face him.
“I can't.” She leaned against her husband and let him hold her up.
“You had nightmares.” He sounded grim. Hands on her upper arms, he pulled her back so he could see her better. “It’s been a long time since you’ve dreamed about it.” He studied her face with his dark brown eyes. Paige presumed he was searching for signs that she was going to lose it. “I think you should tell Ryan what’s going on.”
Slipping her arms around Elias’ waist, she rested her head against his smooth, muscled chest and gave it a small shake. “He has enough going on right now. With Sofia’s recovery, and her stalker reappearing, and then Isabella’s fingerprints turning up at a crime scene—I don’t want to worry him.”
“He’d want to know,” Elias reminded her.
Paige knew that, but still, she wasn’t about to burden him with her problems when he had enough of his own.
Elias sighed when she didn’t respond, and he tugged her toward the table. “If you won't go back to bed, then at least sit down and have some tea.” Elias sat and drew her down onto his lap. “You come up with anything?” He gestured at the kitchen table, which was covered with papers and reports.
Taking a sip from the cup in front of her, she eyed her case notes from Roman Hitacheel’s murder. After the nightmare, she’d known that more sleep was out of the question, so she’d studied her notes until her tired eyes had started to water. She shrugged fitfully. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to come up with a reason for Isabella Everette’s fingerprints to be in that room.”
“Drink some more tea,” Elias urged. “You have a theory?”
The hot liquid was slowly warming her up as she swallowed a few more mouthfuls. “I was wondering about how she got the drugs. She came from a wealthy family. She didn’t hang on the streets, she didn’t have friends—let alone friends who got into trouble or had criminal records. I'm not sure she could find a drug dealer to buy the drugs she used to knock him out. I was thinking that she…uh…she…” Paige trailed off, her mind seemed to be growing sluggish.
“Paige?” Elias prompted.
Finishing the tea in her cup, she tried to gather her thoughts but couldn’t seem to manage this usually simple task. “Sorry, I'm feeling a little confused; what was I saying?” Paige pressed a hand to her head as though that could help her focus her jumbled mind.
“You were telling me about how you think Isabella got the drugs,” Elias reminded her.
“Oh, yeah, I think…” She trailed off; her eyes were heavy and she was feeling drowsy. The cup in her hand began to shake, and suddenly, it clicked. “You drugged me,” she accused Elias, trying to pull free from her husband’s grip, but her limbs were clumsy and sluggish.
“Sorry, honey, but you need rest, and if you won't take care of yourself, then you leave me no choice.”
“No choice?” she wished she sounded as outraged as she felt, but her voice was weak and slurred. Again, Paige tried to get free of Elias, but it was too late. The sleeping pills her husband had crushed and put in her tea were taking affect and she was falling asleep whether she wanted to or not.
He lifted her into his arms. “You’ll feel better once you sleep,” Elias told her as he carried her back upstairs.
Head drooping against his shoulder, the last thing Paige thought before she fell asleep was that never in her life had she been as angry at anyone as she was right now with her husband.
* * * * *
7:06 A.M.
The street was quiet as Xavier pulled his car to the curb.
The morning was cold but clear. There hadn't been a lot of snow so far this winter, but Xavier knew that wouldn’t last. They weren’t that lucky. The sky was the palest of pale blues as the sun slowly began to rise. There was no one about. No dog walkers, no parents bustling kids into cars for the morning school run, no weary workers dragging themselves off to start another day. Everyone wanted to delay leaving their warm and cozy homes to face another dreary winter day until the very last second.
He was quite obviously the first one to arrive.
The Mendleson house was only minutes away from his and Annabelle’s. As soon as the call had come in, it had been linked to the Landers’ case, and a call had gone to Robert, who had promptly called him.
Racing to the house, Xavier hadn't been quite sure what he would find upon arrival. Obviously, there was one surviving victim. But how many were dead? Had the killer stuck with another couple, or had he escalated to a family? If Ricky Preston was the killer then he had deescalated, which was unusual for a serial killer. But Ricky was smart; he killed for a reason. Before it had been for revenge. If he was doing this, then he had to be choosing these victims for a particular reason. If Xavier could only figure out how he was doing that, then he was positive it would l
ead him straight to the killer.
He jumped from his car and sprinted down the flower-edged path to the front door. Drawing his gun, Xavier thought that there was little to no chance that the killer was still lurking about the property, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
He knocked on the front door. “Police,” he identified himself. “Open up.”
He waited a moment; there was no sound from within the house, and he could see no movement through the frosted glass door.
“It’s the police,” he repeated. “Open the door.”
Another pause. Still nothing. Maybe the house was empty. Maybe, too traumatized to remain inside the house until help arrived, the killer’s surviving victim had fled to a neighbor’s for solace.
Xavier would check the house out first, and then move on to the neighboring houses.
Hammering on the door one last time, he prepared himself for the scene that would inevitably meet him inside. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the work of the same killer who had killer Erica Landers. That scene had been bloody, and this one would, no doubt, be the same. Or worse. “Police. I'm coming in.”
Breaking in turned out to be unnecessary. When he tried the doorknob, it turned and he swung the door quietly open.
A trail of bloody footprints was the first thing he saw.
Xavier would bet a year’s salary that they would match those from the Landers house.
Bypassing the living room to his left and the kitchen and dining room to his right, he followed the trail down the hall. He paused cautiously at the door to a study, and a spare bedroom, both of which appeared to be empty, before coming upon the master bedroom.
Just as he had expected, the room was a bloody mess.
The sense of déjà vu was so strong, he may as well have been standing in the Landers bedroom. Streaks of blood splatter crisscrossed the ceiling and walls. Blood pooled both on and beneath the bed—upon which lay a mangled body.