by Karen Rose
“Did you tell Alex?”
Daniel nodded. “Yeah. She wasn’t as mad as I thought she’d be. Are you?”
“What? Mad as you thought I’d be?” Chase sighed. “I’m disappointed. I thought you trusted me. But I have been in your shoes and it’s not a place where right and wrong are black and white.” He looked at the envelope. “Those are the pictures?”
“Yes. I was thinking Alex might be able to identify some of the other girls. She recognized Sheila from high school.”
Chase put out his hand and Daniel gave him the envelope, feeling as though a weight rolled off his shoulders as he did so.
Chase looked at the pictures, his face tightening in disgust. “Hell.” He put them back in the envelope and slid it next to his seat. “Okay. This is what we’re going to do from here on out. You’re going to put in a formal request for the pictures to Ciccotelli in Philly ASAP. You’re going to say you thought Alicia was one of the girls but that you didn’t know any of the others until you saw Sheila tonight. So we requested the pictures back.”
“That’s not actually untrue,” Daniel said slowly and Chase shot him a rueful look.
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks. You will not mention that you made copies and kept the originals. Who else knows you have these, besides Luke?”
“Alex and her cousin Meredith.”
“Can they be trusted?”
“Yes. But Chase, I want to use those originals tonight. I need to find out who the other girls were. Maybe one of them knows who did this to them. Somebody out there doesn’t want their identity known.”
Chase shook his head thoughtfully. “Killing Sheila supports that theory, but killing Janet and Claudia doesn’t. Why call attention to themselves?”
“Maybe somebody found out,” Daniel said quietly. “And we can’t forget about the keys. It’s important. I just don’t know how.”
“And the hair. Did you get Alex’s hair down to the lab so they can compare them?’
“I did. Wallin’s going to run the PCR on overtime. He thinks he can have a DNA comparison by tomorrow afternoon.” Daniel glanced at his watch. “I mean, today.”
Chase slapped his own face lightly. “We need to get some sleep, Daniel. You especially. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends for three weeks.”
“I want Alex to look at the pictures tonight.”
“Fine. You drive to her bungalow. I’ll follow you.”
Daniel lifted his brows. “You’re coming?”
Chase’s smile was tight and not terribly friendly. “Pal, I’m your new partner. You don’t go anywhere or do anything without telling me.”
Daniel blinked at him. “Forever or for just this case?”
“Just this case unless you pull some other dumbass stunt. You only get so many get-out-of-trouble-free cards.”
“Get out of jail,” Daniel corrected with a smile.
“If this had gone a different way, you might’ve ended up there,” Chase warned, not smiling back. “No more secrets. You tell me everything.”
“Fine. I’m going to sleep on Alex’s sofa tonight.”
Chase leveled him a long look. “Fine. Just stay on the sofa.”
Daniel lifted his chin. “And if I don’t?”
Chase rolled his eyes. “Then just lie and tell me you did. Go on. If we’re gonna show her the pictures, let’s do it before sunup.”
Chapter Thirteen
Dutton, Wednesday, January 31, 2:30 a.m.
They were hideous. Obscene. But Alex forced herself to look at each one even when the sandwich Meredith had forced down her throat threatened to claw its way back up.
“I’m sorry,” Alex said for the seventh time, shaking her head at the picture of a girl being brutalized. I thought my dreams were bad before… “I don’t recognize her.”
Daniel put another on the table in front of her while Chase looked on in stony silence. Meredith sat on the other side of her while Daniel’s friend Luke sat on the sofa in the living room with his computer on his lap, watching in the same thoughtful way he’d watched her at the Underground.
It seems like it’s been years. But it had been less than twenty-four hours since she’d nearly been killed.
“Alex?” Daniel murmured and Alex forced herself to look at the eighth picture.
“I’m-” She frowned, the denial forgotten. She pulled the picture from the table and held it close to her eyes, which felt like they’d been rubbed with crushed glass. She studied the girl’s face. Her nose. “I know her. That’s Rita Danner.”
“How do you know?” Daniel asked.
“Her nose. It’s been broken. Rita hung with the popular crowd, but she had a mean streak, especially if she was jealous of you. She liked to pick on the nerds.”
“Did she pick on you?” Meredith asked.
“Only once. We were at a sleepover and I woke up to find Rita smearing peanut butter into my hair. I took a handful of the peanut butter and shoved it up her nose.”
Daniel blinked. “You broke her nose?”
“I shoved a little too hard.” Alex sighed. “I hated her. But this… My God.”
“Luke?” Daniel asked.
“I found a wedding announcement. Rita married a Josh Runyan of Columbia, Georgia.” He tapped a few more keys. “And here’s a divorce announcement dated two years ago. But it looks like Rita still lives in Columbia.”
“It’s not too far,” Daniel said. “We can visit her. See what she recalls. What about this one?” He slid another picture on the table. “Well?”
“I know her, too. Cindy… Bouse. She was a nice girl. I didn’t break her nose.”
“Then we should try to talk to her first,” Daniel said dryly. “Luke?”
Luke’s expression was stricken. “She committed suicide eight years ago.”
Alex sucked in a breath. “Oh God.”
Daniel stroked her back. “I’m sorry.”
Alex nodded unsteadily. “Let’s see the next one.” She couldn’t identify the girl in the tenth picture, or the eleventh. There had been fifteen victims and Daniel had told her from the outset that he would not show her Alicia’s picture. For that she’d been grateful. Daniel had already identified Sheila’s picture, so Alex had only two pictures to go.
He slid the twelfth picture onto the table.
“Gretchen French,” Alex said immediately. “We were friends in junior high.”
“I’m looking,” Luke said before Daniel could ask. “Here’s one. She lives on Peachtree Boulevard in Atlanta. She’s a nutritionist. Has her own website.” He brought the laptop over to the table. “Look at her current photo.”
Daniel compared them. “That’s her.”
“Then we start there,” Chase said. Those had been the first words he’d spoken since they began. “Go ahead and look at the last one.”
Alex focused. “Carla Solomon. She played in the school orchestra with Bailey.”
“I see a C. Solomon on Third Avenue, here in Dutton,” Luke said. “That’s all I got.”
“What about the nine you didn’t know?” Meredith said.
“They may have gone to a different school,” Alex replied. “Dutton’s high school was pretty small. Everybody knew everybody.”
“We’ll pull yearbooks from all the local high schools,” Chase said brusquely. “Daniel, you’ve got enough leads for now. Everybody go to sleep. I’ll see you in the office at eight sharp.” He looked at Alex. “Thank you. You’ve been a big help.”
Exhaustion was fuzzing the edges of her mind. “I wish it would help us find Bailey.”
Daniel squeezed her knee. “Don’t give up,” he murmured.
She lifted her chin. “I won’t.”
Wednesday, January 31, 2:30 a.m.
Mack couldn’t stop the chuckle from bubbling out as he nodded at the computer screen. Things were going so well. Gemma was dead and ready for disposal and I’m a hundred thousand dollars richer. Then again, it really wasn’t about the money at th
is point. It was about making them pay the money. It meant they were afraid. The one who’d paid the hundred grand was so afraid, he was sitting outside his sister Kate’s house watching at this very moment, just in case.
He’d made his point. I’m here. You’re not safe. Your family is not safe.
And it had worked. Kate’s big brother had paid a hundred grand. Her big brother’s whiny friend hadn’t paid a penny, but he’d also been afraid.
He smiled. The one who hadn’t paid the money had paid in another, far more satisfying, way. He’d been successful with the two he’d chosen for his initial assault. They’d been the weakest. Low-hanging fruit, ripe for the picking. But the other two were also affected. They were getting nervous. Scared.
Things were starting to happen. Things he hadn’t had a direct hand in. Janet, Claudia, Gemma, all mine. All just pieces of kindling to get the fire going, but now it appeared the fire was going pretty good.
Bailey Crighton had been declared a missing person. Of course Mack now knew exactly where she was, and who had taken her. And why. He actually felt a little sorry for Bailey. She was an innocent bystander, and was now caught up in all this. He knew how that felt. When this was over, if she was still alive, he might go let her out.
He knew someone had tried to kill Alex Fallon. So clumsy. No finesse at all. Now she had a guard, two sharp-eyed GBI agents keeping watch over her little house. And one sharp-eyed agent keeping watch inside. He knew there’d been some kind of gathering at Fallon’s house tonight. Vartanian was getting close.
Took him long enough.
He knew there’d been a big brouhaha at the pizza parlor tonight. Three dead. Sheila among them. Yes, Vartanian was getting close.
And the remaining three were scared. One of the four was dead, a victim of his own guilt and fear. Of course getting run off the road and left to die in an amazing explosion had helped. Which had only gone to prove what he’d believed all along. The group of upstanding pillars of the community would kill one of their own without blinking an eye.
They’d done it tonight to Rhett Porter. From his desk drawer he pulled the last of his brother’s journals. It was half unfinished, because they’d done it five years ago to his brother Jared. Yes, he knew one of the four was dead. By sunrise, everyone in Dutton would know it, too.
Wednesday, January 31, 2:30 a.m.
“Bailey.”
Bailey had heard Beardsley’s last five whispers. I’m here. Please help me. The words were in her mind, but she couldn’t force them to her tongue. Every muscle in her body clenched and ached. More. She needed more. Dammit, he’d made her need it again. Damn him to hell.
“Bailey.”
She watched four fingers curve under the wall. Beardsley had torn a little more of the floor away. Hysterical laughter welled from somewhere deep inside her. They were trapped. They’d die here. But now Beardsley could wave good-bye.
The fingers disappeared. “Bailey. Sshh. He’ll come.”
He’ll come anyway. Her eyes closed and she prayed to die.
Wednesday, January 31, 3:15 a.m.
Mack crept up the stairs silently. Breaking into a cop’s house should have been harder to do. He’d passed the impressive gun cabinet on the first floor, wishing he could take what he wished. But tonight was about recon and stealth, not weapons. If he cleaned out the gun cabinet as he was so tempted, the fact that he’d been here would no longer be a secret. And he wanted it to be a secret.
He’d come prepared to knock the man out with a little chloroform on a handkerchief, but he was in luck. His prey was passed out drunk, still wearing his shoes. Carefully he patted the man’s pockets, smiling when he felt a cell phone. Quickly he noted the cell’s number and all numbers of incoming and outgoing calls.
Knowing how to reach out and touch this man in a way he’d trust was a very important component of Mack’s plan. He slipped the phone back down into the man’s pocket as carefully as he’d taken it out. He checked his watch. He’d need to hurry to be able to dump Gemma’s body and still start his morning deliveries on time.
Dutton, Wednesday, January 31, 5:05 a.m.
Thunder and lightning. I hate you. I hate you. I wish you were dead.
Alex woke with a start, shaking and freezing cold. She sat up in bed, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. Hope slept soundly and Alex resisted the urge to touch her golden curls. Hope needed to sleep. I hope she doesn’t dream like I do.
Between them, Riley lifted his head, his sad basset eyes looking up at her. Alex ran a shaky hand over the dog’s long back. “Stay,” she whispered, and climbed out of bed. Pulling her robe over her nightshirt, she left the room, carefully closing the door behind her. She didn’t want to wake Daniel.
The man was sleeping on her sofa. He’d refused to leave, even with Agents Hatton and Koenig sitting outside. She stood for a moment, rubbing her arms for warmth, looking down at him, too many thoughts racing through her head.
He’s a beautiful man. And he was, with his blond hair and strong jaw and those blue eyes that could be kind, but also ruthless as they bore through her defenses.
He lied to me. No, not really. Intellectually she knew how difficult it must have been for him to know what had happened to Alicia and not to tell her. To know his own flesh and blood had in some way been responsible.
I’ll see you in hell, Simon. At least Wade hadn’t been her flesh and blood. She thought about how he’d forced his way between her thighs at that party so long ago. He’d thought she was Alicia. Alex remembered his genuine shock when she’d said no.
Did that mean at one point Alicia had said yes? It was a disturbing thought to mix in with all the others that bombarded her mind. Alex had known Alicia was sexually active and Alex had thought she’d known with whom… but Alicia and Wade? The mental picture made her skin crawl. What kind of girl had Alicia really been?
What kind of monster had Wade been? She thought of the pictures she’d seen, perverted and horrific. Wade had raped those girls. She’d lived under the same roof with him for years and never suspected he was capable of such… depravity. Cruelty.
Alicia. Sheila and Rita. Gretchen and Carla. And Cindy. They’d all been raped. And poor Cindy had killed herself. The depths of depression she must have experienced. Alex knew those depths well. Poor Cindy. Poor Sheila.
And the nine others she didn’t know…
Daniel had carried their faces in his mind for a week. Poor Daniel.
His handsome face was stern, even in sleep. He’d removed his suit coat, his only apparent concession to comfort. His muscled chest rose and fell under the shirt he’d unbuttoned only enough to loosen his collar. His tie was tugged away from his throat, knocked askew. He still wore his gun, holstered at his hip. His shoes were still on his feet. He was ready, even in sleep.
Again, the pictures assaulted her mind. After seeing thirteen of them, it didn’t take much imagination to conjure what Alicia’s must have looked like. She thought of the first time Daniel seen her in the GBI office. The utter shock on his face.
She thought about the way he’d looked at her, right before he’d kissed her, tonight and earlier today in his car after she’d nearly been killed. What do you want from me? she’d asked. Not anything you’re not willing and… anxious to give, he’d replied.
She’d believed him then. She wasn’t sure she believed him now.
He felt guilt. Deep, soul-searing guilt. Daniel Vartanian sought atonement.
Alex didn’t want to be any man’s atonement. She didn’t want to be any man’s charity project. She’d done that already, with Richard. And it had been the most abysmal of failures. She didn’t want to be a failure again.
She knew the moment Daniel woke. His eyes opened deliberately, as he did everything else. And when he focused that bright blue gaze on her face, she shivered. For a moment he stared, then rolled to one hip and held out his hand.
And she knew it didn’t matter what she did or didn’t want. It only mattered what s
he needed, and at that moment, she needed him. He sat up against the corner of the sofa and drew her into his lap. She went, greedily absorbing all his warmth.
“Your hands are like ice,” he murmured, carefully covering them with his own.
She burrowed her cheek against the hard wall of his chest. “Riley hogs the covers.”
“That’s why he doesn’t sleep with me at home.”
She lifted her face to look at him, needing to know. “Who does?”
He didn’t try to misunderstand. “No one. Not in a very long time, anyway. Why?”
She thought of Richard’s new wife. “I need to know if I’d be first or second string.”
She thought she might see his one-sided smile, but his mouth remained completely serious. “First.” He swept his thumb across her lip, sending a tingle down her body. “You were married before.”
“And divorced.”
“Were you second string?” he asked, so very quietly.
“More like water boy,” she said with a half smile of her own.
Still he didn’t smile. “Did you love him?”
“I thought I did. But I think I just didn’t want to be alone in the night.”
“So he was there for you…” His eyes grew intense. “… in the night.”
“No. At the beginning he was a resident in the hospital where I worked. We dated a few times. My roommate had moved out and before I knew it, he’d moved in. I saw him at the hospital, but our off-hours didn’t seem to mesh well. He wasn’t home a lot.”
“But you married him.”
“Yes.” They’d kind of wandered their way into marriage, she and Richard. She honestly couldn’t remember the moment he’d proposed.
“Did you love him?”
It was the second time he’d asked the question. “No. I wanted to. But I didn’t.”
“Was he kind to you?”
She smiled then. “Yes. Richard is… he’s a nice man. He’s good to children and he likes dogs…” She stopped when she realized the direction her words were going. “But I think he viewed me as something of a challenge. His own little Eliza Doolittle.”