The Seeker

by Ronica Black

  Kennedy knew about Keri’s nightmares, the constant anxiety that seemed to plague her. She knew because she’d been experiencing the same things for months. She wished more than anything that she could take on Keri’s suffering herself, but she couldn’t. All she could do was be there for her, give her some comfort with her presence.

  “I know,” Kennedy whispered. What happened in Seattle still haunted them all. Even though Keri had acted courageously and intelligently, they both still thought about all the different things that could’ve happened. Kennedy tried to talk to her about it, but Keri often refused, holding the darkness within, jumping at every sound, pacing the house at all hours of the night. They had always been close, but now they were twins. Twins trudging through the darkness of fear.

  A heavy dread washed over her. The pain and suffering she continued to endure were hazards of her job. Something she knew she’d have to deal with. But Keri’s suffering was unfair and undeserved.

  Kennedy needed to be there for her. To try to make it better. Which was why the thought of leaving her family now seemed unimaginable. She had been with Keri and the boys since immediately after the intrusion, refusing to leave their side. She should’ve been there sooner. But the kidnapping and child murder cases that had haunted her career and nightmares for years had needed her attention once more. They’d found another body and were nearly convinced it was related to the previous cases. But the subsequent investigation had proved otherwise, and her longtime case was still unsolved.

  Shadows from the past walked through her mind as she thought of the thirteen children: six girls, seven boys. All of them taken, some from their beds, others from the back lawn. She could still see little Tyler Hobbs’s bicycle lying on its side in the grass, a red-tinted Popsicle stick consumed by ants under the handlebars. He had been pedaling around the backyard, eating a Popsicle the last time his mother saw him.

  That bicycle stuck in her mind. Midnight blue with bright yellow lettering and matching seat. Dozens of Pokémon stickers clinging to the frame. She could hear his laughter, see his smiling face as he dug up the sand in his sandbox. She’d watched the home video of the boy dozens of times.

  So when she got the call it nearly killed her. Little Tyler Hobbs had been sexually assaulted and strangled, his body dumped in a ditch on an abandoned road, five days after he went missing.

  The other cases had similar endings. They’d never caught the perpetrator. Her one unsolved case. Until Keri’s intruder. Now she had two.

  Frustrated, she ran her hands through her hair. The baby monitor on the counter lit up. She listened as her infant niece cooed from her crib. Keri disappeared down the hallway, already calling to her.

  Guilt and fear washed over Kennedy once again. How could she leave them now? Even if Tom was home, the thought still made her uncomfortable. And he would be leaving soon to start the season. Plus the fact that he didn’t know the first thing about the obsessive criminal mind. But what she knew terrified her. The intruder had known too much. He had watched and studied for an extended amount of time. He had known that house, known Keri’s routine, when and where she was at all times. He had wanted Keri. To possess her, control her, own her. And most likely…to kill her.

  Kennedy knew he was probably still obsessing, carefully waiting, planning his next move. His fantasies would never go into remission. Keri would always be on his mind. Kennedy thought of the letters. The ones Keri hadn’t told her about until it was too late. Four of them. Sent directly to the house. Praising Tom on his abilities and praising Keri on her beauty and motherhood. They were handwritten on plain white paper. Dark blue ink, and simple enough in content. But they were intrusive and unwelcome. And seemingly scrawled with certainty and done quickly, as if the writer wasn’t concerned with errors and appearances. This troubled Kennedy. It made him look rash and impulsive, ruled by his emotions. And arrogantly confident. Just like the break-in. So bold and fearless. And yet so carefully planned. He could’ve slashed Keri to bits but he hadn’t. No, the offender was organized, but his control was wearing thin. He would soon become more bold, more careless. And much more dangerous.

  The thoughts weighed her down. She walked to the stove and stirred the pot of seasoned beans. Of course there was no guarantee that the letters had come from the intruder, but Kennedy was willing to bet they were. Keri had also told her about a man in the stands at the home games who had sat nearly sideways in his seat to stare at her. The first time she saw him he got up and left. The second game she had gotten up and left. By the third game, she had requested him removed and security had escorted him out. And then the letters had started arriving.

  Keri described the staring fan as a small-framed white male in his early thirties.

  A needle in a haystack.

  Keri returned to the kitchen carrying Natalie, Kennedy’s bright-eyed niece. Her dark hair was pinned up in a tuft, while a reflective pool of drool glistened on her chin. Kennedy smiled at the sight of mother and daughter settling down at the kitchen table. Instinctively, she moved to the stainless steel fridge and retrieved a bottle of breast milk. She heated it in the microwave for exactly twenty seconds, shook it to make sure the heat was even, then promptly handed it over to Keri, who tested it on her wrist.

  Natalie took it eagerly and closed her eyes.

  Kennedy watched in silence, touched somewhere down deep every time she saw the two together. She smiled inwardly as warmth spread through her, replacing the blackness of fear. She stirred the beans again and moved to sit at the counter. As she got comfortable on the stool, she cleared her throat, knowing she still needed to discuss matters with Keri.

  The Ryan case called to her, as many cases did. Perhaps it was because of Seattle, because there was a family in fear involved. Victims, like Keri. Maybe she could help to catch their assailant. Then maybe at least one family could sleep in peace at night.

  Natalie suckled her bottle noisily and Keri spoke, sounding nowhere near ready to discuss Kennedy’s leaving. “The new Adidas catalogue came.” She motioned with her head, letting Kennedy know where it sat on the table. “Go ahead and pick out what you want now so I can place the order.”

  Kennedy rose from the stool, not missing the fact that Keri didn’t want to discuss anything serious. She sat across from them and began mindlessly flipping through the catalogue. Tom had a contract with Adidas and received ten thousand dollars a year in free merchandise from the company.

  “I’m not sure what I should do here,” Kennedy said softly, glancing up from the catalogue. She thought of their past. They had been raised by a young single mother, which had forced them to grow up quicker than they should have. Kennedy had been more of a mother to Keri than anyone else. Especially when their mother had to be away for seventeen hours at a time, leaving them alone in the small house to go out and work multiple low-paying jobs just to survive.

  Keri met her gaze from across the table. She wanted to beg Kennedy to stay, but she knew she shouldn’t and wouldn’t. Kennedy had a gift for reading people, especially criminals, and if she could help Veronica Ryan’s family, then she had to let her go. She had to let Kennedy go be who she was. She glanced at the new life she held in her arms. Tom was home, and with Kennedy’s help, they had hired a security team to watch the house and property and go with them wherever they went. She had to trust that things would be okay. With a weak smile, she swallowed and said, “Go. They need you.”

  “Keri…”

  “Go, Kennedy. This address is unlisted, the property is gated off and guarded.” She rocked Natalie and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Go help that family. We’ll be fine.”

  *

  Scarsdale, New York

  She sat in her little car and watched. The street was moist from a recent cold drizzle, some dead leaves blowing in the slight wind. She stared at the wet pavement, watching the dry leaves weave patterns as they blew in circles across the ground. It had been roughly forty-eight hours since the shooting, and the urge to s
ee her work had been too great to resist. She had to see her true love, to know what she was doing, to see if she had understood the message.

  A car passed by and she hunkered down into her thick hooded sweatshirt. She squeezed her arms tighter across her chest as the bite from the cold wind penetrated her vehicle. She was close now, so close she could feel her true love nearby. Every time she got this close her body hummed with powerful excitement. Just knowing her love could be near, knowing they were breathing the same air, experiencing the same weather, the same sights, the same smells, sent thrills right through her.

  She could still recall the cold drizzle pelting her hat and shoulders, the tips of her ears. She could see Veronica’s dazzling smile, the twinkle in her brown eyes, the two veins under the delicate skin of her neck…and then her scent had come as she shook hands with the girls. Light and dizzying and truly blood slamming. It had coursed through her as quick and as hot as lightning, stirring an animal yearning in her she’d never known. And then Veronica moved away, grabbing hold of her wife’s hand. Shawn. The smiling blonde. The thief of hearts in a silver dress.

  She cranked her car and put it in drive. She pulled her sunglasses down from her crooked hanging visor and eased them on. Her blood pumped heavily as she drove down the street and made a left turn. She was getting closer now and the feel of her true love was growing stronger, pulling her like a magnet. But she fought the force of it and turned when she reached the entrance to the gate, taking in all she could as she drove away.

  A dark Lincoln sat at the gate awaiting entry. She swallowed hard and stepped on the gas.

  Who was in the car? Veronica? A friend? Family?

  Fury sizzled like static as the frustration of not knowing rushed through her. A gust of wind blew more stiff leaves across the street. Someday. Someday soon the person walking through the gate would be her. Someday soon she would be the one who was needed.

  *

  Kennedy leaned back against the seat of the Lincoln Town Car. They had been driving for the better part of an hour, heading away from the city to one of New York’s suburban towns. Even though her feet were firmly on the ground, she still felt a bit nauseous from the flight so she’d inched down the window for some fresh air.

  As she breathed deeply, she glanced at her surroundings. The clouds were gray, wispy, and thick, but not quite ready to shed more rain. The neighborhood was upper class, large Tudor-style homes nestled in thick, abundant acres of lawn. Most of the homes had private entrances, the properties walled off. She eased forward in her seat to look through the windshield. They’d stopped at a gate and she could see the rear of the mansion through the bars. This house was like its neighbors, private gate and walled-off property. She hadn’t expected anything less.

  The driver lowered his window and spoke into the call box. The response was clouded with static and difficult to understand. Frustrated, the driver leaned out the window and shouted, but only more static came back.

  Kennedy looked around quickly, searching for a Bureau presence. But there was no one guarding the gate, no camera eyeing the cars that drove up or drove by. She saw only two vehicles inside the gate, a Range Rover and a minivan, both parked inside a garage flanking the house. No one was walking the property. And no one was coming in clear on the call box.

  Hurriedly, she climbed out of the car.

  The air felt cool and misty against her skin. She didn’t bother retrieving her coat but instead moved to the front of the car. The driver ceased shouting and eyed her.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said calmly, giving him a small wave, silently asking him to wait. Carefully, she stepped up onto the hood of the car and turned toward the gate.

  “Hey, what the hell,” the driver called out and she could hear his door opening.

  “Shh.” She glanced over her shoulder at him and waved him back. And before he could argue any more she hoisted herself up onto the gate. Slowly and with care, she eased herself over and jumped to the ground. Her feet stung as she straightened. Walking out the pain, she gave one last comforting look to the confused but silent driver.

  Heart beginning to leap with excitement, she jogged toward the back entrance of the house. As she came to the end of the lawn and reached a driveway, two big black dogs came barreling toward her. A spark of fear tried to catch aflame inside her, but she wasn’t afraid of dogs and she knew she had to show calm assertiveness. Their barks were pitched high in excitement and she stopped her run to greet them.

  “Hey, puppies.” She held out her hands in welcome. She relaxed a little when she saw that they were young black Labradors. Their fur felt like moist satin, their tongues heavy and light pink as they panted. “Good, guys,” she cooed, patting them on the head. “Come on, let’s go.”

  They followed her eagerly as she picked up her pace again.

  She glanced at her watch. Two minutes in and she had penetrated the second barrier: the dogs.

  She slowed her pace as she came upon one of the back entrances. A Mercedes sedan she couldn’t see from the gate sat on the far left of the house, an M.D. tag on the plate. A physician was at the house, but still no sign of any FBI agents. She thought for sure based on what Allen had said that the place would be crawling with them.

  She reached one of the back doors and caught her breath. The dogs were still by her side and she scratched them pleasantly along their backs. They weren’t trained to attack, they were only there for appearances. She glanced back the way she had come, noting the beautiful and secluded property the house sat on. She ventured it was at least five acres of land. Five acres of unsupervised land. Determined and unwilling to let up, she turned and clutched the door handle.

  It was unlocked. Softly, she opened it. A soft beep sounded and she saw a light illuminate on a security control pad. She stiffened, waiting. But no one came. She closed the door behind her and noted another sound, the repetitive plunk of piano keys. The same notes, again and again.

  Do re mi fa sol la.

  Do re mi fa sol.

  Mirroring the sound from the piano keys was the pitter-patter of quick-moving feet on the upper level. A child was running and laughing. She headed in farther, noting the warmth and comfort of the house and the smell of fresh-baked cookies. She walked quietly on the polished wood floors, the dogs at her side. The walls were a deep beige and covered in expensive-looking painted canvases. Fresh flowers bursting with color sat in vases on nearly every end table.

  She found her way into the kitchen.

  “Hello!” she called out. No one seemed to hear her. She glanced at her watch. Four minutes in and she was inside the house. Her stomach lurched at the lack of security. She leaned on the counter and the dogs sat at attention on the tile floor, waiting for her command.

  Her ears pricked as a surge of static sounded from behind. The intercom box to the gate was mounted on the kitchen wall. She pressed the button and tried to communicate with the driver but had no luck. Only more static. She was just about to press the button to open the gate when a stern voice spoke.

  “Excuse me? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The voice was strong and female and very unhappy.

  Kennedy turned slowly, knowing at once to whom the voice belonged. Veronica Ryan.

  Meeting Veronica’s dark brooding stare, Kennedy said, “I’m Kennedy Scott.”

  Veronica was silent for a moment and Kennedy wasn’t sure if her name had signaled recognition or not.

  “Who let you in?”

  “I let myself in.”

  Veronica scoffed and moved to the large stainless steel refrigerator for a bottle of Vitaminwater.

  “You’re the hotshot FBI agent,” she said before taking a couple of small sips.

  “I’m no longer with the Bureau.”

  She twisted the cap back on. “Mmm. Right.”

  Kennedy studied her. The first thing that struck her was that Veronica didn’t seemed pleased, much less grateful, to see her. Allen had relayed just how badly Veronica had
wanted her, so she was a little surprised at Veronica’s apathy and almost irritated tone. The second thing that turned her stomach was the fact that Veronica didn’t seem the least bit concerned with how she had come to be in the house.

  “Aren’t you interested in how I gained entry?”

  Veronica returned the bottle to the fridge and smoothed down her zip-up Valor jacket and matching athletic pants. When she met Kennedy’s gaze again, her eyes flashed with intensity.

  “I just assumed you had no manners.”

  Kennedy straightened, a bit stung. “Your intercom at the gate doesn’t work. So I climbed the gate and came in through the unlocked door.”

  Veronica didn’t speak, just listened. One of the dogs yawned and lay down next to Kennedy’s foot.

  “The attack dogs are vicious, aren’t they?” Veronica said.

  Kennedy wasn’t amused. “It took only four minutes for me to get from your gate to inside your front door.”

  “Four minutes, is that all?” For a brief instant she appeared a little concerned. But it passed just as quickly. “I’m glad you’re here, then.” She gave a thousand-watt smile that had surely blinded millions of fans.

  It didn’t shine so bright with Kennedy. “What if I had been someone else? Would you be concerned then?”

  “Oh, I’m concerned. I’m just not going to have a meltdown. We obviously have some security issues, which is why you were called in the first place. So again, I’m glad you’re here.”

  Again the smile.

  Kennedy didn’t return it. It was superficial and well practiced and it made her uncomfortable. Veronica was incredibly beautiful in a porcelain doll kind of way. Flawless pale skin, dark hair and eyes, full, soft-looking lips. But her beauty was marred by her words, a crack in a beautiful, priceless vase.

  “V?” A woman entered the kitchen from the other side. She stopped when she saw Kennedy.