“Oh…” I bite my lip.
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “No rush, Brooke, but... I’d love to see where you live. We can have a glass of wine, then I’ll go.” He winks at me. “Unless, of course, you want me to stay.”
I should say no. I don’t trust Hunter right now, and as a general rule, it’s a mistake to invite a man you don’t trust into your apartment.
I look into Hunter’s dark eyes. God, he’s sexy. So sexy. So sexy that it almost hurts. Tonight, yes tonight. Screw the three-month rule. It’s a stupid rule anyway. A rule like that shouldn’t apply when a man like Hunter comes along.
I will surrender to him. I will be his. I will give myself to him. Tonight.
“Yes,” I hear myself say. “I would like you to come over.”
Half an hour later, I’m unlocking the door to my apartment with Hunter beside me. He looks possibly a little too excited, but I can’t blame him. I can’t believe this is really going to happen. I’m usually so strict about my three-month rule, but somehow I know this is the right thing to do.
“So let me give you the grand tour,” I tell him as we step inside. “Living room, kitchen, bedroom. Oh, and there’s a bathroom somewhere.”
He laughs. “You got any wine in that kitchen?”
“I think there’s some in the upper cabinet,” I tell him. “And there are wine glasses above the sink.”
I watch him fumble around my kitchen. He pulls out my bottle of red wine, and I can tell from his face he’s disappointed. I got it for ten bucks from the local liquor store—hardly the quality he’s used to. But he pours it into glasses anyway.
I pull my phone out of my purse and see there are three missed calls from an unfamiliar number and a voicemail message. “Hang on,” I say to him. “Let me just check this message.”
I put the phone to my ear and immediately hear a familiar voice: it’s Detective Bateman. Why is Detective Bateman calling me? My stomach does a flip.
“Hi, Ms. Nelson… er, Brooke? Listen, I’m calling because that hair sample was a match for Ms. Lancaster. Like I told you, this isn’t a hundred percent, but… well, it’s very suspicious. We tried to contact Hunter T. Stone for questioning, but we’re unable to reach him. So I’m calling to see if you had any other contact information or if… well, I wanted to make sure you’re all right. Please give me a call as soon as you can.”
The phone nearly slips out of my hand. I look up at Hunter, holding the two glasses of wine, a smile on his face.
The hair sample was a match for Ms. Lancaster.
Oh God.
I’ve got to get him out of here.
“Listen, Hunter,” I say carefully. “I was just thinking… I’m really tired. And my stomach is unsettled from dinner. Maybe we could do this tomorrow night instead.”
He pauses, the wine glasses still in his hands. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I just… I feel really tired all of a sudden. Could we call it a night?”
He puts the wine glasses down on the kitchen counter. At first I’m certain he’s going to say goodnight and leave, but then he says, “Who was the message from?”
Oh no. I think I’m going to throw up. “Message?”
He narrows his dark eyes at me. “You said you needed to listen to a message, and then after you listened to it, you started acting strangely. What was the message you listened to?”
I force a smile. “Just, you know, from my mom. Nothing too exciting.”
“Can I hear it then?”
I swallow hard. “You don’t believe me?”
He shrugs. “If it’s just an innocent message from your mother, why can’t I listen?”
I clutch the phone in my hand, unsure what to do. But he’s moving toward me, reaching for the phone. “It’s nothing, Hunter.”
He holds out his hand for me to give him the phone. My heart is slamming in my chest. What’s he going to do if he hears this message? Then again, how can I say no at this point?
Before I can contemplate it further, he yanks the phone out of my hand. I thought I had a good grip on it, but he relieves me of it so easily that it’s clear I didn’t. I watch him study the screen for a minute, then he presses a button to replay the message. He turns on the speaker, so we can both hear it.
I watch his face as he listens to Detective Bateman’s voice. His dark eyes widen and for a moment, I see a flash of anger, but it quickly fades. Not that I could blame him for being angry.
“Wow,” he says at the end of the message.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a tiny voice. “I know you didn’t really do anything wrong, but I just got worried because…”
“You know,” he interrupts me, “Sydney wasn’t nearly this suspicious.”
I stare at him, desperately trying to process the words coming out of his mouth, wishing he didn’t just say what I heard him say. But I know he did.
“You… you dated Sydney?” I manage.
A smile curls his lips. “But you knew that, didn’t you?” He laughs. “You should have seen your face when I said ‘dying duck.’ I thought you were going to faint.”
I take a step away from him, still clutching my purse.
“She was so trusting,” he continues. “She didn’t send anyone’s hair to a detective, that’s for sure. And when I said I didn’t want to meet her friends, they didn’t just randomly show up at a restaurant.”
Could I make a run for it? If I ran for the door, would he stop me?
Yes, he clearly would.
“I wanted to have more time with you, Brooke,” he says softly, taking a step toward me even as I’m backing away. “I wanted to make love to you tonight. I think that would have been wonderful for both of us. And it would have given you one last good memory.” He shakes his head. “But it looks like my hands are tied.”
“Hunter,” I gasp.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a green object. He presses a button on it and a blade shoots out that glints in the overhead lights. It’s a switchblade.
“Please…” I feel like I can barely breathe. “Don’t do this, Hunter.”
“Don’t be scared, Brooke.” He steps toward me, his eyes pools of darkness. “Having your throat cut isn’t a bad way to die. I’m not going to lie—you’ll have a scary moment when you try to take a breath and your lungs fill with blood. But after that, the blood will be diverted away from your brain and you’ll pass out quickly. Very little suffering.”
He flashes his white teeth at me. “See? I’m not completely heartless.”
I take another step back and find myself hitting the wall. There’s nowhere else to go. “Please… I… I like you, Hunter. Don’t do this.”
“I like you too,” he says. “Do you think I want to drink from just anyone? Sydney was more beautiful, but I like you better, Brooke. I waited nearly three months with her, but I couldn’t have waited that long with you. I want you too badly.”
I squirm as he moves closer to me. I can almost feel the blade biting into my neck. I desperately try to remember that self-defense class again. The groin kick—could I really do it?
“What about my friends?” I remind him. “They saw you.”
He laughs and the sound of it makes my skin crawl. How could I have thought this man was attractive? “Oh, that won’t be a problem. That short, fat girl will be easy to take care of. And the cripple—I’m not worried about taking care of him either.”
Oh God. He’s going to kill Gabby and Jamie.
Jamie…
The mace!
I reach into my purse and my fingers close around the small spray bottle. I pull it out triumphantly, holding it in Hunter’s face. I just hope the nozzle is pointed toward him.
He blinks a few times. “What’s that? Mace?”
I nod.
To my surprise, he laughs again. “Oh, Brooke. That’s cute—really. You want to spray me with some mace. You really think that will stop me from doing this to you?”
Ma
ybe? Maybe not? But all I know is that it’s my only chance.
I take one last look at his smug face and pull the trigger to activate the spray. It’s pointed in the right direction and I get him right in the face.
And he screams.
No, not just screams. He makes a horrible sound, like a dying animal. I had squeezed my eyes shut while spraying, but when I open them again, I hardly recognize him. His features look like they’ve melted. His eyelids are sagging so that I can see the red flesh underneath his eye sockets. The skin on his cheeks has been burned clear off.
He reaches over to clutch his ruined face. “You bitch!” he screams. “What was in that bottle?!”
He’s still holding his face, writhing around in agony. My instinct is to ask him if he’s okay, but I know I need to run before he recovers enough to attack me again. Still clutching my purse and the mace, I hurry over to the door. I fumble with the locks, half-expecting to feel Hunter’s knife biting into my throat at any second.
But I don’t. I open the door and make it outside.
I run down the hallway, but I’m not sure where I should go. My phone is still in the apartment, so I can’t call the police. If I go outside, it’s late enough that there’s a reasonable chance I’ll be alone on the street. I don’t want to escape Hunter in my apartment just to have him kill me on the street. I have no delusion that melting Hunter’s face has stopped him for good.
Jamie. I can go to Jamie’s apartment and he can call the police.
I run down the two flights of stairs to get to Jamie’s apartment. Hunter isn’t following me—I’ve stopped him, or at the very least, I’ve slowed him down. I get to the door that says “J. Kramer” on it and bang on it with my fist before thinking to use the doorbell.
Please be home, Jamie. Please.
Chapter 29: Tom Blake
April, 1907
By dusk, I have packed a sack of my belongings. The sack contains two changes of clothing, a small amount of food, and the money I collected. When I hear silence in the house, I sneak down the stairs, intending to go out through the back. I have plans to meet Mary in the woods at the edge of town and I don’t want to be late.
Except when I go out the back door, I find my mother sitting on the steps of the house.
She looks me up and down, taking in the sack on my back and the guilty expression on my face. She doesn’t seem the slightest bit surprised to see me. She frowns at me, rising to her feet.
“Are you going to leave without saying goodbye, Tom?”
I lower my eyes. “I thought it was better this way.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “Do you need money?”
I shake my head no.
Ma stares at me, sighing softly to herself. “I wish it could be some other way.”
“I’m sorry.” I shift the sack on my back. “I… I wish I could stay…”
“I understand,” she whispers. She digs something out of the pocket on her apron. I don’t know what it is at first—it appears to be a piece of pottery. “I found this under the sofa. It’s part of my vase, isn’t it?”
She is right—it is a piece of the vase that broke when I pushed George against the wall. It is stained crimson from his blood. I watch as Ma draws back her arm and pitches it into the grass as far as she can throw.
“I love you, Tom,” she says. She puts her arms around me, pulling me close to her body like she did when I was a child, except now I’m taller than she is. As she holds me close, I can hear her blood rushing in my ears.
“I love you too, Ma.” I feel tears rising up in my eyes for the first time since I cut George Blake’s throat. But I will not let them fall. “I’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”
She nods. I wonder if she believes it.
I don’t meet another soul during my walk to the woods at the edge of town. Part of me is scared Sheriff Eckley knows I’m trying to sneak off and he’ll be waiting for me. Or what if he caught Mary trying to leave her bedroom with her belongings and followed her to the woods? If he found out I’m trying to leave town, he’ll take me to jail for sure.
But I get to the woods without being apprehended. It’s quiet as I push through the branches, through the wilderness at the edge of our civilization. I forgot how desolate it is here after dusk, and I can’t see Mary anywhere. I suddenly remember something Chas said to me:
You never kill more than three people in one location. Three people, then you move on.
We killed two people in Richmond County.
Three people, then you move on.
I should never have asked Mary to come with me. It was selfish. I love her and I want her with me, but I should never have done it. I should have gone alone. I’m putting her at a terrible risk. I’m confident I can control myself, but I can’t control Chas.
“Mary!” I call out. I hear the faint echo of my own voice.
I’ll tell her to return home. I love her, but this is a mistake. I need her home, safe. She isn’t safe with me. She’ll never be safe as long as I’m around.
“Mary!” I yell into the blackness.
That’s when I hear it: the bloodcurdling scream that becomes muffled before the end of the breath.
“Mary!” I yell again, turning to figure out where the scream has come from.
“Looking for us, Tom?”
Chas—behind me, closer than I would have imagined. And Mary, her red hair disheveled, pressed against his cloak, one of his hands covering her mouth, the other with a knife to her throat.
I’m too late.
I stare at Mary, whose green eyes are wide with fear. I want to reach for her, but I’m scared any move on my part will make Chas slit her throat.
“Brilliant idea, brother,” he says, “bringing along a little snack for before our journey.” He grins at me. “You’re already thinking like one of us.”
“Chas,” I say quietly, resting my sack on the ground. “Please… let her go…”
He blinks at me in surprise. “Let her go. Are you crazy? Why would we do that?”
“I made a mistake,” I plead with him. “I shouldn’t have told her to come. Let her go, Chas. We’ll find someone else.”
“Someone else?” Chas repeats, looking around the desolate woods. “What are you talking about? Where are we going to find someone else?”
Mary is struggling against his grip. He is much stronger than she is, but then I can see her lifting the heel of her boot into the air. With all her strength, she stomps her heel down on Chas’s foot as only the daughter of a sheriff knows how to do.
I’m ready for it. He howls and relaxes his grip just long enough for her to twist free. I lunge at Chas, trying to take him down, at least long enough for Mary to get away. I hope those boots of hers are good for running.
I was overly optimistic though—I’m no match for Chas. He shoves me away like I’m an annoying fly, sending me flying backward into the dirt, and then he takes off after Mary. He catches her so quickly, it feels like all her efforts have been for nothing.
“For God’s sake, Tom!” Chas exclaims as he carries a struggling Mary back to where I’m still lying in the dirt. “What was that all about?”
Chas is unable to keep his hand on Mary’s mouth and she is screaming at him to let her go at the top of her lungs. But nobody can hear. Nobody will save her.
“Tom!” she screams. “Help me, Tom!”
I struggle to my feet, wincing at a new pain in my ankle. I know he will never agree to let her go—I have to be more clever about this.
“Chas,” I say slowly, “why don’t you let me finish her off?”
Mary howls at my words. I want to tell her I don’t mean it—I’m only trying to get the knife off Chas so I can keep her safe. But I’m willing to have her believe the worst of me if it means I’ll be able to save her life.
Chas raises his eyebrows at me. “You’re up for the task, Tom?”
“Absolutely,” I say, raising my chin. “Give me the knife and I’ll do it right now.�
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Tears are streaming from Mary’s cheeks. “Don’t do this, Tom,” she whimpers. “Please.”
I hold my hand out to Chas. “Let me do it.”
Chas looks down at my hand. He eases up the pressure of the knife against Mary’s throat, and for moment, I believe I’ve won. He’ll hand over the knife and then I’ll… well, I’m not sure about the next part. But once I get the knife away from Chas, I’ll be in charge. Mary will be safe.
Except no sooner has Chas lifted the knife from her throat than he tilts the blade and shoves it against her windpipe. In one swift movement, he slits her throat open. I watch the warm, dark blood erupt from the wound as Mary gasps then goes limp against him.
“No!” I scream.
I try to grab her, but he lets her fall to the dirt. I fall to my knees beside her, clutching her white hand in my own. “Mary,” I whisper.
“Sorry, Tom,” Chas says. “I wasn’t sure if you were really going to be able do it. I figured it was easier this way.”
Mary is unconscious and I can see the life flowing out of her. She’ll be dead in seconds. There’s no saving her—not anymore.
She’ll die thinking I meant to kill her.
I feel Chas’s hand on my shoulder. “Look at you—nearly in tears over a woman! What’s wrong with you?”
I touch her pale face with my hand, smearing it with blood. “I wanted to marry her.”
“Marry her!” he snorts. “What a ridiculous thing to say! You can’t marry her or anyone! Women are good for only two things—relations and… well, you’re looking at it.” His grip on my shoulder tightens. “Now don’t waste it again, brother. Drink up.”
Mary is dead. I feel that the life has left her. Her eyes are slightly open, staring into nothingness. She’ll never be my wife or anyone else’s wife. She’ll never be able to fight for female suffrage. She’ll never be able to finish school.
“I won’t,” I say.
Chas shoves his hand against the back of my head, trying to push me into her neck, the way he did when George is bleeding. That powerful urge comes over me again, but I resist.
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