Three (Count to Ten Book 3)

by Jane Blythe

  “That wouldn’t have been enough blood for Ricky,” Xavier explained. “He’s obsessed with the sight of blood.”

  “So he used his axe to remove Arthur Bentley's limbs and that’s how they got the blood to drown him,” Frankie pointed to Arthur’s blood splattered face, and the dried pools around his head.

  “It’s official,” Stephanie announced. “Your two killers are now working as a team. Fingerprints confirm that both Isabella Everette and Ricky Preston were here in this room.”

  * * * * *

  10:14 A.M.

  “Hi there. Sorry about all the people; we’re having a security system installed,” a pretty redhead smiled at her.

  “No problem,” Annabelle attempted a smile back. She was standing on the doorstep of a house she had never been to before. She still wasn’t sure why Xavier had insisted—all but ordered, really—that she come and spend the day with this woman. Sofia Everette was a few years older than her. They were about the same height, only Sofia was thinner. She had silvery-gray eyes, and golden red wavy hair. According to Xavier, Sofia might be able to help her.

  Only Annabelle didn’t want help.

  And she didn’t want to be here.

  She wanted to be at home, in her pajamas, curled up in bed, pretending that her life wasn’t her life.

  Ever since yesterday she had been feeling even worse. Starting from when Kate had received a mysterious phone call and been extremely evasive about who it was from. Instinctively, she had known that something was wrong with Xavier. Then when she hadn't heard from him, her anxiety levels had started to steadily rise. Eventually, she had all but begged Kate to tell her what was going on.

  Once she found out that Xavier had been shot, she had completely flipped out. She had felt like her whole life was about to come crashing down around her. The need to see Xavier had been overwhelming. Kate had assured her—many times—that Xavier was perfectly fine, that it was only a flesh wound, but she hadn't been able to believe it until she could see it with her own eyes.

  Seeing him hadn't made her feel any better, though.

  Even though she could see him, standing right there in front of her. He hadn't been wearing his shirt so she’d been able to see the small white square bandage on his shoulder.

  After that, all she’d been able to do was cry.

  Her guilt had been crushing.

  “Annabelle?” Sofia was gazing at her with concern. Then she smiled confidently, “Come on in; it’s cold, and I have a feeling we have lots in common.”

  Annabelle allowed Sofia to take her arm and lead her into the house. It wasn’t until they started walking that she realized that Sofia was limping. She absently wondered what had happened to her. She was more focused on why Xavier, and now Sofia, was saying that she had something in common with this woman. Xavier had been vague about it this morning, just given her the address and told her to stop by. Annabelle wasn’t even sure how Xavier had met this Sofia.

  “You want some tea or coffee?” Sofia asked.

  She shrugged disinterestedly, she wasn’t thirsty or hungry. Nor did she like tea or coffee. When she wanted a hot drink she usually chose hot chocolate.

  “Hot chocolate, maybe,” Sofia persisted. “That’s my favorite, especially on a cold day like this.”

  “Yeah, okay,” she agreed.

  “You didn’t eat breakfast today, did you?” Sofia bustled about the kitchen. “How about some oatmeal? My favorite in winter.”

  Oatmeal was a favorite of Annabelle’s, too. “Yeah, okay,” she agreed again, hovering in the kitchen, unsure whether she should offer to help or not.

  “Let’s sit.” Sofia carried two bowls to the table. Annabelle sat while Sofia retrieved two mugs and then joined her. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself? Ryan didn’t tell me anything other than he met your boyfriend at a crime scene last night. Apparently, our guys talked and thought we might be able to help each other.”

  That surprised her. She’d thought she was here to be counseled by Sofia. Perhaps they did have some things in common—besides liking the same foods. Sofia had known without having to ask not to give her too much oatmeal; Annabelle didn’t have much of an appetite these days. She didn’t, however, want to talk about herself. She had always hated that. Even more so now.

  Sofia shot Annabelle an understanding smile, “What if I go first?” Sofia offered. “I'm guessing since our guys wanted us to meet, that you’ve been through something traumatic recently like I have. I lost my entire family five months ago. Well, technically, that’s not true,” she amended. “I have two young half-sisters who live in Europe. It was my sister who killed them, and she’s still out there—killing.”

  “I lost my family, too,” Annabelle admitted softly.

  “I suspected,” Sofia reached across the table and placed a hand on hers. “They were murdered?” she asked gently.

  She nodded. “The police thought I did it at first.”

  “Ouch,” Sofia said sympathetically. “Were they killed by someone you knew?”

  “Our neighbor.” She was debating whether to open up to Sofia. Annabelle wanted someone she could talk to—someone other than Xavier and her therapist. Whenever she went to her sessions, she was always very aware of the fact that her psychiatrist was only listening because it was her job. She wasn’t invested in Annabelle or her life. And Xavier was too invested. Sometimes she didn’t want to talk to him because she didn’t want to worry him. But a friend, one who truly understood, would give her the best of both worlds.

  “Annabelle?” Sofia prodded.

  She finally looked up to meet Sofia’s gaze. “I thought he was my friend. I didn’t—don’t—have a lot of friends. Any, really. And I thought Ricky was. I talked to him, opened up to him—I thought he really cared about me. But he was just playing me. All the time I was telling him private things, he was sitting there planning how he was going to kill my family,” the words came tumbling out in a rush.

  “I know exactly how you feel,” Sofia sounded sincere. “My sister was the only member of our family that I was close to; I felt so betrayed by what she did. And I felt so stupid. How could I not have seen who she really was?”

  Annabelle was relieved that she was finally talking to someone who got it. “Ricky took what I told him and used it against me. He knew I wasn’t very self-confident, that I felt like no one loved me, so he kidnapped me and used me as a ploy to distract the police so he could kill another family.” She hesitated. “I blame myself for him still being free.”

  Sofia smiled grimly. “I blame myself for Isabella being free, too. Ryan told me that they suspected her of poisoning me and killing our family. I didn’t believe him. I went looking for her and she found me, knocked me out. I got away from her, but she found me and I panicked, fell down some stairs. Ryan found me passed out, but Isabella got away. If I hadn't gone off on my own looking for her, then Ryan might have found her and arrested her before she had a chance to escape and kill more people.”

  “I've felt so alone,” Annabelle said forlornly, wishing she had met Sofia months ago. “I…I've even thought about…about…” She couldn’t make herself say the word.

  “About suicide?” Sofia supplied.

  She nodded. Embarrassed, she averted her eyes.

  “Have you told Xavier? And your therapist?”

  “Yes,” she answered in a small voice.

  “Then that sounds completely normal for someone who’s been through something so traumatic. You know you need help, and you’ve asked for it.”

  “Have you thought about…?”

  “I've thought about giving up,” Sofia confessed. “Sometimes everything is just so hard. I had a lot of injuries to recover from,” she indicated her leg, “a bad break in my leg and some other things. It was tough. Some days I just wanted to lie in bed and never get up again. But then I think of all the people who love me and are here to help me and it gives me the strength to get through another day. Do you have a good support grou
p?”

  “I have Xavier. I don’t really like being around a lot of people,” she explained.

  “Well, now you have me and Ryan, too,” Sofia patted her hand again.

  “Sometimes I feel so angry.” She was emboldened by Sofia’s frankness to be frank herself. “Angry at Ricky for using me, angry at him for killing my family and leaving me alive, angry at Xavier for saving me, angry at myself for not being stronger.”

  “I'm furious with Isabella,” Sofia told her. “She sprung some major things on me about our family and I never got a chance to confront them. I learned that the man I thought was my father, who paid women to bear his children, was actually my grandfather. That the woman who pretended to the world to be my mother but wasn’t, was. And that one of my brothers was my father, and that he raped his stepmother and that’s how I was conceived, then raped and murdered over thirty young girls. I'm so angry at all of them, but I never got a chance to confront them.”

  “I wish that I'd confronted my parents about what happened to me when I was little,” Annabelle explained. “Something happened to me when I was four, only I don’t really remember. All I know is that I was taken somewhere, and when I came home again I had scars on my back and my parents had changed. They were cold and distant; I thought they didn’t love me anymore.”

  “Maybe they felt guilty,” Sofia suggested. “Maybe they blamed themselves for whatever happened to you and that was why they couldn’t connect with you properly anymore.”

  Xavier had told her the same thing. “Maybe,” she agreed. “But now I’ll never know. I was too cowardly to ask them about it, and now it’s too late. My parents are dead and my chance to confront them is gone forever.”

  “Are you sure you really want to know?” Sofia asked seriously. “Are you sure you really want to know what happened to you? Once you do, you can never take it back.”

  Annabelle opened her mouth to state that of course she wanted to know what had happened to her, but then snapped it shut without a word. Sofia was right. And Annabelle had thought that hundreds of times before. Sometimes she wanted to know more than she wanted to take her next breath, and sometimes she didn’t want to know so much that the thought of remembering made her feel physically ill.

  “I always wanted to know who my biological mother was,” Sofia continued. “I wanted to more than anything because I thought I’d have this wonderful fairytale reunion and she’d be the mother to me that I always longed for. I used to wonder if my mom was some young girl, taken advantage of by a wealthy, powerful man. I used to hope that she missed me and regretted giving me up. That maybe she had even fought for me.”

  Sofia paused as though to gather herself, and Annabelle had the feeling that what was coming next wasn’t pleasant.

  “Before my sister disappeared, she had me tied up—our brother, too—well, I thought that until I found out that he was actually our father. Isabella told me that Logan had raped his stepmother,” Sofia’s voice went faraway. “That the woman I had grown up hating because she refused to act as a mother to us really was my mother. I felt so guilty for hating her. Once I knew that her husband’s son had raped her and that she had been forced to have me, I realized how hard it must have been for her. Having to live with me and see me every day. I was a constant reminder of what had happened to her. No wonder she hated me. Now I wish I didn’t know. I wish Isabella had never told me. I wish that I still thought that Gloria was just my stepmother, and Logan was my brother, and my grandfather was my father. But I can't go back. I can't unlearn it. Now I know the truth and I have to deal with it.”

  “I'm sorry,” Annabelle murmured, shocked by Sofia’s horrific story. “It must feel awful to know you were conceived that way.”

  “Yeah,” Sofia agreed in a small voice, her eyes shining brightly with unshed tears. “Ryan wants me to talk about it, but I don’t like to. Knowing that I'm a product of rape makes me feel like I shouldn’t exist. Ryan doesn’t get that. He has a fabulous family; he doesn’t know what it’s like to grow up with a dysfunctional one.”

  Another thing she and Sofia had in common. While her family didn’t sound like it came close to Sofia’s on the dysfunction scale, they had certainly had their problems. Many problems. Annabelle was so glad that Xavier had suggested she come and meet Sofia. She loved him for recognizing what she needed and finding a way to get it for her. She had needed a friend like Sofia her whole life, but especially these last eight months.

  “I'm really glad we met,” Annabelle offered up a shy smile.

  “Me too,” Sofia smiled back, brushing the back of her hand over her eyes. “Now that we got all the deep stuff out of the way, why don’t you tell me about yourself? Everything. I want to hear it all. What you like, what you don’t like, what you do for fun.”

  With the confidence of knowing that her friendship with Sofia was already cemented, and excited by the prospect of having her first real friend, Annabelle complied.

  * * * * *

  6:48 P.M.

  “Mmm,” Ricky stretched and gave a contended sigh. He was feeling good. Better than good. He was feeling fabulous.

  Teaching Isabella the art of sex had been fun. So much fun that they hadn't yet made it out of bed. Well, that wasn’t quite true. They had spent a little time in the shower.

  To be honest, Ricky had never enjoyed sex so much.

  With the possible exception of Annabelle.

  Before Isabella, sex had just been sex. Okay, sometimes it had been rape, but to him rape was just sex. Aside from that, he’d had plenty of women in his time. By the time the woman realized he was only interested in them for their body, he had usually lost interest in them anyway. And there was always a long line of women at bars and nightclubs who were more than willing to sleep with someone on the first date.

  Sex with Isabella was something more, though. Maybe it was because she was the first woman he had ever felt something for. Something real and genuine.

  Oh, no, he groaned inwardly. Was he falling in love with her?

  That would certainly complicate his life.

  He was a wanted felon.

  Detective Xavier Montague would never give up on looking for him. The man would hunt him down, and nothing but death would stop him.

  He had no intention of stopping killing.

  Was Isabella going to be okay with that?

  Sure, she was a wanted felon, too. But she was raising a kid. And had a sister who she clearly still loved. Plus, she had been about to turn herself in.

  What if she wanted to do that again?

  Would she turn him in, too?

  Even if she didn’t, could he let her go?

  And what if she didn’t end up turning herself in? Could the two of them have a life together? With this baby Isabella was raising?

  Somehow Ricky had never pictured himself as a husband and father. Did he want to commit to Isabella? Did he want to play daddy to baby Sophie?

  As much as he didn’t intend to stop killing, he also couldn’t promise Isabella that he would never rape another woman. It was who he was. If he saw a hot woman, and he wanted them, he took them. For him, it was that simple. But Isabella didn’t see it that way.

  A horrible thought occurred to him.

  What if Isabella didn’t want him?

  Was she falling for him?

  She was only seventeen. That should bother him, he supposed, since he’d just spent the day doing her over and over again. What could she know about committing to someone? What could she know about love? Ironic, he knew, since he himself knew nothing on the topic.

  It didn’t bother her that he was a killer; however, she didn’t like that he was a rapist. He understood that, given what those kids had done to her. She had melted in his arms when he’d said he’d kill them for her. He had meant it, too. Ricky felt like he would do almost anything for her. Already he had let that cop live simply because Isabella had asked him to.

  Ricky actually believed he was in love with her.

>   He didn’t know what to make of that.

  He didn’t even know if he wanted to stay with her. He didn’t know if he could stay with her. The thought of committing to her—given who he was and what he did—was terrifying.

  But more terrifying still, was the thought that she might not want to stay with him.

  He didn’t know if he could let her go.

  Finding himself extremely uncharacteristically panicky, Ricky lifted his arm, hoping that the movement would jar Isabella awake. She was curled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, red hair spilling all around it.

  She did indeed wake. Blinking sleepily, she lifted her head, a smile lighting her face as she gazed up at him. And Ricky knew then and there that they were in this together. All he needed was to hear that Isabella was on the same page.

  “What time is it?” Isabella’s sleep-laden voice asked.

  “Around seven,” he replied. “Are you hungry?”

  “Not for dinner,” she said with a sly smile. For someone who had never willingly had sex before today, she was a quick learner. The way she traced her fingers up his bare chest almost had him forgetting why it was he’d woken her up.

  “We need to talk,” he caught her hand before it could totally distract him. Keeping hold of it, he propped the pillows up behind him and levered himself up so he was half sitting; the slight distance between them helped to make sure he was thinking with his mind and not something else.

  “About what?” she looked at him with wary surprise.

  “About this,” he gestured between them. “About us.”

  “Are we an us?” her face had gone deadly serious.

  “Do you want us to be?” Ricky had to tell himself to let out the breath he was subconsciously holding.

  “Yes,” she answered honestly. “I think I'm in love with you. All my life I dreamed about someone who would understand me, someone who I could connect with. I didn’t think I'd ever meet anyone like that, and then there you were. I don’t want to imagine my life without you.”

  For a long moment, he didn’t say a word. Couldn’t say a word. Isabella’s words had touched him in a way he didn’t think he could be touched. He hadn’t thought he had it in him to love someone, and yet, the way Isabella made him feel was something he had never experienced before. After just two days he couldn’t imagine his life without her. And yet there were things they needed to sort out before they could ride off into the sunset together.