Too Close to Home

by Lynette Eason

  “No, that’s the strange thing. It’s number seven. Miranda Abrams.”

  Miranda had washed up on the shore of one of the man-made lakes in a nearby neighborhood that boasted their share of half-a-million-dollar homes.

  While he waited for the all clear from Serena, Connor glanced around, taking note of the time of day, the weather, the people.

  Dakota said, “I’m going to go talk to some of those rubber-neckers. See if anyone saw anything.”

  Andrew blew out a sigh. “I’ll help.” He waved his camera. “Brought this too. Something tells me this guy is here somewhere, watching.”

  Samantha didn’t say anything, just watched the process. The coroner’s vehicle waited up the hill on a gravel path, patient, silent, knowing the inevitable would soon happen. Crime scene investigators in blue coveralls snapped photos from every possible angle.

  Finally, Serena looked up and nodded to him. Connor led the way over to her and squatted on his heels to look over the body.

  Revulsion filled him. How could anyone do this to another person? Especially someone so young, just starting out, exploring life and who she is. He understood accidents happened. People died. It was an unfortunate part of life. But this, this was deliberate and cruel, mean and just plain evil. And for what? Why?

  He knew the church answer. Because it was a fallen world, a world that had allowed sin to come into it and then turned its back on God.

  Like you, right?

  Ignoring his inner sniping, he focused on the scene before him. The body—no, Miranda, he corrected, forcing himself to think her name—lay faceup, skin bloated and blue. With definite marks on her throat. He looked up at Serena. “How long was she in the water?”

  “She disappeared between Tuesday night and Wednesday morning, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “According to her liver temperature, she’s been dead at least a day.”

  “Cause of death?”

  Serena looked up. “Probably drowning, maybe strangulation, but again, I’ll know more in a little while.”

  “Right. Call me as soon as you know, okay?”

  “You got it.”

  Connor turned to see Samantha looking down at Miranda. Her expression unreadable, she dropped to her knees beside the girl. Fists clenched, breathing ragged, she simply stared.

  Connor shifted, unsure what to do. He glanced at Serena who shrugged.

  “Is her computer still at the precinct?” Samantha suddenly asked.

  The last thing he thought she’d be thinking of. “Yeah, it’s there. Why?”

  “I don’t understand why I can’t find more on them. In the age of IMs, there should be more.”

  “It’s also the age of text messaging,” Connor said slowly. “Jenna’s always texting some friend or another. I had to go to the unlimited plan just to afford it.”

  Sam’s eyes lifted to meet his, the dead, flat expression morphing into interest, almost excitement. She stood and faced him.

  “It’s got to be the cell phones. We need to go over Miranda’s text messages, read between the lines. Instead of looking for something to stand out, look for something subtle, something that may be worded just so.”

  “We can sure give it a shot. We’ve got that subpoena in for Miranda’s text messages, so right now it’s a game of hurry up and wait.”

  Dakota and Andrew motioned they were ready when everyone else was.

  Connor glanced back down at the girl now being zipped up into a black body bag. “Yeah. Let’s see what we can do. And I’ve got to be home in time to have an overdue talk with my daughter.”

  The Agent watched. He’d heard on the radio that the body had been found. Excitement tingled through him. He liked the fact that he could watch the action, blend in, be one of the concerned neighbors. People clicked their tongues, furrowed their brows, turned to him and said how awful it was, wasn’t it?

  He agreed, nodding, murmuring that it was indeed a terrible loss. Inside, he smiled, thinking how simple they were to fool. Unsuspecting, unprotected. Welcoming him into their midst.

  It was all just so simple.

  But not everything had gone smoothly. He had messed up this time and Boss had been furious. With him and the girl.

  Miranda had been sick when she’d arrived at the meeting, but The Agent hadn’t realized it. When he brought her to meet Boss, she got out of the car and there was blood all over the seat. She stumbled, almost fell.

  When he asked her what was wrong, she insisted she was fine. He grabbed her by the throat and gave her a good shake. He must have squeezed a little too hard, because she passed out. He carried her into the house, fresh blood staining his shirt, wetting the hand he had under her legs as he settled her on the couch.

  He vomited and changed clothes. He hated blood, couldn’t stand to have it on him. That’s why he made sure to kill in a way that wouldn’t leave any blood anywhere.

  When he returned to check on her, she was awake, whispering she needed a doctor. He asked her why. When she explained, Boss ordered him to get rid of her.

  The girl was too weak to realize what was happening as he rowed her out to the middle of the small lake. She was also too weak to swim to shore.

  And he watched as she struggled.

  She went under, back up, eyes wide as the water revived her enough to allow her to finally understand that she was going to die.

  She flailed.

  Kicked.

  Tried to scream.

  And then went under one more time.

  To stay.

  Until now. Now, there would be more questions, more media hype that got all the details wrong. The Agent shook his head. It didn’t matter as long as he did his job, obeyed Boss. Because Boss had the money. Lots and lots of it.

  He watched as the cameras clicked, the crime scene guys gathered what they thought was evidence. But they’d never catch him. Even if they compared photos from the different crime scenes. Disguises were a wonderful thing.

  Then The Agent caught sight of someone he recognized. The cop from the dumpster. The tall one. The redheaded one must be his partner. The third man with the Stetson and boots puzzled him. Probably FBI. Then he saw the woman kneeling beside the body.

  For the first time since his involvement in all this, he felt a touch of unease. He’d thought for sure the bolt through her door would have scared her off. But there she was. The unease shifted inside him.

  Maybe the bolt had been a stupid move.

  He pondered that thought. No, it had been the right move, but out of all of those investigating the case, she might be the biggest problem.

  If she didn’t scare easy, he’d just have to get rid of her like the girls.

  It was as simple as that.

  10

  Before they returned to the office to check the text messages they’d obtained shortly after Miranda’s death, Connor and Andrew made the drive over to Miranda’s house to break the news to her parents. Dakota decided to head back to the precinct to work in the temporary task force office; a large storage closet had been cleaned out and was now equipped with two computers, a coffeemaker, and a half-empty box of donuts.

  Samantha sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. Connor had told her not to come, but she insisted. Andrew sat behind Connor, his head tilted back against the leather, eyes closed, lips subtly moving.

  He was praying.

  Admiration for Connor’s partner darted through her. She sighed and mimicked Andrew’s position. She dreaded the moment they would arrive, hated to think of the pain that this family would have to endure, the changes their lives would soon take. Never in a million years would she forget that night ten years ago when she’d opened the door to find two policemen standing on her parents’ doorstep.

  “Hey, Sam, what are you thinking about?”

  She looked up. Connor’s intriguing eyes stared back at her, revealing his concern—his interest.

  “Nothing.” She looked away, then started when hi
s hand took hers. She met his eyes again.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  Shaking her head, she just pressed her lips together to fight the quiver—but didn’t pull her hand away.

  Pressure from Connor’s squeeze brought a sigh from her. “Tell me,” he insisted. “This is more than just Miranda.”

  “Ten years ago, two police officers came to my parents’ house to tell us . . . about my sister.”

  “What?” A frown creased his forehead.

  “She’d disappeared two months earlier. I’d been staying with my parents, praying for news, hoping against hope that she was still alive. Then one night, there was a knock on the door. She’d been found.”

  Sick dread crossed his face and his lips tightened. “But?”

  Sam’s throat bobbed. As always, the horrors of what her sister had been through filleted her heart as though someone had taken a knife and physically stabbed her. “They thought she was dead at first. Her pulse was so faint, the person who checked her didn’t feel anything. When the crime scene people flipped her over to take more photographs, she opened her eyes and screamed . . . then passed out again.”

  “Holy . . .”

  “Yeah. They had the body bag waiting, the gurney on standby. And she was still alive. Barely.” Sam closed her eyes, but no matter how often she tried to push the image of Jamie’s battered body from her mind, she couldn’t do it. “She had so many broken bones, all in various stages of healing—except for her right arm which she used to grab a tree limb that floated by. There’d been a storm the night she was found. The . . . um . . . water was rough, but when she hit it, she said she woke up and could see him sitting there. She let herself sink, said she wanted to die. She doesn’t remember grabbing the limb or washing up to shore.”

  All color leached from Connor’s face.

  “And it was my fault,” she whispered.

  “How was it your fault?”

  The tears came as they always did. She refused to let them fall. “We’d had a fight. A major one. Jamie was pretty intent on defying my parents at every turn. She’d snuck out of the house one night and I realized it. I tracked her down and forced her to get in the car to come home with me.”

  “Sounds like a loving sister action to me.”

  She gave a humorless laugh. “She started screaming at me that I was ruining her life, that I needed to mind my own business. She grabbed the wheel and the car started swerving out of control, so I stomped on the brakes.”

  “Let me guess, she jumped out of the car.”

  Surprise flickered. “Yeah.”

  “Sounds like something Jenna would do.”

  “Only instead of waiting for her to calm down and get back in, I left. We were only about a mile from home, just outside the neighborhood. I figured the walk would cool her off.”

  “Did it?”

  Samantha shook her head. “I don’t know. After waiting for about an hour for her to show up, I started feeling guilty, so I went looking for her. I never found her.” A tear slipped down her cheek.

  “Samantha . . .”

  Suddenly, Sam regretted opening up. She’d never told anyone that story. Ever. Not even Tom, a man she considered one of her best friends. And here she was spilling her guts to the first man she found attractive. How pitiful.

  “Are we there yet?”

  Andrew. Sam sucked in a deep breath. She’d forgotten about him in the back. Had he heard? She turned in her seat and looked at him. His eyes said he hurt for her.

  He’d heard. But she knew he’d be praying for her family from now on. She didn’t know how she knew that, she just did. She looked at the man beside her. Did Connor ever pray?

  Knowing God and church weren’t exactly at the top of his list of favorite things to do on the weekend—or any other time for that matter—she hesitated, took a deep breath, then blurted, “Would you and Jenna come to church with me on Sunday?”

  From the backseat, Samantha heard Andrew catch his breath. Connor looked at her, surprise written all over him. “Huh?”

  “Church. Will you and Jenna come with me Sunday?”

  Surprise fled, consternation took its place. “Um. Well, I, um, I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to ask Jenna if she wants to go.”

  “Good.” She looked up. “We’re here.”

  Connor sucked in a deep breath and stepped back into the car. That had not gone well. Miranda’s parents were crushed, their world shattered by the gruesome death of their only child. Out of respect for their grief, he waited as they climbed into the car and headed to the morgue. Now it was up to him and the task force to find the killer.

  “Do you think she was killed by the same guy killing these other girls?” Samantha asked.

  She brushed away a tear that had escaped in spite of her valiant effort to hold it back. Connor’s finger itched to do it for her. Molding his palm to the steering wheel, he focused on her question.

  “I honestly don’t know. Everything in my gut screams yes. And yet . . .” He shook his head and his phone buzzed. Cranking the car, he accepted the call. “Wolfe here.”

  “Hi, Connor, it’s Serena.”

  “What do you know, Serena?”

  Samantha’s eyes shot to his. Andrew leaned forward from the backseat. Connor put the phone on speaker.

  “She was definitely pregnant.”

  Sam winced. Andrew grunted.

  Serena continued, “Cause of death is drowning, but if she hadn’t drowned, she’d have died from loss of blood.”

  “What? What about the strangulation marks around her neck?”

  “I know. I would say someone probably grabbed her by the throat, but didn’t squeeze hard enough to strangle her. I’m sure it hurt, but it didn’t kill her. Whoever had his hands around her throat either stopped or was stopped.”

  “So, she almost bled out? From what?”

  “A botched abortion.”

  “Whoa. Okay, thanks, Serena. Have you talked to her parents?”

  A sigh echoed over the line. “They just walked in. Gotta go.”

  “Bye.”

  Connor hung up, resisting the urge to fling the device against something.

  Andrew asked, “Want to go talk to the boyfriend?”

  “Yeah, then I’m going to have to talk to Jenna before she hears this from someone else. I guess we should let the principal know, then I’ll tell Jenna myself.”

  Sam laid a hand over his. “I’ll help you tell her.”

  Warmth flooded him. Relief made him shudder. He wouldn’t have to do it alone. “Thanks.”

  Jenna spied Charlie Petroskie leaning against a locker talking to Beth Barry. Beth flipped her perfectly straight blonde hair over her shoulder and peered up at Charlie through heavily mascaraed lashes. A small grin curved pastel pink lips, and her tastefully jeweled pink shirt barely met the top of her jeans— and the dress code.

  Disgust seized Jenna. Miranda had only been missing for a couple of days and already Charlie hunted for his next conquest like a shark in a school of feeder fish. He had the reputation for preying on the pretty and the innocent. Beth was both—an ugly duckling who’d blossomed into a swan over the summer thanks to a healthy diet and the local athletic club. The transformation had amazed even Jenna, who’d been around to watch it happen.

  She forced a smile to her lips and stepped toward the flirting couple. “Hey, Beth.” She cooled her tone. “Charlie.”

  Beth grinned revealing her newly whitened, orthodontically straightened teeth. “Hey, Jenna, haven’t seen you around much.”

  Arching a brow, Jenna asked, “Who’s fault is that?”

  A flush stained Beth’s neck and she cut her eyes back at Charlie. “Sorry, life’s been getting pretty interesting lately.”

  “So I hear.” She turned to Charlie. “Have you heard anything from Miranda?”

  It was his turn to be uncomfortable. “No,” he clipped. “Why? Have you?”

  “No. Last I heard, you’d knocked
her up and she was desperately trying to find a way to have an abortion.”

  Beth blanched, sucked in a deep breath.

  The color drained from Charlie’s face. Then returned fire engine red. He took a step toward Jenna, fist clenched.

  “Touch her and you’ll have more problems on your hands than a pregnant girlfriend.”

  Jenna gasped and turned to see her dad standing three feet away; the look in his eye scared even her although he had it directed at Charlie. She gulped and moved back away from everyone. Samantha and Andrew stood in the background, silent, watching. Jenna met Samantha’s eyes, and the look of compassion nearly sent her running into the woman’s arms.

  She stiffened her spine and looked away. She was a big girl, she could handle Charlie and whatever else came along. She didn’t need to lean on anyone.

  Just like her dad.

  Charlie held his hands up in the universal symbol for surrender. “Hey, I wasn’t going to do anything—except maybe yell at her for being such a—”

  “Better watch your mouth, kid. That’s his daughter.” Samantha glowered at him.

  Charlie flinched. “Oh.”

  The principal, Mr. Edward Harrington, stepped forward, motioning for his guests to lead the way.

  Andrew blew out a sigh. “All righty, Mr. Petroskie, we need to see you in the principal’s office.”

  A frown cut Charlie’s forehead. “Why? I told you, I wasn’t going to do anything.”

  “This is about Miranda Abrams,” her dad said softly.

  Jenna shot a look at him, one he avoided catching.

  And she knew.

  He only got that sad, defeated expression when one of his cases turned up dead. Sorrow and disbelief speared her.

  Poor Miranda.

  Willpower, self-control, don’t snap the kid’s neck. Connor repeated the mantra during the short walk to the office, his eyes boring holes into the back of the cocky teen’s skull.

  Principal Harrington opened the door and motioned everyone inside. “Help yourself. I need to go return a phone call, but will be available after that if you need me again.”