The Surviving Girls

by Katee Robert

  “I don’t know. She called me when she was in her car, but I don’t know more than that.”

  They could fill the oceans with the things they didn’t know about this case. “That’s probably something Britton should be focusing on in addition to where her car is, don’t you think?”

  Dante’s dark gaze went distant. “Yeah, you’re right. Give me a few.”

  A woman’s voice announced preboarding for their flight, and Lei straightened. The sooner they got this over with, the better it would be. It was the lead-up that was the worst. She’d built this confrontation up in her mind, buoyed by too many years of fear. At the end of the day, Travis Berkley was just a man, and he was no longer a danger to her.

  By the time she made it to California, she might even believe it.

  As if giving the lie to her thoughts, her phone buzzed, drawing her back to the present. She frowned. She and Emma had already said what passed as their good-byes. Her friend should be back to the search through Travis’s known associates, and Lei didn’t exactly have other friends.

  But when she brought out her phone, it was a text from an unidentified number. An invisible band squeezed her chest as she used numb fingers to bring the message up. “No.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until Dante was there, kneeling in front of her.

  “Lei, what’s wrong?”

  She passed him the phone, watching his lips move as he read the words on the screen.

  I’m coming for you, Lei-Lei.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  In Lei’s weak moments, when fear threatened to take hold and drag her down permanently, she imagined Travis chained in some dark and dank dungeon, screaming for mercy. It was nothing more than he deserved—his own personal purgatory before death took him to hell once and for all.

  In reality, the prison where he was locked up was remarkably . . . normal. Mostly clean, not particularly dark, definitely not dank. She studied everything as she followed Dante inside and went through the motions of being searched.

  She didn’t make a habit of hanging out in prisons, but this was underwhelming in the extreme.

  They were eventually led down a brightly lit hallway to a series of doors. The guard stopped in front of one. He looked at Dante and then focused on her. “Do not touch the prisoner. Do not lean over the table. Take your seat and do not move from it. We have cameras set up, but we can’t protect you if we can’t see you.”

  And they couldn’t ensure she didn’t slip Travis something if she was close to him. The thought left her sick. Her fingers itched to touch the reassuring weight of her handgun, but it was probably for the best that she’d left it back in Washington. If she walked into that room armed, she couldn’t say for certain that she wouldn’t unload an entire clip into Travis’s chest.

  Maybe then she’d finally be free of the nightmares.

  Lei realized the guard was waiting for a response and nodded. “I understand.”

  The guard turned to Dante. “Thirty minutes, max.”

  “Got it.”

  And then there was just a door between her and the monster she’d spent twelve years trying to get past. Lei touched the door handle and froze, every muscle locking in place. She’d imagined this moment, had envisioned in living color what it would be like to face him without a judge watching or someone standing in witness, filing every word she said to be used in Travis’s next appeal.

  A good portion of the time, those imaginary conversations happened with her holding a gun, but that was neither here nor there.

  “You don’t have to do this.” Dante at her back, his solid presence steadying her even as he offered her an out.

  “Yes, I do.” She opened the door and walked into the room.

  Travis Berkley, her own personal bogeyman, lounged in a chair on the other side of the table. His hands were cuffed to the middle of the table, and she could see his ankles cuffed to the floor as well. He was skinnier than when she’d seen him last—an appeal five years ago—but the weight loss only seemed to sharpen his attractiveness, turning it from the good old American boy into something significantly more dangerous. Or maybe it was just revealing what he was all along.

  He looked up and his lips split into a wide smile. “Lei-Lei.”

  Hearing him using his private nickname for her actually made her knees buckle as every muscle in her body screamed at her to get out of that room as fast as she could, but Dante was there, pulling out a chair for her. She didn’t take her eyes from Travis as she shuffled forward and sank into the chair. It put them too close, but scooting back would telegraph just how freaked out she was, and she couldn’t afford to show weakness.

  Even if it meant she was almost within touching distance.

  For his part, Travis was studying her just as closely. “You look different than I imagined.”

  She touched her shorter hair and then forced her hand down. “I’m here. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “I guess it was.”

  He seemed almost . . . disconnected. She stared into his cornflower-blue eyes. They were grayer than she remembered, but the glint of cruelty was still there, buried beneath the act. Lei tucked her hair behind her ears. “In all the time I’ve known you, I’d never have guessed that you’d willingly play second fiddle—even to a fan.”

  Travis chuckled. “Lei-Lei, always so fierce. Don’t you know that sometimes it’s better to let someone else play the game? I’m a bit limited in here.” He motioned with his hands, making the chain rattle. Lei refused to flinch, and his grin widened. “Games with the other prisoners get old fast. They’re creatures of base needs. Sometimes a man finds himself craving something of a . . .” He eyed her. “A softer nature.”

  Lei sat back, staring at him. There was something . . . She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Something off. “Travis, you were always a fan of walking down memory lane. You remember that night?”

  “Of course I remember that night. I relive every detail during my many hours in solitary.”

  Dante might as well have not been in the room for all the attention Travis had paid him. It was just as well. The more he focused on her, the more likely he was to forget himself and let something slip. Like he let something slip before he murdered all your friends? No, she couldn’t think like that. “Tell me about your partner?”

  He burst out laughing. “Is that the story you’re running with now? Silly Lei-Lei. You know there was me and only me that night. I climbed through that window, I beat your lovely ass black-and-blue, and then I played with your friends until they bored me. End of story.”

  Something clicked in her head, something she wasn’t quite able to put into words. She changed tactics. “Why did you stop writing to me?”

  Something flickered through his eyes, there and gone in an instant. If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she would have missed it entirely. Confusion. Travis laughed again, but this time it sounded forced. “Like I said, I get bored easily.”

  He’s lying to me.

  He didn’t even bother to do it well, either. It was there in the way his gaze flicked to her and away again, how his nostrils flared, how he shifted imperceptibly, as easy to read as the weather. She’d learned a lot in the last twelve years, but even in hindsight, she’d never been able to read Travis.

  What the hell is going on?

  A suspicion formed in the pit of her stomach, growing stronger with every breath. A horrible, terrifying, impossible suspicion. Lei shifted forward again—careful to keep well back from the table—noting how Travis did the same, mirroring her position. As if he couldn’t help himself. “Travis,” she murmured.

  “Yeah, Lei-Lei?”

  “You remember our first date?”

  “Of course I do.”

  Her stomach tried to crawl out of her throat, but she kept her tone even and her expression inviting. “You remember how you picked me up in your daddy’s Porsche and took me out to that fancy dinner.”

  “You w
ore the blue dress. I always liked you in blue.” He smiled. “It was a good night.”

  Holy mother of God. Lei pushed back her chair and rose. “I think we’re done here.”

  Surprise widened his eyes, but he covered it quickly enough. “You haven’t bothered to ask me about the dead girls. You always were cold, Lei-Lei, but I never figured you were this cold.”

  She didn’t answer, just turned for the door and waited for the guard to unlock it. Her heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings in her throat, blocking her ability to speak. It was just as well. What she had to say wasn’t fit for these walls. It was crazy. Crazier than crazy. Impossible.

  Dante took one look at her face and guided her through the doors to collect their things. They signed out and walked through the doors into the late-spring California heat. Still, Lei couldn’t make herself give voice to the truth lodged in her chest. She slid into the passenger side of the rental and pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.

  Dante locked the doors and turned on the engine to get the air-conditioning flowing. They sat in silence for several long minutes as the car cooled perceptibly.

  Say it. Open your damn mouth and say the fucking words.

  She swallowed hard. “Dante . . .”

  “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I can go back in and question him now, or I can drive you back to the hotel and then come back here. You don’t have to do anything but keep breathing. We’ll figure it out.”

  He thought she was upset over seeing Travis. She twisted to face him and grabbed his hand, needing something to anchor her in the midst of this insanity. It can’t be possible. It’s not possible. And yet . . .

  “Dante,” she repeated. “That isn’t Travis Berkley.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “I don’t know who that man is in there, but that’s not Travis Berkley. He didn’t pick me up in his daddy’s Porsche on our first date. His dad wouldn’t let him touch that car, let alone drive it. I did wear a blue dress, but Travis had a picture of that up on social media. That guy”—she pointed at the prison—“that’s not Travis.”

  What Lei was saying was impossible.

  Dante considered how best to explain that to her, because it couldn’t be clearer that she was sure she was correct. “Maybe you’re misremembering.”

  “Oh, please.” She sat back and took her touch with her. “I know it sounds crazy, but don’t insult me by telling me I don’t remember in vivid detail every single moment I spent with Travis and every word we exchanged. I’ve searched my memory time and time again to try to figure out where the red flag was or what lies I must have missed.” She pointed at the prison again, her hand shaking. “He lied to me in there, and I instantly knew. He never wrote those letters to me, but whoever did write to me was Travis. He knew things that only Travis could know, and his handwriting was identical.”

  He chewed on that for a few moments. “Travis Berkley doesn’t have any siblings, and his DNA and prints were taken when he was arrested. Both matched those found on the girls who were raped.”

  “I’m aware,” she bit out. “I don’t know how it’s possible—I just know that it’s the truth.”

  “I’m not doubting you.” He was just trying to figure out how it could be possible. It seemed like something out of a spy thriller—a switch between an innocent man and a guilty one.

  Except . . . what if it wasn’t a switch at all?

  They had assumed Berkley had a partner, and the partner was the one doing the murders now. What if . . . What if the partner was the one in prison, and Berkley was the one murdering girls now? “Was Berkley good with computers?”

  Lei made a sound suspiciously close to a sob. “He was decent, but that was twelve years ago. If Emma can become a hacker whiz, I don’t see why Travis couldn’t. But I can’t say for certain that he was or wasn’t back then.” She pressed her hands to her chest as if trying to regain control of herself. “You’re thinking about it.”

  “You’re right—it does sound crazy. But we can at least make a few phone calls and see what falls out. We’re here, after all.” Berkley’s parents were still local, and they might not want to talk to the Feds, but Dante wasn’t going to give them a choice. If anyone knew how it was possible that what Lei was claiming was the truth, it would be Mr. and Mrs. Berkley.

  “And then?”

  “And then I’ll pay another visit to whoever the hell it is serving Travis Berkley’s sentence.” He put the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot toward the exit. “I’m going to have to drop you at the hotel before I go talk to them.”

  “I’d rather wait at a coffee shop or something like that.” She shuddered. “I can’t . . . I don’t want to be alone right now. I’ll go crazy if I sit in a hotel room. At least if I sit and drink overpriced coffee, I can just . . . I don’t know. Process.”

  It was a lot to process. They couldn’t make a straightforward accusation against the man in the prison. Either it would make Lei look crazy, which would work against her in any future appeals Berkley attempted—and there would be more appeals—or someone would actually listen and the man in that cell might walk free.

  If he wasn’t Berkley, then he had to be . . . an identical twin?

  Maybe an identical twin named Trevor?

  Dante shook his head. It defied the laws of probability. If the Berkleys were hiding an identical twin, they would have trotted him out the second Travis went on trial. If they were truly identical, their DNA would be the same, which would account for the tests not raising any red flags—but it would be nearly impossible to prove that one twin was the killer while the other was innocent. Instant reasonable doubt. “We have to handle this very, very carefully.”

  “I’m not crazy, Dante. I know this sounds nuts, but I’m right.”

  He merged onto the freeway heading south. “Call Emma. Can she track Berkley’s birth records?”

  “She should be able to.” Lei grabbed her phone and started dialing.

  Meanwhile, Dante had his own call to make. He hit the button to call Britton. As expected, his boss answered almost immediately. “What have you found?”

  “Are you sitting down?”

  A long pause. “Tell me.”

  “We talked to Berkley, but Lei is claiming that, whoever the man in that prison is, it isn’t Travis Berkley. He looks like him, talks like him, but isn’t him.” Knowing Britton would want all the facts, he started at the beginning and went through the entire interview and what Lei said afterward. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t much.

  But all Britton said was “Hmm. It would explain the inconsistencies we’ve found.”

  “Identical twins might have the same DNA, but they don’t have the same fingerprints . . .” But Berkley’s hadn’t been taken until he was arrested, and he hadn’t been allowed bail, so the switch had to happen before that. Bet some of those fingerprints they couldn’t match to people did match the real Travis Berkley. “This kind of shit doesn’t happen in real life, Britton. It sounds like something out of a movie.”

  But he couldn’t quite explain how Berkley would have a personality transplant and misremember key details about his time with Lei. Prison changed people, but Dante had studied Berkley’s profile extensively. If he was as hyperfocused on Lei as all evidence supported, he would relive the time they spent leading up to the murders, if only to get the satisfaction of knowing he’d played her so thoroughly. It was confirmation of his superiority, proof that he was an unmatched predator.

  Small details might fall by the wayside over the years—at least theoretically—but something as big as the car wouldn’t.

  “Don’t discount the impossible just because it seems impossible. Talk to Travis’s parents—specifically his mother. I’ll call ahead so she knows to expect you.”

  He didn’t ask how the lead FBI agent in the case who’d sent this woman’s son away would still be in contact with her. It was such a damn Bri
tton thing to do. Someone unassuming would guess that it was because he was just that likable, but the truth was more complicated. Britton lived by the truth that he never knew when a connection could become useful. There was no reason to burn a bridge he might need to cross in the future, and apparently the Berkleys numbered among those bridges. Naturally. “Thanks. I’m heading there now.” The sooner they got to the bottom of this, the sooner they could get back to Seattle.

  Because the end of this thing, however it went down, would be in Washington. Every instinct he had pointed in that direction, and he had no doubt they were correct. The man in prison hadn’t committed these murders—whoever was free had.

  If Lei is right . . . Travis Berkley is free, and has been this entire time.

  “Keep me updated.”

  He hung up and looked over to where Lei stared down at her phone. “Lei—”

  “Travis was the one who climbed in my window that night.” She spoke so low, it was almost a whisper. Dante wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. “I’m sure of it.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand any of this, Dante. I don’t understand how this is possible, how everything got so fucked-up so quickly. I’ve spent the last twelve years operating under a truth, and I feel like the rug just got swept out from under me.”

  He reached over and laced his fingers with hers. “We don’t know for sure yet, but we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “I know the truth. Everything else is just confirmation.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “That’s impossible.”

  Emma scanned through the birth records at all three hospitals within reasonable distance from where the Berkleys lived. She knew Travis’s birthday—of course she did—but to be safe, she expanded the search to a month beforehand and after. When that brought up nothing, she expanded by a year.

  “Hmm.”

  Tucker leaned over the back of her chair. “What does hmm mean?”

  “Stop lurking and I’ll tell you.” She pulled up the file and read it. “Bethanny Berkley was admitted a year before Travis’s birth with a miscarriage in process. They lost the baby.” There was even a death certificate for a girl baby, so there was no way in hell that was Travis. “But there isn’t a record of him being born.”