by Rita Herron
Everyone appeared friendly, seemed to know one another. A safe place to raise a family. Nothing like the city, where psychos could hide among the masses.
Yet was Lisa really safe here?
Not if there had been an accomplice, or if this latest killer came looking for her.
Brad finished the stew, paid the bill and headed back to his car, knowing the clock was ticking. He was just about to leave when his cell phone rang. He winced, then checked the display, bracing himself for bad news from his partner.
A private number showed up, instead. “Brad Booker.”
“It’s Lisa.”
He closed his eyes, his gut knotting at the sound of her strained voice. “Are you all right?”
A long sigh escaped her, heartfelt and labored but resigned. “Yes. Where are you?”
One hand tightened around the steering wheel. “Getting ready to leave town.”
“To go back to Atlanta?”
“Yes.”
A breathy quiver followed his reply, then she whispered, “I…I’m sorry, Brad.”
He scraped a hand through his hair, the sweat-coated strands sticking to his fingers. God, why was she apologizing? She had every right to hate him. “Don’t, Lisa, it’s all right. I shouldn’t have come—”
“No,” she said, her voice stronger, “you obviously care about this woman, she’s missing… I…I’ll help you if I can.”
He heard her insinuations. She thought he and Mindy were involved. He should correct her. But why bother? He did care about saving Mindy. And he couldn’t get involved with Lisa.
“Do you want me to come by?” he asked quietly. “We can talk.”
A heartbeat passed, pulsing into a tension-filled minute.
“No.”
He chewed the inside of his cheek and fiddled with the radio. “All right. Call me if you need anything.”
“Wait.” She hesitated again, then said, “I mean yes. Come over….”
He scrubbed a hand over his face at the sound of the waver in her voice. She’d been crying. “Are you at the cabin?”
“Yes.”
He cranked the engine and shifted into gear. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
He disconnected the phone and sped away from town, battling his own emotions. The reason he’d almost screwed up so badly before. He couldn’t repeat that mistake a second time. Mindy’s life was at stake.
But Lisa’s soft anguished voice taunted him as he climbed the mountain.
* * *
SHE WAS IN THE BOX AGAIN. She couldn’t breathe. The darkness was closing around her, choking her….
Lisa caught her head between her hands, rocking herself back and forth, tears falling as the trembling continued.
The wooden edges brushed her sides. Held her captive.
It was dark. Hot. So hot the air felt like a furnace. And she was suffocating, her throat muscles clawing at the air for a breath.
Then she was cold. Chilled and aching. Shaking uncontrollably.
He had left her there all day. Hidden away as if she didn’t exist. Her cries had done nothing but elicit rage that he unleashed on her.
Her battered body was too numb to move now. Or maybe it was the cramped position in the box. She’d long ago lost track of the time. Had she been here hours? Days?
The panic that streaked through her wouldn’t dissipate. It ate at her, chewed at her nerve endings relentlessly. The air felt stifling. How much more of it was there?
She closed her eyes, willed herself to drift away. To another place. To another time when life existed. When sounds meant something other than his sinister laugh or her own terrified cries.
The front door creaked open. The floor squeaked like cheap linoleum. A muttered curse reverberated through the room, and she knew he’d entered. Could smell the sweat and stench of his body. His boots scraped against the side of the bed as he sat down and kicked them off.
She froze, praying he would have mercy and release her. Or at least end the torture and kill her tonight.
The box springs protested as he stretched out on top of the bed. The mattress sagged, pressing into the box with his weight. Then he began to move. Slowly at first. The screech, screech of the bed was redundant, grew faster, the mattress sagged deeper and harder against her box. His breathing became erratic.
A sob caught in her throat as she realized what he was doing.
The mattress dipped and squeaked again, the noise intensifying, the movements more rapid as his breathing grew more and more excited. Finally a bellow. Pain? Pleasure? Rage?
Then he jumped off the bed, cursing loudly. She felt the box moving, being jerked, dragged from beneath the bed.
But instead of opening it, he was hammering it shut, tighter…pounding, pounding, pounding….
* * *
“LISA!”
It took her several seconds to realize that she had lapsed back into her nightmares. Even when she was awake they haunted her.
It took her another minute to realize the pounding was real. Someone was knocking at the door.
She hugged her arms around herself, panicking. Had the killer found her?
“Lisa! It’s Brad. Let me in, or I’m going to bust down this door.”
Jerking back to reality, she fidgeted with her hands, then finally willed her legs to be strong enough to stand. Brad’s voice broke through the haze again, and she rushed to the door, nearly stumbling over the braided rug on the floor and knocking a magazine off the end table in her haste. She’d phoned him only a few minutes ago, told him to come over. But then she’d sat down, started remembering….
“Lisa!”
“Just a minute.” She fumbled with the door lock, her hands shaking. Finally, she unfastened the lock and chain, then opened the door.
He stalked in, his dark eyes stormy. “For God’s sake, are you all right? You scared the hell out of me when you didn’t answer!”
Then his gaze met hers, and he must have read the truth in her eyes, because he reached out for her. She fell into his arms, clutched at his shirt and let him hold her.
* * *
TIME PASSED IN A BLUR of nonreality. He had lost time before. Had awakened with only a hazy memory of where he’d been or what he’d done. And it was happening again….
It had to be the medication.
He opened his eyes, his stomach convulsing as pain rifled through his temple. The dull throb became more incessant as it filtered through the rest of his body. He felt so damn weak. Just like before. But he’d been given a second chance at life.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way, though. Dark. Painful. Dreary.
He was supposed to be happy. Full of life. A strong, virile man. Able to do things he hadn’t done in a long time.
Fading sunlight fluttered through the blinds, slicing diagonal rays across the room. He rolled to his side to block it out, then stared in shock at his hands.
They were bruised. Dirty. Covered in blood.
Dried blood. Dark. Crimson. Crusty.
Blood also stained his shirt and pants. Red clay caked his fingernails and his boots. Scratches marred his hands and arms, as if he’d been pawed by an animal. His shirt was torn, the rip revealing more deep gashes on his chest. And he was sweating profusely.
What the hell was happening to him?
His head reeling, he turned sideways, swung his legs over the side of the bed and swayed, dizzy. Grabbing the edge of the mattress to keep from falling, he held himself steady while the room settled. More sweat coated his body and ran down his neck and back. The stench of some foul odor assaulted him. Swamp water. A sewer maybe.
He scanned the room, questions ticking in his head as he read the hands of the clock: 6:00 p.m.
The last thing he remembered was walking out the door twenty-four hours ago.
With unsteady hands, he reached for his pills and choked one down. Were the dark images that had slipped into his dreams real, or had he’d imagined them?
The blood on
his hands indicated that he hadn’t simply dreamt of vile acts, but that he’d performed them. That he had enjoyed them. That she had deserved it.
That tonight he would lose time again, that he would fade into the abyss of darkness where a monster’s soul stole his body, that he would continue to do so until someone stopped him.
But they would have to catch him first.
And that was not an option.
CHAPTER FOUR
BRAD TRIED TO STEADY his raging heart as he held Lisa, but the familiar fear that had gripped him four years ago returned with a vengeance. When she hadn’t immediately answered the door, he’d nearly gone out of his mind with worry. And now, feeling her in his arms again, her chest rising and falling as she gulped in air, her slender frame trembling against him, the scent of her feminine shampoo invading his senses, he was helpless to do anything but stroke her silky hair and mutter nonsensical words.
Damn it. He had to get a grip. His career depended on it. And so did Mindy’s life.
Slowly, forcing his brain back into professional mode, he eased away, studying her as he would a stranger.
Except Lisa wasn’t a stranger.
Her face had lost the rosy color and bright smile she’d worn at the day care when she’d danced with the children, the change a stark reminder that he’d resurrected the painful memories that she’d tried so hard to bury.
“Brad…I’m sorry. For a moment everything rushed back.”
Anger ripped through him. “You don’t have to apologize, Lisa. For God’s sake, I know I’m the last person you want to see.”
She dropped her hands from his shirt, backed away, hugging her arms around her waist as if he’d called it right, and she had no idea what she’d been doing. Long lashes fluttered over pale cheeks that now looked drawn with worry.
“Are you all right?” he asked, knowing good and well she wasn’t.
“Yes, I’m fine.” The same valiant look she’d managed to wear during the trial slid back on her face.
He shuffled, dragged a hand through the short strands of his hair. It was a mistake for him to have come here.
“Sit down,” she said quietly. “I’ll get some coffee.”
He gave her a clipped nod, forcing detachment into his expression as she hurried away from him to the adjoining kitchen. Figuring she needed time to assimilate, and he needed it to regain his bearings, he turned and surveyed her small cabin. He’d been here maybe a half-dozen times over the past four years, and the homey atmosphere never ceased to amaze him. Yet her new home felt more impersonal.
Lisa didn’t keep clutter or knickknacks, no small ceramic kitty cats or collections as she had in her other apartment. To break the awkwardness when he’d first visited her here, he’d asked about that, but she’d turned sheepish and merely shrugged. He’d finally decided that she didn’t want the space to feel cramped—a remnant of her traumatic days in the box where White had locked her. She needed open spaces, room to breathe….
After growing up in a foster home and sharing a room with other orphans, he understood about feeling crowded.
The den was a tasteful smattering of blue and yellow, with a soft plump denim couch, throw pillows and an oversize chair in yellow-and-blue plaid. A few magazines, mostly educational and arts and crafts ones, were stacked neatly on the pine coffee table. A photo of Lisa in her mother’s lap graced the end table, another five-by-seven of her and her father at her high school graduation beside it. Lisa looked so young and happy, full of dreams for the future. But her father…Brad had never quite gotten a good reading on Liam Langley. Not during the questioning when she was missing, or during the trial afterward. He wondered if the two of them stayed in contact.
He noticed a small clay cup on the bookshelf, misshapen and painted bright orange. It seemed out of place, until he realized one of Lisa’s students had crafted the cup. Beside it stood four framed photos, each one a group shot of the kindergarten classes she’d taught since moving to Ellijay. Several childlike drawings also decorated her refrigerator. Maybe adding these touches was a sign she had begun to heal, to let others into her life.
Even if they were children….
Lisa approached him, carrying a tray with two mugs, creamer and sugar, and a pot of coffee. The temptation to reach out and help her taunted him, but he sensed her skittishness and refrained, vowing to be patient. She filled a thick clay mug for him. So she remembered his preference for black. Was that all she remembered about him?
She dropped an ice cube in her own to cool it, and he almost smiled. He hadn’t forgotten her small habit. Just as he’d never forget anything else about her.
Her gaze finally shot upward and met his, and he grimaced at the wariness darkening her eyes. Yes, she obviously remembered more—his promise to her that he’d protect her. His failure to do so. That it was his fault she’d spent days being beaten and tormented by William White.
And when she looked away, a blinding clarity that he’d never wanted to face sank in—she would never forget that he was at fault, or forgive him.
* * *
LISA CRADLED HER MUG to her like a lifeline. “Tell me about this woman that’s missing, your girlfriend.”
Brad’s gaze shot down to the coffee in his cup, his jaw tight. “She’s thirty years old, a nurse at First Peachtree Hospital in Atlanta.”
“How did you meet her?” Lisa asked, then silently chastised herself. Hearing the details of Brad’s personal relationship was none of her business and would drive home the fact that she hadn’t had one in years. And that the last relationship had gone horribly wrong….
“At the hospital,” he said, seeming nonplussed by her question. “When I went to talk to the doctors after White died.”
Lisa gasped. “She knew William?”
He shook his head. “No, she wasn’t on duty the night he was hospitalized.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Lisa gasped again. “Are you sure the same man kidnapped her and that woman, Joann Worthy?”
Brad nodded. “He’s calling the reporter White used to deliver his messages, Wayne Nettleton.”
“Why him?” Lisa asked.
“He must have enjoyed the way Nettleton sensationalized the story about White. White admitted he chose Nettleton because of his propensity for printing gruesome details.”
His gaze met hers as if to study her reaction. Lisa sipped her coffee in an attempt not to reveal her surprise or disgust. Wayne Nettleton was a sleaze.
“We’ve questioned him just like before, but so far, he’s clean,” Brad said. “He has an alibi for the nights both women were reported missing, although it’s shaky.”
“Where was Mindy when she was abducted?” Lisa asked, trying desperately not to picture the scene in her mind.
“She left the hospital when her shift ended, around three. Caught the MARTA train. She doesn’t have a car. Never showed up at her apartment that night. Police have questioned neighbors and no one saw anything.”
“Does she have family?” Lisa asked softly.
“No.”
Lisa’s heart ached for her. If they found her, she’d need a support group to recover. Then again, Lisa’s own father hadn’t exactly been Mr. Mom after the attack. Not that he ever had been. After her mother’s death, he’d closed himself off, thrown himself into work. She’d tried to get his attention by being the perfect child.
But she hadn’t been perfect.
And he’d seen all those flaws at William’s trial.
“We found the first woman in the woods near Lake Lanier,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if you read the entire article, but he buried her in the woods surrounding the lake by my cabin.”
Lisa set her cup down with a clatter. “Brad…you think this is personal?”
He shrugged, but the bitterness that suddenly darkened his whiskey eyes to brown confirmed the answer. “He’s throwing it right in my face. How can it not be?”
“Don’t do that.” Lisa automatically reached for his hand, the
n drew back at Brad’s rigid posture. “This isn’t your fault, Brad.”
Just like it wasn’t when I got attacked.
He shot her a closed look, daring her to argue, then downed his coffee with one big gulp. “Let’s stick with the case. I’m running a check on everyone I’ve had contact with the past five years. Maybe something will turn up there.”
“And I suppose the police are questioning her friends and neighbors.”
“Yeah, just like they did Joann Worthy’s. But if this killer sticks to the same time frame as he did with Joann, Mindy has only a couple of days at best.”
Lisa moaned quietly. Was Mindy suffering now? Wishing her abductor would go ahead and kill her, as Lisa had wished with William? Or was Mindy holding on, clinging to life, praying Brad would find a way to save her?
“We’ve set up a stakeout in the wooded area where Joann’s body was found,” Brad continued. “But I don’t expect him to choose the same burial spot twice.”
Lisa shivered.
“I’m sorry, Lisa, I didn’t mean to resurrect the memory of your experience.”
“Forget it.” She quickly dismissed his apology, although the image of her own grave flashed in her head like a still photograph that had been framed in her memory forever. “Do you have any suspects in mind?”
“My partner’s gone to question White’s old cell mate. He was paroled a few days ago.”
Lisa’s hand tightened around her mug at the implications. William’s cell mate was free. Knew William’s secrets. Even where he might have held her and the other women.
He might be copying William’s crimes.
And if he did, would he choose her as one of his victims?
The appearance of her new neighbor suddenly resurfaced, and her suspicions mounted. “Brad, I’m sure I’m being paranoid, but this morning a strange man came to my door.”
Brad’s head jerked up. “What happened?”
Lisa explained about the visit. “He said his name was Aiden Henderson.”