by Rita Herron
His heart soared again. She was so nice to his mama. Yes, she was the one.
“Mama will eat with us at the table,” Billy said.
Josie’s fingers curled around the handle of the cast-iron skillet. “Of course, dear, whatever you say.”
He smiled and wheeled his mother over to the table. Gently, he laid one hand on her bony shoulder. “Smells delicious, doesn’t it, Mama?”
She sniffed. “I suppose so. But I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“Maybe you’ll feel stronger when you eat a little bit,” Josie said.
“She’s right, Mama.” He unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap. “Maybe you’ll even get well.”
Josie started toward the table with the biscuits, but he took the pan from her and set them on the stove. His hand brushed her soft skin, and his body hardened.
Yes, Josie would feed his belly and his other needs, too. He couldn’t wait to run his fingers through those long strands of hair and pump himself inside her.
He felt a drop of semen leaking from the tip of his penis and dampening his jeans at the thought.
“What would you like to drink, Mama? Tea?”
She murmured, “Of course,” and Josie took the pitcher and poured a jelly jar half full, then set it in front of his mother. “You want me to serve you now?”
“My son can do that,” his mama said.
He wanted to shake his mama for the way she was talking to Josie. He really liked this girl.
But he couldn’t hurt his mother, especially when she was already suffering so much. He had to hold on to every minute they had left.
He stepped over to the stove and filled a plate with a chicken breast, mashed potatoes, and two biscuits, then spooned gravy over the potatoes. He was just about to carry it to his mother when Josie picked up the frying pan.
A second later, he jumped back with a howl. Hot gravy flew all over him, scalding his face and arms, and he dropped his mama’s plate.
Josie threw the pan at him, turned, and ran toward the door. He bellowed her name and lunged for her just as she reached the doorknob. Her hands were still bound, but she swung them at him and jabbed his face with her fingernails.
He yelled in pain, snatched her hair, and flung her back across the room. Her head hit the hearth, and she fell to the floor, her head lolling to the side.
“I told you not to trust her,” Mama murmured.
He reached his hand back and slapped his mama, something he’d never done. Her head whipped backward, shock widening her eyes.
An instant later, he crawled over to her and tugged at her hand. “I’m so sorry, Mama. Please forgive me.” Sometimes his rage got out of control, and he couldn’t stop himself.
Her bones creaked as she laid one hand on the back of his head and looked into his eyes. “You’re a bad boy, son. You have to be punished.”
“It was her fault,” he cried. “I loved her but she tried to get away.”
“You know what you have to do now.”
He nodded mutely. Josie wasn’t the one after all.
It was time to take her to the falls.
Cal pushed the speed limit as he and Anna drove toward the state pen. She’d phoned her father twice to ask him if Josie had come home, but he hadn’t answered.
Cal was tempted to put an APB out on the former sheriff. But he had a feeling Pike knew something that would help. And Josie’s life might depend on what that was. Had he been in contact with the Bride Killer? Maybe the unsub had sent him photos or written to him.
Although, if so, Peyton would have found something by now . . .
“What if Johnny really was innocent?” Anna asked. “I abandoned him just like everyone else.”
“I’m sure you did what you thought was right,” Cal said.
Anna bit her lip and turned to look out the window at the passing scenery. “I did what my father told me to do,” she said in a bitter voice. “Not what I thought was right. If I’d done that, I would have stuck by Johnny and . . .”
“And what?”
Anna wiped at a tear. “And I would have stood up to my father.”
“But the evidence was damning,” Cal said.
“Johnny insisted someone planted it.”
Cal considered everything he knew so far and the people involved.
Her father had hated Johnny. And he was the one person who had the knowledge and skill to frame Johnny.
Sheriff Buckley may have sent the wrong man to prison to keep his daughter from running off. Or to protect someone else.
Like himself.
Josie’s ears rang from where her head had hit the brick, but she blinked rapidly to try to focus. She couldn’t just lie here. She had to get away.
She struggled to get to her feet, but she was so dizzy the room spun around like a merry-go-round.
“I thought you were different,” Billy wailed. “That you were kind and good and would treat me and Mama right.”
Billy had his head on his mother’s shoulder now, soaking in her comfort.
Josie blinked again and scanned the room in search of a weapon. Maybe if she could reach that fire poker on the other side of the hearth . . .
But her gaze caught sight of a framed photograph on the table, and her heart tripped a beat. The man in the photo looked young, high school age, and was wearing a football uniform. He had short dark hair and was smiling, a football tucked beneath his arm.
It was Johnny Pike.
The same boy she’d seen in her mother’s yearbook, the same boy her mother had been in love with years ago.
The same boy she thought could be her father.
Confusion clouded her brain. Why would Billy’s mother have a picture of Johnny when he was in high school? Had they been friends?
He wiped at his tears and kissed his mother’s cheek. “I know, Mama, I’ll take care of her.”
Cold terror seized Josie. She had to do something.
Desperate, she pointed to the picture. “Who is this, Billy?”
He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. For a moment he looked disoriented, as if she’d caught him off guard or his mind had drifted to another place.
Josie tried to soften her voice to keep him calm. “Do you know him?”
Billy’s big chubby face softened, and he took the framed picture, then traced his fingers over the boy’s face. “That’s my daddy.”
Josie’s throat closed. “Johnny Pike is your father?”
He bobbed his head up and down. “He’s kind of famous around these parts. But he had to go away before I was born.”
Nausea flooded Josie. Yeah, he’d gone away because he was a serial killer.
And now his son was following in his footsteps.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Sweat trickled down Billy’s neck. He so wanted Josie to be the one. He needed her. He wanted her.
He didn’t want to be alone.
Josie was looking at him oddly, her face pale, her eyes big. “You’re sure Johnny Pike was your father?”
He thought he saw blood in her pretty hair and hated that. But she had tried to run.
“Is he your father?” Josie asked again.
“Yes, just ask Mama.” Why did Josie care who his father was? He whipped his head toward his mother. “Tell her about him, Mama.”
But his mother had clammed up. Her head was slumped over, her face mottled with dark-purple blotches.
When she didn’t answer him, panic bubbled in his chest. “Mama, tell her about Daddy!”
“Billy, listen to me,” Josie said, her voice shaking. “That man Johnny Pike—he’s in prison for the Thorn Ripper murders.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I know that. Mama told me all about him. And she told me all about those girls, the whores who wanted Johnny.”
> He angled his head toward his mother, but she remained silent, her lips pinched and cracked like leather, eyes bulging in their sockets the way animals’ did in death.
Terrified, he ran over to her wheelchair and touched her hand. Ice cold. Her skin felt cracked, dry, brittle.
No! She couldn’t have died and left him yet. He hadn’t gotten his bride. She was supposed to stay until then.
“Mama, please talk to me,” he pleaded as he grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “You can’t leave me alone.”
Her head tilted back, but a tiny bit of air puffed out. She was breathing.
Fear and helplessness engulfed him, and he cried out an animal sound that echoed through the room. A sound that wasn’t human, the sound of his heart being ripped out.
It wouldn’t be long. He was going to lose her.
He spun toward Josie, hissing his rage. “You did this. You’re killing Mama!”
Josie started to shake her head, but he lunged toward her.
“You’re killing her, and I don’t want to be alone.”
“No,” Josie said in a choked voice. “You can’t kill me, Billy.”
His fingers tightened, digging into her larynx. “Yes, I can, you have to die just like the others.”
“But you won’t be alone, Billy. Not anymore. Johnny Pike was my father, too.” She gasped. “I’m your sister.”
Billy gaped at her in shock. Sister? He had a sister?
How was that possible? Why hadn’t Mama told him?
Cal and Anna relinquished their cell phones to the officer at the visitors’ desk and made their way through security. Anna kept fidgeting, twisting her hands together, obviously nervous.
Cal wanted to offer her comfort, but at this point, he had no idea if her daughter was alive or dead.
Due to the seriousness of the situation and the fact that Pike had asked them here to discuss the Bride Killer, the warden arranged a private room for them to talk.
Of course a guard stayed in the room, and Johnny remained handcuffed and shackled. Anna’s face paled at the sight of the man in the orange jumpsuit.
And the way he looked at her—any fool could see Pike was still in love with Anna. Emotions darkened his face as he soaked in her features. “Anna, you came,” he said brokenly.
Anna’s expression mirrored Pike’s. Pain, grief, and the love they’d once shared mingled in the tense silence.
Cal gave them a moment to absorb the shock of seeing each other after all these years. But just a minute.
Every second counted. Josie could be fighting for her last breath that very moment.
“My daughter, Josie, he has her,” Anna whispered. “I can’t lose her, Johnny.”
A muscle ticked in Johnny’s jaw, but he sank into the chair, his handcuffs clinking against the table.
Anna stared at them, a tear trickling down her cheek.
Cal cleared his throat. “You said you have information regarding the Bride Killer?”
“Do you know who he is?” Anna said in a raw whisper.
Johnny rubbed at a scar above his eye. “I don’t know for sure. But . . . I have an idea.”
Irritation knotted Cal’s shoulders. “Look, Pike, don’t waste our time. Have you been in communication with him?” His voice hardened. “Did you mentor him?”
Pike’s eyes turned stormy. “No, and no.”
Cal stood abruptly. “Then what the hell did you call me for?”
“Because . . . I . . .” He rubbed the scar again, his voice cracking. “I have my suspicions.”
“Please, Johnny.” Anna reached out to touch his hand. The guard shook his head, but Cal flashed him a look. They needed to use everything in their power to persuade Pike to talk.
“Tell me.”
Johnny’s cold mask faded. “It goes back to the murders I was accused of.”
“You mean the ones you were convicted of,” Cal pointed out.
Johnny nodded again. “I didn’t kill those girls. I . . . swear I didn’t.”
“I never believed you did,” Anna whispered.
“God,” Johnny muttered.
Cal didn’t know whether he believed him, but he had to play along. “If you didn’t kill them, who did?”
Johnny made a guttural sound in his throat. “I don’t have proof. She set me up good.”
Anna gasped. “She? Who are you talking about?”
“There was this girl back then, she was homely. Her father abused her. She had a crush on me, and one night I saw her on the side of the road, stranded. I felt sorry for her and gave her a ride home. She said she was scared of her old man, and begged me to come in, and I did. But she must have drugged me because the next morning I woke up and . . . I didn’t remember what happened.”
Cal cleared his throat. “What did happen?”
Johnny’s jaw clenched. “We must have had sex,” he said. “I . . . was ashamed that it happened. I felt like a fool and I . . . was too embarrassed to tell anyone.” He raised his gaze to Anna. “My father was pressuring me to get that scholarship, and I knew he’d go off the deep end. Pikes didn’t go around getting drugged and raped by women.”
Cal heaved a breath. “Then what happened?”
“I thought it was done. I tried to put it behind me and I avoided her. But then all that business about prom came up, and the guys were supposed to buy a rose for the girl they wanted to ask.”
“You sent notes to each of the victims inviting them to the falls under the pretense of giving them that rose,” Cal pointed out.
Johnny flattened his scarred hands on the table. “I didn’t send any notes.”
Cal considered the possibility. Three decades ago, handwriting and DNA analysis were practically nonexistent. But if Buckley had kept those notes in evidence, Cal could have them compared to Pike’s handwriting.
Johnny swiped his handcuffed hands across his forehead with a sigh of despair. “Then the murders started, and it made me nervous. I’d dated each of the girls at one time.” He looked at Anna. “Before you.” He swallowed hard. “I loved you so much, Anna. I was afraid she’d hurt you, too.”
Anna made a strangled sound in her throat. “That’s the reason you sent me away when I came to visit you. You said that I would be safer if I never saw you again.”
Johnny’s eyes flickered with desperation. “She would have killed you, too. I couldn’t take a chance on that.”
Anna gripped his hands, tears glittering on her eyelashes.
“What made you think this girl was the killer?” Cal asked.
“Little things she said when no one else was listening.”
“Like what?” Cal asked.
“‘You’re mine, Johnny. No one can have you but me.’ Shit like that.” He sighed. “And then some of my stuff went missing. At first, it was just a hunch, a kind of sick feeling. I thought maybe I was wrong, and I felt sorry for her.”
Cal’s brows shot up. “You felt sorry for the girl who drugged you and supposedly raped you?”
Johnny shot Cal a sharp look. “I know that sounds weird, but when I met her father, he was a big, mean, drunk bully who abused her.”
Anna made an anguished sound. “But when they arrested you, why didn’t you mention her? At least you might have convinced the jury of reasonable doubt.”
Johnny clung to Anna’s hands. “Because she told me she was pregnant with my baby.”
Anna choked out a shocked gasp. “Maybe she was lying . . .”
“She sent me pictures later in prison. She had a little boy.” He coughed. “I . . . thought about telling someone, trying to get the kid away from her, but what could I do in here? My parents deserted me. They wouldn’t have wanted a child they thought came out of all this.” He looked into her eyes. “And then she threatened to hurt you, Anna.”
“I wo
uld have been fine,” Anna argued.
“Maybe. But she’d already killed three people, Anna. I couldn’t take the chance.”
“What was the girl’s name?” Cal asked.
“Charlene Linder,” Johnny said.
Anna sighed. “I remember her. She was odd, a little off mentally.”
“I know. I should have done something to save the little boy from her, but when I saw the picture, I just didn’t see myself in him. Then I started doubting everything she’d said, except for the threat against you.”
“Oh, Johnny,” Anna whispered.
Johnny scrubbed his hand over his face. “I told your father all this, but he accused me of lying, and when my attorney asked him about it, he said he’d questioned Charlene and she claimed I tried to strangle her. Of course your father believed her. He said some other girl named Felicity Hacker also claimed that I attacked her.”
“Felicity Hacker?” Anna said.
Johnny muttered a frustrated sound. “I don’t really even remember her, but she was friends with Tiffany, Brittany, and Candy.”
“He said, she said,” Cal commented.
Johnny nodded. “There was so much evidence stacked against me that no one believed me.” A muscle ticked in his jaw as he looked at Anna. “Even you started to doubt me.”
Regret and sorrow flashed in Anna’s eyes. “Oh, Johnny . . . I never really thought you did it. It was just my father . . . and . . . I was so scared. He was so sure you were guilty, and everyone thought I covered for you.”
Cal drummed his fingers on the table. “So what does this have to do with the current murders and the Bride Killer?”
Johnny lifted his eyes to Cal, but his look was tortured. “Charlene’s mother was a seamstress. She sewed wedding dresses, and Charlene used to help her. That night I was there she showed me a dress, and said she was working on her own dress, the one she intended to wear when she married me.”
Shock filled Anna. Johnny had a son with another woman. With Charlene Linder, the girl he suspected of murder.
The girl who’d framed him and stolen his life.
Stolen both their lives.