Good Little Girls (The Keepers Book 2)

by Rita Herron

  All secure, she released a pent-up breath and returned to the window. The chopper sailed above the ocean around the jetty, growing more distant. Maybe they’d spotted the canoe and were following him.

  Hope surfaced, killed instantly when she looked down at the officer. He was shaking his head as he spoke on the phone. She aimed her binoculars on the bag but couldn’t see what was inside.

  Cold fear immobilized her, and she sank onto the window seat and stared helplessly into the night. Seconds ticked by. Then slow, painful minutes where she couldn’t breathe.

  Suddenly a soft knock sounded on the door. She swung her gaze toward it, then the beach. The officer still stood by the bag.

  The knock again. “Tinsley, it’s Wyatt.”

  Relief surged through her, and she raced to the door. Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with the locks. Finally, they gave way, and she jerked the door open.

  Wyatt stood in the doorway, grim-faced, his stance rigid. A small shake of his head, and then he murmured, “I’m sorry.”

  Her world fell apart again.

  How many more women had to die at the Skull’s hands before they stopped him?

  Rage shot through her, and she covered her face with her hands and silently screamed into them. She’d never been a violent person. She’d never thought she’d be capable of taking a life.

  But if she had the chance, she’d kill the Skull and spit on his grave.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Wyatt didn’t have to think about it—he pulled Tinsley up against him and stroked her back. A low cry escaped, one that sounded as if it had been wrenched from her gut.

  He wanted to whisper promises and assure her things would be okay. But how the hell could he do that when clearly nothing was okay? He’d failed her when he hadn’t found her before that monster tormented her. And a second time when Felicia had died. Now a third time.

  “I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

  Sobs racked her body, and she clung to his chest. He held her tightly, letting her purge her emotions.

  “You’re sure it’s her?” she asked brokenly.

  He had spoken to the officer outside before he’d come to the door. The picture he’d texted Wyatt confirmed Tinsley’s fears. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “A team is on the way to take care of her body, and the coast guard is searching for that canoe.”

  She gulped back tears, her eyes filled with agony. “They’re following him?”

  “They lost him but are searching the area. He bailed on the canoe, left it afloat and disappeared. They’re going to haul the canoe in for processing. Maybe he left a print or forensics inside it.”

  Tinsley wiped at the tears streaking her cheeks. “How could he get away so quickly?”

  “He may have stashed another boat somewhere around the pier, or swam to shore and had a car waiting nearby.”

  Anger flashed across her face, mingling with pain. “I can’t believe this,” she cried. “He was so close.” She pushed away and paced, her hands balled into fists. “It’s my fault he escaped. I should have gone out there. If he’d seen me, he might have come for me.”

  Fear jolted Wyatt. He gripped Tinsley’s arms and turned her to look at him. “The safest thing for you was to stay inside and call for help, just like you did.”

  “I was a coward,” Tinsley said, a self-loathing note to her voice. “He took Joyce because of me.”

  “He took Joyce because he’s a sick bastard,” Wyatt said emphatically.

  “But he wants me,” Tinsley said. “He promised that I’d never leave him. Don’t you see? He kidnapped her because guards are surrounding me.” She pressed her hand over her heart. “That’s why he brought her back here. To punish me for escaping him.”

  The odd gleam in her eyes raised the hair on the back of his neck. “That may be true,” Wyatt said, “but he also took a risk by coming here. That means he’s rattled and off his game.” He rubbed her arms. “Did you get a look at him this time?”

  “He was wearing that mask again and dark clothes. I couldn’t see his face, but I swear he was smiling. He looked straight at me and blew me a kiss.”

  Creep. “He’s growing bolder, either because he wants to get caught or he’s out of control.”

  “Then let’s play into that,” Tinsley suggested. “Call off the guard. You can set a trap.”

  Wyatt’s heart raced. He didn’t like where her mind was going. They could try to set a trap for the Skull, but something could go terribly wrong.

  He’d do anything to keep that maniac from getting his hands on Tinsley again.

  Anything but use her as bait to catch him.

  A knock jarred Tinsley from her thoughts and sent Wyatt to the door.

  He opened it, then turned to her. “This is the evidence response team. I’m going to talk to the officer on the beach and take a look at Dr. Ferris.”

  Tinsley winced but nodded that she understood. And she did. He had a job to do, and more than anything she wanted him to do it.

  Concern darkened his gaze. “Will you be okay?”

  “Of course.” Chilled to the bone, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, but nothing could erase the icy coldness that had invaded her when she’d seen that monster dump her friend’s body on the beach.

  Tension knotted her insides as she moved back to the window and watched Wyatt walk down to the beach. Mr. Jingles rattled his cage, perching on the edge, watching her as if he expected her to do something crazy any minute.

  “You can leave the cage,” she whispered. The parakeet simply stared at her as if saying she could leave, too.

  A noise outside drew her back to the beach. A helicopter. The coast guard? Had they found him?

  She watched Wyatt, saw him answer his phone. Then he shook his head at the officer.

  Her hopes died. They hadn’t found him. He’d escaped again.

  Damn the Skull for ruining the peaceful sanctuary she’d created here.

  Her phone rang, and she rushed to see who it was. Susan again? If so, she didn’t think she could tell her about Joyce yet.

  No. Her sister’s name appeared on the caller ID screen. Why did Carrie Ann keep calling?

  Irritation mingled with worry. But she didn’t have time to deal with her sister’s problems at the moment.

  The phone rolled to voice mail, but a second later, it rang again. Carrie Ann.

  Tinsley snatched the phone and connected the call. “I told you to leave me alone.”

  “We have to talk, sis. I’m coming over.”

  Tinsley’s gaze remained glued to Wyatt as he stooped down and opened that bag.

  Tears clogged her throat. Sweet Jesus, what had the Skull done to Joyce?

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Carrie Ann said.

  God . . . Carrie Ann was near Seahawk Island? “No,” Tinsley shouted. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want you here, Carrie Ann. For God’s sake, the man who abducted me kidnapped my friend and killed her.”

  A tense second passed. “What?”

  “You heard me,” Tinsley cried. “He killed Dr. Ferris and left her body on the beach in front of my cottage. Now get out of town and leave me alone.”

  She ended the call, a sob escaping her. She hated to hurt her sister.

  But she didn’t intend to lose Carrie Ann to that monster.

  Wyatt cursed the Skull for what he’d done to Dr. Ferris. She hadn’t deserved to die.

  The fact that he’d been close to Tinsley was worse. In the city or near the restaurants in Savannah or the Village on Seahawk Island, security cameras might have captured images they could use to identify him.

  Out here on the beach and in most of the older neighborhoods, security cameras were nonexistent. Of course the Skull knew that and used it to his advantage. He made a mental note to ask the owner about installing cameras on the cottage.

  The ERT fanned out to search the beach, the access walkways from the street, and the public areas. He’d already phoned local authorit
ies and asked them to search the park and the Village for anyone suspicious.

  The medical examiner adjusted his glasses as he knelt by the body. “You’re sure it’s Dr. Ferris?”

  Wyatt nodded. “Afraid so. We haven’t pulled her from the bag yet, but it’s her.”

  The ME rubbed his chin. “If you have your pictures, let’s get her to the morgue, and I’ll examine her there. No need in opening her up here.”

  True. The doctor deserved privacy and respect. On a public beach, a family or any number of people could come by. Besides, Tinsley was watching from her cottage. He didn’t know the extent of the doctor’s injuries, but he didn’t want Tinsley to see her friend like this.

  “Good call,” Wyatt said. “I don’t want the scene contaminated.” Although this was definitely not the kill site. Finding that would be helpful.

  He and the officer stood guard while the medical examiner directed a recovery team to the body. They loaded her on a stretcher and carried her up the beach and the walkway to the ME’s vehicle.

  His mind turned to the bags he’d found in that house on the marsh.

  He needed to know what was inside them. If they were human, victims of the Skull, maybe he’d left some DNA and they could use it to nail him.

  Tinsley’s heart squeezed as she watched the team carry Joyce’s body up the beach. What had that monster done to her?

  He’d held her for less than twenty-four hours. Why such a short time?

  He’d kept Tinsley and the other three women longer. She’d seen and felt the carvings in the wall they’d made. Carvings marking the days they’d had to endure his filthy, vile presence.

  Each day had meant a new brand of torture. Mental. Physical.

  At least Joyce had been spared those excruciating days filled with pain and terror.

  But why kill her instead of dragging out the agony as he’d done with her and the others?

  Wyatt was following the medical examiner and the team with the body up the beach. Would he go with them to find out exactly what had happened to Joyce?

  Her doorbell dinged. Thinking it had to be Wyatt, she raced to open it.

  Marilyn Ellis stood on the other side, her cameraman behind her.

  Tinsley started to slam the door in the woman’s face, but the reporter caught the door with her foot. “You can’t run forever, Tinsley. I know that your friend is in that bag going to the morgue. He killed her, didn’t he?”

  “How . . . did you find out that?” Tinsley whispered.

  “I have my sources.” An odd smile tinged her eyes. Sympathy? Victory? The thrill of the hunt for another gruesome story?

  “Don’t you think it’s time you stood up to the man who assaulted you and killed your friends?”

  Tinsley gasped in shock at the woman’s blatant personal attack. “You don’t know anything about me,” Tinsley said. “Not what I’ve been through, and certainly not how I feel.”

  “I know you were traumatized and brutalized by a monster,” Marilyn continued. “For that, I truly am sorry. No woman should have to endure that kind of suffering.”

  “No, they shouldn’t,” Tinsley agreed in a raw whisper.

  “The police are doing what they can, but you must want to stop him before he hurts anyone else.”

  Tinsley wrung her hands together. More than anything she wanted to stop him.

  “Talk to me.” Marilyn made a motion, asking if she and her cameraman could come in. “Talk to him.”

  Hadn’t she considered doing that? Setting a trap for him . . .

  “You need to leave.” Wyatt’s loud voice boomed from behind the reporter. “If you don’t, I’ll haul you to the station myself.”

  Marilyn whirled on him, her TV smile in place. “You can’t arrest me for talking to someone.”

  “I can arrest you for harassment and for interfering with an ongoing investigation.”

  “How am I interfering?” Marilyn asked sweetly. “I want the truth, just like you do, Agent Camden.” She gestured toward Tinsley. “Just as Ms. Jensen does.”

  Wyatt shoved the camera down, ordered the cameraman off the porch, and stepped inside the doorway to make it clear to the reporter that she wasn’t getting in, or getting to Tinsley.

  “If you want me to go away, then tell the public exactly what’s going on.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “Explain how and why a notorious criminal like the Skull kidnapped and killed Dr. Joyce Ferris and evaded the police. How he later dropped off her body in front of Ms. Jensen’s house, right under your noses.”

  Wyatt’s nostrils flared with anger. Tinsley had never seen him so furious.

  “As a matter of fact, I have been working several leads on the case,” Wyatt said sharply. “Which brings me to the question of how you learned about the murder so quickly.”

  “You know I can’t reveal my source,” Marilyn said.

  “You hide behind that bullshit,” Wyatt said. “But your quick presence makes me wonder if you aren’t more involved in these crimes than simply reporting them after the fact.”

  Marilyn’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Just what are you implying, Agent Camden?”

  Wyatt leaned closer with an intimidating stare.

  “We always suspected that Cat Landon was working with someone else, that she wasn’t the only one in this Keeper group who decided to take justice into her own hands.”

  Marilyn hissed between her teeth. “How dare you imply—”

  “I’m not implying anything,” Wyatt said sharply. “I’m asking you point-blank, Ms. Ellis. Have you assumed Ms. Landon’s role as the Keeper?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Carrie Ann threw her phone onto the bed, panicked and terrified.

  The doctor wasn’t supposed to die! She was never supposed to have been taken.

  She’d started the game of cat and mouse with the Skull to lure him out of hiding so the police could find him. So her sister would finally be free and join the real world again.

  So they could walk up and down the beach and collect seashells like they’d done as children. So they could be best friends again.

  She doubled over with pain as the loneliness washed over her. She needed Tinsley.

  Why did Tinsley hate her so much?

  They’d bickered as kids and then had made up and eaten ice cream and laughed about it. They’d pinkie-sworn that they’d always be best friends.

  And when their parents died, they’d been each other’s lifelines.

  She rubbed her finger over her sea turtle necklace.

  Then last year that crazy, awful man had stolen her sister from her, and she’d never come back.

  She’d thought eventually Tinsley would come around, that she’d forgive her for not saying the right things at the hospital, for not being what Tinsley needed her to be.

  But months had dragged by, and now almost a year. And Tinsley had just screamed at her to leave her alone.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, the helplessness overwhelming. She yanked at her hair, rocking herself back and forth. No . . . she wasn’t going to give up.

  She was going to make things right, even if it killed her.

  The image of that vet’s face haunted her. How could she make things right when a woman was dead because of what she’d done?

  Lungs squeezing for air, she studied the picture of her and Gingersnap and Tinsley. They’d had so much fun together. The Three Musketeers, she’d dubbed them.

  Tinsley had idolized the vet who’d given Gingersnap obedience lessons. She’d volunteered at the clinic. They both had. Being around the animals had been the bright spot in that first summer without their parents.

  Yet a dark memory from the clinic intruded. The vet’s son had been odd. She’d seen him snap at a terrier when his mother wasn’t looking.

  He’d also filled the dogs’ food bowls with rocks. When he saw her watching, he’d said he was playing a prank on his mother, not to be a tattletale. She’d been scared of him.

  She hadn’t
told the vet, but she’d told Tinsley. After that, they made it a point to show up at the end of the day to make sure the dogs had food.

  Another time, she’d seen him hit a poodle. And he’d liked to pull the cats’ legs and hear them squeal.

  She’d been relieved when the doctor said he’d gone away.

  She spun around and snagged her phone. She didn’t have time to think about the past now. None of that mattered.

  All that mattered was finding the Skull and . . . killing him.

  She just hoped that Tinsley would never find out.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Wyatt studied Marilyn Ellis as he waited on a response. A myriad of emotions played across her face, making it hard to get a read.

  “Are you and Cat working together to keep the Keepers active?”

  “My conversations with Cat Landon are private,” Marilyn said tightly.

  “You mean the part of the conversations that you want to keep private,” Wyatt said with a challenging glint in his eyes.

  “If you think you can coerce me to give you dirt on Cat, you’re wasting your time.”

  Wyatt crossed his arms. “So you killed Milt Milburn because you thought he deserved it.”

  Marilyn gave a wry laugh. “Nice try. But there’s no way you can pin that crime on me.”

  “Because you’re conspiring with someone else and covering for each other?”

  Marilyn exhaled sharply. “You’re fishing. Why don’t you look for the real bad guy here? The man who dumped that poor woman’s body on the beach a little while ago?”

  He silently cursed. She was right. He was wasting time with her. Still, he couldn’t resist one more question. “How many Keepers are there? One, two, a dozen?” Or was the group even more widespread than that? With the Internet, they could be building a damn empire on the dark web.

  Marilyn simply smiled at him, a smile that was full of secrets and a sense of victory, as if she knew he had no concrete evidence against her. “Like I said, instead of giving me a hard time, why aren’t you looking for the Skull?” She gestured toward Tinsley, who stood quietly behind him, looking shaken and distraught. “You don’t care if the River Street Rapist is dead, do you, Ms. Jensen? All you want is for the Skull to be locked up—or dead—so the women of Savannah are safe.”