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PRAISE FOR JENNIFER JAYNES “. . . intricately plotted . . . The action builds to a jaw-dropping conclusion.” —Publishers Weekly on The Stranger Inside “Talented Jennifer Jaynes turns up the intensity with her first standalone thriller: The Stranger Inside, an edge-of-your-seat crime thriller solidifying her place alongside the best of female crime writers out today!” —JDCMustReadBooks “Jennifer Jaynes writes a smart and twisty thriller that’s guaranteed to keep you reading well past bedtime . . . I am anxiously awaiting the next book.” —Gregg Olsen, Wall Street Journal bestselling author of A Wicked Snow (on Don’t Say a Word) “Jennifer Jaynes serves up pulse-pounding suspense with a large helping of heart . . . She’s an author to be reckoned with.” —J. Carson Black, New York Times bestselling author of Darkness on the Edge of Town “Jaynes dazzles with shocking twists and turns that will keep you riveted to the very last page.” —Lisa Regan, award-winning author of Finding Claire Fletche
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OTHER TITLES BY JENNIFER JAYNES The Stranger Inside Strangers Series Never Smile at Strangers Ugly Young Thing Don’t Say a Word
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Text copyright © 2017 by Jennifer Jaynes All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle www.apub.com Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates. ISBN-13: 9781542046381 ISBN-10: 1542046386 Cover design by Rex Bonomelli
For Christopher and Ryan. You boys will always be my proudest achievements.
CONTENTS PROLOGUE CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 21 CHAPTER 22 CHAPTER 23 CHAPTER 24 CHAPTER 25 CHAPTER 26 CHAPTER 27 CHAPTER 28 CHAPTER 29 CHAPTER 30 CHAPTER 31 CHAPTER 32 CHAPTER 33 CHAPTER 34 CHAPTER 35 CHAPTER 36 CHAPTER 37 CHAPTER 38 CHAPTER 39 CHAPTER 40 CHAPTER 41 CHAPTER 42 CHAPTER 43 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE November 1, 2010 The morning after Halloween IT WAS ALMOST 1:00 a.m. A living-room window was half-opened, and a thin, lemon-colored curtain billowed out as chilly morning air streamed into the small apartment. A slice of streetlight illuminated blood spatter on the cheap beige carpet and the motionless body of a teenage girl. Blonde and slender, she lay on her stomach, naked except for a pair of low-rise blue jeans. Detective Robert Lang stood in the doorway of the apartment and assessed the scene. Blood stained the far wall of the living room, and a crooked scarlet trail led into a darkened hallway. The apartment smelled like stale smoke, spilled alcohol, and the metallic odor of blood. Lang also caught another scent he knew far too well. Fear. No matter who the victims were, no matter their gender, religion, social class, or circumstances, the bitter, acrid stink of their fear always smelled the same. Lang had been intercepted in the parking lot of the apartment building by
CHAPTER 1 October 4, 2015 Four years and eleven months later . . . TWENTY-THREE-YEAR-OLD CHELSEA DUTTON jerked upright in bed, adrenaline thundering through her veins. She fumbled in the darkness until her hand found the bedside lamp. She snapped it on, flooding her bedroom with warm light. She blinked, and the reality of where she was slowly trickled into her consciousness. Blood still pounding in her ears, she fell back against her pillow and exhaled forcefully. You’re safe, she told herself, rubbing goose bumps from her upper arms, her fingertips stumbling a little on the raised ridges of her many scars. You’re safe and sane. No one’s out to get you. Not anymore. The words had been her mantra for almost five years now. Since the Halloween night that her college roommates had been murdered and she’d been carved up and left for dead. Sometimes, though, she wondered if being dead would be easier. She grabbed her iPhone to check the time: 3:00 a.m. She’d been waking at 3:00 a.m. all mon
CHAPTER 2 CHELSEA SAT ON the edge of her couch, blood thrumming at her temples, as she watched her friend Elizabeth walk to the French doors that led to the balcony. She pulled open the curtains, and morning light burst into the living room. Elizabeth turned to face her. “Okay, so back up. You’re saying he was sitting in a car? Across the street, with his headlights on?” Chelsea nodded. “Yes.” “But it was still dark out, right?” “Yes. But a car passed him, and the headlights lit up his face. I’m telling you. It was him.” Elizabeth walked to the recliner, her powder-blue orthotic nursing shoes squeaking against the Pergo floor. She sat down. “Look, I know you believe it was him. I do,” she said, looking at Chelsea with clear but polite doubt in her green eyes. I know you believe it was him. She hated when Elizabeth said that, and she said it a lot. Unfortunately for Chelsea, though, Elizabeth was usually right. Concern creased Elizabeth’s face. “Did you have the nightmare again?” Chelse
CHAPTER 3 CHELSEA PULLED HER blue fall sweater tight against her body, buried her face in the pink chenille scarf looped around her neck, and tried her best to seem okay. Plastering a smile on her face, she tried to focus on the beautiful displays at the farmers’ market. The sun was working overtime to suppress the chill in the October air. Bostonians were outside in droves, soaking up every ounce of warmth before the long winter forced everyone inside. Chelsea tried to distract herself from her anxiety by concentrating on the rich colors of pumpkins, gourds, and winter squash, pints of homemade soup, and canned jams and jellies. She fingered the razor blade in her coat pocket, soothed by its mere presence. The blade was her security blanket—in case she ever found herself slipping mentally again and needed an escape. She’d vowed years ago that she would never suffer through the misery of a debilitating depression again or another attack. She’d much rather be dead. She scanned the crowd
CHAPTER 4 THE NEXT NIGHT a brisk wind sent crisp leaves dancing across the balcony as Chelsea brought her plants inside. Boyd would be arriving in half an hour. They had dinner reservations for Giulia’s at 7:00 p.m. Chelsea’s heart fluttered like hummingbird wings as she anticipated his arrival. It wasn’t every day that she went to dinner with a friend, especially one as handsome as Boyd. In fact, she couldn’t even remember the last time. Her social life pretty much consisted of eating microwaveable food in front of the TV with Elizabeth while watching a movie or binge-watching some show. Back inside her apartment, she brewed some coffee, then went to the bathroom to finish getting ready. Ten minutes later, she heard a knock on the door. Frowning, she glanced at her watch. If it was Boyd, he was very early. And Elizabeth had a key, so she always let herself in. It was rare that anyone else ever showed up at her door. She glanced through the peephole and saw Boyd staring back. She took
CHAPTER 5 CHELSEA OPENED HER eyes the next morning and instantly knew something was different. Then she recognized what it was. Sunlight was streaming through her window. The sun was never out when she woke up. She looked at her bedside clock: 7:47 a.m. She’d slept four hours longer than usual. She hadn’t slept this long for months. She also realized she hadn’t had the nightmare. It was the first time in more than a year. Outside, the chilly autumn-morning air was invigorating. She took a deep breath as she started on her route. For the first mile, she cleared her mind, concentrating on her pace as she ran, listening to her footsteps pound the cold concrete sidewalk. On her second mile, she let her mind drift back to last night. Dinner with Boyd had been positive. Therapeutic. Was that why she hadn’t had the nightmare? It had felt so goo
d to talk to him. And not just about the murders. She had enjoyed his company. His easy laugh. She remembered the tingling sensation she’d felt when he
CHAPTER 6 ROBERT LANG’S STOMACH growled as the scents of beef and garlic wafted through the living room’s air vents and into his nostrils. He was playing with his three-year-old grandson, Nicky, while his daughter, Victoria, cooked dinner in the next room. Waiting for dinner to be ready, he batted a red balloon high into the air. Nicky squealed, then took off running after it. When his phone rang, Lang looked at the incoming number. Boston area code. He frowned, wondering who it could be. Nicky handed the balloon to him. He batted it in the air again and watched Nicky chase it again with delight, then accepted the call. “Lang here.” A beat of silence, then: “Detective Lang?” No one had called him that in a while. “Retired.” Lang had retired at thirty-eight as a result of a car accident. Luckily he’d been on duty at the time, which qualified him to collect a good pension. It was generous enough to ensure he wouldn’t have to work again, if he didn’t want to. But he did. Last week he’d si
CHAPTER 7 CHELSEA SAT BUNDLED up on her balcony and watched as a storm slowly rolled into the city. Breathing in the scent of ozone and roasting meat from an apartment nearby, she replayed everything that had happened the day before. A Detective Garcia and an officer whose name she couldn’t remember had shown up and taken her statement and the note, then said they’d get back to her in a day or two. She’d tried to get some work done a few times since waking that morning, but she couldn’t get Ethan off her mind. Now she was almost certain he was out there somewhere, watching her. Her veins went icy just thinking about it. When the wind on the balcony became too strong, she retreated inside her apartment and made a mug of hot cocoa, then sat on her couch and listened to the howling wind shake the windowpanes. Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Boyd. Would you like company Friday? Seeing his name, she felt her heart lift a little. But then she thought about the note again. She reminded h
CHAPTER 8 CHELSEA LAY ON the couch and thought about Detective Lang’s visit the other night. Although she would have thought seeing him again would have been upsetting, it had been surprisingly cathartic. Maybe it was because Lang held a sense of familiarity for her—something she hadn’t known she’d been longing for. It was the same thing that had made her approach Boyd. Plus, she trusted Lang, which was saying a lot for her. Maybe it was the way he listened. Like, really listened, without discounting anything. His sharp, watchful eyes steady and unwavering, as though he was interested in everything she said. But, of course, he was. He had a case to investigate. When she’d first opened the door for him, she’d been surprised by how intense her reaction to him had been. It had been difficult not to reach out and hug him. The more she thought about it, the more her reaction made sense. He had saved her life. If he and the other police officer hadn’t arrived when they had, she would have bl
CHAPTER 9 LANG HAD TAKEN up temporary residence at a motel in Southie. He sat on a chair next to one of the two full-size beds, sipping a stale coffee he’d bought at the convenience store around the corner. Scattered across the bed were various files, photographs, and police reports. He thought of what Chelsea had said about just happening to run into Boyd Lawson at the farmers’ market. He remembered Lawson well. When he’d interviewed him after the killings, the kid had been a drug user—prescription pain pills, mostly—and he’d been tight-lipped. Possibly because he knew something that he wasn’t sharing? Or maybe he was nervous he’d get implicated and they’d find out more about his drug use? Lang hadn’t been in charge of the investigation long enough to find out. He wondered now about their chance run-in with each other. Had it really been by accident? And just what did reconnecting mean? Was it just a friendship? Or something more? He found himself personally hoping it was simply a fri
CHAPTER 10 CHELSEA’S EYES FLUTTERED open to crisp sunlight pouring into her bedroom. Her heart swelled in her chest, remembering last night. How great it had felt to be intimate with Boyd, both physically and emotionally. She rolled over to face him. And found his side of the bed empty. She blinked, feeling a stab of disappointment. Had he left during the night without saying goodbye? She sat up and instantly felt the dull throb of a headache. She rubbed the back of her head, regretting the amount of wine she’d drunk last night. Then she saw something on her nightstand. A note. She grabbed it and lay back against her pillow. She unfolded it and blinked a few times until the letters came into focus. Chelsea, I have an early-morning meeting at one of my shops, but you looked so incredibly peaceful, I couldn’t bear to wake you. YOU are amazing in every way. I’ll text you later. Love, Boyd Love? A memory flashed in her head. Last night. He’d whispered in her ear: I think I fell in love wit
CHAPTER 11 A WEEK LATER, the air outside felt heavy and charged. The streets bustled with Bostonians as Chelsea plunged her hands deep inside her pockets, her pepper spray at the ready, and walked briskly toward her car. They still hadn’t found Ethan, and she was growing impatient. Thunderclouds crowded the sky, promising yet another storm. The wind tossed leaves and an empty potato-chip bag in her path, but she concentrated on her surroundings. It was the first time she’d ventured outside alone since finding the note, and she felt a sense of unease. The past week, she had been back to her normal routines with everything except her morning runs, which she really missed. She’d just worked her regular hours and spent most of her evenings binge-watching television shows by herself. Elizabeth had been working overtime at the hospital and spending a lot of time with a pregnant coworker of hers, so Chelsea had been on her own. A block from her car, she spotted a blond man wearing sunglasses
CHAPTER 12 ELIZABETH WAS LATE. It was 5:30 a.m., and the sun was still below the horizon. Chelsea sat in her car, sipping hot coffee and staring at the single-story, redbrick building that housed the shooting range. It looked identical to all the other buildings in the industrial park except for the small sign on the door that read “Suffolk County Gun Club.” She thought about Elizabeth possibly seeing Ethan. Elizabeth said she’d seen someone of his description standing next to a sedan on Dartmouth, not far from where Chelsea thought she’d seen him in a car a couple of weeks earlier. Chelsea looked at the building again. Although she didn’t yet have a license to carry a handgun, Elizabeth knew the owner of the gun club, and he’d agreed to allow them inside before opening hours. The license would have to come a little later. The front door to the building flew open, and a short, stocky man looked out. He looked to be in his early thirties, with longish black hair and a heavy five o’clock
CHAPTER 13 WHEN BOYD ARRIVED hours later, he leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips, making her breath catch in her throat. After he put his stuff down and got settled in, they went out for a late lunch. They picked a Thai restaurant around the corner and sat at a quiet table in the back, ate, and talked. Chelsea learned that he enjoyed a clean, tidy space just as much as she did. That he had a fear of small dogs (this one surprised her). That he was looking for a new job. Right now he was still working for his soon-to-be-ex father-in-law’s company. He’d been doing a lot of soul-searching, trying to figure out what he would be passionate doing for the rest of his life. He said he still had no clue what he wanted to do, but he doubted it would be anything in sales. He talked a lot about his life, much more than he had before, and Chelsea got the feeling that a lot of what he was telling her had been bottled up for some time. A couple of times during the conversation, she’d started
CHAPTER 14 CHELSEA AND BOYD slept in until 10:00 a.m. and were about to head out for breakfast when there was a knock on the door. Chelsea looked through the peephole and saw Lang. Her heart sped up at the possibility he might have new information. “It’s Lang,” she told Boyd, who was on the couch pulling his shoes on. “Who?” she heard him ask from behind her as she swung the door open. “Good morning,” she said to a tired-looking Lang. The man smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Good morning. Have a couple of minutes?” he asked. “Absolu
tely. Come in.” She moved aside so he could walk past her. “I guess you two already know each other,” she said, looking from Lang to a surprised-looking Boyd. “Mr. Lawson.” Lang nodded. “What a nice surprise.” Boyd stood up. “Detective Lang.” The two men shook hands. “Want coffee?” she asked Lang. “Sure. If it’s not too much trouble.” She motioned for Lang to have a seat at her little kitchen table. “Is there anything new?” she asked, grabbing a bag
CHAPTER 15 CLASSICAL MUSIC BLARED from the radio of Lang’s 2006 Crown Victoria during his two-hour drive to Newport. With 215,000 miles on it, the vehicle was deteriorating quickly, but it was paid off, and he had no desire to make a monthly car payment. Besides, he took meticulous care of it, and it showed. The gray-cloth interior looked surprisingly clean—especially for cloth. No stains, no cigarette burns. And, thanks to lots of tender loving care, the engine still purred like a kitten. He couldn’t tell a Brahms concerto from a Schubert waltz, but that didn’t matter to him. He still liked to listen to classical music while he drove. It helped him think. The classical piece he was listening to came to a climactic conclusion and was immediately replaced with the deep, soothing voice of the evening DJ. Lang switched off the radio, and his thoughts circled back to the rock left on Chelsea’s shattered windshield. Stretching his eyes open as much as possible in an effort to stay awake, he
CHAPTER 16 BOYD’S SILENCE SAT on Chelsea’s chest like lead. It had been a week since she’d heard from him. Was he not receiving her texts for some reason? She knew that was just wishful thinking. Of course he was. Which meant he was avoiding her. Does that mean he’s done with me? Even after everything he said? After telling me that he loved me? That he’d been in love with me for years? Had they just been words to get her to sleep with him? No. That didn’t make sense. He’d told her those things after they’d had sex. What could possibly be the point of saying them if they’d only been a lie? Why even waste his breath? And if his silence was due to Lang’s questions, why? She analyzed and reanalyzed everything that had happened until her head pounded. She looked around. Her apartment was cold, silent . . . lonely. It was also becoming cluttered, even filthy, and stank of old food. The kitchen trash can was overloaded with empty chicken-pot-pie boxes, Hungry-Man frozen dinners, ripped-open m
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