by Jane Blythe
What was worrying him was the niggling doubt that he was wrong.
That Annabelle wasn’t strong enough to work her way through this.
No, that isn't quite true, he corrected himself. He was worried that Annabelle might not have it in her to climb out of this hole she found herself in. But what worried him more was that he might not have as much strength as he thought he did. Could he stand by and watch as Annabelle shrank and withered away until she was nothing more than a shell of a person? Was he strong enough to stand by her if she never improved, if she never got better?
Xavier wanted to believe that he was. He had no intention of deliberately abandoning Annabelle. But what if it came down to a choice between her mental health and his? Was he strong enough to potentially lose Annabelle like he’d lost Julia?
He decided he’d cross those bridges if he came to them. For now, what he would focus on was the fact that he loved Annabelle and she loved him. That had to be enough.
Right now, since he was way too wired for sleep, he should go through the Landers and Mendleson case files. He may as well put his time to good use.
All right, he focused himself. Neither the Landers or the Mendlesons had any known enemies. And the chances of them both having upset the same person to the extent that that person wanted them dead and suffering was beyond unlikely. Therefore, both couples had to have met the killer somewhere along the way. This killer was meticulous and organized; he wasn’t choosing these people randomly. He didn’t just feel the urge to kill and pick a house; he came to the house to seek out his intended victims with the tools he needed to complete the task.
He had spotted them before and something about them had appealed to him.
Xavier had been going through the Landers’ and Mendlesons’ lives looking for anything that they had in common. Unfortunately, he wasn’t having much luck; so far, he had come up with nothing.
They didn’t live in the same area. They didn’t shop at the same grocery store, they didn’t use the same car garage, they didn’t go to the same hairdressers, they didn’t use the same doctors or dentists. They hadn't attended the same churches, or had the same hobbies. The Mendlesons’ kids or grandkids didn’t connect with the Landers either. As best as he could see, they didn’t have a single commonality in their lives.
His cell phone began to buzz on the table beside him. Thankfully, he’d left it on silent so it didn’t disturb Annabelle. He glanced at it and saw the text was from Diane. Heart beating faster with excitement, he picked it up, hoping she was giving him confirmation that the bloody fingerprint she had found at the Mendleson house matched the prints they had on file for Ricky Preston.
He let out a sigh of relief as he read the text.
He’d been right all along.
Ricky Preston was the killer.
Far from feeling scared, Xavier found himself feeling rejuvenated, energized. Ricky was back—and this time he wasn’t getting away.
Now all he needed to do was figure out how he had chosen his victims and it would lead him straight to Ricky.
Helena Mendleson had mentioned that the man who killed her husband had said something about being held up at work. The call from the Mendleson house had come in a little before seven in the morning, and Helena had estimated that it had taken her a couple of hours to get herself free and call for help—putting the attack at approximately four am.
If Ricky had been held up at work before heading to the Mendleson house, then he had to be working somewhere that was still open in the middle of the night. Obviously, he wasn’t still working as a carpenter; so what was he doing now?
Hospitals were open twenty-four hours a day, but he couldn’t see Ricky working in a hospital. Maybe an all-night restaurant or store? Cleaners weren’t usually still working at four in the morning. Emergency services were out of the question for obvious reasons.
And then it hit him.
Both the Landers and the Mendlesons were newlyweds.
Both presumably had honeymoons.
Hotels also never closed.
If both couples had honeymooned at the same hotel, it was a connection
If Ricky Preston was working at a hotel, then it was how he met them.
First thing in the morning, Xavier was going to take Annabelle to see her therapist, and then he was going to find out if the Landers and Mendlesons had indeed honeymooned at the same hotel. Once he had confirmation, he was going to go and pick Ricky Preston up and end this.
Right now, though, he needed some sleep.
He needed to be completely on his game when he went to arrest Ricky; he wasn’t going to risk getting played again.
Throwing off his clothes, he slid under the covers, and Annabelle immediately curled into him. With the lightest heart he’d had in months, Xavier drifted quickly off into a deep and dreamless sleep.
JANUARY 11th
12:43 A.M.
Isabella couldn’t deny that she was a little excited.
She had always maintained that she only killed to serve a purpose. But if she was honest, she was looking forward to killing Arthur Bentley tonight.
That made her mad, though.
She didn’t want to prove her father right.
Although she’d been raised as the daughter of her grandfather and his wife, she was, in fact, the daughter of his oldest son and a woman that both her father and grandfather had been having an affair with. Her biological father had been a monster. He had committed his first rape at the age of just fourteen. He had raped his stepmother, which had led to her getting pregnant with Sofia.
Her father, Logan Everette IV, hadn't stopped there.
For years, he had abducted vulnerable young women, tied them up in a secret room in the basement, where he had tortured, raped, and killed them. Her grandfather, Judge Logan Everette, had known what his son was doing and helped to conceal his crimes. The judge’s wife, Gloria, had known, too—as had Logan’s brothers, Lewis and Lincoln.
Sofia had also known. But she hadn't known that she’d known.
Sofia had sleepwalked as a child and stumbled upon the horrors in the family basement. The judge had convinced her it was nothing more than a dream and she had believed that up until five months ago.
Now she knew the truth about their family.
Isabella had seen no other option than to wipe her despicable family off the face of the planet.
Sofia wanted to believe that Isabella had gone off the deep end following an incident at her school. Four classmates had tied Isabella up and sexually assaulted her before simply leaving her there. It had taken her almost twelve hours to get herself free. No one had believed her when she’d told them what had happened to her. And so she had taken it upon herself to exact her own revenge.
Just like she had exacted her own revenge on her family for allowing all those poor girls to be assaulted and murdered by Logan.
But this was different.
Isabella couldn’t deny it.
Killing Roman Hitacheel had been fun. And anticipation over tonight’s murder had been buzzing in her veins all day.
She was beginning to think her father was right.
Before she’d killed him, Isabella had tied Logan IV up in a secret room in the attic of her family’s home. She had wanted a little alone time with him before she killed him. Plus, she had intended to frame him for the murders.
While the two of them were alone together, he had told her that she was delusional. That she would never be able to stop killing. That even though she claimed she had killed her family because of what he had done, that she had killed them simply because she wanted to.
He was wrong, of course.
At least about why she had killed their family.
But he was right on one count—killing her biological mother had been personal. She had hated Brooke Mariano. Hated her for sleeping with both Logans. Hated Brooke for giving her up for money. Hated that she thought only of herself.
And so, she had killed her.
Just for the fun of it, it seemed.
With a start, she realized that it was fun. She did enjoy it. Logan was right. She was her father’s daughter, after all. Only she was better at killing than he’d ever been.
Thinking of that, she checked her supplies to make sure everything was in order, then readied the syringe. She would need it handy this time around. There wasn’t a lot she could do to make herself look like Vanessa. She had dyed her hair blonde, but Vanessa was short and skinny, and there was no way Isabella could lose weight quickly enough to pass for Vanessa.
She was going to have to do things different with Arthur.
Instead of letting him find her on the bed, she was going to have to take him as he came through the door.
She would have to be quick. Not just in injecting him, but in moving him, as well. She was strong, but Arthur was big and well-muscled; no doubt he would be heavy and awkward to maneuver. Still, she would rather take her chances in moving him than risk letting him get close to her and discovering she wasn’t Vanessa before she could jab him with the syringe.
From outside she heard the rev of an engine and headlights flashed through the windows.
Arthur was here.
She took a steadying breath, more to keep her excitement under control than because she was nervous.
She positioned herself where the door would hide her once Arthur opened it; that seemed to be the best place. Arthur would enter and head for the bedroom, where he expected to find his latest fling awaiting him. He had no reason to be suspicious, so he wouldn’t even think to check that there was no one else in the apartment.
Footsteps sounded and Isabella tensed, syringe in hand, ready to pounce as soon as Arthur closed the front door.
The door opened.
Arthur took a step inside.
The door closed.
“Vanessa?” Arthur called, taking a step toward the bedroom where Isabella had left a light on.
She moved quickly.
Arthur turned at the last second, but it was too late. She already had the needle plunging into his shoulder.
His eyes widened. Then his face creased with an angry frown and he swung at her.
Isabella quickly dodged out of the way.
“What the—?” Arthur looked surprised as he made a second attempt to grab her only to have his body refuse to cooperate.
Then he dropped.
Isabella sprang into action. As she had anticipated, it wasn’t easy to maneuver the large man into the bedroom and onto the bed, but somehow she managed it. Probably because adrenalin was coursing through her system, giving her extra strength.
She wasn’t stupid; she wasn’t going to even attempt to move Arthur once she had him secured. This wasn’t an obese guy in his sixties—this was a fit guy in his thirties, who could easily take her down if given the opportunity. Therefore, she took extra care to make sure she had him properly fastened to the bed frame, adding extra layers of duct tape.
Next she added tape to his mouth. She had been confident that Roman Hitacheel would not scream for help. He was at heart a weak, pathetic, wimp. But Arthur Bentley was not. When he realized that he couldn't brute force his way off the bed, he would most certainly start yelling.
And yelling would inevitably bring people.
She could kill anyone who tried to respond, but she didn’t want to.
More than anything they would be more of a bother than a real hindrance.
Especially if they called the police.
Not to worry, though; the duct tape over his mouth would prevent Arthur from uttering more than stifled yelps. She would be the only one to hear him. And she was not going to be offering him any help.
She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for Arthur to regain consciousness. Isabella was aware of movement behind her a split second before something slammed into the side of her head and everything exploded into a screaming black hole of pain.
* * * * *
1:16 A.M.
Sofia knew the second she woke up that something was off.
It was just a feeling.
As she looked around her and Ryan’s bedroom, lit by the dim glow of a lamp beside the bed, nothing looked out of place. The fluffy bright yellow teddy bear Ryan had given her on their first official date—he’d chosen it specifically because yellow was both of their favorite color—was still lying beside her. She often slept with it when Ryan was working late. The shades were half-drawn; Sofia liked to be able to see the sky if she awakened during the night. Ryan’s clothes were still thrown over the back of an overstuffed armchair in the corner of the room. No matter how many times she told him to put his clean clothes in the closet and his dirty clothes in the hamper in the laundry room, he never did either.
She climbed out of bed. It didn’t matter that everything looked the same, because she felt that something was off. And the last five months had told her to trust her instincts.
Her leg had stiffened up while she’d been sleeping, but with adrenalin coursing through her veins, she didn’t feel more than a distant throb as she hurried to Ryan’s gun safe. Punching in the code, she grabbed a gun, thankful for the first time that she had let Ryan and Jack teach her to shoot. Between her stalker and Isabella’s crime spree, plus the fact that her sister was still on the loose, Ryan had thought it was important for her to know how to protect herself if the need arose.
Which it seemed it had.
Scanning the bedside table, Sofia realized that she’d left her phone downstairs on the kitchen table. She cursed her stupidity. She always remembered to bring it up with her. Even before her stalker had reappeared, she always made sure she had her cell phone with her in case—given her shaky health lately—she needed to call Ryan, on the rare nights he didn’t come home.
As she slowly and cautiously made her way downstairs, she wished that she had let Jack spend the night, as both he and Ryan had wanted. But she had to go and be all stubborn. She’d slept in her house alone after her stalker had first appeared in her life, and she didn’t want to give up her independence. She was also wishing that she and Ryan had had a security system installed. They had talked about it but never gotten around to doing anything about it. Isabella hadn't seemed like she was going to be a physical threat to them, and Ryan was a cop, so they had felt safe enough. Until now.
Plus, she hadn’t believed that the stalker was a threat to her.
At least, not yet.
But what if she was wrong?
Someone was here in her house, or had been, in the middle of the night.
If Jack had been here, then there would be no chance of anyone even getting through the door. But he wasn’t here. No one was. Just her.
Keeping the gun clutched in one hand, Sofia needed to use her other to help steady herself as she went down the stairs.
Nothing seemed out of place, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.
She was a little breathless now as she headed for the kitchen. She knew she was pushing her leg too far, and she was going to pay for it later. Sinking down into a chair at the kitchen table, she was pleased to see that the backdoor was still closed.
Perhaps she had overreacted.
She was tired and in pain. She’d learned Isabella was killing again, even though she had known it was likely, but having it confirmed was still a shock. Maybe it had all just been too much. She just wanted to move forward with her life and not remain stuck in this awful sort of limbo. She wanted Isabella and her stalker caught. She wanted her and Ryan to be able to be a normal couple, to focus on their future.
She fingered her phone, unsure whether to call Ryan or not. She wanted him to come home. Even if she had imagined the whole thing, she was still shaken up and wanted him here with her. However, she also didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily. And he’d probably he home soon anyway. He hadn't called to say he wasn’t coming home, so he’d probably just got held up wi
th work.
Deciding against calling and upsetting him over what was most likely nothing, Sofia decided she’d take some painkillers and then go sleep on the couch, unable to summon enough energy to drag herself back up to bed. She was just standing up when she became aware of a presence behind her.
“You don’t have to be afraid. I won't hurt you,” a deep voice declared.
Sofia tried to scream, but her voice seemed to have stopped working.
“I only want to help you.”
Clutching the gun in her hand, she didn’t want to have to use it but she would if it was her only option. “I don’t need help,” she managed to force the words out through a throat that felt like it was quickly closing up as fear gripped her tightly.
“You do,” the voice was earnest. “I’ll stop her for you. I won't let her hurt you.”
“Who?” Maybe she could keep him talking long enough for Ryan to get here. “Isabella?”
“I won't let her hurt you,” the voice repeated. “I won't let anyone hurt you.” His voice turned tender and Sofia shivered.
“Who are you?” she demanded in as strong a voice as she could muster.
There was no answer.
“I said, who are you?” she repeated.
“Someone who cares about you,” the voice replied softly. “Someone who loves you. Someone whose whole life revolves around you.”
Sensing the change in his demeanor as his tone went wildly possessive, Sofia tensed. She had misread him. Maybe he wasn’t going to hurt her, but he was never going to let her go. She could read the obsession in his voice. Even without looking, she knew when he took a step toward her. Letting out a small scream, she turned quickly, gun in hand and fired off a shot at the man dressed all in black.
Grunting in surprise, he stumbled toward her. Ignoring her injured leg, Sofia jumped up, realizing too late that she had let the gun clatter to the floor. As the man recovered, she had no choice but to bolt from the room. Frightened tears were streaming down her cheeks now, and she was shaking so badly that she could hardly keep her balance. Blindly, she ran up the stairs, pausing at the top. Where could she hide?