The bastard that did this to me would never fry. He was never caught. He was free to walk around while I lived with the reminder of his brutality. I didn’t need to look in the mirror to recall what my face looked like; I had the ugly scar committed to memory, every depression of my skin, the zig-zag where my flesh was sewn back together, the puckered edge near my ear. Worse than my face was the three-inch souvenir my attacker left on my belly. He’d left me barren, stolen my dreams, and made me half a woman.
A laugh from the table next to me pulled me from my miserable thoughts. Two men sat facing opposite each other. Both looked to have just finished a workout. The man laughing was the epitome of a Hollywood movie star. I’d seen him plenty. Sometimes he was in a suit, others in jeans and tee, I’d even seen him in his work-out clothes before. It didn’t matter what Nick wore; he was absurdly good looking. I felt like a creeper sitting in my corner studying the man, but he was that hot. I couldn’t look away; I never could. I even felt a little weird that I knew his name. But come on, it’s a coffee house, when your order was up the barista called your name, and you picked up your order at the counter. I even knew he favored a Macchiato but sometimes ordered a frozen Vanilla Chai if it was warm out.
Five years ago, I’d almost talked to him. He was standing next to me waiting for his coffee and right when I had the nerve to say something his phone rang, and he answered it with a “hi sweetie.” Of course, a man as sexy as Nick would have a wife or girlfriend. His voice had softened when he spoke, and I wished I had a man that would talk to me that way. Even before my attack, I’d been shy around men. Now? I avoid them like the plague. But that didn’t mean I still hadn’t studied Nick over the years. Each time I saw him I ached for a man like him - strong, handsome, and sweet. But I’d never have that. Who’d want a woman like me?
My phone chimed, and I looked at the screen. Smiling, I swiped it to display a message from Veronica Venus.
VV21: Happy Sunday.
The meme attached had me giggling. The picture was of an angry cat and the caption read: When the coffee house changes staff, and they don’t know your order.
Me: LOL. How’d you know I was at a coffee house? Creeper. hehe
VV21: It’s Sunday, and you’re predictable. You always visit the famous Sam’s on the weekend.
Me: No, I don’t. I visit the famous Sam’s EVERY chance I get. The vanilla flavored goodness is the only happiness I have in my life.
I’d meant that as a joke, kinda. But Veronica Venus was too perceptive.
VV21: What’s wrong?
Me: Nothing. Same ol’ same ol’. Work was insane this week. Sorry I’ve been MIA.
VV21: Bullshit. Are you dreaming again? Dammit Meadow, why didn’t you message me?
Sigh.
I didn’t know Veronica Venus real name. She knew mine but didn’t know “Meadow” wasn’t a made-up screen name. My name was unusual enough when I’d signed up for the survivor’s message board I hadn’t used a made-up moniker.
I knew she wouldn’t give up until I spilled my guts, so I commenced telling her about my hellacious week.
I looked up from my phone in time to watch Nick and his friend leave the coffee shop. Why did the back side of him have to look just as good as the front?
Chapter 5
Hell hath no fury
It was almost the twentieth.
We were no closer to being able to provide the police with any new information. The thought of another woman facing a gruesome death at the hands of a sick and twisted killer had my gut in knots.
Joel had been able to track down twenty doctors in the tristate area that had prescribed ketamine to treat patients with mental illness. Only five of them had been prescribing the drug for over five years. Ketamine was used to treat depression and bipolar disorder, but it was not a drug widely used. The side effects were horrible. Joel and Mandy had gone to interview the doctors and see if the doctors had any insight or useful information.
Kristy’s search of the seventh and twentieth of the month had turned up nothing by way of news, which was helpful and told us that whatever had happened on those dates was personal to the offender.
Mike was at his desk angrily pounding on his laptop. The man was getting ready to snap. His ex had introduced the new boyfriend to his kids last night. The worst of it was she’d called Mike beforehand and told him that the deterioration of the marriage had been his fault. If he’d paid more attention to her, she wouldn’t have had to look for it elsewhere. To add insult to injury, she admitted that she was rubbing Mike’s face in her new relationship to show Mike what he’d thrown away.
Christ. The man looked devastated. I thought back to the conversation we’d had in the car. Women truly were fascinating. Soft, sexy, intelligent beings that could turn into vengeful blood-thirsty beasts at the drop of a dime.
My attention was drawn back to the images in front of me, the last two victims from the twentieth.
Vic one – single stab wound to the lower stomach. Stabbed in the face multiple times with the same weapon used on the abdomen.
Vic two – same stab to the stomach, only a secondary weapon had been used – an ice pick.
I looked back to the very first victim from nearly five years ago. She’d been killed the same way as vic one of the twentieth kills. Same weapon – knife to the gut and the face. Vic two and the second vic from the killings on the seventh didn’t match. The second vic had a single stab, but her face had been burned with acid.
“Hey, Mike?” I called to get Mike’s attention.
“What?” he barked.
Goddamn, the man was in a bad mood. Not that I blamed him, but we had five days until we’d find a new body. I needed his head in the case, not on the woman who was hell-bent on sticking it to his friend. Donna was taking her revenge for lack of attention to a whole new level. It was a tad bit overkill.
Revenge.
Overkill.
“We profiled that the offender was unassuming, non-threatening, and friendly enough that the women would leave the bar with him.”
“Yeah. No one in the bar remembers the victim leaving. She wasn’t taken by force; she left with him willingly,” he reminded me.
“I think our offender is a woman.”
“No way,” Ben said, joining our conversation. “Women do not dole out that level of violence. They kill in the heat of passion, spur of the moment. It is rare for a woman to kill men that are not close to them.”
“Men that are close to them. What about a woman killing women?”
“Even lower probability,” Ben answered.
“Hell has no fury like a woman scorned,” Mike said.
“Right. She feels inadequate, targeting women she thinks are beautiful. A bar is a hot spot for single women looking for a man. I bet the women she’s targeted had men falling over themselves to talk to them that night, while she sat and watched, stewing about all her flaws and failures to get and keep a man. That’s why there’s no sexual assault. We profiled the offender is sexually incompetent, and in her mind, she is. The only commonality between all thirteen victims is they are pretty. Our offender defaces her victims, taking away what makes them desirable – their beauty. The single stab to the abdomen is symbolic – the womb. She cuts through the very thing she hates the most, their womanhood.”
“Holy fuck,” Ben said, pulling out his tablet. “I think I agree with you, Boy Wonder.”
“Hey, Nick.” Kristy greeted. “I ran the search for you. I only found two women fitting your parameters. One case was solved, before you ask, iron-clad DNA evidence and the boyfriend confessed. That leaves Meadow Holiday. Here’s her file.”
Kristy dropped the folder and walked away before I could thank her.
“What’s that?” Mike asked.
“I had Kristy run victims with a single stab wound and facial disfiguration,” I answered.
“We already did that.” He rolled his eyes.
“Victims that lived.”
I o
pened the file and sucked in a breath. I knew her. Well, I didn’t know her personally, but she was a regular at my favorite coffee shop, Sam’s. Her hair was longer now than it was in her driver’s license picture, but it was her. Long, sexy red hair, creamy pale complexion, and the most beautiful piercing green eyes.
I thought about the last time I saw her. Mike and I went in to grab a cup of coffee after an early morning basketball game, and she was sitting in her usual spot in the corner. Unapproachable, closed off to the world. Meadow Holiday did not invite conversation.
“Shit.”
“What?” Ben asked, and both men looked at me.
“This.” I held the photo up for them to see.
“Holy shit, is that the girl from Sam’s you drool over?” Mike asked.
“I do not drool over her,” I corrected.
“Then what do you call it?” he laughed.
“Admire from afar. She’s standoffish and refuses to make eye contact. Sits in the same corner with her back to the wall. The first time I saw her, she didn’t have the scar. It must’ve been a month, maybe two later, she appeared again, and the scar was there. That was about five years ago. I hadn’t started the academy yet. I think I was waiting to class up.”
I scanned the report, no ketamine. Damn.
“Hey, Ben. What is maprotiline?” I asked.
“A tetracyclic antidepressant. Why?”
“No ketamine in her tox report, but maprotiline was present. Goddamn.” I shook my head at the image of Meadow.
“What?” Mike asked. I held up the new image for him to see.
Meadow’s face had a single slash mark, from her ear down across her cheek, ending at the corner of her jaw. Her pretty face was marred with black stitches. The image ignited a blaze in my chest I’d never experienced before. I’d seen hundreds of pictures of victims, and sadly the image I was holding up was mild in comparison. Seeing her like this was different. Something clicked, and a side of myself I’d never known came to life. I wanted to find the person who’d dared to hurt her, not to put behind bars, but to beat the shit out of them, make them feel the same pain she had.
“Earth to Nick…” Mike laughed.
“What?”
“Damn. Boy Wonder is day dreaming about the pretty vic,” Mike smiled.
“Don’t call her that. Her name is Meadow.”
Meadow.
Beautiful. Unique. Just like the woman herself. The name fit.
“Are we going to talk to her?” Mike asked.
“Yeah. I think we should visit her at her work. We’d scare the shit out of her if we showed up at her house,” I suggested.
“I agree.”
“I’m going to cross reference doctors prescribing both ketamine and maprotiline. I’ll update Joel and Mandy. When you get back, we’ll call in Kilby and fill him in.” Ben said, not looking up from his tablet.
“Great. Let’s go.” I grabbed my cell and keys off my desk and headed for the door.
Chapter 6
Nick
“Miss Holiday?”
Holy sweet mother of God it was him. And if I thought he was good looking in the coffee house, I’d been wrong. He was way better than good looking. And tall. Even though I’d just seen him last week at Sam’s, I’d been sitting, and I’d forgotten how much taller he was than me.
“Miss?” he asked again.
“Yes. That’s me.”
“I’m SA Clark and this in SA Gonzalez. Sorry to bother you at work, but is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
Both men held out badges and easily flipped the leather wallet, flashing FBI – Special Agent credentials on the other side.
“Did something happen?” I asked.
“No, ma’am. We just need a quick word in private. If now’s not a good time we can schedule a meeting in a public place. Sam’s perhaps?”
Shit. He recognized me. Did he think I was stalking him?
“Can you tell me what it’s about?” I asked.
“We need to ask you a few questions about your attack,” the other man answered.
Attack.
My vision blurred, and I fought to keep my composure.
“Meadow?” Nick called my name. When his face came into focus, he continued, “We can do this another time. We didn’t want to ambush you at work, but did think it would be best to approach you somewhere you felt safe.”
Feel safe? I never felt safe. I only left my house by sheer force of will, that and after I had a dream, I had to leave, so the walls didn’t close in on me.
“Did you catch him?”
“No, ma’am. We were hoping you could answer a few questions,” Gonzales answered.
“Can you give me a minute to tell my boss I’m taking my lunch?”
“Certainly. Take your time.” Nick smiled, only this time I didn’t revel in his good looks. The fantasy of him had come to a crashing halt. He was an FBI agent and knew the details of my attack. Not that I was ever planning to talk to him, but I could pretend in my mind. Now that was over.
After a brief talk with my boss, I led the agents down the hall to the employee lounge and braced for the onslaught of misery. Both men waited for me to sit before Gonzales took the seat across the small linoleum table and Nick bought water from the vending machine and sat it in front of me.
“I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but do you remember anything new from the night you were attacked?” Nick asked.
That was the million-dollar question. The double-edged sword, so to speak. Two sides of the same blade, both equally sharp, either side would cut deep. If I could remember more, how much more devastating would my dreams be? Would I live out the whole attack in vivid detail? But by not remembering, I was of no help. The man who did this to me was still free.
“I don’t understand. I was attacked five years ago. I went through countless interviews with the police. I haven’t heard from them in years.”
“Again, I’m very sorry to ask you to relive something so horrible. We have a case that is similar; that’s why we’re here,” Nick answered.
“Similar? He did it again?”
Oh no. No. No. No. I should’ve moved back to California when I woke up in the hospital, and my mom had begged me to move home, but I’d refused. At the time I had friends here, though they all slowly dwindled away when I didn’t recover fast enough for them, and I’d continually refused to accept their invitations to go out. There was also the issue of my step-father. He was a jerk, and I hated him. However, I should’ve listened to her and moved.
“Him?” Nick asked.
“What?” I asked. Now he was confusing me. Were we not talking about my attacker?
“You said him.”
“Right.” I drug out the word, still not understanding what he was getting at.
“What do you remember about him?” Gonzales asked.
“Nothing. I have a hazy memory of being stabbed, but the only part of that night or the attack I can clearly remember is the pain.”
“The sound of the voice?” Nick asked.
“Not really. I still dream about it, but each time the voice is different. The words are always the same – but the voice changes. Sometimes I see more of the knife as it comes toward my face. Little details change, but the words never do.”
Nick nudged the bottle of water and gave me a small, sad smile. He felt sorry for me, just like everyone else did. He’d be polite to me; I don’t think he had it in him to look at me outright with the disgust I was sure he felt when he saw my face. Everyone did.
“What happened? Did he hurt someone again?” Neither of them had clearly explained.
“We’re not sure it’s the same person, and it’s an ongoing investigation. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you anything about it. Would you be willing to come down to the BAU and speak to Dr. Mandy Brown? Maybe hypnosis would help bring some of the memories to the forefront,” Gonzales offered.
“What makes you think I want to remember?” I snapped.
“Hey, Nick?” I called as they made their way to the door.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for the water.”
With a nod, they were gone.
Jesus, why was I such a freak? I didn’t have to snap and bite their heads off. They were only doing their jobs. I pulled out my phone and sent Veronica Venus a message.
Me: You know… South Dakota sounds real nice right about now. Could I buy a piece of land next to yours and we can hole up like a bunch of hermits and order our food online to be delivered?
Her reply came quickly; they always did. After her attack, she started working from home.
VV21: Why? Who upset you? That bitch Beth again? When are you going to tell her to shove it up her ass?
That made me laugh. Veronica Venus knew all about my troubles with Beth and her rude comments.
Me: No. She’s fine. Two detectives with the FBI just left. They had questions about my attacker. They think he attacked someone else.
VV21: WHAT? Why do they think that?
Me: IDK. They wouldn’t say. It’s an ongoing investigation. What if he comes after me again?
VV21: Meadow, don’t go there. You’re safe. Live your life. Maybe they’ll catch him.
Me: Yeah, maybe. Back to work. I’ll message you later.
Veronica Venus sent back a bunch of smiley faces, kisses, and a couple of cat faces.
All the Pretty Girls: A sexy FBI suspense thriller romance (The Next Generation Book 1) Page 3